"Wait," Max said, raising a hand as the adrenaline from the transformation finally settled. "Back during our training... the computer called that thing a 'Class: Marauder.' What does that mean? How many types of these things are there?"
Harry walked over to the black stone table. He waved his hand, and the hologram shifted, displaying a pyramid structure.
"The Guuts are not a disorganized mob. They are a hierarchy," Harry explained, tapping the base of the pyramid. "I have categorized them into nine distinct classes based on their power density and intelligence."
He pointed to the wide bottom section. "Classes 1 through 4 are the Low Class. These are Scouts, Drones, and Scavengers. They are mindless, weak, and rely on numbers. A standard handgun can hurt a Class 1. A Class 4 might require a grenade."
He moved his finger up to the middle section. "Classes 5 through 7 are the Intermediate Class. This includes the Marauder you faced yesterday. They possess strategy, immense physical strength, and elemental resistance. They are the siege-breakers."
Max swallowed hard. The thing that had torn through a house like wet paper was only intermediate?
Harry's finger hovered over the very narrow tip of the pyramid. The room went silent.
"Classes 8 and 9 are the High Class. These are not soldiers; they are Generals. They have names. They have personalities. And they possess power that can level cities."
Harry looked at the four teenagers gravely. "There are only two known Class 8 Guuts in existence. And there is only one Class 9—the Right Hand of the King."
"And above them all..." Max whispered.
"The King," Harry finished. "The Progenitor. He exists outside the classification system."
The weight of the information settled on them. They weren't just fighting monsters; they were fighting an empire.
Suddenly, Max's face went pale. Paler than when he faced the Guut.
"Oh no," Max gasped.
"What?" Malina asked, her eyes glowing slightly red as she analyzed his vitals. "Is it a side effect? Is your heart rate spiking?"
"Worse," Max gripped his hair. "School starts tomorrow."
Ady laughed. "Dude, we just got superpowers. Who cares about school?"
"I do!" Max panicked. "I haven't done any of the summer homework! I finished the math packet because of that weird day with the note, but I have an entire essay on The Great Gatsby due at 8:00 AM, and I haven't even bought the book!"
Aren started vibrating. "I can run to the library and read it in three seconds!"
"You can't write the essay for me!" Max groaned. "My mom is going to kill me. The Guuts won't get the chance."
Harry cleared his throat, interrupting the teenage crisis. He reached under the counter and pulled out a box containing four sleek, black wristwatches and four small, strange-looking dolls. The dolls were featureless, made of a smooth, clay-like material.
"We cannot have the saviors of humanity failing History class," Harry said dryly. He handed a set to each of them.
"The watch is a Guut Detector. It links directly to the HPF satellite. If a Guut appears within a five-mile radius, it will vibrate."
Harry picked up one of the clay dolls. "And this is a Mimic."
He turned the doll over, revealing a small button on the back of its neck. "If you are called to duty during school hours or family dinners, you press this button. The doll will instantly expand and reshape itself into your exact physical copy."
"Whoa," Ady poked the doll. "Does it talk?"
"It has basic AI," Harry explained. "It can nod, say generic phrases like 'I'm fine' or 'I'm studying,' and sit quietly in class. It is enough to fool a teacher or a parent for a few hours while you are fighting via the teleporter."
"Teleporter?" Malina asked.
"We're working on it," Harry waved his hand dismissively. "For now, just run fast. Now, all of you, go home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day."
As Malina, Ady, and Aren turned to leave, Harry's voice cut through the air.
"Maxwell. You stay."
Max froze. "Am I in trouble?"
"Just stay," Harry said, his face unreadable.
Outside, the evening air was cool. Malina, Ady, and Aren walked down the street, the streetlights flickering overhead.
"This is insane," Ady said, tossing his Mimic doll in the air and catching it. "Mind control. I can literally tell my dad that he wants to buy me a new console."
"Don't abuse it," Malina warned, though she effortlessly crushed an empty soda can into a perfect sphere with two fingers. "Harry said we need discipline. Plus, I need to figure out how to stop analyzing everything. I just calculated the structural integrity of that mailbox just by looking at it."
"I just wanna run," Aren said, bouncing on his heels. "It feels like I drank a thousand coffees."
As they turned the corner toward their neighborhood, a chill wind swept past them.
Ady stopped. He looked over his shoulder. "Guys?"
"What?" Malina asked.
"I feel like... I feel like someone is watching us."
They looked around. The street was empty. Just parked cars and swaying trees.
"Probably just the nerves," Aren said, though he stepped a little closer to the others. "We just learned about demon generals. We're paranoid."
"Yeah," Ady shook his head, rubbing his neck. "Yeah, probably. Let's just get home."
