Plan

Fin's heart hammered in his chest as he stared at the monster he'd just punched. It wasn't dead—not yet. The scaly beast shook its head, dazed, then let out a guttural roar that made his stomach twist. 

Sure, he'd absorbed something from that dead monster corpse, and yeah, he felt stronger than ever, but this thing? It was still terrifying. Its claws glinted in the light, and its jagged teeth snapped at the air.

This wasn't a video game. This was real, and Fin was *not* ready.

"Crap, crap, crap," he muttered, stumbling back. His newfound strength buzzed in his limbs, but his brain hadn't caught up. The monster lunged, swiping a claw at his chest. 

He dodged—barely—but the tip sliced through his hoodie and grazed his skin, leaving a stinging red line.

"Ow! Son of a—" He swung his fist again, aiming for its head. The punch connected, a wet crack echoing as the monster's jaw twisted sideways. 

It staggered, but Fin's confidence faltered when it roared again, louder, angrier. He wasn't a fighter. He was a scrap-hauler with a dumb power. What was he doing?

The monster charged, faster this time, and Fin panicked. He threw himself to the side, but not quick enough—its claws raked across his arm, tearing through fabric and flesh. Blood welled up, hot and sticky, and he yelped, clutching the wound. 

"Okay, that's it!" he shouted, fear turning to frustration. He didn't care how scared he was anymore—he just wanted this thing dead

He rushed forward, ducking under another swipe, and slammed his shoulder into its gut. The monster wheezed, stumbling back, and Fin didn't stop. He grabbed its arm—scaly, slimy, disgusting—and yanked with all his strength. 

There was a sickening pop as the limb tore free, black blood spraying across his face. The monster screeched, thrashing wildly, but Fin was done playing nice. He swung the severed arm like a club, smashing it into the creature's skull. Once. Twice. On the third hit, its head caved in, bone and brain splattering onto the ground. The body twitched, then went still.

He stood there, panting, covered in blood—his own and the monster's. His arm stung, his chest burned, and his legs felt like jelly. But he won. Brutally, messily, he'd won. A shaky laugh escaped his lips. 

"Holy… I did that. I actually did that."

From the distance, Greg's voice cut through the haze. "Fin! What the hell was that?!" The truck rolled closer, Greg's wide eyes peeking out the window. He'd seen the whole thing—probably from a safe distance, the coward.

Fin wiped blood off his face, grinning despite the pain. "I… I killed it. With my hands!"

Greg hopped out, staring at the mangled corpse. "You're insane, kid. Insane." Then his eyes lit up, greedy. "Wait—this thing's parts? Claws, scales, teeth? We could sell them! There are people that pay big for this stuff!"

Fin frowned, still catching his breath. He stepped toward the dead monster, the one he'd absorbed earlier, wanting to try it again. His hand hovered over its shriveled remains, that strange buzz tingling in his fingers. But before he could focus, Greg shoved past him.

"Nah, nah, hold up!" He said, pulling out a knife. "Lemme harvest this one first. We're talking serious cash here, Fin! Don't ruin it with your weirdo touchy thing."

Fin glared, too tired to argue. "Fine. Whatever." He slumped against a chunk of rubble, adrenaline fading, leaving him sore but… happy. This was insane. He'd gone from useless to monster-killer in ten minutes flat.

---

Later that day, back at the apartment, Fin sat on the couch, bandages wrapped around his arm and chest. Meg was sprawled across from him, eating chips as usual, her purple hair a mess from a long shift at the gear shop.

"So, let me get this straight," she said, smirking. "You punched a monster to death. You. Fin 'I-trip-over-my-own-feet' Carver."

"Yeah," Fin said, leaning back. "Absorbed some power from a dead one, then beat the crap out of the live one. It was nuts."

Meg laughed, loud and sharp. "Sure, buddy. And I'm secretly a dungeon princess. You're full of it."

"I'm serious!" He sat up, grinning. "C'mon, test me. Arm wrestle. You always win, right?"

Meg raised an eyebrow, tossing her chip bag aside. "Oh, you're on. I'll crush you like always." She plopped down at the table, elbow propped up, hand ready. Fin joined her, still sore but buzzing with excitement.

"Go!" She said, pushing hard. Normally, she'd have his arm pinned in seconds—her wiry strength had always outmatched his scrawny build. But this time, Fin's arm didn't budge. 

Not even an inch.

Her smirk faded. "What the—? You cheating or something?" She leaned in, using both hands now, gripping his wrist tight. Still nothing. Fin just sat there, grinning like an idiot.

