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Today was the day Michelle would earn her Final Certification. The twenty-one year old college graduate was no longer a trainee. Today, she would handle her first real client on the job. After today, there would be no more run thoughts, roleplaying, shadowing others. Her training would be done if she managed to not bungle this first solo assignment. She would be official.
The restaurant she sat in was busy. Dozens of late brunchers occupied the place, their mimosa-fueled conversations filling the spaces between tables and booths with the warm cacophony of life. She missed being a part of these conversations. Her finger traced the wood pattern in the glossy table surface idly as she eavesdropped. Within moments, her phone interrupted with a text message from her supervisor, Jonathan. She read it before it stopped vibrating.
[Be there soon rookie]
Her stomach curled in on itself, and she wondered if she could maybe puke before he got here. Probably not. She had been trying to nervous-puke for weeks and it never worked. She took several deep breaths and typed a reply back to him. [I?m in a booth to the right. Today I am once again wearing a hoodie and unicorn PJs.]
His response was immediate. [Ha ha ha. You're funny.] Then, a second later, another message popped up: [You got it, dude!]
She stared at the .gif of the Full House character flashing a thumbs up and regretted teaching Jon how to use them in text messages. Since the day they had met and learned her name, he hadn?t stopped quoting the stupid show.
The server passed her booth for the seventh time in an hour without a passing glance. She played a game with herself to combat her first day jitters. The next time he passed, she purposely glared directly at the fellow twenty-something, daring him to somehow notice her, even if she knew it would not work.
Jon arrived in minutes and slid into the seat across from her. The hideous combination of colors in his jacket clashed with the sophisticated burgundy leather of the booth. Across his chest read the name ?Hypercolor? in dramatic font. Michelle had never seen such an ugly jacket. The second he sat down, the noise from the restaurant dimmed.
?Hey rookie!? His smile was electric as always, but still not as bright as his windbreaker. ?You ready for today??
Michelle pulled her hands into her sleeves. The server passed the two of them silently. Her delicate features crinkled inward. ?Uhm, no??
?What! Come on, you?ve trained for a few weeks now! You?re totally ready.? He leaned sideways dramatically to gape at their neighboring table, and Michelle was once again struck by how young he looked. She blamed the frosty highlights in his hair. ?Oooh, that looks good,? he groaned. She twisted around to see he was eyeing a plate of chicken and waffles.
"Jon," she said, wishing her voice didn?t sound so damned whiny. ?I don?t think I can do this. I?m not ready. I know you?re here for support, or whatever, but I don?t think today is a good day to start this.?
His attention came back to her after one last wistful glance at the other diner?s plate. "Dude, you already know what to do. You've had many successful meetings where I barely had to do like, anything.?
"No but you always closed the meetings, and I?ve hated it every time. It feels wrong and bizarre and I hate that I have to wear these stupid-ass pajamas pants while doing it!? she cried in exasperation.
?I consider the lack of company dress code a perk.?
She kept going; if she laughed at one of his stupid jokes, she would never get him to be serious. She flattened her hands on the tabletop and leaned in, trying to look intense, but hopefully not terrified. ?Jon, does it ever feel easier?"
She watched his smile fade into a more gentle expression. "Yeah,? he said softly. ?Totally, man.?
She held his gaze. Lately it was rare anyone looked her in the eye for this long, and despite their relationship being purely professional, she found the intimacy of this moment filling a hole in her she hadn?t realized had opened up. "How long have you been doing this, again?"
"Oof,? he grunted, fingers touching the shells around his neck. ?1997? Right after college. Like you." He reached across the table and rested his hand on hers. She jerked in surprise, but didn?t pull away. Her chest burned. ?Listen to me,? he murmured, voice low. ?You?re young. You?re new. You got hired almost immediately. Not everyone is so lucky. Lots of people just sort of putter around aimlessly, desperately and never get a gig this sweet."
