The end of the line
He knocked first.
- "Chance?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge of worry beneath it. No response.
He knocked again, harder this time. "Chance, talk to me."
Still nothing.
The silence was suffocating.
That was when the fear truly set in.
His heart pounded as he grabbed the doorknob, twisting it sharply. Locked. His pulse spiked.
- "Chance!" 007N7 shouted, pounding his fist against the door. "Open thedoor!"
No answer.
His breath came faster, shallower. The quiet wasn’t normal. Chance always had some kind of response—a sarcastic remark, a sigh, something. But now… there was nothing.
- "C00lkidd!" 007N7 barked over his shoulder. "GofindBuilderman! Now!"
The kid froze in the hallway, eyes wide, but didn’t hesitate. He took off running.
007N7 turned back to the door, stepping back just far enough before throwing his full weight against it. The wood groaned under the impact but didn’t give. He cursed under his breath, bracing himself for another hit.
- "Chance, if you can hearme, youneed to answerme right now!" His voice cracked slightly. He slammed against the door again, harder this time.
The frame splintered.
One more.
With a final, desperate push, the door burst open, the lock snapping as the wood gave way. The moment 007N7 stumbled inside, his stomach dropped.
There, sitting slumped up against the bed frame, was Chance.
Pale.
Still.
Too still.
The oversized Guest hoodie hung off his shoulders, its sleeves falling loosely around his arms. A military dog tag, Guest’s dog tag, dangled from around his neck, the metal catching the dim light from the window. It had been a gift—a symbol of something. Something real.
Chance’s face was a mask of stillness. His eyes were closed, his body motionless, like he was caught somewhere between sleep and death.
An empty pill bottle lay by his side on the floor, its contents scattered across the carpet, forgotten.
007N7’s body moved before his brain could process what was happening. He dropped to his knees beside Chance, hands grabbing at his shoulders, shaking him roughly.
- "Chance! Chance, wake up!" His voice cracked with panic.
Nothing.
The seconds stretched like hours as he leaned in closer, his hands trembling as they pressed two fingers against Chance’s neck, searching—praying—for some sign of life. Some pulse.
But there was nothing.
The world around him blurred, and the sound of his own heartbeat seemed to drown out everything else. The ringing in his ears grew louder as everything seemed to close in on him.
No. No, no, no.
His hands shook violently, his chest felt tight, as if the air itself had been sucked out of the room.
This couldn’t be happening.
Footsteps pounded down the hall. Then—
????- "Move!"
Builderman and Shedletsky burst into the room. Shedletsky skidded to a stop, his face paling as he took in the scene. Builderman dropped to his knees beside 007N7, checking for a pulse himself. His expression grew more strained with every passing second.
????- "C’mon, kid," Builderman muttered, pressing two fingers against Chance’s wrist. "C’mon..."
But the longer the silence stretched, the more the truth settled in.
It was too late.
Shedletsky let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair as he turned away. Builderman’s face was grim, his jaw tight, unable to hide the weight of the moment.
And 007N7—
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
He just knelt there, fingers curled into the fabric of Chance’s hoodie, staring down at the boy who had been laughing, joking, and living just hours ago.
God.
God, he had been right there.
He had seen the signs. He had heard the things Chance wasn’t saying. He had known.
And still, it hadn’t been enough.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his grip tightening, feeling the grief clawing at his chest. His whole body shook, trembling from the force of emotions too heavy to bear.
????- "C00lkidd—" Shedletsky started, but his voice broke, unable to finish the words. He cleared his throat and tried again. "C00lkiddcan'tseethis."
But 007N7 didn’t register it.
All he could see was Chance.
All he could hear was the deafening silence that had taken over the room.
And all he could feel—
Was regret.
The room felt colder now. 007N7 could still hear the faint clinking of the dog tag as it rested against Chance’s chest. It echoed in his mind, like a cruel reminder of what had been lost. Of the things left unsaid.
Chance wasn’t a child. He wasn’t as young as C00lkidd- but he was still just a man—one who had too much weight on his shoulders for his age. One who had hidden too much, who had carried burdens in silence.
And 007N7 hadn’t been able to save him.
The weight of the silence in the room was unbearable.
The reality of what had happened felt unreal, like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.
007N7 stared at Chance’s face, frozen in time, his eyes closed as if he was merely sleeping.
The steady rise and fall of his chest that should have been there—wasn’t. The sound of his breathing was gone.
He had failed.
The thought hit him like a physical blow, nearly knocking the wind out of him.
He had watched Chance suffer—watched him push everyone away, hide behind his sarcasm, his deflection—but somehow, in the back of his mind, he had believed that it could never get this far.
