METANOIA [01.04]

Vengeful Wreck

Mar 23, 2025

..04.01 | Instability

October 30th, 2057

The following days made crystal clear that the little team John found himself in was not the kind of hyper-standardized government operation he worried it might become. It was almost the opposite problem, really. There were no official training manuals or courses. Everything Will and Mia covered was either coming right out of their heads or prepared a day in advance with some hastily assembled slides.

There was a possibility that John was witnessing standard procedure for the Bureau those days, but it all seemed rather unorthodox to him. What did he actually know about government work, anyway?

Despite the… generous flexibility, it was far from chaotic. While often carefree to a fault on the surface, Will didn’t waste his breath. Every step seemed intentional, even if it wasn’t immediately clear what the intention was. And, if the pieces he laid out were a jumbled mess, Mia was quick to straighten them into neat patterns.

John was particularly surprised by Will’s high standards for the paperwork side of the job. In seeming contradiction to every other part of their work ethic, every logistical detail was documented in some way, and any significant activity or observation was to be logged. “We’re in uncharted territory, after all,” he explained. “What we see today will be tomorrow’s lifesaving info.”

It did make sense, once contemplated. An investigator’s job was to untangle the convoluted plots of reality and interrogate a narrative out of them. One could never expect things to start in an orderly state, but the work was never truly done until every hanging thread was neatly tied up.

To that end, John compiled everything he learned about his new, supernatural ability as he practiced. There wasn’t much. He had made no new observations since that night on the skyway, except that it had become even more difficult to evoke than before. His standing theory was that the change in career was making it very difficult to focus.

Vincent also received copies of his observations, as promised and with Will’s consent. The agent reasoned on the grounds that the connection could prove useful, so long as John stuck to phenomena talk and kept sparse on their actual operational matters. Vincent was a bit surprised but not at all perturbed to hear of John’s new “job,” saying that it would “probably lead to more interesting opportunities.”

After a month, John’s training had covered a fair number of essential topics: what actual authority they had and when to exercise it; tips on getting useful info when questioning civilians; what counted as self-defense in the off-chance they had to deal with normal humans; how to avoid most fights in the first place; then, a good amount of “hard fought” veteran advice to round it out.

All the while, Will and Mia had been digging up leads in the background. The basis of their search was admittedly a weak one by the evidence, and they admitted it, but the old agent seemed confident enough in his intuition. Of the three known cases, all of them led to some level of violence, and of the two human-turned-demons who could be identified, both were in “unhealthy social and mental living conditions.”

“Isn’t that a rather mundane search criteria?” John questioned. “Shouldn’t you be looking for occult involvement? Have you checked if they were getting involved in some sketchy religious group?”

“Of course I did,” Will answered, “but there was nothing interesting. Occasionally attending some hokey branch of a mainstream religion was about as odd as it got, and I checked those guys out—they are just the boring kind of hokey.” And so, they kept to fairly traditional methods of profiling. On two occasions, they thought they had found a potential case in the making. However, one ended up being nothing and the other was ultimately handled by local police with no supernatural occurrences.

At times, Will would have John observe their methods; one thing he learned was that there was a fundamental difference in how the layman and a seasoned detective saw the internet. While everybody had grown to distrust open channels, few people were savvy enough to properly secure theirs—especially not from a Master of Social Engineering and his digital savant underling. Combined with access to government stores of verified information on each known person in the country, and the two of them were a formidable duo in gathering personal information—all before setting a single foot out of that improvised control center.

John couldn’t say he was a fan of that part of the job. Regardless, it eventually got results. On one Monday in late October, Mia finished the preliminary investigation of another new lead.

“John, you’re driving. I’ll explain on the way.” She marched out of the office, carrying a stainless-steel case.

He dropped the documents he had been pouring through, holstered his gun, and sheathed his knife—both well concealed. Then, with a half-hearted send-off from Will, they were away and following the route Mia programmed into the navigation system.

“So, what’re we up to?” John asked.

“Will found someone with a similarly unstable psyche profile as the people who changed in the previous incidents. Middle-aged man, reclusive, spends most of his free time in chat channels. Name is Elwood Horton.”

“That describes a lot of people. What makes him ‘unstable?’”

“In a few of the channels he and his friends make a lot of jokes about shooting politicians and bomb-scaring events… A lot of ‘jokes.’”

“Ah… yeah that’s pretty messed up,” John agreed, but it brought another question to mind. “Sounds more like counterterrorism, though. Why are we checking on this?”

