Ryan remained seated in the hospital room long after Watson and Anya left, the visiting card resting on the small table beside him. Watson had handed it over with the same composed expression he had maintained throughout their conversation, as if everything they had discussed, monsters, awakenings, survival, could be reduced to a name, a department, and a phone number printed in neat lettering.
The room was quiet again.
Machines hummed in steady intervals. Footsteps passed faintly in the hallway beyond the closed door. The sterile smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, sharp and impersonal.
An hour passed before Ryan finally stood.
His body felt strange, not energized, not stronger, but unburdened. The injuries that should have left him broken were gone so completely that the memory of pain struggled to reconcile with his present condition.
He rolled his shoulders slowly, testing the joints. He bent forward at the waist and straightened again. Nothing changed, he was exactly the same as the incident happened.
But, It felt wrong.
A body could not recover from that in a single night.
Physically, he didn't need rest. Whatever magic did those guys did, it worked perfectly and he didn't feel any fatigue.
But Mentally, he needed time. He received too much shock in a short period of time.
When he looked at the window, the world outside the hospital walls looked unchanged, but something beneath it had shifted. He could feel that much with unsettling clarity. If he stayed here, waiting for someone else to explain what his life had become, he would be surrendering the only control he still possessed.
Ryan changed into his clothes and left the hospital with the card tucked into his pocket.
Outside, the city moved as it always had. Traffic flowed in patient lines. Streetlights flickered on as evening deepened. People crossed intersections with the same quiet urgency, unaware about the hidden side of the world.
He watched them from the curb for a moment before hailing a cab.
The ride passed in silence. The driver didn't attempt conversation. Ryan leaned back against the seat and stared out the window as familiar streets slid by. Neon signs reflected across the glass in blurred streaks. Nothing about the city suggested catastrophe. Nothing hinted that fourteen people had vanished within a month.
If he hadn't survived, he would have been another number.
The thought settled heavily.
By the time he reached his apartment, the noise in his head hadn't diminished. He paid the driver, climbed the stairs, and unlocked the door. The faint scent of old wood and dust greeted him as he stepped inside. It was a small place, worn at the edges, but it was familiar. Predictable.
He dropped his bag near the wall and sat on the edge of the bed.
The visiting card now rested on the nightstand under the dim glow of the lamp.
Watson.
Superpower Administration.
A phone number.
Ryan stared at it.
Should he join them?
The memory of the creature surfaced without warning. The unnatural bend of its limbs. The dull ember-like glow where its eyes should have been. The crushing weight against his back. The certainty that nothing he did mattered once it decided he was prey.
Fear rose, sharp and immediate.
But behind it came something else, quieter, more corrosive.
Helplessness.
If someone hadn't intervened, he would have died without understanding what had killed him. If he walked away now, what would change? He would return to the gym. To late trains and dim streets. To pretending the world was normal while something hunted in it.
He exhaled slowly.
"First, I need to see what I've got," he said to the empty room. "Then I'll decide."
The words did not reassure him. They simply gave direction to thoughts that had been circling without resolution.
Ryan lay back against the mattress and closed his eyes.
Darkness settled over his vision, but it was no longer empty. The same inner space he had glimpsed in the hospital unfolded gradually, as though it had always been there and was only now coming into focus. It did not feel external. It felt internal, like a room within his own mind that had finally unlocked.
Threads of gold began to gather.
They did not rush into place. They drifted first, faint lines of light weaving through the void with deliberate, measured motion. Ryan focused on them, not forcing, simply observing.
He sensed expectation.
Not from the outside, but from within.
As if something in him had been incomplete and was now finishing the process of assembling itself.
Time stretched. He could not tell whether seconds or minutes passed.
The threads pulsed.
Text formed.
[Your ability has manifested due to the awakening of your dormant potential.
Ability: Decay
Description: Everything your energy touches decays, returning to its natural form.]
Ryan's eyes opened immediately.
The words vanished, but they remained etched into his awareness with uncomfortable clarity. He replayed them mentally, ensuring he had not misread a single line.
Decay.
He sat upright slowly, resting his elbows on his knees.
He had expected something more direct. Strength. Force. A weapon he could imagine using in that alley. Something tangible.
Decay sounded abstract. Indirect. Not explosive, not overwhelming.
Everything your energy touches decays.
What counted as energy? How far did it extend? Was it constant, or something he had to activate? How fast did decay occur? Instantly? Gradually?
And what did "returning to its natural form" even mean?
Rust. Rot. Disintegration.
He imagined reaching out toward the creature as it charged. Imagined trying to affect something that had not obeyed natural rules in the first place. Would it crumble? Or would it ignore him the way gravity had ignored his attempts to stand after his spine shattered?
The uncertainty tightened his chest.
This ability might be devastating. It might be useless. It might depend entirely on factors he did not yet understand.
That ambiguity frightened him more than disappointment would have.
Ryan leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
If he ignored this and continued his life as before, he would be gambling blindly. The Administration at least offered structure. Training. Information. Even if they were withholding pieces of the truth, they knew more than he did.
Eventually, he reached for the card.
His fingers hovered for a moment before dialing the number.
The line clicked after two rings.
"Hello. Who is this?"
"It's Ryan," he said.
There was a brief pause, followed by Watson's steady voice. "I was expecting your call."
Ryan almost asked how, then decided it didn't matter. "I'll accept your proposal."
"That's a wise decision," Watson replied evenly. "Have you awakened your ability?"
"Yes."
A subtle shift in tone followed. Not surprise. Confirmation.
"Did you attempt to use it?"
"No."
"Good. Newly awakened individuals often experience unstable surges. Testing it alone could have caused unintended consequences."
Ryan absorbed that quietly. "So what happens now?"
"We evaluate it under controlled conditions," Watson said. "I'll send you a location. Come tomorrow. There, you'll learn the parameters of your ability—its strengths, its limitations, and how to regulate it."
Ryan hesitated. "And if I hadn't called?"
"Then you would have faced those questions alone."
There was no threat in the statement. Just fact.
A vibration followed. A message with an address appeared on his phone.
"Rest tonight," Watson continued. "Tomorrow marks the beginning of your integration."
"Integration into what?" Ryan asked.
"A reality that has existed longer than you realize," Watson said. "We'll discuss the rest in person."
The call ended.
Ryan lowered the phone slowly.
The apartment was silent again. The hum of the refrigerator in the next room felt louder than it had before. Ordinary sounds. Ordinary walls. Yet none of it felt entirely stable.
Decay.
The word no longer sounded underwhelming. It sounded unfinished.
He closed his eyes and focused inward once more. The warmth he had sensed earlier lingered faintly beneath his awareness, not burning, not overwhelming, but present. It did not feel violent.
The creature had nearly erased him.
This ability had manifested only after he survived.
Ryan opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling until his breathing steadied.
For the first time since the alley, his fear had direction.
Tomorrow, he would find out what Decay truly meant.
And whether it would be enough.