Jax followed Emil through a maze of hallways that all looked the same; white walls, chrome fixtures, electronic keypads on every door. His head was still spinning from everything that had happened in the last hour. The lifespan thing. The offer. The way Emil's eyes had glowed right before that parade of food and money walked by.
He shoved that last thought down. Didn't want to think about it.
"So where am I gonna sleep?"
Emil glanced back, still walking. "Hmm?"
"You said I get a place to stay. Where? Is there like a barracks or something in here?" Jax looked around at the sterile hallway. "Cots in the basement? Sleeping bags in a closet?"
Emil laughed—that bright, delighted sound that was starting to become familiar. "You won't be sleeping in the facility, Jax. We're not animals. Well—" He shot Jax a look. "—most of us aren't. We'll set you up with proper living quarters. An apartment. Off-site."
"An apartment."
"A nice one. Furnished. Utilities included." Emil ticked the items off on his fingers. "Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, living room. The works. It's in a decent neighborhood too—not Center City, but not a warzone either. You'll like it."
Jax tried to imagine it. A real apartment. With furniture that wasn't salvaged from the street. With a kitchen that had food in it. With a bed that wasn't a mattress on the floor.
He couldn't. The image wouldn't form. It was like trying to picture a color he'd never seen.
"Come on," Emil said, gesturing down a side corridor. "Quick tour before we meet the team. You should see what you're getting into."
The tour was overwhelming.
Every room they passed seemed more advanced than the last. Labs full of equipment that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie; sleek monitors, humming machines, devices Jax couldn't begin to identify. Scientists in white coats hunched over workstations, running tests, analyzing data, doing whatever it was scientists did. Some of them glanced up as Jax passed. Most of them looked away quickly.
"Research and development," Emil said, waving a hand at the labs. "We're not just about killing demons here, we're about understanding them. How they spawn, how they feed, how they evolve. The more we know, the better we can fight them."
Jax nodded like he understood. He didn't.
"Where even is this place?" Jax asked, watching a scientist carry what looked like a glowing circuit board past them. "Like, geographically. Are we still in Philly?"
"Navy Yard," Emil said. "South Philly, down by the river. The government acquired a few of the old naval buildings back in the nineties, retrofitted them for our purposes. From the outside, it just looks like another decommissioned facility. Which is the point."
The Navy Yard. Jax had never been down there; no reason to, nothing to steal, no demons spawning in government-controlled territory. But he knew the area. Empty lots and abandoned buildings and the occasional security patrol. The kind of place people forgot existed.
"Convenient," he muttered.
"Very."
They passed through a set of double doors into a massive open space—a training facility that made every gym Jax had ever seen look like a joke. High ceilings, reinforced walls, and at the far end, a row of what looked like target ranges.
Except the targets weren't paper silhouettes. They were demons.
Mock demons, Jax realized after a second; constructed things, built to look like the real deal. Tech-flesh hybrids with CRT monitor heads and cable-veins, standing motionless on platforms while DCB hunters took shots at them with weapons Jax had never seen before.
One hunter fired something that looked like a rifle but shot a beam of crackling blue energy. Another swung a sword that hummed with electricity, carving through a mock demon's torso like butter. A third, a woman with glowing green lines running up her arms, didn't use a weapon at all. She just touched the mock demon, and it collapsed in on itself like a crushed soda can.
"Holy shit," Jax breathed.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Emil stood beside him, hands in his lab coat pockets, watching the hunters train with an expression of paternal pride. "These are some of our best. Field-tested, battle-hardened, equipped with the latest tech and trained to use it."
Jax watched the woman with the green lines dispatch another mock demon with a wave of her hand. Watched the guy with the energy rifle nail a headshot from fifty yards.
These are the guys who took my jobs, he thought. These are the assholes who swooped in with their badges and their gear and stole contracts right out from under me.
"Those are some of the most elite demon hunters this side of the Mason-Dixon Line," Emil said, right on cue. Like he'd plucked the thought straight out of Jax's head.