“There already was a counterterrorism sting on a related group,” the monotone agent explained. “They tried to assassinate a political figure last month—Luan Hoch—but were stopped and arrested.”

“I remember hearing about that a bit. So, what about our guy?”

“He was never a part of that group, but he talked to them regularly. Usually other topics. The original investigation wrote him off as a sympathetic onlooker. Will had a hunch about him, though, so I dug into his recent activity. After the assassination attempt, he visited the forums more, commented less. Made a lot of searches for private info on state politicians, weapons, improvised explosives, et cetera. Tried to hide it. Didn’t do a good job of it.”

“He’s thinking of carrying the torch, then?” John asked.

“Probably.”

“So where exactly are we headed?”

“His apartment. The longest he’d been away from his computer in two months had been seven hours. Now it’s been two days, so we don’t really know where he is. Might already be carrying out his plan.”

“Does the JPD know?”

“Yes. We’re hoping to intercept him before he does something, but if we can’t, he’ll still likely get caught. Worst case is he gets killed resisting arrest.”

John corrected her: “Worst case is we end up with another murderous abomination.”

Mia glanced away, fidgeting slightly. “Maybe.”

Small as it was, John hadn’t expected that kind of reaction from her. “I assume you’ve seen pictures?”

“Yes.”

If John’s eyes weren’t lying, Mia seemed legitimately disturbed.

She relaxed again—mostly. “That’s your job to deal with.”

“I’m suddenly some kind of professional demon hunter?”

“No, but if you have it distracted while getting stabbed again, that should give me a clear shot.”

“Let’s keep that as a last resort, please.” John grimaced. “Back to more immediate concerns. Any warrants issued yet?”

“And approved.”

“We’re able to delay the notice in scenarios like this, right? How does that…”

“Will can handle that. Focus on finding Horton.”

They found themselves at one of the city’s cheapest apartments a few minutes later. Anyone from out of town might have thought otherwise at first glance: the paint was cleanly applied, the windows were large and clean, and every visible inch of the place had been kept clean and orderly. By Joulian property codes, that was the bare minimum to stay operational. By Joulian taste, it was lacking in “splendor.”

John parked halfway down the block, and the two exited the vehicle. Mia chimed, “Apartment three-oh-six,” then positioned herself to follow his lead. His apprehensions resurfaced, but there was no room to get hung up on the matter. For the time being he could only decide on a course of action and follow through with it, come what may. As they notified building management of their arrival, he made his first decision—to keep things simple. To begin, all they needed was to confirm if the target was home and attempt to contact him if he was. With any luck, they’d talk him into reason, he’d drop his plans, and the matter would never come up again.

John gave some thought to their attire as they made their way up the complex. If Horton was home, it would be ideal if he wasn’t spooked the second he laid eyes on them.

Mia, regrettably, could easily fit into the role of a government agent. She wore a formal blouse and suit pants with serious confidence. And, where there could have been some cute or classy handbag fit to the style of the season, there was instead a suspiciously-sized equipment case. There were only two disarming features about her to offset this. The first was her pretty face, which was no small factor in the equation. The second, for what it was worth, was that she was quite short at an inch or two shy of five feet. She was an immaculately professional-looking woman… but not in the least bit intimidating.

With John’s casual assembly in contrast—a t-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket—he hoped he would complete the image that they were just any random odd pair of Joulians as he knocked on Horton’s door, firm but polite.

Mia leaned against the wall off to the side. A few moments passed without a response.

He knocked again a bit louder: still nothing.

“About what we expected, I guess,” John noted plainly.

He pulled out the key he had received at the front desk and entered. The ceiling lights were off, but enough of the sun streamed through the blinds of the windows to illuminate the room. It was a small flat; not particularly dirty, but hardly organized.

The two immediately began scanning for info on what Horton was planning and where he might have gone off to. Nothing glaringly suspicious popped out, but John took notice of a single piece of paper on the kitchen counter. Paper mail was mostly defunct in Joule and the only people who regularly used paper for information did so out of an aesthetic preference or to keep it out of digital networks. Either case piqued John’s interest as he flipped it over.

Dad’s coming to town tomorrow night. He’d appreciate a lunch visit. Oh, and make sure you’ve cleared the spiders out of your place.

“What do we know about Elwood’s family?” John asked.

“Parents live here in the state. Has a deceased younger brother.” Mia came up alongside and read it as well.