He had a point. "I just feel so disconnected.? She pulled her hands back into her sleeves when he leaned back again. Her eyes bounced between Jon?s encouraging smile and the clock on the wall. Her meeting was soon. He had promised to stick around, but he wouldn?t help at all. Her nausea had gotten worse, but she lifted her chin and tried to pull up the same passion and defiance that had gotten her here in the first place. "Not to mention, I was always anti-corporation, you know? I wanted to work for a non-profit, once I graduated."
Jon?s grin returned. "Well, technically...this is non profit."
She was jealous of his ability to joke She wasn?t quite there yet. "Shut up, you know what I mean. I hated the idea of those office buildings where you had like, a million bosses and you never knew who the hell you were supposed to answer to. Just a worker bee in a giant hive."
He shrugged. "I kind of think not knowing exactly who I answer to is one of the perks. Do you really want to meet the boss?"
"No,? she responded immediately. Her curls bounced against her cheeks when she shook her head. ?I?m good, thanks.? The idea of visiting the top floor of their headquarters was more than her brain could handle right now.
Jon grinned again and checked the clock she had been staring at all morning. ?Ooh, two minutes, right? Awesome.?
She nodded and pointed at the glass wall behind him. Across the street, a food truck waited in the early afternoon sun. A giant smiling ear of corn was painted on the side of the truck that faced the restaurant. ?Amaizing Corn? was written in blue block letters that matched the cartoon food?s tee shirt.
Jon twisted in the booth to peer behind him. ?The corn truck?? he asked, squinting against the glare of passing vehicles.
?The old man approaching the corn truck,? Michelle sighed, watching her client turn the corner at the end of the block. ?White dress shirt. Grey pants.?
Jon turned to face her with a smirk that would have likely made her blush weeks ago, before that Prius had run her down after she stormed into a dark city street in her pajamas. Before she had been selected by a faceless employer to bring death to strangers. "Are you going to make him choke on a number two combo with all the toppings?? Jon snickered. ?That seems messy for your first solo-gig.?
This was it. Michelle stood up from the booth and rolled up her sleeves. Final Certification time. She threw her shoulders back and stared down at the Reaper who had trained her for the last month. "He's eighty-four with a heart condition, so, no. I?ll keep it simple."
Jon grinned. ?See? I told you you?d be fine.?
At first glance, the Commission?s waiting room looked similar to the lobby of every hospital that Emil had ever visited. Its design was clean and minimalist, with seats arranged around the walls and a wide reception desk opposite the front door.
The only difference was that a heavy, see-through barrier completely encircled the top of the desk, with rectangular openings near the bottom that seemed secured, from the inside, by a series of complicated-looking latches. Busy with keyboards and touchpads, the people behind it barely looked up when they entered.
They had brought him here in handcuffs, with a full escort of four field agents. All were covered from head to toe in protective gear?bulky, grey suits made of something that looked like Kevlar.
And, of course, they were armed to the teeth.
After their arrival, two of them left. The others stayed behind. Although they faced the same direction as him, one at the right and the other at the left, Emil couldn?t tell if they were looking at him through those thick visors.
There were chairs in that lobby, but it felt awkward to sit down while the agents stood. At the same time, he didn?t want to appear threatening. After a moment of indecision, Emil decided to?very slowly?sit down in the nearest seat by the wall. To make himself appear as small and insignificant as possible.
He was still trying to do this when a man came out holding a clipboard.
?Mr. Sarkozy, right??
The man sounded brisk, almost casual, as though Emil wasn?t cuffed and accompanied by an armed escort. He was of average height, with sharp features and a pair of rectangular glasses. Maybe in his thirties. The getup was just as ordinary: lab coat, black pants, a plain white shirt.
But his tie was a startling shade of purple. It drew the eye.
?Uh, Emil,? he managed to stutter.
The man extended a hand?gloved, Emil noticed. ?Sanjay Varma. Nice to meet you.? Then, he seemed to notice the handcuffs. Varma looked over at the field agents. ?Do we really need these??
One of them lowered her visor. Emil could see that she was a young woman, with thick brown eyebrows and a serious expression. ?The higher-ups thought it was for the best. We still don?t know the extent of his abilities. You were briefed on what he did, right?
