5. exterminators must be CONFIDENT!

"These are the new recruits," Sabrina muttered, settling into her chair as her gaze flicked to Massiah. "Maybe this time, we'll finally see you rank up with them."

Massiah exhaled sharply, standing up without a word. As he passed the two fresh-faced recruits, irritation etched across his face.

They hurried after him, eager, spouting words of admiration—how they had studied his combat style, how they loved his efficiency and wit.

Massiah barely acknowledged them.

Dead end solutions had branches across the world, but within New Haven, he was one of the few Exterminators held in such high regard. It wasn't uncommon for people to watch him fight, to enlist because of him.

Gran had been one of them.

During missions, he had never shut up about that one moment—the day in a collapsed haven where Massiah had unknowingly saved their lives by slaying a Myutant.

They got along well.

Or at least, Gran thought so.

When the day of their rank-up came, Gran and Quem had expected Massiah to advance with them.

He didn't.

And ever since that day, they hadn't spoken a single word.

"You were talking plenty with your buddy just now," Gran muttered. "What, don't wanna talk anymore?"

Tim glanced at Massiah, gave him a pat on the back, and wordlessly disappeared into his shop.

Gran stepped forward. "C'mon. Let's hear about these recruits. They must be special if they got you to crawl out of your little fucking shell, right?"

"Shut up, Gran," Quem cut in, "We're only here for a joint mission. Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be." She turned to Massiah. "I'm sorry."

Massiah met her gaze briefly, then turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked off.

There was a lot he could have told Gran. That he couldn't forgive himself for taking recruits back then. That he hadn't ranked up because he hadn't wanted to repeat the past.

But at this point, none of it mattered anymore.

"It's beyond the Depths, right?" he muttered.

Footsteps tapped against the pavement as Quem caught up to him, falling into stride at his side. He glanced at her, just for a moment. She had always been pretty, even back when they'd parted ways. Her hair a glimmering bright green—dyed, not warped by the pollutant—framed a face that looked like it had been handcrafted by a master artisan.

But what had always stood out about her wasn't her looks.

It was her kindness. Her understanding.

"Still," she said after a pause, "I might not have Gran's anger, but I do want to know—what's so special about these recruits that got you to finally let someone in?"

Massiah exhaled, tilting his head toward the sky for a brief moment before pressing a hand to his earpiece.

A low click echoed through the comms.

Minutes later, two figures crossed the street toward them.

One walked with the confidence of a supermodel. The other had the presence of a fallen moon rock.

Dahlia and Ansel.

"They're so cute!" Quem cooed, standing over Dahlia, pressing her cheeks like an overenthusiastic grandmother.

Dahlia glanced at her, then at Massiah, whose expression told her to bear with it.

She did.

Footsteps echoed behind them—slow, deliberate. Gran. His presence was heavy, simmering with restrained anger as he glanced at the recruits.

Quem rose slightly, ready to stop whatever outburst was coming.

But Gran did nothing.

He just kept walking.

"Let's get this thing over with," he muttered, moving past them.

Dahlia raised a brow. "Job?" She turned to Massiah, but his attention was locked onto Gran's retreating figure.

"You still don't talk much," Quem mused, shifting her gaze back to Dahlia. "Yeah, we're all on a joint mission beyond the Depths."

Dahlia smirked. "I'd rip into you for pampering me when you barely look older than me—" she let Quem's hands linger on her face for a moment before adding, "—but you're pretty, so I'll allow it."

Quem laughed, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Well, is that so?"

"Let's go," Massiah muttered, already moving ahead.

Ansel hesitated before following.

He had told himself over and over that he could do this. That he was capable of fighting. That this time would be different.

But his hands shook. His teeth clattered. His confidence wavered.

And still, he walked behind them.

The Depths was a term used for unmapped regions left untouched after the Collapse—territories without settlements, laws, or control. They were often tangled in mountain ranges or close to flood-prone waters.

This was the former.

A group of scavengers had been picking through these mountains, searching for remnants of the old world.

"Isn't that dangerous?" Dahlia muttered. "Traversing mountains like that can't be safe."

"The benefits could be life-changing," Quem explained. "With the current economy, finding a working engine could make you a billionaire."

They stepped onto the cruel terrain, loose gravel shifting beneath their boots. Normally, they wouldn't be sent this far from civilization for a single Myutant, but this was a flying one.

That made it a constant threat.

Walled city or not—a single flying Myutant left unchecked could wipe out a haven months or even years down the line.

There was no point in taking that risk.

"Sabrina give a location?" Massiah asked, glancing at Quem.

"Close to the second mountain's base," she replied.

"Is that it?" Dahlia cut in, pointing to their side.

A gaping cave loomed at the base of the second mountain, a rough opening carved into the rock. Even under the noon sun, the interior was swallowed in impenetrable darkness. The Myutant was inside, but it wasn't eager to show itself.

"Let's go in," Massiah muttered, pulling his scythe into his grasp.

"No."

Gran's voice cut through the air, sharp and deliberate. "You won't."

Massiah's gaze flicked to him, then back to the cave. He took a step.

