The sun barely crept through the grime-covered window of John Harkin’s apartment, casting dim light over the room. The cheap mattress beneath him groaned as he sat up, rubbing the stiffness from his neck. His ribs still ached from the burn, but the pain was familiar now—dull, manageable. **Next time, it won’t hurt as much.**
A knock at the door.
John exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he stood. Most people didn’t come knocking unless they were desperate. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble, then pulled on his coat before unlocking the door.
A young man stood there, barely in his twenties. His eyes were sunken, dark circles etched under them like he hadn’t slept in days. He looked like someone who had lost something important—someone who wasn’t used to asking for help.
“Damaged?” The man’s voice was rough, like he had been smoking or crying. Maybe both.
John leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Yeah. What do you need?”
The man swallowed hard. “It’s my sister. She’s missing.”
John didn’t react at first. People went missing every day in this city. The cops barely cared unless there was money involved. Superheroes? They had **bigger things** to worry about.
“Cops won’t help?” John asked, already knowing the answer.
The man shook his head. “They don’t give a damn. And the heroes… they don’t either.”
John studied him. “Why?”
The man hesitated, like he didn’t want to say it. Then, finally, he muttered, “She’s a prostitute.”
John sighed through his nose. Of course. The city didn’t care about people like that. **The Paragons weren’t going to swoop down and rescue a missing sex worker.** Hell, even regular cops would probably chalk it up to “the life” and move on.
John wasn’t like them.
“Alright,” he said. “Tell me everything you know.”
The man’s shoulders sagged, relief washing over his face. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
John stepped aside, motioning him in. This wasn’t going to be easy.
But **nothing ever was.**
---
The man—Danny—sat on the torn couch, hands clenched into fists on his lap. He pulled a crumpled photograph from his pocket and handed it to John.
“This is her. Marie.”
John took the photo, scanning it. A young woman, maybe mid-twenties, blonde with tired eyes but a genuine smile. She looked like someone who had lived too hard, too fast. **Like someone who knew the city could swallow people whole.**
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“When did you last see her?” John asked.
“Three nights ago. She was working near 8th and Vale. That’s where she—” Danny stopped himself. “That’s where she usually works.”
John’s jaw tightened. He knew the area. It was a bad part of town, but not just because of the usual dangers. **It belonged to Centipede.**
Centipede wasn’t just a street-level thug. He was a gang boss who could turn into a **giant centipede at will**. His organization controlled **drug-running, trafficking, and underground fights**, and his people were loyal. Either out of fear or because they knew stepping out of line meant being **eaten alive**—literally.
If Marie disappeared in Centipede’s territory, it wasn’t good.
John tapped the photo against his fingers, thinking. “Did she mention anyone new? A bad client? Trouble with the gang?”
Danny shook his head. “I don’t know. I warned her about that place, but she said it’s where the money was. She—” his voice cracked. “She didn’t have a choice.”
John nodded. He’d heard it before. The city didn’t give people like Marie choices.
He slid the photo into his pocket and stood. “I’ll find out what happened.”
Danny’s eyes widened. “Really?”
John gave him a look. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Danny nodded quickly. “What do I do?”
“Stay put. If she ran into something bad, people might be watching. I’ll handle this.”
Danny hesitated. “She—she always wore this bracelet. It was silver, with little charms on it. If you find that…” His voice wavered. “Just, please. Find her.”
John nodded once. **Find the bracelet. Find Marie.**
He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. **He already knew this wasn’t going to be simple.**
8th and Vale. **Centipede’s nest.**
This wasn’t just some street gang. This was **a war zone.**
---
John didn’t waste time.
By nightfall, he was walking through Centipede’s part of town. The streets here smelled like spilled beer, piss, and something rotten beneath the surface. Neon signs flickered, illuminating figures huddled in doorways, dealing, smoking, or waiting for something worse.
He pushed into a bar called **The Hollow**, a known haunt for Centipede’s crew. It was the kind of place where people didn’t ask questions and didn’t answer them either. **Unless you asked the right way.**
John scanned the room, stepping toward the bar. A few heads turned, sizing him up. He wasn’t a regular. That alone made people cautious.
The bartender, a wiry guy with a greasy ponytail, gave him a flat look. “You lost?”
John pulled Marie’s picture from his pocket and slid it onto the bar. “Looking for her.”
The bartender barely glanced at it. “Don’t know her.”
John exhaled through his nose, then leaned in. “See, I think you do.” His voice was low, calm, but carried weight. “She worked around here. Had clients. And if she disappeared, someone in this place knows why.”
Before the bartender could answer, a voice spoke from behind him.
“What’re you doing in my part of town, Damaged?”
Before he could turn, he heard **the sound of a hundred legs skittering** toward him. Then, **tightness.** Something **wrapped around him, squeezing.**
John clenched his teeth as Centipede coiled around his body, **his segmented, chitinous form twisting over him.**
“I don’t like uninvited guests,” Centipede whispered, his voice slithering into John’s ear. “Especially ones who break my things.”
“I’m not after trouble,” John grunted. “Just looking for a girl.”
Centipede squeezed tighter. “And if I don’t feel like sharing?”
John grit his teeth but kept his voice even. “Because Marie isn’t the only one missing. **Six girls.** All prostitutes. All taken in your territory.”
Centipede hesitated. The tension in his grip loosened. **He didn’t know.**
John felt the pressure lessen as Centipede finally let go, shifting back to human form. He adjusted his suit and gave John a long look. “That’s bad for business.”
“Yeah,” John muttered, rolling his shoulder. “Figured you’d see it that way.”
Centipede smirked, then shrugged. “The guy in the suit? I had a man follow him. Lost contact near an **abandoned church, three miles west.**”
John’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all you got?”
Centipede’s grin widened, his teeth sharp. “That, and a warning—don’t stick your nose too far into places it doesn’t belong. Or next time, I don’t let go.”
John didn’t reply. He just turned and walked out.
An abandoned church. **That’s where he’d start.**
John didn’t waste time. After shaking down a bar in Centipede’s territory, he got his lead—an abandoned church, three miles west. A place where things went to rot.
The church was barely standing. Its brick walls were cracked, the windows shattered long ago. But inside, through the dusty glass, a dim glow flickered. Candlelight.
Then he heard it—chanting.
John crouched low, circling the back of the church. A broken window gave him an easy way in. He slid through, landing silently on the dusty wooden floor.
The main hall stretched out before him. Six women, bound together, kneeling on the altar. Marie was among them.
A dozen hooded figures surrounded them, their voices a low, feverish drone. “Sinners… tainted… filth to be cleansed…”
John exhaled slowly. Religious cult. Fucking great.
And then the door to the side creaked open.
A man stepped into the light, wearing an immaculate black suit. His presence commanded absolute silence. The cultists turned as one, dropping to their knees in reverence.
His eyes glowed—golden light, unnatural and blinding.
One cultist hesitated, bowing slower than the others.
The suited man barely glanced at him before unleashing twin beams of searing golden energy, killing the fool where he stood. The others flinched but kept their heads bowed.
“The Messiah!” they whispered, worship dripping from their voices.
John’s fists clenched. This just got worse.
The golden-eyed man turned his head slightly, as if sensing something. His eyes scanned the darkened pews
. Did he know John was here?
John steadied his breathing. This wasn’t going to be easy.
He adjusted the bandages over his knuckles and rolled his
shoulders.
Here we fucking go.