Man, I feel like shit. I could hear a cool hiss of ventilation, wherever I was, and there was the distinct, unforgettable smell of antisepic.

A hospital then. All the little aches and pains were coming to me now, as I lazily swam towards consciousness. I tried to open my eyes, but was somewhat startled when they refused to open. Now somewhat concerned and much more awake, I reached up to probe my eyes. Feeling a bit of crunchy slime, I grimaced in disgust, though a bit relieved as I wiped away the discharge and opened my eyes fully.

The room itself was dark, but the hallway was clearly lit, judging by the scatter of light from behind the blinds.

I took a moment to take inventory of myself. I was dressed in a hospital gown, and had an IV inserted into my arm. That concerned me for a moment, but I realized that I didn’t have that cottony feeling that I’d had in the past with medication. Probably just to keep me hydrated.

My shoulder was aching somewhat, but seemed to be in order. I had a bit of a tender spot on the back of my head, and my leg had clearly had the bone mended, but nothing done for the muscles.

I pulled myself a bit more upright, and fumbled around with the bedside table. My fingers eventually landed on my phone, and I set it on my lap before hissing and squinting at the bright screen as it powered on.

And its two in the goddamn morning. So much for getting answers.

Disgruntled, I went to set my phone back on the table and get some sleep, but as reached over, I heard a crinkling noise as I brushed some paper with my arm. Suddenly curious, I transferred my phone to my other hand, and picked up the paper.

And frowned, as it was too dark to actually read it. I glanced around, but couldn’t see particularly well, given the bed and table could only be seen in silhouette.

Damn. I was sure there had to be a light switch somewhere close to hand. But I didn’t seem to be able to locate it, and I wasn’t about to dramatically rip the tubes out of my arms to go and flick a switch.

Whatever.

I sighed, and turned on my phone flashlight, casting a cool light over my white sheets, and began to read the letter.

Mr. Cardano,

In case you find yourself unable to recall, we were out on an errand yesterday, and had a particularly nasty confrontation with a rival gang’s hit squad. We were able to defeat them, but you had the unenviable task of facing a powerful speedster. You were victorious, but heavily injured, and you collapsed shortly afterwards.

We’ve brought you to the Lakeview General Hospital. We hold enough strings that they can turn a blind eye, but it is tenuous. Do not push it. Your medical bills have been paid, out of your take for the mission. I authorized hazard pay, as well as an additional bonus for killing a hostile actor. Congratulations.

Feel free to take the week to recuperate. Given your performance, I was able to make your case, and we are offering you a position in the organization, directly under me, as a sort of specialist. If you accept, and recent events haven’t changed your mind, we have a job next week lined up which you may be suited for. Of course, if you choose to back out at this stage, we can make those arrangements, with the caveat that you will adhere to appropriate discretion.

Rest assured, all the relevant paperwork has been completed and filed, per our verbal agreement, which you may or may not remember. If you require details, reach out to me and we can schedule a time for an in-depth review.

-Robin Barley

Well. Huh. I wonder if I got a concussion.

I gently slipped my fingers through my hair, and probed the back of my skull. Nothing, nope, fine, oh yeah that part is pretty tender. I hissed as I removed my hand and rested it on my lap.

I don’t recall being hit in the head during the fight, but clearly I was hit at some point, and its plausible that I hit it and didn’t notice, with all the adrenaline going through me. That, or I hit it when I fainted. Which is probably the more likely option.

Yeah, I am going back to sleep. I’ll deal with this in the morning.

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I did in fact, deal with it in the morning. Once I woke up, I called for a nurse, and got the rundown on what I had gone through. Looks like concussion, broken leg, abraded palms, extensive bruising, and a burn on my left wrist. That one was interesting, I must have singed myself yesterday, holding the flashgun at such an awkward angle.

The official story was that I had been riding my bike, and had been hit by a car. Which, fine, its a common enough thing and most of the hospital personnel seemed to buy it. Not sure how they rationalized the burn, but they probably figured it was burning gas, or the lithium battery in my bike combusting.