Gran didn't move. "You struggle against flying types. That's why Sabrina put us here. And even if your recruits can handle the fight, I doubt they have experience against one."

Massiah stilled. "What do you want?"

Gran smirked. "Let the recruits handle it." His tone was light, but the weight behind it was anything but. "I want to see their immaculate strength—the potential so great you picked them over us."

Dahlia frowned, glancing at Quem. "What's he talking about?"

Massiah exhaled slowly, staring into the darkness of the cave.

Gran wasn't wrong. An open space like this was the worst place for him to fight. He wasn't a ranged fighter like they were. If the Myutant made it outside, it would have the upper hand or even worse, it could get away.

"You'll only be getting them killed."

Gran scoffed. "Being an Exterminator means accepting death. Isn't that your philosophy?"

Massiah clenched his jaw.

He had grown attached to these recruits in a way he never could with them and this was Gran's revenge—forcing him to gamble with their lives.

"Fine." Massiah muttered, accepting the challenge. "But if it looks like either of them will die, you interfere."

Gran's smirk didn't fade. "They mean that much to you, huh?"

"Interfere."

Gran rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively. "Whatever."

It wasn't going to be easy. Massiah was betting on Dahlia's strength, hoping she could crush the Myutant inside the cave before it took flight. If she could, this would be over quickly.

But that was wishful thinking.

"Dahlia—" Massiah started, but Gran cut him off, pointing past him.

At Ansel.

The younger recruit stood frozen, staring at the dark innards of the cave, his fear plain on his face. "I want him to do it."

Ansel's head snapped up, eyes wide.

Dahlia immediately stepped forward, trying to block Gran's line of sight. "What, are you scared I'm gonna win your little challenge before it even starts?"

Gran didn't even look at her. "No. You're strong. It doesn't take a genius to see that." His eyes remained locked on Ansel.

"But him. He's been shaking since we got here. He's your direct opposite, isn't he?"

Massiah's expression darkened.

"That's it. The challenge is off." He turned toward the cave.

Gran's laugh stopped him.

"So not only did you leave us—" Gran's voice was sharper now, cutting deeper. "You left us for a pair of recruits... and one of them's completely useless?"

Massiah stiffened.

"I feel insulted. This—this is what you replaced us with?"

"Stop."

Massiah's voice was low, controlled—but there was an edge to it, a quiet warning beneath the surface. His gaze shifted past Gran, settling on Quem.

"Quem," he said, slower this time. "Talk some sense into—"

She stepped forward before he could finish, standing beside Gran.

"I feel the same way."

Dahlia whipped around, "Nice lady!" she gasped, shaking her head. "You've betrayed me!"

"So what is it?" Gran pressed. "Don't trust the boy? Or will you admit he's the weakest link?"

Ansel flinched, his breath catching in his throat as he slowly looked up at Massiah.

"He's probably been thinking about it for a while now," Gran continued, gesturing lazily. "You probably have been too." His smirk was thin, calculated, meant to dig under the skin. "Who knows? Maybe I'm doing you a favor—giving you an excuse to get rid of him."

"Am I really—" Ansel started, voice fragile.

"You aren't."

Massiah cut him off before the thought could take root, his voice sharper than he intended. But even as the words left him, doubt crept in.

There was no way Ansel could take down that Myutant alone. That much was obvious. But if he pulled him back now, if he shielded him again, wouldn't that fear only grow stronger? Wouldn't it latch onto him, making him even more vulnerable.

What was the right answer? The correct decision? His mind scrambled for a middle ground, but no matter how much he turned it over, it all came back to the same conclusion—refusing the challenge. He and Dahlia could handle this. If they could make a feasible plan, a strategy. They could bring the Myutant down together.

Him and Dahlia.

Not Ansel.

Not once—not even in passing—had he factored the boy into his plan.

A quiet, bitter laugh broke from his lips. His hands returning his scythe onto his back, clamping it into place.

He took a step toward Ansel. The boy's legs trembled beneath him, fingers fidgeting, breath uneven. He wasn't built for this. He had no composure, no steel in his spine, nothing like what an Exterminator needed. But then again—neither did Massiah, once upon a time.

He wasn't Tim. He wasn't Sabrina. He didn't have the right words or the right actions for moments like this. He didn't know how to pull someone out of the depths of fear or instill confidence when there was nothing to stand on. But he knew one thing—fear never fixed anything. Not for him. Not for anyone.

He placed a hand on Ansel's back and gave him a firm push forward.

"Get in there."

Ansel staggered, turning toward him in wide-eyed disbelief.

Massiah didn't waver. He didn't have the right words, the right actions, or even the right expression. But he had one thing.

"Go face your fears."

Ansel swallowed hard, gripping his karambits tighter. He wanted to turn back. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to stop, to retreat, to let someone else handle this. But just before stepping into the cave, he hesitated—and in that brief moment, he looked at Massiah.

There, in the cold, hardened stare of a man who had pushed him forward, he saw something else.

Belief.

It was the same look his mother had once given him.

And with that, he walked into the darkness.

Scared absolutely shitless.