Chapter 608

Angelica Sasselis von Makare Einwaltsbelen Crimson Rose Kassel.

"That..." Evenson stared blankly at the Eredar Twins. "That is the name you gave the girl?"

He honestly didn’t know how to react.

Somehow, they’d managed to create a name that sounded like a strange fusion of Eredar nobility, old German aristocracy, and the sort of excessive grandeur normally reserved for the heroine of a very questionable romance novel.

"Correct."

The Twins looked entirely pleased with themselves.

"We’re Eredar. As our goddaughter, she should have a name with an Argussian flavor. We’re also descended from Eredar nobility, so a noble surname is only appropriate. As for Kassel, that’s her original family name. We kept it so that when she eventually regains her memories, she will always remember the pain she endured."

Oletheis paused.

"And in Eredar, Kassel also resembles a word associated with dragon slaying. It’s a powerful name."

"Right. See Kassel, think dragon slayer. I’m sure humanity will one day appreciate the thought you put into this."

Evenson rubbed his temples.

"I think this seven-year-old’s biggest challenge right now is learning her own full name. And I’m willing to bet that every official form she ever fills out will run out of space before she does."

"That’s why everyone can simply call her Angelica Kassel in daily life."

Salorass waved the concern away.

"Her full name is only necessary for formal occasions."

"So it’s a ridiculously long name that she’ll barely ever use?"

Evenson desperately wanted to describe the whole thing with a less polite phrase.

"Hmph."

Oletheis gave him a look of utter disdain.

"How could someone born a commoner possibly understand the significance and glory of a noble name?"

Evenson turned away and muttered under his breath.

What do I care about noble glory?

As long as I understand what makes a noble impressive, that’s enough.

Then another thought occurred to him.

Maybe he should give himself a middle name once he became truly successful.

Sir Evenson von... Tribeca Richter?

The image almost made him smile.

He turned back to the Twins.

"Now that we’re discussing names, I just realized something. I don’t actually know your full names either. You said you’re descended from Eredar nobility, so I assume yours are even longer and more complicated."

Salorass gave him a wounded look that was so exaggerated it was practically theatrical.

"I’m touched. You’ve finally remembered to ask."

Then her expression sharpened.

"But given your intellect, we don’t expect you to remember them after hearing them once."

"Get a pen and paper."

Oletheis nodded solemnly.

"A large sheet of paper."

Evenson stared at them.

One hearing isn’t enough?

I need to write it down?

And the paper has to be bigger?

He briefly considered refusing.

He suspected he could cast three Chaos Bolts in the time it took them to recite their names.

Still, he couldn’t exactly back down now.

He grabbed a sheet of paper and handed it over.

The Twins took it.

Then they spent a full three minutes writing.

When they finally stopped, Oletheis handed the sheet back.

"Keep it somewhere safe. These are only our full names, not our true names, but they’re still important to us. Memorize them."

Salorass smiled sweetly.

"We’ll test you at random intervals."

Evenson looked down at the paper.

It was covered from edge to edge in tiny handwriting.

He nearly cried.

He wanted to slap himself for ever asking.

Fortunately, the Twins were identical twins, which meant that aside from their first names, the rest of their names were identical.

He only had to memorize one.

Then he noticed something on the other side of the page.

"Hm?"

He turned it over.

The back contained a report from the Black Badge Division.

It was actually a surprisingly professional report. It included photographs, detailed descriptions, supporting evidence, and enough information to fill several pages.

In terms of length, it was almost competing with the Eredar Twins’ full names.

"Unprocessed?"

Evenson noticed that the report hadn’t been reviewed.

Then he looked to the side.

There were stacks upon stacks of similar files.

Hundreds.

Possibly more than a thousand.

"You’ve got this many?"

He stared.

"You’ve got a backlog."

"Don’t remind me."

Salorass sighed.

"These days, everyone thinks they have superpowers. Or that their neighbor does."

"Before the New York incident, the worst people usually did was make ridiculous complaints to the police. Now the police don’t even bother investigating. The second they hear something that sounds remotely unusual, they forward it straight to the Black Badge Division."

She shook her head.

"They’ve certainly made their own lives easier."

People had always imagined strange things.

Sometimes there really was something unusual behind a coincidence. Sometimes there wasn’t.

Before the New York incident, most people would’ve laughed it off, shrugged, and moved on.