Jax frowned. "The what line?"
"The Mason-Dixon—" Emil stopped, looked at Jax, and sighed. "It's a historical... never mind. It means they're very good."
"Cool." Jax's stomach growled. Loudly. "Are we getting food soon?"
Emil stared at him for a long moment. Then he started laughing, harder than before, bending over slightly, one hand on his knee.
"You really are like an animal, aren't you? I tell you about elite demon hunters, cutting-edge technology, the front lines of humanity's war against demonic incursion, and your response is 'when do we eat.'" He wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. "God, I love you. Never change."
"Is that a yes or a no on the food?"
"After the briefing. I promise." Emil straightened up and gestured toward another set of doors. "Come on. Time to meet your new teammates."
The briefing room was smaller than Jax expected.
After all the massive labs and cavernous training facilities, he'd been picturing something grand, a war room with giant screens and holographic displays and rows of serious-looking people in uniforms. Instead, it was just a room. A table in the center, some chairs, a whiteboard on one wall, a projector mounted to the ceiling. It could've been a conference room in any office building in the city.
The people inside, though, they were something else.
Emil pushed through the door with his usual energy, arms spread wide. "Good afternoon, everyone! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. I'd like you all to meet our newest recruit—Jax!"
He gestured at Jax like he was presenting a prize on a game show.
Silence.
Complete, total silence. The kind of silence that made Jax want to check if he'd accidentally walked into a funeral instead of a briefing.
Emil's smile flickered. Just for a second. "Tough crowd today, huh? Okay, well—Jax, let me introduce you to the team."
Jax scanned the room.
Two people. That was it. Two people sitting at the table, neither of them looking particularly thrilled to see him.
The first was a guy. Big, six-two, maybe six-three, with the kind of build that came from actual training instead of just being naturally large. African American, early twenties, with well-groomed dreadlocks that hung past his shoulders. No facial hair, clean-shaven, with sharp features and eyes that were currently fixed on Jax with an expression of cool assessment.
He wore a jean jacket, the kind with the fuzzy sherpa collar, over what looked like tactical gear, paired with cargo pants and heavy boots. Everything about him said professional. Everything about him said I know what I'm doing and you don't.
But the thing that caught Jax's attention was the weapon.
Strapped to his back was a spear. Not a regular spear; this thing looked like it had been designed by the same people who built this facility. Sleek, metallic, with glowing lines running along the shaft and a tip that crackled faintly with contained energy. It was beautiful and terrifying and Jax immediately wanted one.
"That's Zion," Emil said, following Jax's gaze. "Field team leader. Best close-quarters fighter we've got. Zion, say hi."
Zion didn't say hi. He just nodded once, a minimal acknowledgment of Jax's existence, and went back to studying him like he was trying to figure out how much of a liability he was going to be.
The second person was a girl.
She was sitting next to Zion, slouched back in her chair with her feet up on the table, and she looked about as interested in this meeting as Jax was in quantum physics. Hispanic, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with dark hair pulled back under a cat-ear beanie; the kind of thing that was probably trendy right now, not that Jax would know. Her outfit was pure early-2000s rebellion: low-rise jeans, a cropped tank top, a hoodie tied around her waist, chunky sneakers. Silver rings on every finger. A choker with some kind of pendant. The whole look screamed I don't care what you think of me while also very clearly being carefully constructed to make you think exactly that.
She had an iPod in her hands, one of the new ones, the kind that cost more than Jax made in a month, and she was scrolling through it with practiced disinterest, white earbuds jammed in her ears. Bubble gum snapped between her teeth. Pop. Pop. Pop.
As Jax watched, she glanced up. Made eye contact with him for exactly half a second.
Then she scoffed, actually scoffed, like she was a Disney Channel villain, rolled her eyes, and went back to her iPod.
"And that's Luna," Emil said, his voice taking on a slightly strained quality. "Tech specialist. Best hacker in the division. Luna, earbuds out, please."
