Ethan reached out to stop a taxi and asked the driver to take him to Duban Street.
—You know a good place to eat? I just got off the plane and I'm starving.
—Sure, my friend Jimmy Lee has the best Chinese food restaurant in Chinatown.
After the vehicle started, Ethan crossed his arms and closed his eyes to rest. The children next to him on the plane had made so much noise that the stewardess had to stop them several times before they finally calmed down.
The driver, an African American man, tried to strike up a conversation, but was ignored. He muttered something to himself, watching Ethan through the rearview mirror. Eventually, the taxi stopped. The driver raised his voice to wake him up.
—Sir, we've arrived. That'll be $15.00.
—Thanks —Ethan muttered while rubbing his eyes. He reached into his coat, took out some money, and handed it over.
—Man, remember not to fall asleep in a taxi. Not everyone is as decent as me —you could wake up somewhere not very nice. Oh, and tell Jimmy I sent you—Carl —he said, handing over a business card. —If you need a ride, just call.
—Thanks for the reminder. I'll keep that in mind.
Ethan tipped him an extra ten bucks. After handing over the money, he took his backpack, opened the door, and got out in front of the restaurant. Guided by the scent, he walked in. The atmosphere was calm with a few clear tables. He quickly took a seat by the window, excited to try something different.
At the counter, two young Asian girls saw Ethan and lit up. They hugged and whispered excitedly, fighting over who would serve his table.
—Wow, I'll take care of the handsome guy!
—What? You're crazy, it's my turn!
Ethan, who had a good ear, heard the Chinese but didn't understand it—he just smiled politely.
The girls blushed and turned away, embarrassed.
When the menu arrived, Ethan placed his order. It wasn't uncommon to find foreigners who enjoyed the food there.
—I'll have sweet and sour pork ribs and Kung Pao chicken with the sides, please. Oh, and a Coke.
The waitress, a middle-aged woman with a kind smile, nodded and disappeared among the tables.
Ethan leaned back, soaking in the aroma of spices and roast beef. When the plate arrived, the smell was almost overwhelming. The ribs were glazed perfectly, and the Kung Pao chicken with peanuts and spices looked divine.
He dug in, savoring the balance of sweet and spicy, crispy and tender. He felt satisfied. The food was excellent.
He decided to bring some back to Banshee. He ordered takeout containers with roast pork, chicken with soy sauce, roasted ribs, etc.
—Of course, it'll just take a while —the waitress said.
—No problem. I've got time.
Later, Ethan left the restaurant with two large bags. He found a quiet corner and placed the food in his storage space, where time would stop for those objects. Then he wandered through Chinatown.
In the afternoon, he moved to Fisherman's Wharf, a historic port and now a popular tourist area. He enjoyed the attractions, bought souvenirs for Siobhan and Alma, and had seafood and beers at sunset.
He took a taxi to the Oracle Arena in Oakland. As it was the weekend, it was full of fans lining up. Tonight's game was for a playoff spot: Warriors vs Lakers.
Ethan, a big Lakers fan, was thrilled. During warmups, Kobe Bryant hit a half-court three, igniting the crowd. The game started slow, but after halftime, the Splash Brothers—Curry and Thompson—dominated. In the last quarter, the game slowed as backups were subbed in.
After the game, Ethan sneaked into the player tunnel with help from a guard and got autographs on his jersey. His team had lost, but he was still excited.
Back at his hotel—the luxurious Grand Meridian—he was greeted by a professional doorman. Inside, the receptionist checked him in quickly.
—Your room is ready, Mr. Morgan. Top floor, panoramic bay view.
Ethan thanked her, took his keycard, and followed the bellboy. Once inside his room, he looked out over San Francisco, then collapsed on the sofa.
The next day, he planned to explore the city again. As he exited the hotel, he saw a dozen rats running across the street. The doorman tried to chase them with a broom.
At the corner, unable to find a taxi, Ethan looked around. In a nearby office window, a blonde woman in a red leather jacket was holding a boy and writing in a notebook.
She turned, sensing someone watching. Their eyes met. They smiled.
Ethan felt she looked familiar but dismissed it. He was about to hail a cab when he heard a sound in his mind: ding.
"Mission: Survive the San Francisco earthquake."
His hair bristled. He saw the blonde girl say goodbye to the boy and step into the elevator with a middle-aged man.
—Damn —he cursed. The scene reminded him of a movie from his past life.
He ran to the nearby park, the only open space. People fled from him, thinking he was crazy.
—Hahaha! Look at this lunatic. Is this a street performance? —a taco vendor laughed.
Before the laughter died, the ground shook. Sirens blared. Buildings swayed. Glass shattered. Screams erupted.
A massive wall collapsed on the taco truck. Ethan, curled up in the park, was safe—for now.
The quake ended. Ethan stood, unhurt, and saw destruction all around. Blood dripped on his pants from above. A scream had come from a high floor.
This was only the first wave. He had to find Blake. Her father, a rescuer, would likely come for her, so staying close increased his chances.
He ignored the chaos and rushed to the office building. Inside, people ran in panic. Ethan forced his way through.
He spotted the boy, Ollie, and chased after him. On the second floor, he found the brothers.
—Guys, do you need help?
—Hi, I'm Ben, and this is my brother Ollie. Our friend's trapped in the parking lot. Can you help?
—I'm Ethan. Let's go.
In the parking lot, everything was eerily quiet. A crushed Lincoln lay under concrete. A voice cried out.
—Help, I'm trapped!
Blake was inside, her legs pinned. Ben called out to her. She asked about Daniel.
—He told us you were here, then ran.
—That coward. My mom should send him to hell —Blake spat.
Ethan tried the door. It wouldn't budge.
—Hi, I'm Ethan. I saw you running this way—I'm here to help. Don't worry, we'll find a way to get you out. —He introduced himself with a calm smile, noticing Blake's confused expression.
Ben pushed Ethan aside.
—The top slab is too heavy to move. We need to give Blake some space before we can pull her out through the window.
—Alright, what's the plan?
Ben looked around quickly and found a steel bar nearby. He walked over to the Lincoln, located a makeshift fulcrum, and pressed down hard.
—Come on, help me push!
Ethan stepped forward, grabbed the steel bar with both hands, and together they heaved with all their strength, trying to lift the collapsed concrete.
Even though both had decent strength, the weight was overwhelming. They only managed to shift the slab slightly.
When Ollie saw his brother and Ethan straining, the veins on their necks bulging, he rushed over to help despite his small frame.
With the combined effort of the three, the car creaked and the concrete slowly lifted. Blake felt the pressure on her legs begin to ease.
She was just about to pull them free when Ben's arms gave out. His hands slipped, and the slab came crashing down again. Chunks of stone broke loose and began to fall.
Ethan reacted instantly. Letting go of the steel bar, he grabbed Ben and Ollie by the collars and yanked them backward just in time—none of the debris hit them.