Now they knew the world actually contained aliens, superhumans, monsters, advanced technology, magic, and things that had no business existing at all.

The result was predictable.

Everyone had become paranoid.

Eat one extra bowl of dinner?

Am I mutating? Do I have some kind of super stomach?

Your neighbor is six feet tall and built like a linebacker?

Alien.

Your coworker keeps outperforming you?

Obviously telepathy. He’s using psychic powers to manipulate the clients.

The New York incident hadn’t made people rational.

It had simply given every irrational thought a chance to sound plausible.

The NYPD had once been bombarded with complaints along the lines of my neighbor is a mutant. But every complaint technically required a response. Officers had to visit the scene, ask people whether they possessed superhuman abilities, and endure explanations so ridiculous that even the officers felt embarrassed asking the questions.

Worse, some people took offense and filed complaints against the police.

Eventually, the officers had enough.

Then the Black Badge Division was established to handle supernatural and anomalous cases.

The NYPD was delighted.

From then on, anything remotely strange was dumped on Black Badge.

A report claiming that a ghostly woman in white had climbed out of someone’s television?

Black Badge.

Someone insisting they could run faster than a high-speed train despite weighing more than three hundred pounds?

Black Badge.

And the police weren’t about to verify any of it.

They weren’t authorized to conduct specialized investigations, and they certainly weren’t trained for them.

If they investigated a genuine superhuman incident incorrectly, who was going to take responsibility?

So the files kept piling up.

"Apparently the entire country is like this."

Evenson flipped through another stack and realized the reports weren’t limited to New York. They came from states across the country.

And many were completely absurd.

He picked up one file.

"What the hell is this?"

He skimmed the report.

"A man who weighs well over three hundred pounds claims his nickname is Wind Speed. Says that whenever he gets frightened, he can run faster than a high-speed train. And apparently some government agency is hunting him."

Evenson dropped the file onto the desk.

"I have to admit, this job has its perks."

He sat down in front of the mountains of paperwork with an odd expression.

"Reading these reports is basically like going through the world’s largest comedy collection."

"Exactly."

Oletheis chuckled.

"You didn’t notice McKenna’s smile looked a little stiff?"

"She spent so long reading these files that she strained her smile muscles."

"Smile-muscle strain."

Evenson rubbed his chin.

"That sounds like a very cheerful illness."

"Maybe."

Salorass nodded.

"But keep doing it long enough and it’ll turn into smile-muscle necrosis. Then she’ll be stuck permanently wearing that horrifying grin."

Evenson considered that.

"If she ever decides to paint her face, let me know. I’ll put on a Batman cape and match her."

The joke earned a few amused looks.

Then Evenson’s expression grew serious.

"But out of all these reports, surely some are real."

"Ask Moira."

Oletheis gestured toward the stacks.

"She and her people investigated them. Only cases they consider genuinely interesting get passed on to us."

She immediately contacted Moira through telepathy and told her to come back to work.

Not long afterward, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened only a crack.

Moira and the others carefully slipped inside, looking as though they were prepared to sprint back out at the first sign of danger.

Evenson couldn’t blame them.

When they’d left earlier, the room had been full of uncomfortable discussions about children, reproduction, and the rather pointed question of whether Evenson was capable of contributing anything useful in that department.

Anyone would hesitate before walking back into that room.

"There are genuine cases."

Moira sounded thoroughly exhausted.

"But after investigating all of them, we’ve confirmed only three."

"Three?"

Evenson couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

They had apparently sifted through thousands upon thousands of reports only to discover three actual anomalies.

"That’s brutal."

He leaned forward.

"Who are the confirmed cases?"

"First, Harlem."

Moira opened one of the files.

"The report concerns an African-American man with extraordinary physical strength and skin that appears impervious to conventional weapons."

Evenson’s expression sharpened.

"During his time in prison, he was forced to participate in an illegal human enhancement experiment."

She continued.

"The experiment succeeded. His physical strength has clearly surpassed normal human limits, and we’ve confirmed that neither knives nor bullets can penetrate his skin."

"However, we haven’t determined his upper limit yet. So far, his conflicts have only been with local gang members, and the strongest weapons used against him have been submachine guns."

Moira closed the file.

"Luther is already preparing to make contact. He should be able to determine the limits of his abilities."

She paused.

"For now, the best description is that he’s essentially a low-budget Hulk."