The message was typed, so there was little else to be gleaned about the origin of the document. “Could have been his mom… and the spider reference some kind of old family joke… but it’s also been a couple of days since he was on the ‘web.’”

“Tip off,” Mia declared. “There was evidence of a third party in the original case. Might be the same person, but that’s probably beyond our concerns today.”

“Think ‘Dad’ is the politician?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I don’t see who else, but Luan’s been instructed to stay home today.”

“Let the police know, then we’ll see if we can figure out what his plan was.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir?”

“Seemed appropriate.” It took her no more than a moment to do as asked and then move on to Horton’s computer. As the desktop lit up and monitor turned on, Mia was met only with error screens. “John, check the trash.”

He opened a cabinet and flipped the lid of the bin inside to find it mostly empty save for a cracked hard drive. “I don’t know how clever it was to leave it here, but I’m guessing it’s going to be hard to check what was on it now.”

“Yep. Completely useless without special equipment… and a lot of time.” Mia sat in the desk chair, thinking of what else to try.

John walked over and examined the various decorative objects on the desk. Mostly little souvenirs which didn’t seem to point to any particular interest of his own. More like the kind of random gifts one would get from family over the years. There were two framed photos among them: an older one with all four members of the family; then the two younger men were featured again on their own in another, striking funny poses with bright smiles.

John picked up that second photo and looked it over. As the reflection of a sunlit window gleamed across the glass, he noticed a plethora of finger smudges. He brought it closer to his face and angled it to catch the light better. The distortions in the glare highlighted blotches as though a mineral-rich liquid had fallen on it and dried frequently—tears, John figured.

“When and how did the brother die?” he asked.

“Two years ago. Opioid overdose.”

An old melancholy creeped its way into John’s mind. “Know why?”

“Only that his habit started after losing his job.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say the elder brother hasn’t come to peace with it yet.” He handed Mia the photo. “Not that the parents would be doing much better.”

After twisting it around a bit herself, she found what he was referring to. “Fair assessment. Might be tied to motive.”

John thought for a moment. “I’m going to try to talk to a neighbor. Keep searching for something in here if you can.”

He didn’t have to search long. As he left the apartment, he spotted one of the residents walking his way out of the corner of his eye.

John rubbed his face and donned a weary look as he went to lean on the walkway railing. As the resident got closer, John turned to look at him directly. The resident noticed the open door and a concern grew in his eyes as they bounced between John and the apartment.

John called out: “Hey, uh, sorry to bug you, but you wouldn’t happen to have spoken to El much, have you? Elwood, I mean.”

“Why, what, is… is something up?”

“I’m not really sure. He sent me a key the other day and asked me to look after his place for a bit, but I haven’t been able to call him since.”

“Oh… snap. That sounds… man…”

The resident, a trendy but not-all-too-bright-looking guy in his mid-twenties, was genuinely surprised at the news, though not so personally affected.

“Did he maybe talk about anything… weird recently?” John asked.

“Well, I, um. I mean, we didn’t talk that often. Maybe like once a week. But he was… he tended to get pretty heated about some politician or other.”

“Do you remember who?” John asked, careful to be too emphatic.

“Some state politician. I think it was… Denez Ranjah’men or something like that. I-I-I’m not really sure. I didn’t pick up the details too well when he started ranting. Seemed like a pretty nice guy otherwise.” The resident kept rambling, unsure of how best to respond. “I get the ‘being angry at politicians’ thing. I mean like”—he gave a goofy, nervous laugh— “they’re always screwing us over, you know?”

The man sobered up again as John lamented a counterfeit past: “Damn it. He’s still mad about that? Well, I don’t know if that means anything right now, but thanks for letting me know. I’m going to clean up a few things for now. Have a good one.”

“Yeah, you too, man. Hope everything works out.”

John walked back inside and closed the door.

Mia stared at him intently. “That a trick Will taught you?”

“What trick?”

Mia kept staring.

“W-what?” he stuttered under the intensity of her glare.

“Nothing.”

John struggled to discern her obscure emotions. Logically she would be judging him for his act of deception, but his gut told him it was… jealousy?

He coughed. “Well, I got something to check on. Do you know of a politician named Denez Ranjah’men?”

“Deneb Rahnjimaan. High ranking state official. Doesn’t have anything to do with the original assassination attempt, but he came up in Elwood’s searches.”

“Involved in any scandals?”

“Mm… Hold on.” Mia drew her phone and tapped away. “No, nothing major. Pretty clean for a politician. He did make a big push for a controversial bill a few years back.”

