The silence that followed the pack leader's death was profound, broken only by the whoop-whoop-whoop of approaching sirens, the sobbing of the girl still inside the library, and Lin Hao's own, "ragged," faked panting.
He was on his feet, a lone, primal figure silhouetted in the broken doorway. He was a mess of black grime, tattered cloth, and the blood of ten monsters. None of it was his.
He "leaned" heavily against the shattered doorframe, a perfect picture of a hero at his absolute limit, the adrenaline "fading," leaving him "trembling" and "in shock."
Screeeech!
Two armored, black BSA vans and a standard police cruiser skidded to a halt on the pavement nearby, their headlights flooding the quad in harsh, sterile white light.
Doors slammed. "MEDICS! MOVE! MOVE! GO!"
A team of real BSA agents, not the Level 2 "A-Team" cannon fodder, but professionals in full tactical gear, carrying rifles, swarmed the scene. They fanned out, their weapons trained on the darkness, their movements crisp and practiced.
A man in a clean, black, high-collared BSA officer's uniform, a "Captain Wu," strode into the center of the carnage. His face was grim, his eyes sharp.
Lin Hao felt him instantly. This man wasn't a Level 2 "firecracker." He was a steady, contained furnace. A Level 3, maybe a low Level 4. A real practitioner.
Captain Wu's eyes took in the scene with a single, sweeping, expert gaze: the ten, brutally-killed, mutated dogs. The two downed, groaning "A-Team" guards. The shattered library doors.
And then, his gaze locked onto Lin Hao.
He saw the half-naked, grime-and-blood-caked student, leaning on the doorframe, "bleeding" from a "grievous" shoulder wound, panting with exhaustion.
Wu's professional, hardened expression broke for just a second, replaced by one of pure, stunned disbelief. He had just seen two of his trained Adepts, armed and armored, torn to pieces. And this... this kid... had seemingly killed the entire pack.
"Medic!" Wu barked, pointing. "Get on him! Now!"
A medic with a trauma bag started running toward Lin Hao.
"No!" Lin Hao grunted, waving him off. The last thing he needed was a professional medic touching his perfectly intact[Iron Skin]. "I'm... I'm fine. It's... it's just a graze. It's not my blood."
He was telling the truth. The medic stopped, confused, but Captain Wu held up a hand, motioning for the man to see to the actual victims.
Wu approached Lin Hao, his eyes scanning him, taking in the ripped-out steel handrail, the trail of bodies, the look of "shock" on Lin Hao's face.
"Son," Captain Wu said, his voice low and intense. "I'm Captain Wu, BSA. Report. What in the hell happened here?"
Lin Hao looked at him, his eyes "dazed." He gave the performance of his life.
"I... I don't know," he stammered, his voice hoarse. "I was in my dorm... I heard the alert. The screams. I... I guess I 'Awakened' last night. I just... I felt this... this surge of strength."
He gestured vaguely with his head toward the broken steps. "I saw them... attacking... I just... I just acted. I ripped that thing out... and I..."
He trailed off, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe it himself. It was the perfect story. A brand-new, adrenaline-fueled Level 2 "Adept," a "brute-force" type, who had, through sheer, dumb luck and heroic rage, won an impossible fight.
Captain Wu stared at him, his respect warring with his disbelief. A brand-new Adept? Did this?
"Son," Wu said, his voice softening, "you've got the gift. And you've got guts the size of this library. The Bureau of Supernatural Affairs... we need men like you. We can offer formal training, A-level classification, and a significant signing bonus. We take care of our own."
The recruitment pitch. Lin Hao had to force himself not to scoff.
He shook his head, looking down, projecting "trauma" and "confusion."
"I... I can't," he whispered. "This is... this is all too much. I just... I just killed... things. I need to think. I... I have to call my family. I need... I need time."
It was the perfect human response. Captain Wu nodded, his expression softening into one of understanding. This kid wasn't a soldier. He was a traumatized student.
"I get it, son," Wu said, clapping him on his uninjured shoulder. "You're in shock. And you're a hero. Go. Get yourself cleaned up. But... take this."
He pulled a black, metallic card from his tunic pocket. "When you've had time to process, you call this number. We'll be in touch."
Lin Hao took the card, his hand "trembling." "Thank you, sir."
He turned to leave, his "heroic duty" done. He just wanted to get back to his warehouse, take the world's longest shower, and eat a cow.
"Lin Hao, wait!"
The voice came from the library. Fatty Zhang was running toward him, stumbling over the broken glass. Su Yun was right behind him, wrapped in an emergency blanket a medic had given her.
Fatty, his face pale, his eyes wide, grabbed Lin Hao's filthy, blood-and-grime-caked arm. He didn't even flinch.
"Man... I... I saw it," Fatty breathed, his chubby face, usually a mask of jokes, now deadly serious. "You... you tore that thing's head open. We... we were goners. We were dead."
He looked Lin Hao dead in the eyes, his grip tightening.
"Lin Hao," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Whatever you need. Anything. From now on, you just ask. You saved our lives."
Su Yun stepped up beside him. Her eyes, red from crying, were locked on Lin Hao's face. The awe in them was a physical, palpable force. She had seen him, this quiet, stressed-out boy, become a primal warrior.
"He's right, Lin Hao," she whispered, her voice firm. "Anything. We... we owe you everything."
Lin Hao looked at them. The future loyal friend. The future love interest. They were his. Their loyalty, their lives, they were his, bought and paid for with a "heroic" performance.
He was too "overwhelmed" to give a big speech. He just gave a single, tired, grim nod.
"Just... stay safe," he muttered.
He turned, pulling his arm from Fatty's grasp, and walked away. He limped, just slightly, for the cameras. A lone, heroic, blood-and-grime-covered figure, disappearing past the flashing lights, into the darkness of the new world he had just, inadvertently, begun to shape.