An agent one day before the end of reality

Agent Nick yawned as he drummed his fingers against his lap, watching the late afternoon shadows stretch across the empty parking lot. The distant hum of the interstate traffic provided a steady backbeat to the occasional cawing of crows perched on the power lines overhead. Their unmarked Crown Victoria, carefully positioned for a quick exit, creaked as he shifted in his seat.

Through the smudged windshield, he could see his partner chatting with the gas station attendant, a weathered man in oil-stained coveralls who moved quicker than his age suggested. Must have had a good diet and exercise.

For all his reputation as a crusty veteran, Agent Jay had a way of getting people to open up. Nick absently rubbed the silver charm on his wrist – a nervous habit he'd developed since joining the supernatural division.

“Anything?” Nick asked as Jay slid back into the driver’s seat, bringing with him the sharp scent of cigarette smoke.

“Guy offered to pump our gas,” Jay said, his weathered face giving nothing away as he adjusted his rearview mirror. “Claims he saw strange lights in the woods last night, blue-green ones that moved against the wind. Plus a figure darting between the trees.” He reached back, carefully lifting his rifle from its case. “Said he almost called the police before convincing himself it was nothing. Interesting that he’s smoking near a gas station."

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Nick straightened, suddenly alert, his hand instinctively checking the iron-loaded pistol at his hip. “But we can worry about that later. If we hurry, we might catch our target in those woods.” He gestured toward the dark line of pines that pressed against the station’s back lot, their branches swaying despite the still air.

But Jay’s laugh held no humor as he checked his weapon with practiced ease. A crow landed on their hood, stared at the gas station attendant with unusual intensity, then took off with an alarmed squawk. “Already have.” He tilted his head toward the attendant, who was lighting another cigarette. “The shapeshifter’s good at playing human, but not quite good enough. Real Earl Thompson went missing three days ago – and the real Earl was a proud non-smoker for thirty years.”

***

Night had settled over the city by the time the two agents finished processing the shapeshifter case. Nick took his turn behind the wheel, guiding their Crown Vic through the streets as the rain poured. He tapped the horn as a Prius crawled through an intersection, its brake lights reflecting off the wet asphalt. “This city’s like my Katherine,” Nick muttered, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Even when it's testing my patience, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

Jay shifted in the passenger seat. “Careful with that kind of talk, kid. The rough patches matter just as much as the good ones.” He absently touched his wedding ring. “Hell, Earl would have my head if I came to his station smelling like a pack of cigarettes.”

Nick chuckled, easing the car around a corner. “Yeah, yeah, always the voice of wisdom, aren’t you?”

“Not always,” Jay replied with a quiet laugh that died as his phone chirped. The blue glow of the screen shined, and Nick watched his partner’s face harden into something he hadn’t seen since their last major case.

“Everything okay?” Nick asked, slowing as they approached Jay’s apartment building.

Jay pocketed the phone without a word, but his fingers lingered on the device as if it might bite.

Stopping the car, Nick turned toward his partner, whose gaze remained forward as if he was trying to see past the streets. “We’re not moving until you tell me what was on that phone.”

Releasing a long sigh, Jay answered. “Fifty years ago, my first case involved putting a dangerous entity behind bars. I have just learned this entity broke out of prison an hour ago.”

Nick’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles going white. “Fifty years ago?” He leaned back in his seat, trying to grasp how Jay was being so calm despite the weight of his words. “You’re telling me you’ve been a badass before I was even born?”

Jay shot him a sidelong glance, his face unreadable. “Something like that.”

“Spare me the cryptic act, Jay. If this is one of those ‘classified, need-to-know’ situations, you’d better spill now because if this thing’s on the loose—”

“It’s personal,” Jay interrupted, his voice firmer than usual. He didn’t look at Nick but instead out into the rain-soaked night. “And it’s not the kind of thing we can just call backup for. She escaped a prison on the Moon, one of the most guarded places outside of Earth.”

Nick blinked. “A prison on the Moon? You’re not messing with me right now, are you?”

Jay’s lips twitched in a humorless smirk. “I wish I was. But she is a problem I must clean up.”

“You keep saying ‘she’,” Nick said. “Who is she?”

Forcing himself to relax, Jay leaned into his chair. “How about you take me home, kid? We can talk about it later.”

Nick hesitated, his instincts screaming that whatever Jay was holding back was something he needed to know now. But the older man’s tone made it clear.

This conversation wasn’t happening tonight.