Luna didn't take her earbuds out. She did, however, raise one hand and flip Emil off without looking up from her screen.
"Charming," Emil muttered.
Jax stood in the doorway, suddenly very aware of how out of place he looked. These two were clean. Zion with his tactical gear and his fancy spear. Luna with her expensive tech and her carefully cultivated aesthetic. They looked like they belonged here, in this sleek facility with its chrome walls and cutting-edge equipment.
Jax looked like he'd just crawled out of a dumpster. Because, functionally, he had.
His hoodie was still stained with demon blood. His jeans were still held together with duct tape and prayers. He hadn't showered in, actually, he didn't want to think about how long it had been since he'd showered.
Zion was looking at him like he was a stray dog that had wandered in off the street.
Luna wasn't looking at him at all, which was somehow worse.
Great, Jax thought. This is going great.
"Jax," Emil said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Why don't you introduce yourself? Tell them a little bit about your background, your experience. It's good for team cohesion."
"I don't really know what to—"
"Great!" Emil cut him off, stepping back and gesturing encouragingly. "Floor's all yours. Go ahead. Share."
Jax stared at him. Then at Zion, who was still watching with that cool, assessing gaze. Then at Luna, who still hadn't looked up.
"Uh." He cleared his throat. "I'm Jax. I'm... nineteen. I'm from North Philly. I kill demons." He paused. "That's... that's pretty much it."
Silence.
"I like... pizza, I guess?" Jax added, because the silence was unbearable and his brain had apparently decided to betray him. "And, uh. Money. I like money."
More silence.
Luna snorted without looking up. Zion's expression didn't change, which was somehow worse than if he'd laughed.
"Great," Emil said, a little too brightly. "Great start. Really good energy there, Jax."
Zion leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "What are your credentials?"
Jax blinked. "My what?"
"Your credentials. Your experience. You said you kill demons, where? Under what contract? What agency trained you?" Zion's voice was calm, professional. The voice of someone who was used to dealing with competent people and was rapidly realizing he wasn't talking to one.
"I, uh." Jax scratched the back of his neck. "The classifieds. In the paper. The Inquirer, mostly. Sometimes the Daily News if the listings were better."
Zion stared at him.
"The classifieds," he repeated.
"Yeah."
"The newspaper classifieds."
"...Yeah?"
"Are you serious right now?"
Jax felt his shoulders tense. "Yeah, I'm serious. What do you want me to say? I found jobs in the paper, I did the jobs, I got paid. That's how it works."
Zion turned to look at Emil. The cool assessment in his eyes had shifted to something closer to disbelief.
"You're kidding me." His voice was flat. "This is a joke, right? This kid has never been professionally contracted in his life. He's been doing classified ad work. Ten-dollar basement jobs. That's not experience, that's pest control."
"Zion—" Emil started.
"This is a liability in every single way." Zion stood up, and Jax was reminded again of just how big he was. The spear on his back caught the light, crackling faintly. "He has no training. No credentials. No formal experience. And you want to put him on my team?"
"If you'd let me explain—"
"Oh my God," Luna said.
Everyone turned to look at her. She'd finally taken out one earbud, though she was still staring at her iPod.
"Can you two stop comparing dick sizes for like five seconds?" She popped her gum. "Zion, yours is average at best. New guy, yours probably hasn't dropped yet. Can we move on?"
Jax's mouth fell open.
Zion's jaw tightened. "Luna—"
"I'm just saying." She shrugged, putting the earbud back in. "If you're gonna have a pissing contest, at least make it interesting. This is boring."
Zion's hands curled into fists. For a second, Jax thought he might actually snap, might reach over the table and strangle Luna, or at least yell at her. But he didn't. He took a slow breath, visibly composed himself, and turned back to Emil.
"I'll be waiting in your office," he said, his voice cold. "We need to discuss the direction this is going."