“What made it so controversial?”

“The purpose of the bill was to significantly raise the minimum hazard pay for a lot of construction jobs. His supporters liked its social benefits. His detractors say it accelerated the push to automation that phased out a lot of jobs. Long term: the total number of jobs didn’t dip as much as expected over time. Short term: a few dozen independent contractors and small firms defaulted, and the larger organizations got bigger.”

John glanced towards the photos on the desk again. “Was the little brother in construction?”

“Let me… Yes. He owned one of those firms,” she confirmed.

John began to see a rather concerning trend, but another connection still needed to be made: “What’s Rahnjimaan’s connection to Joule?”

“…No direct connection, but his son, Mitra, lives here.”

“We need to go. Now.” He turned sharply and ran back out, pausing only briefly for Mia as she scrambled to grab her case and catch up to him.

“Get the son’s address on nav. I’ll call Will.” As they rounded a corner, John caught sight of the elevator door closing. “Gah! Missed it.”

Mia passed him and pushed a door open. “Only two flights.” As the two rushed down, she tried to get John to explain the sudden change of plans. “So you’re thinking ‘Dad’ is Rahnjimaan?”

“Exactly. Horton was watching the guys who went after Luan Roch, but he never had a personal connection to that mess. I’ll wager he’s been plotting his own mission this whole time and the devil in his ear said today’s the day.”

Mia gave a silent assent.

..04.02 | Ogre

Late Morning

“Anything on the scanners?” he asked.

“No,” she answered.

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” The day had given in to the dreariness of a drizzling rain. In spite of the urgency that gripped John, the city remained still and peaceful under those grey skies.

It was a short drive before they arrived at another, slightly nicer complex. They pulled into one of the few guest parking spaces near the entrance and an entryway brought them into a courtyard that followed the gradual curve of the island’s outer ring. Above them, the stacked units leaned slightly towards the center of the island, ten stories high on the side closer and eight on the side further. Pathways on each floor created a silhouetted mesh against the clouds above.

The space was empty as John and Mia passed through, with most residents either out for the day or electing to stay dry indoors. Their man was in unit two-twelve, so they climbed a staircase with peach granite steps and wrought iron railing. Nothing of particular interest was—

John’s attention was pulled to a unit on the seventh floor, well to the right and above the one they were headed to.

“What is it?” Mia stopped and turned as she noticed him slowing down. “…John?”

“Huh?”

“What are you looking at?”

He pointed. “You see anything odd with that apartment?”

She looked carefully. “No.”

“Oh.” Now that she said it, John didn’t see anything strange about the apartment either. “Never mind then.” He cleared his head and continued on to two-twelve.

Of all the thoughts that could have come to mind, he wondered if Vincent lived here. Seemed too plain for a man like him, however.

Mia’s gaze lingered for a moment before she joined him.

Once they reached Mitra’s door, John rang the bell. A half-minute passed with no answer. He rang again—

“They’re out on a walk!” a friendly voice announced from behind. John turned to see a man with brown hair in loose, unkempt curls and horn-rimmed glasses sitting on a bench in the yard below. The man pointed to an exit. “Been out for a bit, so they should be back any minute.”

John thanked the stranger, then he and Mia started towards it. The high walls of the complex and the glowing rain clouds swallowed every incidental sound of the world. The earlier urgency all but dispersed in the face of such a sober atmosphere, and took John all that bit longer to parse the echoes that disturbed it.

A shriek of pain and horror colored the air as another voice cried for help.

John launched down the remaining steps, across the property, and out onto the roadside sidewalk. In the wooded area beyond the edge of the island, through the thickening mist, he saw vaguely humanoid figures. With every step closer they gained definition; foremost among them were a woman and a giant of a man locked in a struggle. The man had the woman’s wrist firmly seized in one of his gorilla-sized hands as he pulled her in. A steel glint followed her free hand as she swatted at his arm. Whatever effect she intended, the man was unfazed as he yanked her close and grabbed her throat. Unable to get a clear shot, John kept running right at them, and the rain fell heavier as he closed in.

The hulk of a man began to lift the woman off the ground, to which she kicked and struggled and slashed, yet no matter how many cuts she made with the kitchen knife she wielded—even as she turned it towards his face—the brute would not flinch. It was an utterly inhuman display of strength and toughness.

And inhuman it was as John finally stepped close enough to see it had not the face of a man but an ogre. Its jaw was enormous, protruding, and deformed; set with an extended row of bared teeth. Where its eyes should have been were instead dark recesses pierced by a faint white glow.

