Gabriel looked at the fight happening outside his broken window with wide eyes, chest heaving, and his heart hammering wildly. He couldn’t really see what was happening aside from the occasional flashes of light and the unbelievable booms that kept crashing into the building, shaking it so hard that Gabriel was afraid it would collapse.

  ‘I need to–‘ His thoughts were jumbled, jumping from topic to topic, refusing to settle. His body felt like lead, refusing to move no matter how much he wanted it to.

  His eyes darted around the room, focusing on the strangest things.

  He counted the number of glass shards embedded in the headboard of his old bed.

  Thirteen.

  He saw the cracks slowly spreading through the ceiling like fractures in ice.

  He watched as Bombshell floated into view, her back to him, staring at something he couldn’t see. Then she shifted slightly to the side, and he caught a full view of the villain – electric-blue eyes glowing, mouth moving – yet Gabriel couldn’t hear a thing over the ringing in his ears.

  Time slowed even further as the blue energy gathered around the man’s hands. A second later, it launched toward the floating superheroine, who predictably darted out of the way, instantly flying forward, fists cocked, ready to punch the man’s head off.

  But Gabriel didn’t care about that.

  His eyes instead followed the pulse of energy as it ripped through the air, cutting through the dust and smoke, heading directly toward his building. He couldn’t hear anything – just his heart pounding in his ears – then the crash and crunch of the blast struck the building.

  Time snapped forward.

  Debris rained down, and he was thrown sideways by the tremors ripping through the structure.

  He felt himself tumbling, barely managing to control his body before landing on his back. He stared up at the ceiling, where the cracks had spread so far he couldn’t even call them cracks anymore.

  They were more like fault lines.

  And there was a massive slab of the ceiling falling toward him.

  Distantly, he heard himself screaming, but all he could do was yank up his aching arms – dimly registering the cuts the shattered glass had carved into them – and raise them between himself and the collapsing concrete in a futile attempt to stave off death.

  On instinct, he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the crushing impact.

  Only one thought ran through his head:

  ‘I hope the next run lasts longer…’

  But death didn’t come.

  Instead of several tons of concrete pulverizing him, he was pelted with a few small chunks of debris, leaving him dumbfounded. Pebbles bounced off his body, causing several tiny spikes of pain.

  He blinked.

  The sheer confusion of still being alive was enough to jolt him out of this detached haze, and suddenly everything rushed back.

  Noise slammed into him.

  The crackle of the blaze. The screams of the wounded. People fleeing. The wail of sirens. The groan of the building tearing itself apart around him. And the battle – still raging outside.

  No.

  Not outside.

  By the sound of it, it had moved into the building he lived in.

  He scrambled to his feet, panting, panic still clawing at his chest, the phantom weight of almost-certain death lingering in his limbs.

  He stared at his palm.

  There, resting against his skin, was the card deck he had been experimenting with before going to bed. It sat nestled comfortably in his hand, the top card showing a simple white-bordered card: 1 x Concrete Block (1.5 t).

  He blinked at it.

  For a split second, his brain refused to process what happened.

  Then a thunderous crash shattered his focus.

  “Shit!”

  He ducked instinctively, searching for the source of the sound just in time to see the outer wall of his bedroom give way. Concrete crumbled outward, dust and smoke billowing into the room as supports finally failed.

  Chunks of rebar clattered across the floor.

  “I need to get out of here!”

  Adrenaline finally overrode the paralysis.

  He bolted for the living room, vaulting over a fallen slab of concrete. Sharp rocks sliced into his bare feet, but the pain felt distant, muted beneath the roaring adrenaline in his bloodstream.

  Out of sheer habit, he jumped into his shoes, happily noting even his counterpart preferred shoes without laces.

  He then reached the door, yanked it open–

  – and nearly dislocated his shoulder when it didn’t budge.

  He stared at it, confused for half a second, before realization slammed into him.

  “Keys! I need the damn keys!”

  He slapped at his pockets and grabbed nothing but the shredded remains of his boxers.

  “Shit!”

  Smoke thickened around him, the air turning gray and heavy. Each breath scratched at his throat. Visibility dropped by the second.

  “Argh – forget it!”

  He coughed, raised a card in front of the door, and focused.

  A second later, the card in his hand shifted.

  The door vanished at the same time, leaving an empty space in front of him.

  Gabriel spared one last glance at his ruined apartment – his bed buried under rubble, walls fracturing, ceiling falling apart – then he ran.

  The hallway outside was already filling with smoke. Fire alarms screamed all around. Somewhere down the corridor, something metallic shrieked as it tore loose.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  He tried to remember where the door leading to the stairs was.

