Ryan grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, slinging it over his shoulder as he headed for the door. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic below. Cal stood by the window, staring out at the dimly lit street, his mind already focused on the task ahead.
"So, what's the plan?" Ryan asked, turning back toward Cal. "We hitting the warehouse tonight?"
Cal didn't turn around, his shoulders tense. "I'll go. Alone."
Ryan paused, his hand on the doorknob, a frown crossing his face. "Alone?"
Cal finally faced him, his expression calm but firm. "Yeah. Look, I've been doing this for a while now. I know what to expect. And it's dangerous, Ryan. I can't have you coming with me."
Ryan stood there, taking in Cal's words. His fingers tightened around the doorknob, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to argue, to push back, but deep down, he knew Cal was right. As much as he wanted to help, he wasn't like Cal. He didn't have powers. He wasn't invincible.
"So, I just sit here?" Ryan asked, though there was no bite to his words. His voice was soft, almost resigned.
Cal stepped closer, his expression softening. "I'm not saying you're useless or anything like that. You've already helped more than you know. But this part? The actual fighting? It's different. You saw what I can do."
Ryan rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze falling to the floor. "I haven't really seen it, though. Not firsthand."
Cal sighed. "I know. But trust me when I say I can handle it. My body has healed from everything they've thrown at me. I don't think I'm invincible, but I'm as close as it gets."
Ryan nodded slowly, his disappointment less about not going and more about himself. He wanted to be part of this, to fight alongside Cal, but he couldn't shake the reality. He wasn't a superhero. He was just... ordinary.
"Yeah," Ryan said finally, lifting his head to meet Cal's gaze. "I get it. I do. I mean, it's not like I can go out there and fight these guys with you. I don't have... whatever it is you have."
Cal watched his friend, noting the slight sadness in his eyes. "I know it sucks. But I'll keep you in the loop. I'll go tonight, check out the place, and call you the second I know more."
Ryan offered a small, understanding smile, though there was still a weight behind it. "Okay. Just... be careful, alright? I know you're tough, but don't push it too far."
Cal gave him a nod. "I will. I promise."
Ryan lingered at the door for a moment longer, then nodded again, accepting Cal's decision. "Good luck, Caleb."
With that, Ryan left, the door clicking shut behind him. Cal stood in the now-quiet apartment, his heart heavy. He could tell Ryan was disappointed, but this was the right call. Ryan didn't belong in a fight like this.
Later that night…
Cal crouched behind a row of old, rusted cars near the warehouse, his breath visible in the still air. The quiet was unsettling, only broken by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional creak of the wind through nearby debris. He moved with purpose, his focus sharpened by the tension of the mission ahead.
The warehouse loomed before him, its walls scarred with age and neglect. A faint glow from inside hinted at activity within, and Cal's instincts told him this was the place. He stayed low, creeping closer to the side entrance, keeping his footsteps light and his mind on the task.
He approached the door, easing it open with a careful push. The interior was dimly lit, the smell of oil and chemicals hanging in the air, faint voices drifting through the darkness. Cal slipped inside, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, and navigated his way through stacks of crates and old equipment.
He kept to the shadows, his heartbeat steady as he moved deeper into the warehouse. The voices grew clearer—a couple of men, casually chatting somewhere ahead. Cal pressed himself against a wall, listening. He was close, but there was no sign of any drugs. Yet.
He turned the corner carefully, but before he could take another step, he froze.
A guard stood directly ahead, rifle slung over his shoulder. The man hadn't noticed him yet, but it was only a matter of time. Cal's pulse quickened. He needed to move fast.
He took another step, but the guard turned, and their eyes locked.
The man's shock lasted only a second before his training kicked in. The rifle came up, and Cal barely had time to react before the room erupted in the deafening sound of gunfire. He felt the bullets rip through his chest and arms, the impact throwing him back against the crates. He hit the ground hard, gasping as blood pooled around him.
The guard lowered his rifle, stepping closer, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. He glanced down at Cal's lifeless body, convinced the threat was neutralized. Satisfied, he turned away, ready to call for backup.
But as the guard walked off, Cal's body began to stir. The bullets, now pushed out by his healing factor, clattered to the floor as his wounds closed themselves in a matter of seconds. The pain lingered for a moment, but it quickly faded, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.
