Chapter 292 Warrant.

Chapter 292: 292 Warrant.

It felt incredibly good to finally be able to leave the girls to execute their own jobs without me actively hanging over their shoulders every single second.

Sure, I still enjoyed playing the omniscient mastermind from the command center now and then, but these days, I only strapped in for the major, A-list events.

The smaller, highly choreographed gigs they could handle entirely on their own.

Psyren, for instance, was currently making massive, highly profitable inroads in menacing the music-based hero industry.

She was an incredibly hot commodity for PR stunts, though I was careful to keep a very close eye on her schedule. She currently maintained a highly publicized, violent beef with a number of chart-topping musicians.

She’d successfully pissed off major players in Country, Bubblegum Pop, and even some heavy hitters in Rock and Roll.

But I made absolutely sure she never, ever bothered the indie Folk music crowd. Those people were genuinely nutso.

You didn’t know true, primal fear until a highly coordinated squad of vengeful river dancers started aggressively slinging ancient Irish curses your way.

And frankly, you never quite knew what someone chaotic enough to unironically play the accordion might do in a street fight.

But that specific kind of bombastic, theatrical heel work was going to be a bit harder to set up for Chamelea.

I eased back in my heavy leather chair, considering her remarkably thin personnel file on my tablet with a frown. There wasn’t much data at all, which, given her specific skill set, wasn’t entirely surprising.

Which was exactly why Psyren, my living, breathing lie detector, sat curled up in the chair beside me, actively eyeing the featureless villainess with deep, pink-eyed suspicion.

She had also brought Nibbles along, and was currently petting the multi-eyed, writhing abomination with fond, nauseating affection.

"So," I said slowly, tapping a finger against the tablet bezel. "It’s absolutely not that I don’t want to hire you, of course," I added quickly.

"Of course," Chamelea replied smoothly. Her hands were tightly clasped before her as she waited with the exact sort of grim, tight-chested expectation of anyone trapped in a corporate job interview.

Her natural features in her ’blank’ baseline state were incredibly hard to make out. Her entire figure looked like a smooth, cobalt-blue Barbie doll entirely covered in fine, subtle reptilian scales.

But I was slowly getting better at reading her micro-expressions. Or she was actively letting me read them. It was always incredibly hard to be sure with high-level mimics.

I nodded along. "It’s just that... well, realistically, it would be extremely hard to make your specific skill set work in our standard operating model."

"Hard?" she asked. A subtle ripple of blue scales magically manifested a pronounced, highly expressive eyebrow specifically just to raise it inquiringly at me. "But not impossible."

She was incredibly sharp, I’d give her that.

"No. Not impossible," I agreed. "But it does mean we’ll have to get highly creative with your booking. Your specific type of villainy naturally lends itself much better to psychological conflict, or deep-cover bit roles. The sort of villain that actively makes the hero look bad through flawless impersonations, or acting as a subtle, thriller-esque antagonist. Which is a fantastic niche, but our core corporate product leans much more towards the immediately, violently dramatic."

"Damn right it does," Psyren chimed in smugly, scratching Nibbles behind one of its ear-holes.

I shot her a brief, flat look before turning my attention back to Chamelea. "So, we might be able to work you in as a true combat villain on very rare occasions. But after some careful strategic thought, I’m thinking we primarily utilize you for high-end support."

"Support, hm?" Chamelea mused. She casually leaned back in her chair, perfectly mirroring my exact posture and breathing rhythm. "And what exactly might that look like on paper?"

"Honestly? It really opens up some highly lucrative doors for this league," I said, leaning forward. "Because quite often, the wealthy clients we are working with are massive, narcissistic cowards."

"They definitely always have plenty of money," she noted dryly.

It was probably best that I didn’t ask exactly how she knew that.

"Right," I said. "The exact sorts of people who would absolutely love to play the brave victim in a highly publicized bank heist, or be the dramatic centerpiece in a hostage situation for the social media clout, but they don’t actually want to put themselves in any physical danger. No matter how meticulously choreographed and low-risk the scenario is."

Chamelea’s blank, pupil-less eyes suddenly flashed. She leaned forward again, genuine excitement plain across her posture despite the utter smoothness of her face. "You’re saying I actively play them?"

"Ohhhh," Psyren breathed, realization suddenly dawning on her face along with a wicked, razor-sharp grin. "Yeah, that would totally work!"

"Exactly," I said. "It’s a premium, diamond-tier option we can add to the corporate brochure. It would be astronomically pricier, naturally, but I imagine we’ll still have plenty of high-society takers.

Lots of rich kids would absolutely love the idea of pretending they bravely defied a supervillain and swore never to bend to our evil demands on live television.

"It’s a bit less impressive when you know those specific types usually wet their designer pants at the mere thought of anything more dangerous than hiring an Uber during surge pricing.

"But aside from that, we can also offer more... standard, administrative options. Stand-ins for certain high-risk corporate events. Perfect mimicry for security testing. That sort of thing. All strictly above board, of course."

"You really think that would work?" Chamelea asked, her voice tight with eager hope. "I did try to market that specific service before, but it didn’t really pan out. All the offers I got were super sketchy..."

"That’s because you were trying to do it entirely alone as a freelancer," I said smoothly. "You had no liability insurance, no PR shield, and no heavy backup. In this specific case, we’re going to be offering it as an official, sanctioned service of the league.

"Which means we won’t be doing anything federally illegal, you will have total legal recourse, iron-clad contracts, and you will be a formally registered associate of my organization. Which means anyone who tries to fuck with you, actively fucks with me. And I want you to tell me immediately if anyone tries."

"You do?"

"Absolutely," I said, nodding firmly. "If you are on my payroll, then I will personally protect you. Provided you play by our rules. But," I added, raising a strict, warning finger, "that also means absolutely zero unapproved freelancing. I can tolerate smaller side-hustles like subtly sponsoring makeup brands here and there, but your job is going to be much more politically tenuous than the bruisers. I will absolutely not help you if you get caught off the clock playing at being a state senator or a Fortune 500 CEO."

"Believe me," Chamelea said with a heavy, deeply exhausted sigh, "those days are long, long behind me. I do not want absolutely anything to do with that paranoid life anymore.

"Like I told you in the preliminary interview, I’m looking to go totally legit. Though," she added, a subtle ripple of unease shuddering through her blue scales, "there might be some people out there who don’t... well, feel the exact same way. About letting bygones be bygones and all that.

"I really did try and cover my tracks well!" she added defensively. "No one should be able to find me. But, you know. There may be some lingering heat."

I shrugged casually. "Well, that’s going to be a standard given. Every single one of us has heavy baggage in this business. As long as you don’t actively start any new wars while you’re operating under my banner,

"I will have your back against any rival capes or syndicates. Though," I added, my voice dropping to a hard, pointed tone, "if you get officially indicted for breaking major federal laws, that is an entirely different beast.

"I’ll do what I can with our lawyers, but I cannot guarantee a damn thing against a federal warrant. If the FBI comes actively knocking on the chalet door because they found DNA evidence that you murdered a guy two weeks before you signed on with me... well, that’s going to complicate the HR paperwork."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows heavily on the mahogany desk, staring directly into the smooth, featureless mask of her face.

"So, before I formally sign this contract and put my entire league’s reputation on the line for you... just how many bodies are actually buried in that past of yours, Chamelea?"