At Johns Hopkins Hospital
The operating room was quiet in the way graveyards were quiet still, sterile, and filled with the presence of something unspoken.
Ren Hector adjusted the retractor, eyes narrowed against the glare of the overhead light. The patient's abdomen was open, pulsing gently with every beat of a struggling heart. Blood filled the cavity faster than suction could drain it. The junior resident beside him shifted nervously, gloves slick and trembling.
"Clamp." Ren's voice was calm.
A nurse handed him the tool without hesitation. He found the bleeder and sealed it, movements practiced, efficient.
Dr. Sutton, the supervising attending, stood behind the observation glass, arms folded as he watched Ren work. He didn't say anything he never did unless Ren made a mistake. Ren finished the last suture, lifted his head slightly, and gave the faintest nod.
The nurse called the time. "Closure complete. 02:47."
As the others exhaled, Ren peeled off his gloves, dropped them into the waste bin, and stepped out of the OR without a word. The moment the doors swung closed behind him, he changed direction and took the side hall toward the staff restroom.
He didn't hurry. Didn't stumble.
But once inside, he locked the door, gripped the sink, and threw up.
.
.
.
The fluorescent light above the mirror buzzed faintly as he rinsed his mouth out with tap water. It tasted like metal and leftover mint. His face looked no better. Dark shadows under his eyes, pale skin, and a sheen of sweat that clung to his hairline.
His reflection stared back half Asian, Caucasian, sleep deprived, handsome in a way that felt like a cruel joke. Dark circles like bruises. Lips bloodless.
He reached up and shut the light off.
Sometimes it helped not to see himself.
Ren sat on the closed toilet lid for five full minutes, eyes closed, arms resting on his knees. His hands still shook, barely noticeable unless you were looking. The same thing had happened three days ago. Before that, the week prior. Always after surgery.
I hate this part.
But I still do it.
When the nausea passed, he stood, fixed his tie, and walked out of the restroom like nothing had happened.
.
.
.
The city outside the hospital was mostly empty by the time he made it back to his apartment. A few taxi drifted by under the dim orange glow of the streetlamps. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed into the night.
His apartment was on the seventh floor of a building no one looked at twice. The elevator creaked. The hallway smelled like someone's expired leftovers. But the lock worked, and the water ran hot.
That was enough.
Ren tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and collapsed onto his couch, still half in his scrubs. He didn't bother turning off the TV, which had been running the same rotation of medical documentaries since yesterday. The familiar voice of a narrator droned on in the background about the evolution of neurosurgery.
He didn't hear most of it.
The pain hit without warning.
It started behind his ribs, sudden and sharp, like something reaching in and squeezing his heart. His lungs refused to pull air. Panic surged, but his body wouldn't move.
He dropped to his knees.
Tried to crawl.
No… I'm having a heart attack
His vision went dark at the edges. His fingertips scraped the carpet.
And then—
Stillness.
.
.
.
He woke up on cold pavement.
The smell hit him first: oil, damp concrete, and exhaust. His fingers curled around gritty gravel, slick with moisture. A headache throbbed at the base of his skull as he sat up slowly.
A narrow alley stretched around him, enclosed by two sleek, mirrored buildings. Neon signs buzzed overhead.
He stared for a long moment.
Nothing was familiar.
The city skyline shimmered in strange angles. The air hummed with the sound of distant machinery, too smooth.
"What…"
A ding echoed, loud and unnatural in the silence.
A glowing panel hovered in front of him, translucent and green, like something from a sci-fi movie.
[SYSTEM: Binding Initiated]
Host: Ren Hector
Welcome to the world of Hunters.
Divine Healer System Binding Progress: 15%
Ren stared at the panel, then at his own hands.
He slapped himself once. Nothing changed.
"Okay," he muttered. "I've lost it. Stress finally cracked me."
Another ding.
[Reminder: Please remain conscious during system integration.]
He backed away from the panel, nearly tripping over a pile of garbage bags. The alley was dim, but he could still make out the edges of graffiti on the walls, bright and too clean for any city he'd ever been in.
"This isn't real. I'm dreaming."
Another ding.
[No signs of REM sleep detected. Host is fully awake.]
The alley was too quiet.
Ren took a step back, breathing hard, eyes still locked on the floating system panel.
[System Binding Progress: 70%]
A mechanical chime echoed from the green display, pulsing brighter. It hovered in the air like it belonged there. Like it had always been there. Ren was still trying to process what "Divine Healer System" even meant when the world tore open.
Something smashed through the air above him.
A sharp whiplike crack, followed by a horrible crunch of meat and bone loud enough to echo off both alley walls.
A man's body slammed into the concrete just a few feet from Ren, striking hard enough to leave a dent in the wall. His limbs twisted the wrong way, like his bones had been replaced with rope. Blood seeped out beneath the shattered remains of his armor.
Ren barely recognized the figure as human before the head rolled to one side.
The neck was broken. Instantly. No struggle. No resistance.
Ren's mouth opened, but he couldn't speak. His voice had stopped working.