Jack loathed his job working as the night guard of the Martindale University museum. The hours were terrible and his boss was a complete jerk. But it paid the bills, plus he was usually able to take a nap in the back.

While it may not have been exciting, after he waved goodbye to his usually irate boss, Mr. Andrews, all Jack really had to do was walk one lap around the dimly lit museum and then he could roll up in a sleeping bag behind the counter. That is except for tonight, the flashes of lighting dancing across the sky illuminated the entire lobby and the roaring thunder echoed through the halls.

“Good thing there is SO much for me to do around here” Jack muttered as he clawed out of the sleeping bag. Unable to sleep, he made his way out from behind the counter out into the hallway that led to the first room of exhibits. As he ambled down the corridor he let his mind reminisce on the stern words Mr. Andrews had spoken to him before his departure, “I know you aren’t good for much Jack, in fact I’m sure you spend most of your shift napping, but make yourself useful and lock the door to the third exhibit chamber. I don’t want those sticky fingered children ruining my research during the field trip tomorrow”.

Normally Jack would’ve locked the door in the morning, but since he couldn’t take that nap Mr. Andrews had mentioned he thought he’d stroll down to the third chamber and complete his only task.

He passed the first room which was dedicated to the colony who had established the area. Then the second which focused on local plants. As he rounded the corner to the third exhibit hall he felt a pang of fear shoot up his spine. The door was already locked, he knew it had been left open, he also knew he was the only person inside the building who belonged there.

“Who is in there?” Jack’s mind raced. Heart-pounding he slinked to the door, he pressed his body again the well worn wooden panels and peered through a crack. Immediately his blood ran cold, he began trembling and felt his stomach roll. Thru the door he saw the familiar face of Mr. Andrews, but instead of verbally abusing Jack, he was pleading for his life as a hooded man slowly raised a pistol to his head.

“The hooded man’s voice boomed out, “I don’t have time for this, hand it over”. Jack looked on in horror as the man slowly counted 3.. 2.. 1.., fire spewed from the end of the gun and Jack screamed as he saw his boss’s body crumpled on the floor, but his terror was just beginning. Realizing what he had done Jack’s hand flew to his mouth, but the damage was done. The hooded mans steely gaze met his eyes and Jack’s internal panic grew, he had but one choice. Run.