He thought there was always more time. That he could somehow fix it.
But now—
Now, there was nothing.
Builderman stood up from his kneeling position, taking a long, steadying breath. His face was lined with sorrow, but his expression remained hard, stoic. The kind of hard that came with knowing you had lost too many people already.
Shedletsky, on the other hand, seemed to be struggling with his own emotions, his face pale and drawn. He kept his gaze averted, as if he couldn’t bear to see the truth unfolding in front of him. His fingers tightened around the doorframe, knuckles white, but he remained silent.
The only sound left in the room was the faint rustling of Chance’s hoodie as 007N7’s trembling hands tried to pull him into something more dignified—a position where he could pretend, even just for a moment, that things weren’t as broken as they were. But it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.
- "We need to call—" Builderman started, but the words trailed off, as though the act of saying them would make it too real. Too final. It already was, and they both knew it.
007N7 didn’t look up. Didn’t move. His hands stayed glued to Chance’s hoodie, his fingers still clutched tight to the fabric as if letting go meant admitting defeat.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make that final cut, that final acknowledgement that Chance was gone, because it meant all the moments they had shared—good, bad, indifferent—meant nothing. That Chance was gone forever.
????- "Maybe we should..." Shedletsky’s voice faltered as he looked at the door, as if contemplating leaving them alone, but the words died on his lips.. He didn't even realize phones didn't work after being forsaken
Builderman exhaled slowly, trying to compose himself.
- “No,” he muttered, rubbing his hand across his face. "No one should be left alone in a moment like this."
C00lkidd was still nowhere to be seen. They both knew the kid had to be shaken, confused—unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation.
He’d known Chance in his own way, but the kid was too young, too innocent to deal with the weight of death.
It was the one thing none of them were truly prepared for, no matter how many battles they had fought, how many scars they wore.
It felt like hours passed, but the air in the room grew stale. Every second, another moment slipping away. Another opportunity lost. Chance wouldn’t be there for the next mission. Wouldn’t be there to argue, to joke, to remind them that even in the worst of times, there could be a glimmer of light.
The dog tag around Chance’s neck glinted in the light as 007N7 slowly ran a hand over it, his heart constricting in pain. He had known what it meant when he had first given it to him. It was supposed to be a symbol of trust. A token of something they had shared—a bond stronger than blood.
But now it just felt like a cruel joke.
????- "Should we tell him?" Builderman asked, referring to C00lkidd.
- "No," 007N7 replied hoarsely. "Not yet. He… he doesn’t need to see this." His voice was barely a whisper, thick with grief. “He doesn’t need to see what we’ve lost.”
The door creaked slightly as it swung open, and C00lkidd stood in the doorway, his wide eyes darting nervously between the three of them. He had heard enough, had pieced together the fragments of what had happened from their faces, from the tense air in the room.
????- "C00lkidd…" Builderman began, but his voice was heavy with unsaid words.
The kid's eyes flicked to Chance’s motionless form, and his mouth opened as if to speak, but nothing came out. He stepped back, a terrified expression crossing his face. His hands reached out instinctively to steady himself against the doorframe, but there was no denying the truth.
?- “Is he...?” C00lkidd finally managed, his voice small, trembling.
- "Yeah," 007N7 murmured, his voice barely audible. He lifted his eyes from Chance and met C00lkidd’s gaze. "He’s gone."
The words felt foreign. Impossible.
C00lkidd shook his head slowly, his face crumpling as the first tear slipped down his cheek. He staggered forward, stopping short as if unsure what to do.
?- “No... I—he can’t be…”
- “None of us wanted this,” Builderman said quietly, his voice rough, like the words themselves caused him pain. He stepped forward, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We all tried. But sometimes… sometimes we can’t save everyone.”
C00lkidd just nodded, his eyes never leaving Chance.
The room grew colder, as if the very walls themselves mourned the loss. Chance had been the kind of person who had a way of being a part of everything—his wit, his humor, his stubbornness—it had filled the space. Now, that space felt hollow, empty.
But 007N7’s regret lingered, suffocating in its heaviness.
No matter how much time had passed, no matter how much he tried to tell himself there was nothing more he could have done, the truth was clear.
He should have done something. Anything.
He had known the signs. He had heard the whispers.
But he had let Chance slip through his fingers.
And now—he was gone.
---
The silence that followed was a different kind of heavy, marked by a shared understanding, a shared sorrow. The three men stood there, staring at the boy who had once filled the room with life, now reduced to nothing more than a memory. Time would continue, but in this moment, everything was still.
For the first time, 007N7 didn’t know what came next. And neither did the others..