The twenty Merit Points glowed on the screen of the black phone, a shimmering, golden trophy for a battle I had barely survived. The cheerful emoji at the end of the notification seemed to wink at me from a place of profound corporate detachment, a cosmic pat on the back for not getting my soul devoured. My body was still trembling with a toxic cocktail of adrenaline and terror, but for the first time, my Merit Point balance wasn't zero. I had a positive balance. In the insane new economy of my life, I was solvent.
I pushed myself up from the damp grass, my knees weak. Across the clearing, Kevin Zhang was performing his own quiet ritual. He wiped the glowing peach-wood sword clean with a soft, embroidered cloth, his movements deliberate and respectful. He handled the blade not like a weapon, but like a sacred instrument that had just been used for a holy purpose. After sheathing it, he walked around the perimeter of his trap, collecting the carved wooden stakes and coiling the red thread with practiced efficiency. The air, once thick with a palpable hunger, was now crisp, clean, and blessedly empty. The only lingering presence was Jessica's, a cold, tight knot of residual fear in my chest.
When he was done, Kevin walked over to me. He stood there for a moment, looking me up and down, his expression a mixture of professional assessment and simple human curiosity. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant sounds of city traffic.
"So," he said finally, breaking the quiet. "You didn't scream. I'm impressed. Most newcomers scream."
"I think my vocal cords were paralyzed with fear," I admitted, my voice raspy. "Thanks for the… uh… neutralization."
"Don't thank me. We had a deal," he said, shouldering his now-full duffel bag. "You were the bait, I was the exterminator. It was a transaction." Despite his blunt words, there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—respect, maybe? Or at least, the kind of camaraderie that forms between two people who have survived the same explosion.
"That thing…" I started, the horrifying image of the shadowy, multi-mouthed creature still burned into my mind. "What exactly was it? You called it a Hungry Shade."
Kevin's gaze drifted back toward the Lily Pool, now serene and beautiful again under the park lights. "That's the closest translation. In my great-grandfather's dialect, they were called è guǐ. Not a ghost of a person, but a spiritual parasite. A bottom-feeder. They form in places where there's a lot of stagnant emotional energy and decay. They're slow, stupid, and have only one drive: to eat. They usually feed on weak spirits, echoes, that sort of thing. But when they get a taste of something stronger, like a full-fledged, traumatized human spirit…" He trailed off, looking pointedly at my chest. "They get ambitious. And dangerous."
His explanation sent a fresh chill through me. "And you? Your family… you're monster hunters?"
He snorted, a brief, sharp sound. "I hate that term. It's too dramatic. We're more like… janitors. Or exterminators, like I said. This world, the one you can see, is just one layer. There are other layers, all existing in the same space, bleeding into each other. Most of the time, the traffic stays in its own lane. But sometimes… things cross over. Things get stuck. Things like your passenger." He nodded at me. "Or things like that Shade. We just clean it up. Keep the balance."
I processed this, my view of reality expanding and fracturing with every word he spoke. He made it sound so practical, so matter-of-fact. "How did you know about Jessica?" I asked, the question I'd been dying to ask. "You said you could smell her?"
"Not smell, exactly," he corrected. "More like… see. Your life force—your aura, whatever you want to call it—is bright. But hers is wrapped around it. A cold, dark, ectoplasmic signature. It's messy. Unstable. It's like seeing someone walking down the street with their arm in a cast. I knew you were entangled with something the moment I saw you."
This explained everything and nothing. I was marked. A walking, talking supernatural anomaly. And my new, mysterious employer was apparently intent on using me as a divining rod, sending me into the path of monsters.
"This employer of yours," Kevin said, his voice turning serious, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Eternity, Inc., you said? What are they?"
I hesitated. Revealing the full truth about the app, about my own impending death, felt like revealing a fatal weakness. "I don't know," I said, which was mostly true. "It's new. They… conscripted me. They give me assignments through an app on a phone they gave me. If I succeed, I get rewarded. If I fail…"
"They send an unarmed amateur to fight a Level 4 entity," Kevin finished, shaking his head in disbelief. "They're either incompetent, or they're actively trying to kill you. Either way, you can't trust them."
He was right. The cheerful emojis and corporate jargon of the app did little to hide the fact that its business model was built on my mortal terror.
"The reward you mentioned," Kevin continued, his curiosity piqued. "What is it? Money?"
"Something… better, I guess," I said, deciding to give him a piece of the truth. "They're called Merit Points. I can use them to buy things. Skills. Items."
Kevin's eyebrows shot up. This, clearly, was new information to him. "A structured, supernatural reward system? What kind of skills?"
"I bought the one that let me feel Jessica's emotions," I explained. "It cost five points."
"An empathy induction," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Advanced stuff. And they just… sell it to you? My family's traditions require years of meditation and training to achieve even a fraction of that." He looked at me with a new, calculating expression, as if I were a strange, new piece on a chessboard he had been playing his whole life.
He was silent for a long moment, the gears clearly turning in his head. He looked at me, at the park around us, then back at me. He had come here to do a job, and had stumbled upon a complete unknown—a conscripted agent working for a mysterious supernatural corporation with access to skills he'd only ever read about.
I, in turn, was a man with a death sentence, two impossible jobs, and a complete lack of knowledge. I had the missions, but no skills. Kevin had the skills, but had to hunt for the missions. The logic was undeniable.
"We have a problem, Alex," Kevin said finally, his tone shifting. He was no longer just a curious expert; he was a pragmatist identifying an opportunity. "Your employer is going to keep sending you into the meat grinder. The next thing you face might be something I can't handle alone. And I spend most of my time chasing down rumors and faint signals, trying to find these things before they hurt someone. It's inefficient."
He met my gaze directly, his expression deadly serious. "You have a direct line to the problems. A supernatural mission board. I have the tools and the knowledge to solve them. You need me to stay alive. I could use your intel to work more efficiently."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"We should make this a permanent arrangement," he proposed. "A partnership. We work together on whatever assignments your crazy app throws at you. We split the rewards. I provide the muscle, the expertise, and the esoteric weaponry. You provide the intel and act as the primary agent. I keep you from dying a horrible, soul-shredding death, and you help me clean up the city. It's a better deal than either of us have trying to do this alone."
It was the most logical, most insane, and most welcome proposition I had ever heard. He was right. Alone, I was dead. Together, we were… still probably in mortal danger, but at least we were in it together. It was a partnership born of pure, unadulterated desperation.
"Yes," I said instantly, a wave of relief washing over me. "Deal."
I stuck out my hand. Kevin looked at it for a second, then grasped it firmly. His handshake was strong, confident. In that moment, our strange alliance was forged. Alex Carter, the terrified conscript, and Kevin Zhang, the pragmatic monster hunter. We were a team.
We walked out of the Lily Pool together, leaving the now-peaceful garden behind. The night air of Chicago felt normal again, but I knew it was an illusion. The world was bigger, stranger, and far more dangerous than I had ever known. My life was no longer my own. It was a complicated, terrifying balancing act. By day, I had to be a digital phantom, working to destroy a human monster. By night, I would be hunting literal monsters with my new, enigmatic partner.
I was no longer alone, but my problems had just multiplied.