They continued walking, laughing about how Aren was going to explain his vibrating to his aunt, completely unaware of the eyes that lingered on their backs from the deep shadows of the alleyway they had just passed.
In the suffocating darkness of the underground lair, the silence was broken only by the dripping of condensation.
The kneeling shadow figure bowed low, its form flickering.
"Report confirmed, My Lord," the shadow hissed. "The other three have joined. The Titan, the Psion, and the Speedster. They have accepted the fluids."
The figure in the chair didn't move, but the red eyes burned brighter in the gloom.
"The full set," the rasping voice mused. "The old man is desperate. He plays his hand too early."
"Shall we strike them now? While they are untrained?" the shadow asked.
"No," the figure commanded. A low, wet sound filled the room—a laugh that sounded like bones breaking. "Let them ripen. Let the fluids bind to their DNA. The sweeter the fruit, the longer it takes to grow."
The figure leaned back, the darkness swallowing him whole.
"It is all going according to my plan. The Void has a vessel. The others are merely... appetizers.
"The atmosphere in the shop shifted instantly. The warm, dusty comfort of the antique store evaporated, replaced by a cold, clinical silence.
Harry reached under the counter and pulled out a small, unassuming metal case. He clicked the latches open and turned it to face Max. Inside sat four vials containing a liquid so clear it looked like pure water.
"This," Harry said, his voice devoid of its usual grandfatherly warmth, "is the Severance Serum."
Max looked at the vials, a knot forming in his stomach. "Severance? What does it do? Does it boost our powers?"
"No," Harry said. He looked Max dead in the eye. "It erases you."
Max blinked. "What?"
"The life of an HPF agent is not compatible with a civilian existence," Harry explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "You saw what happened to Aren. The Guuts are intelligent. They hunt bloodlines. They exploit attachments. As long as you have ties to the outside world, your families are targets."
Harry tapped the glass of the vial. "This chemical rewrites the cognitive perception of those around you. Once consumed, a psychic ripple is released. To the world, you will simply... cease to exist. Your records at school will vanish. Your photos in albums will fade. And the memories of you held by your parents, your teachers, your neighbors... they will be wiped clean."
The blood drained from Max's face. He felt like he had been punched in the gut.
"Wait," Max stammered, his hands shaking. "You mean... my mom? She won't know who I am?"
"She won't know she ever had a son," Harry corrected gently but firmly. "To her, the spare room will just be a storage room. The extra plate at dinner will never be set. She will live a peaceful life, unburdened by the grief of losing you, and safe from the monsters that hunt you."
"That's insane!" Max shouted, backing away from the counter. "You can't ask us to do that! I just—I just bought groceries for her yesterday! She's making stuffed peppers! You want me to make her forget her own kid?"
"I am not asking you to do anything, Maxwell," Harry said, closing the case with a snap. "I am telling you what is required to win this war."
Harry walked around the counter, leaning against it heavily. He looked tired—older than he had ever looked before.
"The Guuts that are coming... the Class 8s, the Class 9... they are not mindless beasts. If they find out who you are, they won't just kill you. They will torture your mother to break you. They will burn down your school to draw you out. You cannot save the world while worrying about a curfew, Max."
"But to erase us..." Max whispered, tears stinging his eyes. "That's like dying."
"It is a sacrifice," Harry agreed. "It is the price of power. We are the Human Protection Force. We protect humanity by standing apart from it. We are the ghosts in the machine."
Harry picked up the case and shoved it into Max's chest. Max instinctively grabbed it.
"Take this. Go to your friends. Explain the situation to them."
"They won't do it," Max said, his voice trembling. "Ady loves his dad. Malina has a little sister. Aren... Aren just got his life back."
"Then the HPF cannot accept them as full agents," Harry said coldly. "And when the King arrives, they will die trying to protect their families with one hand tied behind their backs."
Harry turned his back on Max, busying himself with the grandfather clock.
"You have until tomorrow night. Talk to them. Decide. If you drink it, you come to the base, and your training begins in earnest. If you don't... you hand over your badges, and we wipe your memories of the HPF instead."
Max stared at Harry's back, then down at the metal case in his hands. It felt heavy, heavier than lead.
"You're cruel, Harry," Max whispered.
"I am a general," Harry replied softly, without turning around. "And generals have to make the choices no one else can."
Max turned and walked out of the shop. The bell chimed above the door—a cheerful sound that felt like a mockery.
Outside, the street was dark. Max clutched the case to his chest, walking blindly. He thought about his mom's smile. He thought about the smell of burnt toast in the morning. He thought about the unfinished essay on The Great Gatsby that suddenly seemed like the most precious thing in the world.
He had to tell the others. He had to tell them that to be heroes, they had to become ghosts.