One In A Billion | TFP

𝟎𝟎𝟐𝟖

11:37. 11:38. 11:39.

My watch, a sleek metallic device, became both my ally and adversary as I constantly glanced at it, the minutes ticking away with an ominous weight.

My gaze swept across the desolation. Abandoned buildings loomed like silent sentinels, windows shattered, and their walls adorned with graffiti telling tales of a time long past. Floating trash danced in sporadic gusts of wind, macabre ballet on this forgotten stage. I walked cautiously, the gravel beneath my feet crunching like a distant echo in this urban graveyard.

I strolled through the ghost town, my footsteps echoing off the dilapidated walls. The air was heavy with the scent of decay, a stark contrast to the glitz and glamour that Las Vegas was once known for. Each building, a silent witness to the passage of time, told stories of lives that had once thrived within these now lifeless walls.

11:41. 11:43. 11:45.

The digital display coldly reminded me of the impending deadline. Noon was approaching. I only had fifteen minutes left to make contact with my comrade. 

As I navigated the maze of deserted streets, my eyes scanned the surroundings for any signs of life or movement. Abandoned storefronts and forgotten corners became my canvas, the emptiness amplifying the tension that gripped me. My senses were heightened, every rustle of paper or distant creak of metal sending a shiver down my spine.

The city that never sleeps had succumbed to a slumber so profound, it felt like an eternal dream. I moved cautiously, reaching a nondescript alley where the bricks bore witness to the passage of time. I concealed myself in the shadows, my eyes scanning for any signs of the elusive comrade. The watch on my wrist ticked relentlessly, a reminder of the urgency that fueled my every move.

Suddenly, a rhythmic thumping resonated through the stillness, echoing off the walls of the abandoned buildings. My senses snapped to attention, and I swiftly drew my gun. I aimed at the source of the sound, eyes scanning the rooftops for any signs of movement.

The rooftop thumping persisted, growing louder and more pronounced. Tension gripped the alley as I braced myself, fingers firm on the trigger. My gaze swept the surroundings, ready for any potential threat that might emerge from the shadows above.

Then, as if choreographed by the clandestine dance of espionage, six figures descended from the rooftops. Teenagers, assumably Chinese, landed with cat-like grace right in front of me. I tightened my grip on the gun, eyes narrowing as I assessed the unexpected arrivals.

In a swift motion, I took a step back, maintaining a defensive stance, gun still trained on the newcomers. I got a look at them from a closer angle; they were six people wearing dirty orange polo shirts and blue pants, some with jackets tied onto their waists; as if some kind of school uniform. Then I noticed the small logo embroidered on the right side of their chests. 

I noticed the dynamics of this hexad—one of them was taller than the rest, and also a bit tougher looking, donning a white and blue jacket. The other five were a little shorter and most of them had buzz-cuts with thick eyebrows and parched cuts on their lips and cheeks. They looked like a gang, thudding their beaten-up white sneakers up and down the wet pavement and boring their mysterious brown eyes into my soul.

Shit, it's those guys from earlier. 

I realized this, taking another wary step back. What were they doing here, and more importantly, how did they find me here? The questions raced in my head but I shoved them back down as I plastered a deathly cool expression on my face. 

"Stand down," I commanded in Mandarin; I assumed they would understand me since this was the only Asian language I could speak, and if not, well, scrap.