I slammed the phone down onto its cradle. It had been over a week since the Exhuman event, and I was still being berated by every officer with more clout than myself. I was getting calls from people not even involved in the event. It seemed people on other continents were calling me just so they could join the ever-growing ranks of those who wanted to let their opinions be known about how badly I’d botched the op.

I didn’t care. I took their criticism with the same impartial, impassive, apathy as I took everything they said.

Even as my phone rang again, It was easy to do, when I knew that they knew nothing.

Athan Ashton, the Exhuman event in question. He was strong, yes, much stronger than I had anticipated. I was curious about the extent of his abilities, but he never showed them to us, just killed a dozen of my soldiers, and another ten or so of the base facility, while injuring dozens more…all without even trying.

Regardless of what potential his powers may have held, he would never use them to fight. He was just a sickly manchild with a warped sense of justice in his undeveloped teenage brain. I did not care how great his potential was if he never would reach it.

I wouldn’t say this in my report, of course. I had submitted a draft earlier, but it had been rejected as it “insufficiently displayed self-evaluation and personal accountability regarding the officer’s decision-making during the event.” So now I got to write it again, but with more grovelling and apologizing for my soldiers’ deaths.

It did not matter. I could be humble if I had to be. The deaths were unfortunate in that my capabilities would be reduced until new soldiers could be recruited and trained, and being at full capacity at all times was essential in the event of a new Exhuman event, but otherwise I didn’t feel any distress for the fallen. They had done their somewhat unfortunate duty, as had I.

“Yes sir, understood,” I said, hanging up the phone again. It would not ring again, it was 4:30 on a Friday, and there was no reason for anyone with any importance to stay later than necessary. I picked up my military cap off my desk and tucked it under my arm, while picking up my briefcase.

“Blackett, sir,” my secretary said as I walked past her desk as a farewell. I ignored her as always. Nor did I speak to my driver as he took me home, nor my servant who welcomed me home and helped me change clothes. Out of the trim military uniform, and into a pair of workout pants, with a freshly-folded towel delivered on a platter.

I thought of the Exhuman boy Athan and kicked the sandbag. I thought of Athan and kicked the sandbag. I thought of Athan and kicked the sandbag.

I thought of the faces of all the men who’d called me the past week and kicked the sandbag. One at a time, I remembered each call I’d gotten in sequence and kicked the sandbag. Monday. Director Leary. Kick. Director Connell. Kick. Director Hizuba. Kick. Wilkes. Firstaad. Albion. Kick, kick, kick. When I reached the end of the day, I changed legs.

At the end of the week, I stopped. My legs ached. Sweat streamed down my neck and clung to every crevice in my abs. And I’d very nearly kicked Athan out of my mind.

It wasn’t enough, apparently. As I sat down and drank the glass of juice brought by another servant, I pulled up a copy of Athan’s file on my desk holo. Just some light reading.

As I thought, his numbers were disappointing. Only a 3.2 on the Prather Index. High scores in physical attack and one of the higher scores for physical defenses I’d ever seen, but zeros across the board in most other categories. Threat level, psychological damage, speed, area of disruption…I was sure if the boy turned on his powers and gunned it, he would destroy some of these metrics. Lightning powers, and a zero for speed? Unlikely.

I forced myself to put the profile away again. I didn’t know why this weak, obedient Exhuman had grated on me so much. Like most nowadays, he’d turned himself over without question. The youth indoctrination policies were nothing if not effective, which made my job much easier. But still, to see one so strong, who could eradicate a squadron with a single thought–a tall order for Ashton with only an estimated 5 on physical attack, but within the realm of possibility–to see one crumble so meekly, it made my stomach churn.

Even after I’d tried to kill him, against all protocols, and violating the Ramanathan Laws, still he did nothing.

I truly loathed all Exhumans, I thought as I bid a servant to bring me something to settle my stomach.

I pulled up the files for the other Exhumans brought in recently. Girl in Cairo with hydrokinesis, 7.3 on the Prather Index. Boy in Kansas with the Superman kit: 8.1. Old man in Morocco who created an event, only a 3.4 with self-cloning powers, had to level the block just to weed him out. Nothing high or specific enough for what I had in mind, but all tons better than Ashton. Why was I always given the boring cases?

I flipped to his file again, hating myself for doing it again. The boy may be boring, but he was the only one alive of these four cases. Morocco had been killed on-site, but Cairo and Kansas were silently executed after a month in confinement, as per protocol. Maybe that was what irked me, just knowing that he was still out there somewhere. His exact location was purportedly need-to-know only. I could get the record if I wanted, but from past experience, his low threat level, and his difficulty to kill, he had probably been dropped in one of the irradiated exclusion zones from the Sino wars, and left unhindered. Given the deal that if he ever came back, he’d be put to death on the spot.

I vaguely hoped he’d come back. I did not like loose ends.

I sat and mused for a while, weighing possible options against the possibility of spending yet more of my life being berated by superiors. As much as I did not care about their opinions, I still needed their cooperation, unfortunately, and being demoted or pulled off active duty could compromise everything I’d worked towards thus far.

But still. That boy.

It wasn’t his meekness or surrender which stung me so, I realized. It was his defiance, and more, his successful defiance. There was steel in him, and he showed it by standing up to me, not once, but twice. But he did so with words, in a calm and reasoned manner, behaving, for all intents and purposes, like a moral human.

Which is something I knew no Exhuman could be.

I wanted to see him draw that steel, to fight with all that he had. His powers were strong, but if the Exhuman behind them was weak…well, then he deserved nothing more than death. He was useless to me. But if he could be provoked, honed…

I picked up my phone and dialed.

“Hello. I would like to place a bounty. Exhuman. Athan Ashton. Yes, I will wait.”

I pulled up his file again, out of necessity this time. And then began reading off the sparse details from the page.

“Yes, only 3.2. He should be in one of the exclusion zones but I don’t have a more specific location. 30 million, dead only.” I paused for a moment, considering the best way to hone my steel. “Put a special bonus of 5 million for each conflict before the final one. Yes, I want the hunter and the prey to get very well acquainted before they kill him.”

I hung up the phone, the contract set. The broker’s last words were still with me.

I am a sick one.

Oh well, I thought, putting away Ashton’s file with a note of finality. It’s not like I truly cared what humans thought of me anyway.