They must have sent pictures, he thought. A sick feeling dropped through his stomach. ?Wait,? Emil said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded far too quiet. He cleared his throat. ?Wait, you don?t understand. I? I was trying to help.?
The moment he said it, he realized how often they must have heard the exact same excuse. The agent gave him a look that might have been pity. Varma only peered at him curiously.
Then, he smiled. A little too quickly. ?No worries. You?ll have plenty of time to explain. I?m going to ask you some questions, Emil.?
?Right here?? The agent glanced at the people behind the reception desk, then shot him a concerned look. Aside from them, there was no one else in the lobby. ?Are you authorized for that, Dr. Varma??
?Just for now?until we?re cleared for a holding cell.? He turned the same smile on her. ?It?s fine, Agent Costello. Won?t take long.?
?If you say so.?
Varma looked back at Emil, who was in the middle standing up. He stared him straight in the eyes. ?I think you?d better stay seated. Sudden movements set our agents on edge. Not that they?re trigger-happy?but I?d play it safe if I were you.?
His tone remained casual. He was still smiling, brisk and unmalicious.
Neither was terribly reassuring.
Emil nodded anyway. He sat back down, slowly.
There was a certain quality to Varma?s eyes that he couldn?t quite put his finger on. A sweeping, searchlight quality. Like he was looking for something. The image blinked into Emil?s mind: an incandescent lightbulb. It reminded him of that. Those outdated ones that they?d learned about in school, lit by the sheer intensity of the heat they generated.
He took a seat in the chair next to Emil?s, glanced down at his clipboard, and clicked a pen.
?Ready??
Emil swallowed. ?Sure.?
?First question. When did you become aware of your Emergence??
Panic pushed static fingers into his skull. Would he be punished for hiding it for so long? They had to get other cases like this?why couldn?t he remember what had happened to those people?
?...Twelve,? he said quietly. ?I mean, I was twelve. I used it on? on a cat. And a guinea pig. By accident.?
?Ah.? Varma didn?t sound outraged, at least. He just nodded and jotted something down on the clipboard. ?And did you tell anyone? Your parents? Friends??
?No.?
?Hm.? More jotting. ?What about experiments??
Emil blinked. ?...Sorry??
?Practicing with your powers??
?No,? Emil said quickly, shaking his head. ?Nothing like that. The first time was? enough.?
Full stop. Varma turned and gave him a look of faint surprise. Does he not believe me? But after a few seconds, all he said was: ?Huh. And you weren?t curious? About the limitations??
Emil stared at him. ?Maybe a little, but?? He cut himself off, searching Varma?s eyes for anything resembling an understanding of what he was trying to convey. All he found was that same glittering intensity. ?But it worked on?living things.?
?Right, of course.? Varma gave a dry chuckle. ?Responsible of you. It?s just... common, you know. People get so excited about these things.?
Maybe if they?re not me. Emil nodded numbly.
?Okay, last question,? Varma continued, glancing up again. ?Well, for the preliminary round. Aside from the pets and frat boys?did you ever use it on anyone else??
Emil froze.
?...Yeah,? he forced himself to say. ?There was this?ice cream truck driver. But I swear it was an accident. I was trying to keep him from being hit by this car when he was fixing the roof, and??
Emil took a breath. ?Look, I know this doesn?t sound? believable, but aside from those three times, I?ve never used it. I don?t even fully understand it. If they weren?t about to hurt themselves back at that party, I would never have??
?I know,? said Varma. It sounded strangely genuine.
Then he was getting up and striding over to someone else who had just walked in?a young woman, also dressed in a lab coat, with her hair in rows of short braids and neon-green frames on her glasses. They spoke in hushed tones.
?You?ve been cleared for a holding cell,? said Agent Costello. Emil started. They were the only words she had spoken to him so far.
?Uh, thanks.? He was about to stand before he remembered. ?Can? Can I get up now??
?You should.?
Emil pulled himself up from the chair. His wrists already ached from the cuffs, but now his shoulders felt the strain of sitting in that position. Costello and her partner were already starting down a hallway further into the building, behind Varma and the young woman.
And so, lacking other options, he followed them as well.
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