Chapter 126. A Choice Between Departments

Night had fallen outside, and the harsh glow of the monitor stabbed straight into my eyes. The apartment was empty except for my buddy, who had taken a seat beside me with an expression like he was overseeing the launch of nuclear missiles. Every click of my mouse earned a stare from him that could make a person paranoid.

For a second, a wave of nostalgia hit me so hard that my chest tightened. The last time someone had hovered over me like this in my room had been an eternity ago, back when Megan was still a kid and used to stay over late. She would elbow me, watch every move on the screen, and fire off comments so stupid that we would end up laughing until our stomachs hurt. Nothing special, just a couple of pizza boxes and dumb jokes, but those evenings had a genuine warmth to them. I used to wish I could have that again. But Megan had disappeared from my life a long time ago, and I had never really made any new friends.

Leon was nothing like Megan. Not even close. Rough around the edges, reeking of tobacco and booze, he was about the last person I would have picked for a cozy evening of heart-to-heart conversation. Honestly, whenever he was around, I was more likely to want to plant a right hook in his jaw than make polite conversation.

I moved the cursor over the unopened letter from the Ministry, but did not click it yet.

"Ross, what the hell?" Leon breathed, leaning closer. "Why are you freezing up like a virgin in front of a hot chick?"

"I'm trying to figure out exactly where you're feeding me bullshit." I turned my head and met his scowl. "You said you'd never seen anything like this before. But that's bullshit. You've got a Bronze Star on your uniform yourself, and by law you're entitled to transfer to any unit in the Corps."

"Generals can shove my rights straight up their asses." Leon gave a crooked grin, baring his teeth. "I got that piece of metal after they wrung me dry in recon training. The Pentagon dumped a shitload of money, time, and stimulants into me. You think those bastards are going to let me transfer to some desk job and warm a chair at headquarters after that kind of investment? Keep dreaming."

He started to spit on the carpet, then caught himself under my heavy stare.

"But you're different. You're the first cadet in Corps history to earn the right to choose immediately after basic training, before even taking your specialty course. You've still got a blank check. And I'm damn curious to see just how far it goes."

"You think the brass will find a way to shut me down?"

"Who the hell cares what I think?" he snapped. "Just open the damn letter and see how this shit actually works."

Crude and grating as he was, the war dog had a point. Wasting time on speculation when the numbers and facts were sitting on the screen one click away was an unforgivable waste of resources.

The phone on the table started buzzing, vibrating across the polished surface. Selina's name lit up the screen.

"Oh, fuck me..." Leon hauled himself out of the chair and immediately grimaced, clutching his lower back. The recent injury from my "slap" was still making itself known whenever he moved too quickly. "I need a hit of nicotine if I'm going to survive this circus."

Without asking permission, he shoved the window open, letting damp night air into the room, and flicked his lighter. I glanced at him but said nothing. Before talking to Selina, I could have used something to calm my own nerves. That woman drained mental batteries more efficiently than a three-hour loaded run.

I swiped across the screen. "Hey, Selina."

"Tom, I really hope you haven't already made the biggest mistake of your life." Her voice came through the speaker soft and sweet, but with the poisonous edge that made experienced people instinctively brace for trouble. "I know your assignment letter came today. You already checked the box for the Engineering Center, right?"

"Another recruiter." I leaned back in my chair, keeping my voice even. "Get in line."

"What?! Somebody's already working on you?"

"Yep. I've got Leon here." I caught his surprised, slightly agitated look out of the corner of my eye. "He's trying to recruit me into recon. We were just about to read the letter from the Ministry."

"Put me on speaker. Now!" The speaker crackled.

I calmly set the smartphone on the table and tapped the speaker icon.

"Listen up, Stewart!" Selina snapped without missing a beat, her voice filling the room. "Don't you dare drag my boyfriend into your stinking pigsty!"

"Oh, it's you, bitch." Leon exhaled a thick stream of smoke out the window and smirked. "Haven't heard that sweet little voice of yours in a while. Let me be perfectly clear, sweetheart. I couldn't give less of a shit how badly you want to keep Tom tucked away in your purse."

"You crude fucking degenerate! I'll..."

The usual high-level exchange of pleasantries began. I had known for a long time that these two had a genuine, undisguised hatred for each other, but only now did I appreciate the sheer scale of it. They reminded me of two little dogs barking at each other from opposite sides of a sturdy fence. Lots of noise, absolutely no effect, but both sides clearly enjoyed the process immensely. I had no interest whatsoever in listening to it.

While they enthusiastically dragged each other through the mud, I silently clicked the letter icon and began reading the document's dry, bureaucratic text.

"Well, look at that!" Leon materialized behind me, reeking of booze and tobacco. "Finally made it through the bureaucratic bullshit."

