Chapter 3: Beginning of End

The dim light of the afternoon filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting faint lines across the cluttered room. Cal stirred beneath the sheets, his body heavy with exhaustion. He squinted at the faint lines of light, blinking the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. He rolled over, staring at the clock on the nightstand: 1 p.m.

He hadn't bothered setting an alarm. There was no point. He didn't have a job anymore. He'd quit months ago—right before the night everything changed. Back then, it had been a final attempt to take control of his spiraling life. He hadn't expected what came next.

Cal pulled the blankets off and sat on the edge of the bed, his feet pressing into the cold floor. His muscles were sore from the fight last night, though the pain was already fading. His healing had sped up in the last few months, but it hadn't dulled the weight he carried inside.

He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck as he moved toward the window. The apartment around him had fallen into disarray—a mess of clothes, dishes, and papers scattered across every surface. He'd given up on keeping it clean. After all, there wasn't anyone left to care.

The life insurance and inheritance from his parents had kept him afloat since they died. It was money he hated using, money that was a constant reminder of their absence. But it had kept the lights on, paid the rent, and let him live without a job for these last few months. Still, the emptiness it left behind was something he hadn't figured out how to fill.

He sighed, pulling the blinds open and letting the light pour in. The streets below were as busy as ever, the noise of the city a dull hum in the background. He watched the people pass by, each of them going about their lives—so unaware of what was happening beneath the surface of the city.

Maybe I can't do this alone.

The thought gnawed at him as he turned from the window. He hadn't wanted to admit it, but last night's failure at the apartment proved that he was in over his head. Charging in like a bull had gotten him nowhere. He wasn't equipped to take on something as big as an organized syndicate.

But Ryan was.

Cal's mind drifted to his old friend, the one person who had always been able to think three steps ahead. Ryan was the strategist, the planner—the one who always saw the bigger picture. They'd known each other since they were kids, met at a park before preschool, and from the beginning, Ryan had been the one with the brains. If anyone could help him now, it was Ryan.

He walked over to his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Ryan's name. His finger hovered over it for a moment, hesitation creeping in. It had been a while since they'd really talked. Since things started getting… complicated.

He pressed call.

The phone rang once, twice, and then Ryan's voice came through the speaker.

"Cal? Man, it's been a while. What's up?"

Cal hesitated, his mind racing. "I need your help, Ryan. Can you come over to my place? There's something I need to show you."

There was a pause on the other end, then a curious chuckle. "Sure, man. Haven't been there in ages. Be there in thirty."

Cal hung up, the phone slipping from his fingers onto the couch. He glanced around the apartment, seeing it through Ryan's eyes. The place was a mess—nothing like the last time Ryan had been here. Back then, it had been neat, almost sterile. Now it was chaos.

The knock at the door came exactly thirty minutes later. Cal opened it, and there was Ryan, standing with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his face lighting up with a smile as soon as he saw Cal.

"Man, it's good to see you," Ryan said, stepping inside. His smile faltered almost immediately as he looked around. "Whoa. Place looks a little… different since the last time I was here."

Cal closed the door behind him, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, things… got a little messy."

Ryan raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cluttered coffee table and the pile of clothes in the corner. "A little?"

Cal let out a short laugh, moving toward the couch. "Okay, yeah, it's a disaster. I've had a lot going on."

Ryan followed, his eyes lingering on the mess but his expression softening. "It's cool. I'm not here to judge, man. You said you had something to show me?"

Cal sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He took a deep breath, his heart racing. "Yeah. It's… hard to explain. You're probably not going to believe me at first."

Ryan tilted his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Try me."

Cal stood up, pacing the room for a moment before stopping in front of Ryan. "Alright. So, a few months ago, I… found out something about myself. Something that changed everything."

Ryan raised an eyebrow, the grin fading. "What are you talking about?"

"I can heal, Ryan. From anything. I've been shot, stabbed—doesn't matter. My body just… fixes itself."

Ryan blinked, staring at Cal as though waiting for the punchline. When none came, he laughed nervously. "Alright, so my best friend's a super hero. Seriously, what's going on?"

Cal shook his head, frustration bubbling up. "I'm not joking. I'm serious."

Ryan crossed his arms, leaning back against the couch. "Okay, so you can heal from anything. Prove it."

Cal's jaw tightened. He had known Ryan wouldn't believe him, but it still stung. Without saying a word, Cal reached into his pocket, pulling out a small knife (he thought Ryan might demand evidence). Ryan's eyes widened as Cal held it up, his expression turning from disbelief to concern.

"Hey… what are you—?" He stepped forward as though to stop him.

Before Ryan could finish, Cal pressed the blade against his forearm and dragged it across his skin. Blood welled up immediately, dark and red against the pale flesh. Ryan shot to his feet, his face going pale.