  One of his neighbors sprinted past him, coughing violently. A second later, he could hear metal creaking.

  That was all the motivation he needed.

  He tore after the person, rounding the corner and dodging a slab of fallen concrete that was dislodged from the ceiling. Ahead, he saw the faded red stairwell door hanging partially open, the old fire-safety warning on it nearly fully worn away by time.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  He shoved through the old door and took the stairs two at a time, sometimes three, half running, half leaping down flights as the building shuddered around him.

  Dust drifted over him with every impact outside.

  For ages, he just bounded down the stairs, sometimes seeing other people, sometimes spotting somebody struggling.

  Explosions rocked the building

  The lights flickered.

  Concrete and stone cracked somewhere above.

  And Gabriel kept running.

  Guilt burned in his stomach, but survival drowned it out

  He just ran.

  Then the stairs finally ended.

  Gabriel burst into the lobby, lungs burning – partly from the unexpected exercise, partly from the smoke he had inhaled. A crowd had already gathered near the shattered entrance, people stumbling over broken tile and fallen ceiling panels, while trying not to step on glass.

  The old glass walls had been blown out, jagged shards still clinging to the metal frames.

  Outside, flashing red and blue lights painted the smoke-filled street. Firefighters shouted orders, police tried to keep people moving, and paramedics rushed forward with stretchers, masks covering all their faces.

  Someone grabbed Gabriel by the arm and steered him away from the entrance before he could even protest.

  In a short order, he found himself sitting inside a white emergency tent, deeply inhaling through a plastic oxygen mask connected by a long tube to a humming machine in the center. Nearly two dozen people sat around it like it was some strange communal ritual, each taking turns pulling lungfuls of clean air.

  The paramedics may have asked him questions, but he honestly couldn’t remember answering any. He vaguely recalled being guided into the tent, a flashlight briefly shining into his eyes, someone checking his pulse with clinical indifference. Then the mask had been pressed to his face, and he had been left among the other survivors.

  Breathing deeply, he tried to slow his racing heart and quiet the adrenaline-fueled panic tremors. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

  But the one sensation he couldn’t ignore was the deck of cards in his hand.

  Partially remembering techniques for handling panic attacks, he forced himself to focus on it.

  On the texture of the cards pressed against his palm.

  On the slight bite of the edges against his skin.

  On how they looked almost pristine under the harsh white emergency lighting.

  On the fact that they had just saved his life.

  Intellectually, he’d always known he couldn’t lose the deck.

  But it just crystallized in his mind what that truly meant.

  Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he casually let the deck slip from his hand and drop beneath the narrow camp cot he’d been placed on. The cards scattered across the floor under it instantly.

  A second later, the full deck reappeared in his sweaty palms, neat and untouched, as if freshly unwrapped.

  He scanned the tent.

  No one was looking at him.

  Most people were crying, clinging to each other, or staring blankly into space. Everyone was covered in soot and ash, clothes torn, skin scratched and bleeding.

  No one cared about a guy with a deck of cards.

  Sighing, Gabriel leaned back against the thin cot, the reality of the night settling into his body. He had barely fallen asleep before being forced to flee for his life.

  Now exhaustion dragged at him like gravity had doubled.

  The steady hum of the oxygen machine blended with distant sirens and muffled shouting outside. The rhythmic hiss of air through the mask became hypnotic.

  His eyelids drooped.

  The world narrowed to the sound of his own breathing.

  And then darkness took him.

  “Sir. Sir! Please wake up, sir!”

  “Huh? Wha–?” Gabriel muttered as someone shook his shoulder.

  He blinked blearily. He was still on the camp cot. The tent was now more crowded, rows of cots filling nearly every available space. And every cot was filled with at least one, but more often, with more people. Emergency responders moved briskly between them, their boots crunching over grit and debris tracked inside.

  “Sir!”

  His head snapped toward the voice.

  One of the first responders stood over him, looking more irritated than concerned.

  “Sir, can you understand me?” the man asked.

  Gabriel nodded, still disoriented. “Y-yeah,” he coughed. “I can u-understand you.”

  “Good.” The man released his shoulder, then grabbed Gabriel’s forearm and pulled him upright without any warning. “We need you to clear the cot. They’re organizing the victims in another tent.”

  Ignoring the sheer indifference in the man’s voice – he probably dealt with the situation like this every day – he focused on the actual information.

  “They?”

  “City workers,” the man replied, hauling to his feet. “They’re making sure everyone has somewhere to stay.”

