Max wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking around the empty, cavernous room. "So... is it just us? You and me against the apocalypse? Because no offense, old man—but we look less like an elite task force and more like a grandfather-grandson duo lost in a cave."
The old man stiffened, adjusting his suspenders with a sharp tug. "First of all, stop calling me 'old man.' My name is Harry. Agent Harry. And secondly, the HPF is vast, Maxwell. Our agents are usually deployed across the globe—monitoring rifts, hunting stray Guuts, or filing very complicated tax returns to explain our funding."
Harry walked over to a shelf and picked up a clipboard. "However, you are in luck. We have a new intake of recruits this cycle. Tomorrow night, there will be a Welcome Ceremony in the Great Hall. You will meet your peers, some senior agents, and if the schedule permits, the Head of the HPF."
"The Head?" Max asked. "Like, the big boss?"
"The Supreme Commander," Harry corrected reverently. "Now, go home. Rest. You'll need your energy. And wear something nice. No graphic tees."
The next evening, Max returned to Shop No. 5, wearing a button-down shirt that he had frantically ironed ten minutes before leaving. Harry led him down the elevator (the actual elevator this time, not the hole in the floor) to a level Max hadn't seen before.
The doors opened to a banquet hall that looked like a mix between a medieval castle and a sci-fi command center. Long tables were laden with food that smelled amazing, and the room was buzzing with people.
There were about twenty other "new" kids, ranging from fourteen to twenty years old. Some looked terrified, others looked pumped. Max mingled, grabbing a plate of what looked like chicken wings but tasted like blue raspberry (HPF food was weird).
He met a girl named Sarah who could already make water float in her palm, and a guy named Raj who had consumed the "Stone Fluid" and accidentally broke a glass just by holding it too tight.
"So, you're the Void guy?" Raj asked, chewing on a breadstick. "Harry's been whispering about it. Says you drank the black stuff."
"Yeah," Max said, trying to sound cool. "That's me."
"What can you do?" Sarah asked, eyes wide. "Teleport? Summon black holes?"
"I... uh..." Max hesitated. "I'm still working on the specifics."
The highlight of the night was the speech. A hush fell over the room as a figure stepped onto the balcony above them. It was the Head of the HPF. He was a tall, imposing man with a jagged scar running down his cheek and an eyepatch. He didn't say much—just a few words about duty, sacrifice, and protecting the light—but his voice commanded absolute silence. Max felt a shiver of inspiration. He was part of something big.
The inspiration, however, faded rapidly over the next three weeks.
"Again!" Harry barked.
Max lay face-first on the training mat, groaning. "Harry, I can't. My arms are jelly."
"The Guuts do not care about your jelly arms! Get up!"
For twenty-five days, Max's life was a blur of torture—er, training. He would wake up, run five miles, go to the shop, and spend hours in the "Gymnasium," a room where heavy objects were thrown at him at high speeds.
Harry was a relentless teacher.
"Focus, Maxwell! Reach into the darkness inside you!" Harry would shout while throwing tennis balls at Max's head.
"I'm trying!" Max would yell, dodging a ball only to get hit by the next two.
They tried everything. Meditation. Anger management. Fear induction (Harry unleashed a small, non-lethal spider-bot to chase Max around the room). They even tried extreme boredom to see if the power triggered when his mind wandered.
Nothing.
Sarah was already surfing on waves of water in the practice arena. Raj was punching through brick walls.
Max? Max was just getting really good at running away and doing push-ups.
Now, it was the last day of summer vacation. Max sat on the bench in the locker room, his head in his hands. He was physically fitter than he'd ever been—he had actual abs now, which was a nice surprise—but inside, he felt empty.
Harry walked in, carrying two bottles of water. He looked concerned.
"Still nothing?" Harry asked gently, handing Max a bottle.
"Zero," Max sighed, cracking the cap. "I drank the legendary Void fluid, and all I got was better cardio. Maybe it was a dud, Harry. Maybe I'm not special."
"The Void is... complex," Harry said, sitting next to him. "It is not an elemental force like Fire or Water. It is the absence of force. It is the space between spaces. Perhaps it requires a different kind of key to unlock."
"Well, I'm out of time," Max grumbled. "School starts in two days. How am I supposed to save the world when I have to worry about Chemistry lab and explaining why I haven't done any of my English reading?"
"You will manage," Harry assured him. "Training will move to evenings and weekends. But Maxwell... you must not lose patience. The power is there. I saw the vial glow. It is waiting."
Max took a long drink of water. He wanted to believe Harry. But as he looked at his reflection in the locker room mirror, he didn't see a superhero. He just saw a tired teenager with a secret he couldn't share and a power he couldn't use.
"Great," Max muttered. "I'm going to be the first HPF agent to die because I forgot how to use my powers during a pop quiz."
Harry chuckled, patting him on the back. "Go home, kid. Enjoy your last days of freedom. The Guuts have been quiet lately. Perhaps the universe is giving you a break."
