Fail...

Fin slouched in the hard plastic chair, his patched jeans creaking against the seat. The Hunter Guild lobby buzzed around him—people chatting, boots clacking on the shiny floor, and the hum of that fancy air conditioning making his skin prickle. 

He stared at his boots, scuffed and muddy from the long walk, trying to ignore the whispers and smirks from the other applicants. 'Meg believes in me,' he told himself, clenching his fists. 'That's enough.'

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the three girls walking up to him until they were right there. They didn't look mean—no sneers or fancy coats like the jerks outside. Just curious, maybe. 

One had short black hair and a freckled nose, another rocked a ponytail and a bright green jacket, and the third had glasses that kept slipping down her face.

"Hey," Freckles said, tilting her head. "You're from the slums, right? Like, the real slums?"

Fin blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… yeah? Why?"

Ponytail grinned, leaning closer. "No reason! Just… you don't see many slum kids here. How'd you awaken your power? Was it, like, super dramatic?"

He didn't want to talk about it. Not here, not with strangers. "I, uh… don't really wanna get into that," he mumbled, scratching his neck. 'powers awaken naturally so what are they talking about? I just woke up and had powers, that's how it is for everyone I know.'

Glasses pushed her specs up, nodding. "Oh, okay! No biggie. We were just wondering." She smiled, and the three of them waved before wandering off toward a group of guys by the wall.

Fin let out a breath, relaxing a little. 'Nice people? Weird.' He figured that was the end of it. But then he saw the girls whispering to the guys, their heads bent close, sneaky-like. 

The dudes—three of them, all tall and built like they lifted scrap trucks for fun—glanced his way, smirking. His stomach sank.

'Oh, crap. What now?'

Before he could move, the guys swaggered over, their boots thudding loud on the polished floor. The biggest one—buzz-cut hair, a scar on his cheek—grinned down at him. "Hey, slum rat. Heard you're some kinda mystery man. What's your deal?"

Fin shrank back in his chair. "Uh… no deal. Just waiting. Like you."

Scarface laughed, a sharp, nasty sound. "Waiting? You? Nah, you don't belong here." Without warning, he grabbed Fin's shirt and yanked him up, pinning him against the wall. The other two flanked him, cracking their knuckles like this was some dumb action movie.

"Whoa, whoa!" Fin yelped, hands flailing. "What's your problem?!"

"No fighting in the lobby," the second guy—a skinny one with a buzzed mohawk—said, smirking. "But we can rough you up a little. Teach you your place."

Fin's back hit the wall hard, knocking the wind out of him. He grabbed Scarface's arm, trying to twist free, his heart hammering. 'I'm screwed. I'm so screwed.' Then it happened—his power kicked in. 

That familiar buzz shot through his fingers, sharp and wild, like static on a broken radio. Only this time, it wasn't a dead monster. It was a living guy.

 The guy's grin vanished. His eyes rolled back, and he dropped like a sack of bricks, thudding to the floor, out cold. 

 Fin stumbled forward, free but freaked out, staring at his hand. 'Dammit, why now of all times?'

The lobby went quiet for a split second, then erupted in murmurs.

"Did you see that?"

"He just touched him!" 

"What kind of power is that?"

The other two guys backed off, wide-eyed, like Fin was some kind of monster himself.

Mohawk pointed, voice shaky. "You—you're a freak!"

Fin's chest tightened. He didn't mean to do that, he didn't even know it worked on humans. His eyes darted around—everyone was staring. Then he saw her. The interviewer lady with the tight bun and sharper-than-claws glasses, standing by her desk, arms crossed, watching the whole mess.

'Crap,' he thought, his stomach dropping to his boots. 'I'm done for.'

She marched over, her heels clicking like a countdown to doom. The crowd parted, still whispering, as she stopped in front of him. Fin braced himself, expecting a lecture—or worse, guards dragging him out.

"You," she said, voice flat but icy. "Did you lie about your power?"

He shook his head fast, hands up. "No! No, I swear! I said I absorb stuff, right? I just… uh… never did it to a person before. That was, like, my first time. Total accident!" He forced a shaky grin, hoping she'd buy it.

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing like she could see right through his skull. Scarface groaned on the floor, twitching but still out. The other two guys hovered nearby, glaring but not dumb enough to try anything with her there. She tapped her tablet, then sighed—a long, tired sound that made him flinch.

"Come with me," she said, turning on her heel. "Now."

Fin swallowed hard and followed, his boots squeaking on the shiny floor. She led him back to her desk, waving off the next applicant in line like they were a fly buzzing around her head. She sat, typed something, then looked up at him.

"Sit."

He sat, feeling smaller than ever. "Am I… in trouble?"

She didn't answer right away, just kept tapping her tablet. Finally, she said, "Your initial screening was a failure. No knowledge, no experience, vague answers. I was going to send you back to wherever you crawled from."

His heart sank. 'Knew it.' He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand.

"But," she continued, "what you just did changes things. Accident or not, you've got something. Raw, messy, but… something." She leaned forward, her glasses glinting. "I'm updating your results. You pass. Barely."

Fin blinked. "Wait, what? I… I'm in?"

"Don't get excited," she snapped. "You're a walking disaster. But the Guild doesn't turn away potential, even if it's wrapped in rags and ignorance. You'll start at the bottom—F-rank. Prove you're not a fluke, or you're out. Understood?"

He nodded fast, too stunned to speak. 'F-rank? That's a thing? Whatever, I'm in!'

She waved him off. "Go wait by the east door. Someone will call you for orientation. And for the love of all that's holy, don't touch anyone else unless you want to explain it to security."

"Yes, ma'am!" he said, jumping up. He almost tripped over his own feet but caught himself, grinning like an idiot. 'I did it. I actually did it!'

As he shuffled toward the east door, the lobby buzzed again—people pointing, whispering. Mohawk and the other guy were dragging Scarface to a bench, muttering about "that slum freak." 

Fin ignored them, his head spinning. He was a Hunter now. Well, an F-rank Hunter, whatever that meant. 

'Meg's gonna lose her mind,' he thought, picturing her laughing and tossing chips at him. 'And I'm gonna get us out of that dump. One monster at a time.'

But deep down, a tiny voice nagged at him: 'What did I just do to that guy? And what happens if I can't control it?' He shoved it down, focusing on the win. For now, he'd take the victory—and maybe a shower. 

He really did stink like monster guts.