  Gabriel swayed slightly as he stood. The ground felt weird, as if it was ready to move and he had to keep himself balanced, but in the end, he decided it was just exhaustion.

  “Just head outside and go to the tent opposite this one,” the responder continued. “And make sure you don’t lose this.”

  He tugged lightly on something around Gabriel’s neck.

  Gabriel looked down and realized he was wearing a lanyard. A laminated card hung from it, covered in hastily scribbled notes in handwriting that looked like a doctor’s prescription pad exploded.

  Still dazed, he allowed himself to be guided out of the tent.

  The noise hit him first, then the organized chaos followed.

  The fires were mostly out now, leaving only faint plumes of smoke rising from what used to be the building where he lived.

  Now it was just a jagged mound of concrete and twisted rebar.

  Emergency responders and search crews moved methodically over the rubble. Dogs barked as handlers directed them across unstable debris. Floodlights illuminated the scene, though dawn was already bleeding orange across the horizon.

  ‘How long did I sleep?’ he wondered.

  Judging by the first rays of sunlight breaking through the smoke, it had to be around five or six in the morning.

  He shook off the thought. It didn’t really matter.

  Spotting the tent the responder had mentioned wasn’t difficult. A large banner across the front read:

  Los Angeles Emergency Office

  Police officers stood at each of the visible entrances, keeping the lines orderly.

  Gabriel turned slightly away from the crowd, hunching his shoulders as if trying to make himself smaller. With a subtle motion, he reached into his deck and pulled the card that stored his wallet and phone.

  A quick mental command…

  And the items appeared in his hands.

  The officer at the door glanced at his lanyard, grunted, and waved him inside.

  The interior was a different kind of chaos.

  Long folding tables stretched across the tent, each staffed by exhausted government workers hunched over laptops. Stacks of paperwork were piled high beside them. Lines of displaced residents snaked through the space, everyone waiting their turn.

  Gabriel exhaled slowly and joined the nearest line.

  He did his best not to complain.

  Nearly an hour later, it was finally his turn.

  “Name?” the exhausted worker asked without looking up from his screen.

  Gabriel held out his ID instead, offering the plastic card to the man. “Here.”

  The man blinked, surprised, but took it. “Huh. Managed to pick up the wallet. That’s lucky.”

  “Yeah…” Gabriel replied awkwardly.

  “Still, this makes things easier,” the man declared, immediately beginning to type away on his keyboard. His fingers clattered across the keyboard for a full minute before he glanced up to compare Gabriel’s face with the photo while also scanning his body. He then turned in his chair and grabbed one of several pre-packed bags stacked behind him. The bag was labeled with a large M and XL markings in black marker.

  He handed it over and took a deep breath.

  “Hygiene kit. Change of clothes. Some food and water. We’ll contact you later about insurance and next steps. For now, there is a bus on the other side of the tent heading to a nearby motel. You’ll have a room for a week – covered by the City of Los Angeles. Any questions?” he asked.

  His tone clearly begged Gabriel not to ask any.

  Unfortunately, Gabriel did ask one.

  “I have my phone. Do you need my number?”

  The worker paused, mildly surprised. “Ah. One of the prepared types. Sure. Go ahead.”

  Gabriel dictated the number. The man typed it in, nodded once, and gestured to the exit. “That’s it. Follow the signs.”

  He stepped aside, opened his bag, and fished out the pants – thick sweatpants, gray, stamped with the Los Angeles city logo on them – put them on, and headed toward the bus.

  ‘It seems they had a lot of practice dealing with the aftermath of super-fights…’ he mused as he cut through the crowd toward the bus pickup area. ‘If it weren’t for the whole almost-dying part, this would be almost impressive…’

  An hour later, he lay on the squeaky bed of a one-room unit at the Eternal Sunshine Motel, staring up at a ceiling stained with old watermarks and peeling paint.

  He raised his hand, holding the two cards that held the door and the concrete block.

  With a quiet mental command, he erased them.

  The cards turned blank.

  No evidence.

  No proof.

  Nothing tying him to what had happened inside that apartment.

  He placed the deck on the scratched nightstand and shifted under the thin blanket. It was already mid-morning, but after the dense granola bar, bottled water, and a few extra snacks from his own bugout bag, exhaustion was dragging him under again.

  His body ached.

  His arms throbbed.

  His throat still burned from smoke.

  ‘Whatever,’ he thought. ‘I’ll deal with this mess when I wake up…’

  With a long, heavy sigh, Gabriel closed his eyes and let sleep take him.