The subway clock hit 11:55 PM.
Ethan Cole didn't blink.
Crowds rushed past him—headphones on, eyes down, minds elsewhere. To them, he was nobody. Just another man in a dark jacket waiting for a late train.
But Ethan was listening to everything.
Footsteps that didn't match the crowd.
A cough that was too controlled.
Reflections in the glass that stayed still for half a second too long.
Five minutes left.
Beneath the city, hidden behind concrete and steel, something was counting down. No alarms. No warnings. Just numbers quietly racing toward zero.
Ethan's phone vibrated once.
UNKNOWN: Wrong platform. Maintenance tunnel. Left side.
Ethan sighed.
"Figures."
The train roared into the station. As people pushed forward, Ethan moved with them—then suddenly broke away. At the last second, he jumped off the platform, rolling hard as the train doors slammed shut and vanished into darkness.
Shouts echoed behind him.
Ethan didn't slow down.
The maintenance tunnel was narrow, wet, and barely lit. Old lights flickered overhead, casting broken shadows along the walls. Water dripped steadily, like a clock mocking him.
He ran.
His past ran with him.
He remembered nights like this—different cities, different names, same countdowns. He used to be the man governments denied existed. The one sent in when things were already broken.
He left that life to survive.
Tonight, survival was optional.
At 11:57 PM, Ethan reached a reinforced steel door.
Voices on the other side.
"…power grid synced."
"…no mistakes this time."
Ethan stepped back.
Then charged.
The kick landed dead center. The lock shattered and the door slammed open. Before the men inside could react, Ethan was already moving.
The first attacker raised his rifle—Ethan grabbed the barrel, twisted, and drove an elbow into the man's face. Bone cracked. The second fired wildly.
Bullets sparked off metal.
Ethan slid across the floor, came up firing once.
The room fell silent.
TIME LEFT: 02:41
Ethan scanned the room. No backup. Yet.
In the center sat the device—compact, wired directly into the subway's main power line. Enough explosive force to shut down half the city and trigger chaos above ground.
Ethan crouched beside it.
His phone buzzed again.
UNKNOWN: Cut blue. Then white. Red last.
Ethan stared at the wires.
Blue.
White.
Yellow.
Red.
He remembered trusting voices once before. That trust buried good people.
But the clock didn't care about trust.
He cut the blue wire.
The timer jumped.
TIME LEFT: 01:36
Ethan swore under his breath.
Footsteps thundered down the tunnel.
Multiple.
He stood, raised his pistol, and turned just as the lights exploded—shot out by incoming fire.
Darkness.
Gunfire flashed like lightning.
Ethan moved fast—rolling, firing, disappearing into shadows. One enemy went down screaming. Another charged blindly and met Ethan's shoulder full-force. They crashed into the wall.
Ethan disarmed him and fired once.
Silence returned, broken only by Ethan's breathing.
TIME LEFT: 00:44
He ran back to the device.
Hands steady. Mind clear.
White wire.
The timer slowed—but didn't stop.
Yellow wire.
TIME LEFT: 00:10
Ethan's jaw tightened.
Red wire.
He cut it.
The screen froze.
Then went black.
At 12:01 AM, the city didn't notice anything.
Lights stayed on. Trains kept running. People slept peacefully, unaware of how close everything came to collapsing.
Ethan climbed out of the tunnel and blended into the night streets above.
Rain started falling.
His phone buzzed one final time.
UNKNOWN: You're still alive. Guess that means you're still dangerous.
Ethan powered the phone off and tossed it into a trash bin.
He walked away without looking back.
Some men save the world and disappear.
That's the deal.