Letting out a frustrated breath, Nick pulled back into the flow of traffic, heading toward Jay’s apartment.

***

By the time they reached Jay’s building, the rain had eased to a misty drizzle. Nick pulled up to the curb, putting the car in park. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his tone softer now.

Jay opened the door but paused before stepping out. “I’m fine, kid. Just… drink some chocolate milk before you sleep, all right?”

Nick frowned. “Why? That seems oddly specific.”

But Jay didn’t answer him as he left the car and disappeared into his building. Part of Nick wanted to jump out of the car and chase after his stubborn partner but he knew better. He just had to wait for tomorrow.

He drove home on autopilot, his thoughts circling Jay’s strange behavior. By the time he parked outside his modest apartment building, the rain had stopped entirely, leaving the streets glistening under the streetlights.

Inside, Nick kicked off his shoes, tossed his jacket over a chair, and stared at the milk carton in the fridge. Chocolate milk. He huffed out a laugh. “Guess I’ll humor the old man.”

Pouring himself a glass, Nick leaned against the counter as he prepared the drink, the cold tile floor grounding him. His mind wandered to Jay’s words. If this “she” was so dangerous, why hadn’t the agency sent out an alert? Why was Jay the only one involved? And why would he tell him to stay out of it?

Taking a sip of the milk, Nick placed the glass into the sink and walked over to his bedroom. There, Katherine was already asleep, likely still upset with him. It was challenging. All Katherine knew about him was that he was a busy office worker. That convenient lie had been good, but lately, Katherine had been missing him. Honestly, it had been about a week since they’d last spoken to each other.

The things he does to protect the world.

Checking the clock to see that midnight was approaching, Nick turned around and headed for the living room. Maybe Jay was having a better night.

***

Jay stood in his apartment, watching the clock above his fireplace tick closer to midnight. His mental checklist scrolled through his mind for the hundredth time: window grid lasers armed and humming their quiet blue song, front door’s quantum trap primed with that distinctive copper tang in the air, and the Mark-7 particle disruptor heavy in his weathered hands – a weapon that could reduce even the most resilient supernatural entity to scattered atoms.

He had prepared for every contingency. Yet his gut churned with the same unease he’d felt fifty years ago, the last time he’d seen the Widow.

Fifty years. Christ.

The modernized security systems suddenly felt inadequate against memories of her impossible escapes back in the day. Sure, the Agency’s Quantum Containment Wing was supposed to be inescapable, but the Widow had always defied expectations. She wouldn't break out just for ****, though. No, she was too methodical for something that simple.

The world was more random than what the average person would like to believe. Sure, you have your monsters and cursed artifacts, but you also have your unusual phenomenons like D-9172, the inexplicable ability of agents to remember their partners with perfect clarity, down to the smallest detail.

The Widow wouldn’t kill him – that much he knew with bone-deep certainty. But whatever she had planned... Jay tightened his grip on the disruptor, its power core thrumming against his palm. If he failed tonight, Nick would be there to finish what he started. That's what partners were for.

Jay lowered himself into his worn leather armchair, the particle disruptor trained on the front door. His gaze drifted to the oversized photograph dominating the wall – him and Susan on their twentieth anniversary, her smile as bright as the day they met. The frame caught the dim light, reflecting back memories of discussions about children, dreams that faded with each passing year until time made the choice for them.

The antique clock above the photo clicked steadily toward midnight. Less than sixty seconds remained.

Jay’s finger settled on the trigger, decades of training steadying his hands even as his heart hammered against his ribs. The particle disruptor hummed with barely contained power.

Three.

His grip tightened.

Two.

Susan’s smile seemed to soften in the shadows.

One.

A deep boom rolled through the city like distant thunder, though no one paused their late-night routines. The air shimmered, reality rippling like heat waves off summer asphalt. The wave of energy passed through concrete and steel, leaving the city seemingly unchanged – traffic lights still blinked, neon signs still buzzed, people still hurried through the midnight streets.

But in Jay’s apartment, the wave struck with precision. His form flickered once, twice, then dissolved like smoke in a strong wind. The particle disruptor crashed to the floor – and vanished.

The apartment shuddered, reality rewriting itself. The leather chair transformed into a battered couch. The photograph melted into a concert poster. Empty beer bottles materialized on coffee tables that hadn’t existed seconds before. Several college students sprawled in various states of exhausted slumber, though there were sounds of a young couple moaning loudly from a bedroom.

The only evidence that Jay had existed was the antique clock that continued to tick, counting down the end of reality.