Without a second glance, John jumped to wrap around its neck with his left arm and shoved the muzzle of his gun into its side with his right. Four shots rang out in dissonant chorus with a roar of pain. The ogre dropped the woman to twist about and grab at that fresh nuisance in retaliation, but John let go of its neck and tumbled to the ground, landing in a growing puddle, then rolling to a safe distance.

Or so he had hoped, but it was already looming over him as he got up to his knees. It reached down, grabbed him by the base of his arms, and lifted him up until his feet dangled uselessly.

Wet ropes of dark hair fell across its hatred-twisted face and flowed around its freakishly protruding muzzle. Unnatural shadows veiled its eyes, but its solid white pupils shone through with an eerie light that reflected off streams of water and blood cascading down the sides of its face and the deep grooves carved into it. It seemed entirely unhindered by its nearly liquified gut and myriad oozing cuts as its massive arms bulged in an attempt to pull John apart through sheer brute force. Amidst blearing pain, John instinctively grasped at his captor in a desperate bid to free himself, but he couldn’t find a hold. Every inch of his muscles desperately fought against the pulling as he yelled out in agony.

Right as he thought he’d snap, a bright, golden flash passed through the creature’s neck. Its arms dropped and John landed on his feet, only to crumple backward. The creature’s body fell forward, and its head tumbled back, cleanly severed at the neck.

The rain died back down to a trickle and the mist thinned until it had gone completely.

The woman the ogre had first tried to strangle was standing behind its corpse. For a moment, John thought he saw a sword in her hands, stopped at the end of a swing. He blinked and once again saw nothing but a kitchen knife. He took a better look at her as she pulled her long, rain-soaked, auburn hair out of her face to reveal fine features. Her deep blue eyes were bloodshot and glistening with the tears that had been choked out.

“John!” He glanced back the way he had come to see Mia running up to them, rifle in hand, short hair fluttering, and wearing some kind of electronic eye patch. She stopped a few feet short of the corpse, looking at it warily—nearly frozen. She asked, “Was this—?”

“Me,” he interrupted as he pointed to the whimpering man nearby. “I’m good for nothing with first aid, please check on Deneb. I’ll radio the backup.”

Mia nodded then got to it while he pulled out his phone and started the call. As he waited for it to connect, he looked at the woman with the knife who was staring at him with a mix of appreciation and suspicion. He gestured to a nearby bench. “Sit and rest. We’ll talk in a minute. Also… might want to put the knife down now.”

Within a few seconds he got Will up to speed and they had the emergency services coordinated. He announced to Mia: “Ambulance is on its way!”

She replied, “Deneb is stable, but he shouldn’t move until they get here!”

John gave an acknowledgement then walked over to the auburn-haired woman. Her eyes had never left him even as she was tending to her neck and wrist gently, still letting out the occasional cough. He took a seat next to her and spoke calmly, careful to not let Mia hear: “I saw how you did it—exactly how you did it. You’re going to want to be careful who finds out.”

“Wha—!” The small burst of excitement set off another fit of coughing.

“Hey, hey. Easy. Try not to talk for now.” John looked at her with concern as she collected herself. He realized it would be prudent for him to get some actual first-aid training sooner than later.

As soon as she could, the woman tried to ask her question again in a hoarse, weak voice: “What did I do?”

“Well… the ‘how’ I’m not entirely sure, but I can say a similar thing happened to me two months ago.”

“It was like,” she spoke in a whisper with equal parts awe and confusion, “like I could feel all of their hatred. That they needed to make everyone… feel their loss, I think? But that’s not fair, it’s not right, and they were going to kill you, so I…”

Her hands reflexively grasped at the hilt of a blade that wasn’t there.

She was almost exactly like John in how it started, then. An intense, emotional instinct after getting attacked by some hallucination plucked from a horror movie. It manifested in such a different way for her, however. It really must be—

An unexpected tug at his arm pulled John out of his mental labyrinth. The woman was holding his arm and staring at him. Graceful azure eyes searching for a hint of insight into the otherworldly mystery she faced. John suddenly felt a bit flustered.

The blare of sirens resounded, reminding John of more immediate concerns. “I’ll need your contact information. We’ll need to talk about this more once you’ve been treated and had some time to think. For now, if anyone asks, I was the one to cut off its head, but you couldn’t see anything but a flash of light. Got it?”