He started toward the door, then paused. His eyes moved to the far wall, to a spot Jax hadn't noticed before. A small frame, hanging between two equipment lockers. Inside was a photo: a group shot of four people in tactical gear, standing in front of what looked like the DCB facility entrance. Zion was in it, younger, almost smiling. Luna was there too, flipping off the camera. And between them—
A man. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face Jax couldn't quite make out from this distance. But he could see the arm around Zion's shoulders. The easy, confident stance.
Zion looked at the photo for just a moment. Something shifted in his expression, something that wasn't anger or disdain. Something that looked almost like grief.
Then it was gone, and the cold mask was back.
"The replacement for Caliber," he said quietly, not looking at Jax, "is some North Philly kid who learned demon hunting from the want ads."
He walked out, closing the door behind him with a soft click that somehow felt worse than a slam.
Emil stood there for a moment, that cheerful smile frozen on his face. Then he chuckled, a little forced, a little strained.
"Well! That went better than expected, honestly. Zion's just... passionate. He'll warm up to you. Give it time."
Luna looked up from her iPod just long enough to give Jax another once-over.
"You look like you crawled out of a storm drain," she said flatly. "Like a sad, wet rat."
"Thanks," Jax said.
"You're welcome." She put the earbud back in.
Emil's radio crackled. He pulled it from his coat, listened for a moment, and his expression shifted, still cheerful, but with an edge of something businesslike underneath.
"Duty calls, I'm afraid." He was already moving toward the door. "Zion needs me, and apparently there's a situation in R&D that requires my attention. Jax, you just..." He waved vaguely. "Hang out. Get to know Luna. I'll find you later to sort out the housing situation."
"Wait—" Jax took a step forward. "What am I supposed to—"
The door clicked shut.
Emil was gone.
Jax stood in the middle of the briefing room, alone except for Luna, who was still slouched in her chair, scrolling through her iPod like he didn't exist.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The silence stretched.
Jax shifted his weight. Cleared his throat. Looked at the ceiling. Looked at the floor. Looked at Luna, who was very deliberately not looking at him.
"So," he said finally. "You, uh. Been with the DCB long?"
Luna didn't respond.
"Cool. Cool cool cool." Jax nodded to himself. "That's... yeah. Great talk."
More silence.
"What kind of music are you—"
Luna stood up abruptly, yanking her earbuds out and shoving her iPod in her pocket. "I'm going to do a job."
"A job?" Jax perked up. "Like a demon job?"
"No, a blowjob." She rolled her eyes so hard Jax was surprised they didn't get stuck. "Yes, a demon job. Class D, Fishtown. Been on the board for two days. I'm bored."
She walked past him toward the door, and Jax, operating on pure instinct, because what else was he supposed to do, followed.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Luna spun around, holding up a hand. "What are you doing?"
"Coming with you?"
"No. Absolutely not. Get away from me." She wrinkled her nose. "You smell like shit, by the way. Like actual shit. When's the last time you showered?"
"I don't—" Jax faltered. "Look, I don't know what I'm supposed to do here. Emil just left. Zion hates me. You're the only person who's even kind of talking to me, and I just—I don't know where to go or what to do or—"
"Not my problem."
"Please?" The word came out before he could stop it. Jax hated how desperate it sounded. "I've been killing demons for years. I know what I'm doing. I just—I need to do something. I can't just stand here."
Luna stared at him. Her expression was still annoyed, still dismissive, but something in it shifted—just slightly. Maybe pity. Maybe amusement. Maybe just the recognition that he wasn't going to leave her alone.
"If you slow me down," she said finally, "I'm leaving you behind."
"Fine."
"And if you die, I'm not carrying your body back."
"Also fine."
"And you're riding in the back. With the windows down. Because you seriously smell like a dead animal."
"Got it."
Luna turned and walked out of the briefing room. Jax followed, half-jogging to keep up with her pace.
He had no idea where they were going. He had no idea what a DCB demon job looked like. He had no weapon except the knife strapped to his ankle, no gear, no training, no clue what he was walking into.
But it was better than standing in an empty room, waiting for someone to tell him what to do.
At least, he hoped it was.