The peace of the locker room was shattered by a sound that made the fire alarm seem like a lullaby.
WWOOOOOP. WWOOOOOP. WWOOOOOP.
Red lights pulsed from the ceiling, bathing the gray concrete in a blood-colored wash. Max jumped, nearly dropping his bag. Raj and Sarah, who had been waiting by the door, froze.
"What is that?" Sarah shouted over the noise. "Is it a drill?"
Harry's face went pale. The grandfatherly warmth vanished instantly, replaced by the hardened steel of a veteran commander.
"We don't do drills with the Level 5 siren," Harry snapped. "To the Command Deck. Now!"
They sprinted out of the locker room, chasing Harry up the stairs to the central console. The holographic map of the city—the one Max had seen on his first day—was already active. But instead of the calm blue projection, a section of the city was pulsing with a violent, angry crimson.
"Report!" Harry barked at the empty air.
"Seismic disturbance detected," a computerized voice responded. "Guut signature confirmed. Class: Marauder. Location: Sector 7, Residential Zone."
Harry zoomed in on the map. The red dot was stationary, pulsing rhythmically like a heartbeat.
"It's surfaced," Harry muttered, his fingers flying across the console. "It's hunting."
Max leaned over the table, squinting at the map. He recognized the street layout. He recognized the park. And then, his stomach dropped all the way to his shoes.
The red dot was pulsing directly on top of a small, two-story house with a blue roof.
"No," Max whispered.
"You know this sector?" Raj asked, looking at Max's terrified face.
"That's not just a sector," Max's voice cracked. He pointed a shaking finger at the red dot. "That's 42 Maple Street. That's Aren's house."
A cold silence fell over the group, heavier than the siren. Aren. His friend. The one who had laughed at the 'shadow' with him just a few weeks ago.
"He's in danger," Max said, looking frantically at Harry. "Harry, we have to go. Right now. If that thing is there..."
Harry looked at the map, then at the three teenagers. "This is a Marauder class. It's aggressive. Raj, Sarah—you have basic combat clearance. But Max..." Harry hesitated, his eyes landing on Max's clenched fists. "You are unarmed. You haven't unlocked your powers yet. You would be a liability."
"He's my best friend!" Max shouted, the fear turning into a desperate fury. "I don't care about the rules! I'm going. With or without you!"
Max turned and bolted for the exit.
"Wait!" Harry yelled.
Max didn't stop. But he heard footsteps behind him—fast ones.
"We can't let him go alone, Harry!" Sarah yelled back as she sprinted after Max.
"I'm coming too!" Raj added, grabbing a heavy-looking metallic staff from the weapons rack as he ran past.
Harry cursed under his breath, grabbing his coat and a strange, glowing revolver from under the desk. "Teenagers," he grumbled, sprinting after them. "Suicidal, stubborn teenagers!"
They piled into a black, nondescript van parked in the alley behind the shop. Harry took the wheel, driving with a speed that would have terrified a Formula 1 racer.
Max sat in the back, his knee bouncing uncontrollably. Please be okay, he prayed silently. Please let him be not home. Please let him be at the mall.
But deep down, he knew. It was dinnertime. Aren was always home at dinnertime.
"We're two minutes out," Harry shouted from the front. "Listen to me! Raj, you take point—your skin is hardened, you can take a hit. Sarah, you're support—keep the creature wet and off-balance. Max..."
Harry caught Max's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Stay back. Stay behind Raj. Do not engage. You are there to spot the target, not to fight it. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," Max lied.
The van screeched around a corner, tires smoking, and slammed to a halt.
"We're here," Harry said.
Max kicked the door open before the van had fully stopped. He looked up at Aren's house.
The front door was smashed inward. The windows were shattered, glass glistening on the lawn like diamonds. And from inside the dark house, there was no screaming.
There was only a low, wet growling sound that vibrated in Max's chest.
"Aren!" Max screamed, sprinting toward the broken door.
"Max, wait!" Raj yelled, activating his power. His skin turned a jagged, rocky gray as he charged after him.
Max didn't wait. He bounded up the porch steps and skidded into the living room.
The furniture was overturned. The TV was smashed.
"Max?" a trembling voice called out.
Max spun around. Huddled in the corner of the kitchen, behind the overturned dining table, was Aren. He was pale, shaking, holding a kitchen knife that looked like a toothpick in his trembling hands.
"Aren!" Max gasped, rushing forward.
"Don't come in!" Aren screamed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It's up there!"
Max looked up.
Clinging to the ceiling, its claws dug deep into the plaster, was a nightmare. It looked like a cross between a wolf and a gorilla, but made entirely of shifting, oily shadows. It had no eyes, just a mouth that split its face from ear to ear, filled with rows of jagged white teeth.
It hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pipe, and turned its head toward Max.
The Guut dropped.