She nodded.

John pulled out his personal phone, started a new contact entry, and passed it to her. She took it, tapped in her info, and passed it back.

The name registered to the contact was “Freya.”

“Like the Norse goddess?” he asked, unintentionally.

A defeated look of embarrassment washed over her. An old song and dance she had learned to live with, but never accepted. She whispered meekly: “Yes, my parents were going through a phase.”

“I have cousins who can sympathize. It might have been a somewhat eccentric decision on their part, but at least they chose something beautiful.”

She looked away bashfully. The corner of her lip began to curl up, but then she winced and coughed, rudely reminded of the context of her situation. John tried to think of some comfort to give.

Then a small fleet of emergency vehicles pulled up to the end of the alley, demanding his attention.

04.03 | The Assistant

A Little Later

The cleanup was quick. It seemed the crew sent over were a reliable bunch. Though the deformed corpse was still met with deep grimaces by the lot of them and gagging by a few, John guessed that those medics and police officers were largely the same that dealt with the aftermath of the prior incidents. No questions were asked, nor any unnecessary comments raised. The ogre’s body was quickly tarped and hauled away.

Will had explained to John that after the second abomination phenomenon had occurred, the city police set aside a group of responders they could trust to handle things—for expediency and accuracy more than secrecy. With the incident taking place right outside the windows of so many, there was a high chance of there being a few extra witnesses, but so long as they cleared out quick and fuss-free, the whole ordeal would become like a strange dream. The siloed nature of communication in the modern world would handle the rest.

Deneb was hurried out on a stretcher into an ambulance, while Freya was checked by a medic who found no severe injuries. They relented immediately when she insisted on staying home, only making her promise to get a full checkup the next day. Overhearing part of the conversation, John learned she was taking care of a younger sister.

When the crew had finished their part, John and Mia returned to his car to head back for the day. Not a word was spoken for the first half of the trip. Desperate to fill the air, John finally said, “Not a clean success, but we survived.”

“Yep.”

The uncomfortable silence returned.

John tried again: “You were a lot of help. I think we’re going to work well together.”

“Thanks.”

John gave up. The ride continued noiselessly.

Then, as they got to the final stretch, Mia asked, “How are you so calm?”

John looked at her, puzzled. At first, she appeared to have the same disinterested demeanor she always held, but he could finally see the subtle details. Her eyes were wider, her mouth had a slight tremble, and her hands were tense and clenched in her lap.

John recalled her reaction earlier in the day, then the image of the rolling head of the “ogre.”

“How can you just brush that off?” Mia looked at her lap. Her wavy, pale gold hair fell around her face, veiling it. She whispered, “Its eyes were still glowing…”

“I’m…” John struggled to think of an appropriate response. “Well, this is my second time seeing something like it.”

“I read the report. You ran at that one too.” She paused briefly. “Will was right about one thing. You’re not normal.”

Her voice remained steady and disinterested on the surface, but there was an undertone, almost jealous as if she believed John was holding back some secret trick.

And there was apprehension.

He picked his words carefully: “There’s probably a lot of things I’m not even aware of, but… I’d probably chalk it up to my family more than anything. They made sure I knew how to block out my fear when I needed to.”

“I can just ‘block it out,’ too. Will wouldn’t send me with you if I couldn’t. I don’t think that’s what you’re doing. The hospital record said you were perfectly calm when you woke up as well.”

When she put it that way, he did start to sound like a bit of a freak. Why wasn’t he afraid of those things? One had ripped through his lungs and the other was a second away from tearing his arms off. Then there was Vincent. For all his excitement over the phenomena, he looked quite terrified back down there in the garage. Deneb was scared into paralysis. The paramedics and police all looked disturbed as well and they were the most experienced with ugly accidents.

Will didn’t seem bothered by the sight of them, but that was a low comparison as he was a special case all around.

There was one other person like him, however. That woman, Freya.

A curious consideration for later.

“I… guess I’m just not afraid of monsters,” he tried to claim. “We all have the things we can and can’t handle, right? I definitely still have claustrophobia, for instance.”

She didn’t react with any particular satisfaction to his generic explanation. She couldn’t refute it either—the benefit of generic responses. It seemed she would simply have to accept a simple answer, and so eased up just a little.

“We could just stick with your plan A,” he joked. “I play pincushion, and you stay nice and far away with your rifle.”

There was a sharp, nasal exhale of a suppressed chuckle. “I’ll handle the crawlspaces, then.”

John grinned.