"Tom! You opened it without me?!" Selina reacted instantly, cutting off another tirade mid-sentence. "Turn on the camera! Point it at the screen. I want to see it too!"

My reading and data-processing speed had long since surpassed the statistical norm, thanks both to my previous experience working with massive amounts of data and to my recent physiological changes. While Leon struggled to work his way through the first paragraph, I calmly pulled a plastic stand from the desk drawer, secured the phone in front of the monitor, and aimed the front-facing camera directly at the text.

"So this isn't guaranteed admission, for fuck's sake." Leon scratched the stubble on his chin. "You just submit an application, then these rear-echelon rats put you through the wringer, evaluate your test results, and can ultimately just show you the door. Fucking bastards!"

"Tom, don't even worry about it." Selina's voice instantly changed, slipping into a velvety, purring soprano. "I personally sit on the examination board in my department. Submit your application to me, and I guarantee you'll get through without a problem."

"Yeah, through your bed." Leon snorted, keeping the cigarette between his lips. "We know how you operate."

"Don't compare me to yourself, you bastard!"

"Both of you, quiet down." I interrupted them calmly, without raising my voice, but with the kind of tone that usually made people shut down the stream of consciousness.

The argument died instantly.

"Here's a list of Corps departments you can apply to." I highlighted the first line in the table with the cursor. "But there's nothing here about what they actually do. What exactly does Department of Awakened Homeland Security mean? Isn't that what all of us are currently assigned under?"

"Technically, yes, but in this context, it's purely administrative work." Selina jumped in with obvious relish. She never missed a chance to show off what she knew and sound clever. "Payroll, archival records, inventory management, and all the other bureaucratic busywork."

"Comes with a bonus of an unforgettable old-man-scrotum smell." Leon twisted his lips. "All those headquarters rats report directly to General Crowley."

From the perspective of a frontline infantryman, it sounded boring. But from the perspective of someone accustomed to crunching numbers and hunting for hidden tax loopholes, I could see some excellent opportunities here. I knew how to handle accounting and paperwork. It was a clear, predictable environment. On top of that, Crowley had some extremely interesting genetic anomalies. If I managed to get into his department and stayed in the old man's line of sight often enough, my chances of uncovering his secrets would increase dramatically.

"Next." I highlighted the second line in the table with the cursor. "Who are the Portal Evaluation and Assessment Regiment?"

"Elite!" Leon proudly slapped a heavy hand against his chest. Through the phone's speaker came the distinct, juicy sound of Selina rolling her eyes. "The Corps' premier reconnaissance regiment. They're the first ones through newly opened portals. They immediately assess the inhabitants' technological level and combat potential, then assign the portal the appropriate threat index."

"And they're also the first ones to die. Every time, without exception," Selina added with poisonous ease.

The prospect of playing cannon fodder did not appeal to me. With my new physiological parameters, I could probably spend weeks lying in the mud around the clock and living off whatever I could find, but the idea hardly filled me with enthusiasm. The only thing that really interested me about reconnaissance was the depth and intensity of its specialized training. Rumor had it their training centers ran programs based on those of every classified U.S. organization, including Delta Force and the SEALs. Learning techniques and tactics that no longer appeared in any official records, then turning my own body into a completely self-sufficient, precisely calibrated combat unit, would have been a rational investment in my own survival.

"All right. Then what's the Portal Special Weapons and Tactics?"

"Meat," Leon said flatly, blowing a dense cloud of gray smoke out the window. "Heavy assault teams. Infantry. If all you're good for is carrying a rifle and plugging a hole in the line with your own body, this is where you belong."

Selina did not even bother interrupting him. A rare moment of complete agreement.

I crossed this option off as soon as I read the name. The absolute bottom of the food chain. Having the right to choose freely and throwing it away on a position where I was nothing more than expendable ammunition would have been the height of stupidity.

"Federal Bureau of Awakening," I read from the fourth entry. "I assume that's Hawk's outfit?"

"Exactly. Rear-echelon rats with guns and a license to shoot." Leon grimaced. "They hunt down awakened who have gone off the rails or turned to crime. They also make sure frontline troops don't stuff their pockets with artifacts straight out of the portals."

"Internal affairs and morality police rolled into one," Selina clarified. "I seriously doubt you'll interest them, Tom. Your abilities aren't exactly suited to that kind of work, and you've got zero investigative experience."

She was clearly judging me too superficially. I did not have Hawk's detective instincts or specialized superpowers, but I had hyperfocus on my side. In theory, once I reached a crime scene, I could force my brain to process in a fraction of a second amounts of data that would take a standard investigative team weeks to analyze: fingerprints, angles of light refraction, microscopic particles. The organization looked promising enough, and the level of risk was incomparably lower than anything on the front lines.

"Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency," I moved on to the next entry.

"Now that's your personal slice of heaven." Selina's voice turned into a purr, with an unmistakably predatory edge underneath. "It's the Pentagon's classified research wing. We study alien junk, dig into biological materials, and develop next-generation technology. The center is divided into two main sectors, engineering and biological. You know which one already has a nice warm office waiting for you, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Jesus, did I accidentally dial a phone-sex line?" Leon made a loud, exaggerated gagging sound.

While they launched into their third round of verbal sparring, I quickly weighed the risks. Joining the scientists would give me direct access to the Corps' massive database and technological secrets. But the practical value of that was close to zero. I already had a personal source in Selina. Yes, getting information out of her required long negotiations, but she never truly refused me. Wasting my one chance on something I could already obtain privately would have been irrational.

"Federal Emergency Management Agency, Portal," I read while they still had voices left.

"Cleanup and cover-up division," Selina replied without much interest. "They cordon off breach sites, evacuate civilians from nearby blocks, and bring in construction equipment to make it look like a utility accident. Once the portal collapses, they clean up the evidence and sterilize the area."

"And after the bloodbath, those hyenas haul all the loot out of the portal and transport it to a warehouse." Leon yawned. "Fucking vultures."

The only advantage I could see was the opportunity to handle alien artifacts before they were officially logged. But I would not be able to keep the trophies for long under the supervision of the control service. The effort would not justify the benefit.

"Federal Emergency Management Agency Awakened."

"Disaster response," Selina said sharply. "They're definitely not taking you, so don't even kid yourself. That division is made up exclusively of powerhouses with massive elemental or kinetic abilities. People who can put out forest fires covering dozens of acres with a single sweep of their hand, stop tsunamis, blow tornadoes apart, or clear tons of rubble. They make exceptions for highly specialized personnel, like spatial specialists who can instantly deliver medical supplies or people who can cleanse contaminated bodies of water. You don't have anything like that, Tom, and you never will."

"And you have to keep putting your mug in front of cameras," Leon added, scratching his unshaven chin. "They drag all those rescuers to press conferences, put them on posters, and parade them in front of the media nonstop."

I crossed that position off immediately. Cheap publicity, constant contact with civilians, and being in the public eye were the worst possible conditions for someone accustomed to staying away from noisy crowds.

"National S-Power Assessment Agency?"

"Analysis and global monitoring," Selina explained. "Tracking S-Power fluctuations across the planet, predicting breach locations, and registering newly awakened individuals. That's another no-go, Tom. They have top-tier sensors capable of picking up background disturbances from other continents. At best, they'd stick you in a bullpen as a junior analyst, compiling sensor reports with anomalies detected in satellite imagery."

"They can do without him," Leon waved it off. "That system's been running like clockwork for thirty years. You don't even have to think. Just fill out the spreadsheets."

I agreed with his assessment of the position's prospects. Sitting around as a permanent junior clerk without a specialized anomalous ability meant voluntarily trapping myself in a dead end with no room for advancement.

"Awakened Training Officers Corps?"

"Teachers," Leon said with deep contempt. "Don't waste your time, Ross. Even without any connections, they'll keep dragging you back to the training camp for extra shifts, running the new meat through its paces. That's a fact. You can take that to the bank."

"For once, he's right," Selina unexpectedly agreed. "As soon as a new class of cadets forms at the training center, you'll automatically receive a temporary contract for instructor hours. The extra pay is pretty good."

These two really did understand the Corps' inner workings far better than I did. Bringing them into the discussion had not been a mistake.

"The Border Wardens," I said, naming the last and most cryptic position on the list.

"Cold War 2.0." Leon's expression darkened, and his childish manner vanished instantly. "The awakened showed up, but the methods didn't change. The stakes just got higher. Border agents catch foreign spies with superpowers operating on our soil. And when things get serious, they head to Beijing, Moscow, or Tehran themselves to extract our people or take out theirs."

"And regular state-sponsored espionage," Selina added in the same dry, businesslike tone. "Stealing foreign technology so we can copy it at DARPA."

The details made my jaw clench. A thoroughly dirty organization, essentially a local CIA for the awakened. I had absolutely no intention of getting dragged into international political games or becoming expendable material in someone else's intelligence operations.

At the very bottom of the document, in tiny print beneath the main table, was a final note: National Guard Awakened Reserve. A legal collar meaning that regardless of the specialty and department I chose, every awakened individual remained registered and could be mobilized at a moment's notice.

"So?" Leon and Selina asked simultaneously. "What'd you decide?"

"I need to weigh everything and run the numbers. Thanks for the consultation," I replied calmly.

Before either of them could launch into another debate, I ended the call, slipped the phone into my pocket, and ushered Leon out the door without another word. I needed silence to make my decision.