Jack Willson was 23 years old — a quiet man with a strange job and an even stranger sense of peace about it. He cleaned up after death. Crime scenes, accidents, suicides — the mess no one else could bear to face, he stepped into without fear. While most people turned away from death, Jack felt something almost… comforting in its stillness.
But that night, Jack wasn't thinking about death.He was thinking about Caroline.
They sat across from each other in a soft-lit café, the warmth of coffee between them and a nervous smile on Jack's lips. Caroline was everything he wasn't — vibrant, full of light, and unafraid to speak her mind. And for the first time in a long time, Jack felt alive.
"So, Jack," she asked, stirring her drink, "what do you do for work?"
The question hung in the air for a moment. He hesitated, then told her the truth. He always did.
"I work in cleanup. I… handle bodies. After deaths. Crime scenes. Accidents. Suicides."
Caroline's spoon stopped mid-stir.The smile slipped from her face.Her gaze darkened — not in anger, but in a quiet kind of discomfort.
"You mean… you touch dead people?" she asked, half-whispering.
"It's not like that," Jack tried to explain. "I help people move on. Families… they need peace."
But her chair was already scraping back. She stood, grabbing her purse.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I can't… I just can't."
And just like that, she was gone.
Jack sat there, hollow, staring into a cup that had gone cold. The silence left behind was louder than her rejection. He didn't even have time to mourn it — because that's when his phone rang.
Another job.
In the cold hours of night, Jack stood outside a sleek high-rise apartment building. Blue and red lights painted the walls in uneasy color. He changed into his work clothes at the van, zipped up his black jacket, and entered with his squad.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw inside.
The air was wrong — thick, unmoving, and cold like a cave.
Lying in the center of the room was Doctor Stephen Strange.Lifeless.Still in his cloak.Eyes closed like he'd merely fallen asleep — but there was no breath left in his chest.
Even the police looked uneasy. One of them, with trembling hands, simply nodded.
"Get the body to Metro General."
In the corner, a man sat with his back to the wall. His head was in his hands. Shoulders trembling. It was Wong — the Master Librarian of Kamar-Taj. He didn't speak. He didn't look up. Just sat there, like someone who had lost his entire world.
Jack swallowed hard and stepped forward. His gloved hand reached out to touch Strange's wrist — to begin the removal process.
But the moment he touched him—
Everything vanished.
Sound. Light. Breath.
He was falling — drowning — into something deep and infinite. He couldn't move. He couldn't scream. It was like being dragged into the heart of the ocean, blind and weightless, with nothing but silence pressing against him from all sides.
Then he saw him.
Stephen Strange.Floating.Smiling.But not with warmth. With something darker. Eyes too wide. A grin too sharp.
Jack's heart pounded. He tried to scream, but the water was in his lungs.
"Jack! JACK!"
A voice broke through — and suddenly he was back.
His squadmate had grabbed him, shaking him hard. Jack stumbled back into reality, gasping.
"What happened to you?""I… I don't know," Jack whispered. "Nothing. I'm fine."
But when he turned to leave — that's when he saw it.
Strange was standing.Right in front of him.His face inches away.
Dead eyes.Still smiling.
Jack screamed and fell to the ground. The others rushed to him.
"What the hell happened?!"
He tried to speak. His mouth moved, but no sound came. His whole body trembled.
"Just… tired," he finally whispered. "I need some air."
They told him to go rest. He nodded, numb, and stumbled out into the night.
But something had changed inside him.
He could still feel the water. Still hear the silence.And in that silence, he knew something had followed him out.