The man continued walking through the cold, dark night, all alone, by himself...the perfect prey to anyone who cared. He was Jack Deveraux--skilled reporter, reformed rapist, loving father and husband...plus he had great hair.
It was early fall, and though the ratings for Days of Our Lives had been less than stellar, the ongoing serial killer storyline was sure to bring about an incredible short-lived boost. But Jack was not aware of this, for he was merely a character on the soap opera. All he knew of was his love for his family, and his desire to expose the truth using his talents. But alas, he would soon no know more.
Jack found himself next to a building that appeared seemingly out of nowhere. For some unexplained reason, he allowed this edifice of worn brick to lull him into a false sense of security. After all, he had ventured into unexplored, creepy warehouses/factories before and lived to tell about it. Certainly nothing terrible involving bricks would ever happen to him.
But little did he know that a merciless force was at work.
Mister Deveraux unwittingly entered the building, taking no precautions. It was quite dark until he walked into the dimly lit center of the place. As he stopped, he saw all of it. All of them. Bricks by the hundreds of thousands in piles all around him. Some groups were stacked as high as the eye could see, while others looked like the aftermath of a building demolition run. Jack was fascinated by the numbers; what great force dared to fate their meeting?
A smile spread across the reporter's face. In this most rare time, he was feeling an incredible sense of peace. The moment he closed his eyes became his grave mistake, however; all around him, all sorts of brick life began to stir.
A series of rumbling noises finally caught the man's attention; Jack's eyes snapped open to find the previously assumed-to-be innocent elongated clay cubes lining themselves in front of him. Out of nowhere, a spotlight shone upon them, and they commenced a bizarre but friendly brickdance.
Jack's mouth fell open in pleasant surprise as though he had fallen onto the set of some Disney stage play. Little did he know what the little brick bastards were conspiring.
Several bricks approached Jack, hopping around him lightly as though to get him into the act. The reporter could only smile back. After all, how does one dance with a brick?
His inaction would only serve to help seal his fate. Fed up with the man's lack of participation, the bricks ceased their rhythmic play and drew back. Somewhat perplexed by this, Jack stared ahead with a sort of questioning look. That's when things really started to get wild.
The bricks began to approach him again, but this time in a different manner. Two by two they came nearer, like something out of Noah's Ark, or maybe an old Dr. Seuss book. The pairs increased at the man's feet, standing upright and shaking as though agitated by something.
Jack chuckled uncomfortably and took some steps backward. As he did so, more brick pairs appeared before him; a blatant attempt to intimidate the man.
It was working. Whether it was common sense, fear, or that tortilla chip he had swallowed whole earlier that day--something inside Jack finally snapped. He whirled around in a panic, only to find that the path he had taken in was now adorned with yellow bricks.
Sighing out of both frustration and fright, he sprinted down the yellow brick road, not giving it another thought. He simply wanted out. There had to be a redeeming storyline. There just had to.
At long last he exited the building, slamming the door behind him. Finally free from the threat of the bricks, he uttered a sound of relief to the night air. Putting the smile back on his face, he continued basking in his newfound safety.
Resolving to quit the spy business once and for all, Jack started to walk away from the building. He was going to go home to his wife and daughter, and go on to live happily ever after.
An external force had different plans in mind, however. Yes, that external force was disappointed that the brick murder attempt had somehow been thwarted. Perhaps another external force had temporarily gotten the upper hand, as to the wishes of approximately a hundred million witnesses...but that would soon be fixed. Oh, yes.
Still grinning contently, Jack innocently turned a corner. He came to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of the shadow in the distance.
Poor Jack had no time to react before a hissing projectile closed in on him. A mere two seconds after he was struck, Jack fell over, his sprawled body a sure sign he would not be living the future of his choice.
"Oh man," said Reilly, who held a smoking pistol. "I just shot Jack in the face."