Cal rose to his feet, silent as a ghost.
The guard barely had time to turn around again before Cal lunged at him, driving his fist into the man's jaw. The guard crumpled to the floor, unconscious, his rifle sliding from his grip. Cal stood over him, catching his breath, blood still dripping from his clothes but his body unscathed.
"Guess that's enough proof," he muttered under his breath.
With a surge of adrenaline, Cal didn't bother opening the door carefully. He slammed his shoulder into it with full force, sending the metal door flying inward. The impact knocked one of the armed men off his feet, the door smashing into him and pinning him against the wall. The others in the room froze for a split second, eyes wide, before the chaos began.
"Shoot him!"
The room exploded with the sound of gunfire. The sharp cracks of pistols and the heavy roar of automatic weapons filled the air as bullets tore through the space toward Cal. He ducked behind a stack of crates, feeling the sharp sting of rounds ripping through his body. The pain was instant, his chest and limbs lighting up with agony. He gave a ragged, wrath filled breath, almost a growl from the pain.
His healing factor kicked in almost immediately, but the pain lingered, sharp and raw. He gritted his teeth, pushing through it as he scanned the room for cover. They had the numbers, but Cal had the advantage of speed and strength.
He spotted a heavy barrel nearby and, with a quick movement, kicked it with all his force. The barrel flew across the floor, slamming into one of the shooters and knocking him off his feet. Cal used the brief moment of distraction to close the distance, his legs pumping as he rushed toward the next gunman.
Bullets ripped through his back as he moved, but Cal kept going, his vision blurring from the pain. He reached the gunman, grabbing the rifle out of his hands before the man could fire another shot. With a quick twist, Cal tossed him to the ground and slammed the rifle against the wall, snapping it in two.
Another man rushed at him, fists swinging. Cal wasn't prepared for the man's speed. A punch landed hard against his jaw, sending him stumbling backward. But as the attacker closed in, Cal punched a large metal container beside him, sending it sliding a few feet across the floor. The container smashed into the man's legs out from beneath him.
Panting, Cal struggled to keep moving. His body was healing, but the pain was still searing through him. He barely had time to recover before another burst of gunfire echoed through the room.
He ducked behind a stack of crates, blood dripping down his arms and chest as the wounds struggled to close. The healing was faster now, nearly twice as fast as it had been before, but the sheer number of bullets ripping through his body was overwhelming. The pain, though subsiding, was still there—sharp and relentless.
Cal's breath came in ragged gasps as he spotted the last few gunmen. They were reloading, panic flashing across their faces as they realized their bullets hadn't stopped him. He couldn't give them another chance to fire.
"It's that fuckin' guy! The one who can't die!" One cried out, a face twisted in anger turned to fear at the realization.
"I don't give a shit if he can't die, cut him in fucking half." Another rang out before unleashing another storm of bullets in Cal's direction.
Pushing through the pain, Cal surged forward, his fists swinging with brute force. His punches were powerful but uncoordinated—driven more by desperation and raw strength than any real technique. One of the men threw a punch at him, but Cal dodged it, landing a heavy blow to the man's ribs that sent him crashing to the ground. Vomit erupting from his mouth.
Another gunman swung a metal pipe at him, catching Cal in the side. He grunted, stumbling from the impact, but before the man could swing again, Cal grabbed the pipe and yanked it free from his hands. He tossed it aside and shoved the man hard, sending him flying into a stack of crates.
Panting, Cal took a moment to scan the room. The last gunman, armed with an automatic rifle, was taking aim. Cal, still gasping for breath, rushed him. He knocked the gun aside just as the man fired, bullets spraying wildly into the ceiling. With a final burst of strength, Cal grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him into the nearest wall.
The warehouse fell silent.
Cal stood there, his breath coming in sharp, heavy gasps. His body was bloodied, his clothes torn, but he was still standing. His healing factor had kept him alive, but the toll it had taken on his body was clear. The pain, though dulled, still echoed through him.
He wiped the blood from his face and surveyed the room. The men were down, some unconscious, others too injured to fight. The crates and floor were littered with weapons and debris, the air still thick with the smell of gunpowder.
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't clean. But he had won