"C'mon, Meg, you're not even trying," he teased.

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, it's on." She stood up, planting her feet, and threw her whole body into it—shoulders, hips, everything. 

Fin's arm stayed rock-solid, like it was carved from stone. Her face turned red, her boots slipping on the floor, until she finally flopped back into her chair, panting.

"Okay," she wheezed, staring at him. "What the actual heck, Fin?"

"Told you," he said, flexing his hand. "I absorbed it. The monster's power. I'm… strong now."

She blinked, then burst out laughing. "You're a freak! A total freak! But, like… a cool freak. Holy crap, you're not useless anymore!"

Fin laughed too, relief washing over him. For the first time in forever, he felt like he might actually belong in this messed-up world.

Meg leaned back in her chair, still catching her breath from the arm-wrestling disaster. She wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead and stared at Fin, her purple hair sticking out at wild angles.

"Okay, freakshow," she said, pointing a chip-crusted finger at him. "You've got power now. Real power. So… you going to apply to be a Hunter or what?"

Fin's grin faltered. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the bandages on his arm. "I… I don't know, Meg. Maybe?"

"Maybe?" She sat up straight, incredulous. "Fin, you just punched a monster's head into mush! That's, like, Hunter-level stuff. You could actually do something with this!"

He shifted uncomfortably, staring at the cracked floor. "Yeah, but… I was scared out there. Like, *really* scared. That thing almost ripped me apart. I got lucky, sure, but what if next time I don't? What if I freeze up or—" He trailed off, picturing those claws tearing into him again, the blood, the snarling teeth. 

His stomach churned.

Meg rolled her eyes, but her voice softened a little. "Fin, you think Hunters aren't scared? They're not robots. They're just people who decided to stop running and start fighting. And yeah, you got cut up, but you won. You're tougher than you think."

He didn't say anything, just picked at the edge of his bandage. The high from the fight was fading, replaced by a gnawing doubt. Power or not, he wasn't some badass. He was still just Fin.

Meg sighed, leaning forward now, her elbows on the table. "Look, we can't keep living like this, you know? Scrap jobs and fixing rusty gear? We're barely scraping by. This apartment's one bad day from falling apart. Meanwhile, Hunters out there are living in mansions, eating steak, driving cars that don't sound like dying cats. You've got a shot at that now. A real shot."

He glanced up at her. "What, you want me to be some rich jerk strutting around with a sword?"

"No, dummy," she said, flicking a chip at him, bouncing off his nose. "I want you to stop being a broke jerk sleeping on a couch with springs poking his butt. You've got something special now. Don't waste it."

He caught the next chip she threw and popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "I just… I don't know if I'm cut out for it. Fighting monsters every day? Risking my life? That's not me."

She smirked, leaning closer. "Maybe it wasn't you yesterday. But today? Today you ripped a monster's arm off and beat it to death with it. That's not 'useless Fin' anymore. That's 'Hunter Fin.' You're already changing, whether you like it or not."

He groaned, slumping back. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope!" She grinned, wide and shameless. "I'm like a bug you can't get rid of. Buzzing in your ear 'til you do something stupid or awesome—or both."

He couldn't help it—he laughed. "Yeah, a loud, purple bug that eats all my chips."

"Guilty," she said, grabbing another handful. "But seriously. You've got this. You're scared? Fine. Use that. Let it push you to be better. You don't have to be fearless—you just have to keep going."

Her words hung in the air, sinking in slow. He stared at the ceiling and the flickering lightbulb that was about to die. She was right—they couldn't keep living like this. And maybe, just maybe, he could do more than haul scrap and dodge monsters.

He felt that power today, that rush. It scared him, yeah, but it also felt… good.

"Alright," he said finally, sitting up. "I'll do it. I'll apply to be a Hunter."

Meg's eyes lit up. "Yes! That's my boy!" She punched his shoulder—lightly, since she knew he'd probably barely feel it now. "You're going to kick so much monster butt, they'll name a dungeon after you."

He snorted. "Yeah, 'Fin's Pit of Doom.' Sounds cozy."

"Better than 'Fin's Couch of Sadness,'" she shot back, and they both laughed.

He shook his head, still smiling. "You really are a bug I can't get rid of, you know that? But… thanks, Meg. For pushing me."

She winked. "Anytime, weirdo. Now go shower—you smell like monster guts and bad decisions."

With a mock salute, he hauled himself off the couch, feeling lighter than he had in years.