Chapter 9: The Security Guard’s Warning

Chapter Nine

"Oh, you’re home!"

With a loud shout, the hallway lights that had just gone out flickered back on.

Startled, I turned to look and saw Mr. Harris, the security guard for our building, standing at the stairwell entrance on the fifth floor.

Mr. Harris is our building’s security guard—serious and responsible. He was a Marine in his younger days, and even now, in his fifties, he’s more energetic than any of us office workers.

Mr. Harris’s sudden appearance was oddly comforting—the way his boots squeaked against the tile, the gruff kindness in his voice. "You kids and your apps," he always said, shaking his head at our latest obsessions. He looked like he belonged in a parade on Veterans Day, not chasing down late-night delivery drama. The sharp slam of the door behind me sounded like a punctuation mark, making the whole hallway seem to breathe again.

As Mr. Harris appeared, the door to 504 slammed shut again with a bang.

At the same time, my phone buzzed.

On the AI chat interface, the death countdown that was about to hit zero had reset to [7 minutes and 31 seconds].