The Hollow was quieter than usual. The usual murmur of voices and clinking glasses was dulled by the weight of what was happening outside. The city was tearing itself apart, and even the criminals knew when to keep their heads down.
Damaged sat slumped in a chair, his coat draped over the back, his body barely holding together. His ribs throbbed, his muscles screamed, and blood seeped through the half-assed bandages wrapped around his torso.
Across from him, Centipede watched carefully. His compound eyes flickered in the dim bar light, his spindly fingers tapping the table.
Ogre stood near the door, arms crossed, taking up too much space as always. His presence was imposing, his scowl permanent.
Centipede clicked his mandibles, tilting his head. “You look like shit, Harkin.”
John exhaled. “I feel worse.”
Centipede leaned back in his chair, tossing a rag across the table. “Best I can do for patching you up. This ain’t a charity.”
John caught it and pressed it against his ribs. It didn’t help much. “Yeah, yeah. Appreciate the five-star service.”
Centipede’s mandibles twitched, his expression unreadable. Then he smirked.
“Don’t get sentimental on me. The only reason I’m keeping you from bleeding out on my floor is ‘cause you’re more useful out there than in here.”
John narrowed his eyes.
Centipede stretched lazily. “Look around, Harkin. The city’s a mess. A big, dangerous mess. And I like my messes controlled. You? You help clean up some of that.”
Ogre grunted in agreement. “He’s right. You might actually stop this shitstorm.”
John let out a slow breath. Centipede wasn’t the type to play hero. But he was a survivor. And right now, he knew survival meant getting rid of whoever was causing all this chaos.
Before John could respond, something… shifted.
It was subtle, but impossible to ignore.
Like a space in the room had just been filled, even though nothing had moved.
John felt it first.
Then Ogre.
Centipede frowned, his mandibles twitching. “The hell—”
Ogre turned fast, throwing a punch—
And hit nothing.
John barely had time to blink before…
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
There he was.
Standing calmly, like he had been there the whole time.
A plain-looking man. Brown suit, glasses, holding a briefcase. Completely unremarkable.
Centipede tensed, eyes narrowing. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
The man adjusted his tie. “I’ve been here for a while.”
John exhaled, recognizing him immediately.
Mr. Normal.
Centipede’s fingers curled into fists. “Bullshit.”
Ogre scowled, stepping forward. “You—”
“I’m not here for you,” Normal interrupted politely, eyes flicking to John. “I’m here for him.”
John leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “That so?”
Normal nodded. “First Aid is waiting. She can heal you.”
John considered that for a moment.
He’d heard of First Aid. A healer. Someone who could patch him up in ways stitches never could.
Normal straightened his suit. “You need to come alone.”
Centipede waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Take him.”
John blinked. “That easy?”
Centipede smirked. “You think I’m gonna get in the way of you getting your ribs fixed? I need you back out there.” He clicked his mandibles. “This whole thing is bad for business.”
John chuckled weakly. Fair enough.
Ogre didn’t seem as pleased. He glared at Normal. “I don’t trust you.”
Normal smiled politely. “I’m aware.”
Ogre moved fast, lunging—
And Normal was gone.
Ogre’s fist hit the empty air, shattering a wooden table behind him.
Centipede’s mandibles twitched. “Son of a—”
Then—silence.
Centipede’s eyes flickered.
Ogre frowned. His expression went vacant for a second.
Then, like nothing happened, they went back to what they were doing.
Centipede stretched. “You leaving, Harkin?”
John hesitated. He remembered.
Normal had let him.
He glanced at Ogre—the confusion was gone. It was like Normal had never existed in the first place.
John exhaled, shaking his head as he stood. “Yeah. I’m leaving.”
Centipede smirked. “Good. Don’t die.”
Ogre just grunted.
John grabbed his coat, rolling his shoulders. He felt that familiar shift in the air.
Normal was back.
Waiting.
John didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Just walked forward.
And in the blink of an eye—
The Hollow was behind him.
John walked beside Mr. Normal, his boots scuffing the pavement as they made their way through the eerily quiet city. The chaos was everywhere—fires, sirens, distant screams—but here, in the shadows between battles, it felt almost calm.
John exhaled, rolling his stiff shoulders. His body still ached, but he knew relief was coming soon.
Mr. Normal strolled casually beside him, adjusting his tie, looking as unbothered as ever.
John side-eyed him. “You’ve been watching me, huh?”
Normal smiled. “For quite some time.”
John scoffed. “Creepy.”
Normal shrugged. “Necessary.”
John shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “Were you watching when Calloway nearly killed me?”
Normal didn’t answer right away. His steps remained steady. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“Yes.”
John clenched his jaw. “Should’ve stepped in.”
Normal exhaled through his nose. “That’s not how I work.”
John shot him a look. “What, your power doesn’t let you punch a guy?”
Normal smirked. “Oh, I can punch. But that’s not my role.” He adjusted his glasses. “You survived. You got stronger. That fight changed you. If I had interfered, it wouldn’t have meant the same thing.”
John didn’t answer. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the thought that someone had been right there—watching—while Calloway cut into him. While he barely crawled out alive.
But…
He was stronger now.
Even as his body screamed at him, he knew he had never been tougher.
“Fine,” John muttered. “Just don’t sit around next time.”
Normal chuckled. “I’ll consider it.”
They walked in silence for a few more blocks until Normal finally stopped, gesturing toward an abandoned building.
“She’s inside,” he said.
John didn’t hesitate. He stepped through the broken doors and found First Aid.
She sat on a bench in the dimly lit space, her hands folded in her lap. She was young, barely out of her twenties, dressed in a light combat suit with medical patches sewn into the fabric. Her dark curls were tied up in a messy bun, and her sharp green eyes locked onto him the moment he entered.
“You look awful,” she muttered.
John smirked. “You should see the other guy.”
She didn’t smile. “I did. He was in pieces.”
John exhaled. Fair.
First Aid stood up, stretching her arms. She already looked exhausted.
“Alright,” she sighed. “Sit down.”
John dropped into a chair without argument. She placed her hands on his chest, just above the deep bruising along his ribs.
And then he felt it.
A warmth—deep, pulsing, like light spreading through his bones.
His body knit itself back together.
Pain faded. Wounds closed. His muscles tightened, strengthened, felt more alive than they ever had.
His breathing steadied.
His fists clenched, feeling the power return to them.
He was back.
Then—a gasp.
First Aid stumbled backward.
Her knees buckled, and before she could hit the ground, Normal caught her.
John stood immediately. “Hey—”
“She’s fine,” Normal said, steadying her. But she looked pale. Weak.
John frowned. “What happened?”
First Aid let out a shaky breath. “I used too much.”
Normal helped her sit down. “She can heal, but it costs her.” He glanced at John. “And you needed a lot of work.”
John exhaled, flexing his hands. He felt better than he had in weeks.
Stronger.
“Thank you,” he said, genuinely.
First Aid just waved a hand. “Don’t make me do it again.”
John almost smiled.
Then—a distant sound.
Something big.
John turned toward the street, stepping out of the building. His eyes narrowed.
Across the ruined cityscape, through the firelight and crumbling structures, he saw it.
A massive, grotesque creature.
The Grub.
Its enormous, bloated form ripped through concrete and steel, devouring everything in its path.
John’s stomach turned.
Normal adjusted his glasses. “The Tunnel is there. He could probably use some help.”
John rolled his shoulders. He felt strong. Alive. Ready.
“Guess I better go.”