"Cal! What the hell, man!?"

But Cal didn't flinch. He just stood there, holding his arm out, the blood dripping onto the floor. A few seconds passed, and then, slowly, the skin around the wound began to close. The blood stopped flowing, the gash sealing itself until there was nothing left but clean skin, as though it had never been there.

Ryan stood frozen, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open.

"What… what the hell did I just see?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Cal wiped the blood from his arm, his heart pounding in his chest. "I told you. I can heal. From anything."

Ryan's knees buckled, and he sank back onto the couch, still staring at Cal's arm. "This is… this is real? How…? When did this happen?"

"A few months ago," Cal replied, sitting down across from him. "It's a long story. But that's not the only reason I brought you here."

Ryan blinked, trying to process what he had just seen. "Not the only reason? What else could there possibly be?"

Cal leaned forward, his expression serious. "I need your help, Ryan. With everything I've been doing, with everything I want to do. I've been trying to clean up this city, but last night… I realized I can't do it alone. I don't know what I'm doing. I need someone who can help me think this through. I need you."

Ryan swallowed, his mind still spinning from what he had just witnessed. "You're serious."

"I'm dead serious."

Ryan nodded slowly, his eyes locked on Cal's. "Alright. I'm in. But you're going to have to explain everything."

Cal allowed himself a small smile. "I will. But first, let me tell you what happened last night."

Ryan leaned back into the couch, his expression still caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. He stared at the floor, tapping his fingers lightly against the arm of the couch. He had known Cal—Caleb—for most of his life, and this? This was something beyond what he ever imagined.

"I've been thinking about this for a while," Ryan muttered, mostly to himself. "But I didn't think you'd pull me into something this wild."

Cal raised an eyebrow. "You're not backing out, are you?"

Ryan shook his head, but a chuckle escaped him, half-amused and half-nervous. "Backing out? No way. Just… thinking."

He glanced up at Cal, meeting his friend's steady gaze. For all of Caleb's bluntness and stubbornness, there was something in his eyes now that Ryan hadn't seen before—desperation. The kind of desperation that came from someone on the edge, barely hanging on.

Ryan had always been the one who kept things grounded. The one who thought things through before taking a leap. And now? Now, he was on the verge of joining Caleb in something he didn't fully understand.

But maybe that was part of why he was so eager to say yes.

"You remember when we were kids?" Ryan asked suddenly, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "We'd run around the park, pretending we were super heroes?"

Caleb's expression softened. "Yeah, I remember. You always wanted to be Red Hood"

"Well, back then… I guess I always thought you'd be the one to actually do something like this. The hero stuff." Ryan grinned, shaking his head. "But me? I'm just the guy who makes sure you don't blow everything up."

Cal let out a soft laugh, but he didn't interrupt. He could see Ryan was working through something—something important.

"I don't know, man," Ryan continued. "I've always wanted to be part of something bigger. And seeing you like this, knowing what you can do… it's crazy, but maybe this is the closest I'll get to making a real difference." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You've got the power. I don't. But I can help you. I want to help you."

Caleb watched him closely. "You sure about this?"

Ryan looked up, his grin returning, but it was tempered with something more serious beneath the surface. "Hell yeah, I'm sure. Besides, someone's gotta keep you out of trouble."

The tension in the room eased, and Cal leaned back, a sense of relief settling in. He hadn't realized how much he needed Ryan's reassurance until now.

Ryan stood up, stretching his arms over his head before pacing a few steps around the room. "Alright, Caleb. So you've got the healing thing down. What's next? We're not exactly going to just stroll into some crime boss's den and ask for a chat."

Cal leaned forward, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I've been thinking about that. I don't know everything yet, but we need to track down where their supply's coming from. Find the source."

Ryan nodded, his brain already firing on all cylinders. "Right. We track the money, the drugs, the movement. We've got to be smart about this. No more charging in like last night."

Cal gave a reluctant smile. "Yeah… last night wasn't my best plan."

"Understatement of the year." Ryan shot him a playful look. "But it's okay. I'm here now. Let's figure this out together."

For a moment, they were quiet, both lost in thought. The weight of what they were stepping into hung heavy in the air, but beneath it was something else—excitement. This was real. And for the first time in a long time, Ryan felt like he was on the cusp of something that mattered.

"Alright, Cal," Ryan said, his tone lightening. "First things first—clean this place up. Can't plan a takedown of the city's drug trade in a pigsty."

Cal rolled his eyes but couldn't help the grin that followed. "Yeah, yeah. I'll get on it."

As Ryan grabbed a stray dish from the floor and set it on the counter, his thoughts drifted again. He was all in. And whether he was ready to admit it or not, joining Caleb wasn't just about helping his friend.

It was about finding a purpose. About proving to himself that he could do something more with his life.