Some of them clearly didn’t buy it. The doctor for one, was decidedly skeptical, and the lady at the checkout desk seemed to recognize the name of the shell company paying for my healthcare. I didn’t say anything. I chose to trust that the Lotuses had a good hold on the people here.

I texted Gabe to pick me up, and he arrived in his pick up truck to give me a lift back to the dorm room. It was awkward, a mostly silent affair. I got the sense that Gabe desperately wanted to tell me to stop, and stop associating with the Lotuses, but was wrestling with guilt over being the one to introduce me to Barley. In the end, he muttered that he wanted me to review more weapons, and that he had some special items for me to look at.

But that was then. This is now.

“Dealer, or Duelist? That is the question, isn’t it?”

I was sitting in the lecture hall, staring intently at the professor. She was a tall, intimidating woman, with jet black hair going down to her shoulders, and a severe, unyielding face, as if carved out of granite. It was a striking effect, though not conventionally attractive.

Professor Caraday had been teaching for decades reportedly, and was a decidedly strict teacher, though one with a wealth of insight and experience. The class was an elective, Geopolitics of Power. Not strictly necessary for my now useless degree, but far more interesting than the required ones. At this point, the tuition was already paid, so I might as well keep attending, and at least learn something new.

Caraday strutted to the front podium and slapped her palm against the wood, eyes roving over the audience, which had gone silent with her dramatic opening.

“I am sure you all know about this terminology. However, I know for a fact that many of you will have it wrong, or have some definition which does not capture the true essence of this dynamic. As such, I will be setting out the definitions we will be using here.”

Caraday tapped the keyboard, and the overhead projector flicked to the next slide, which showed a Venn diagram with a number of names of well known actors.

Not media actors mind, but rather the blanket term for individuals who actively use their powers in public. A nebulous definition to be sure, as it must include heroes, villains, terrorists, vigilantes, gangs, private corporations, and any other person who publicly uses powers. Not much for it. The only commonality, is that they act, and others must react.

“Now, for the purposes of discussion, a dealer is any actor regardless of moral intent, who is capable of disproportionately affecting groups, as compared to individuals. A duelist, is any actor regardless of moral intent, who is capable of disproportionately affecting individuals, as compared to groups. Now, can anyone tell me why this is important?”

A half dozen hands went up. Mine didn’t but I believe I know where she is going with this. Caraday silently pointed at a boy in the second row wearing an orange polo shirt.

“Professor, duelists and dealers tend to gravitate towards heroism and villainy respectively. As such, it is important to be able to categorize them so that law enforcement can work to preemptively handle those individuals.” He said confidently.

Caraday looked unimpressed at that, and stared at him through narrowed eyes.

“Mr. Jensen, you are studying criminal justice correct?” Caraday asked. At his nod, she continued. “There are several errors with your statement. The first part is correct. Statistically speaking, duelists tend to make up a higher proportion of so-called heroes, while dealers tend to make up high proportions of villains. However, these are trends which resist categorization, and programs to identify criminals based on power-set have come under fire in recent years for aiding a pattern of discriminatory policing.

Moreover, the Power Regulation Agency is the only government agency with the mandate, and legal ability to assemble a general database of actors with data correlating them to their civilian identity. I trust you recall our previous lesson on the history of the PRA, during which I explained the legal red tape surrounding getting actionable information out of them.”

The Jensen dude sank into his seat, looking decidedly chastised. Which was deserved in my opinion, but then I don’t have a particularly high opinion of those people anyways.

“Now then, let us discuss dynamic power theory. A Dutch sociologist in the early 90s by the name of Pascal Sneider sought to understand how actors interact with one another in an system. As he explored different layers of abstraction, his works and papers pioneered dynamic power theory, which explains how actors will act and react with one another, both in the moment, and over time.

Sneider’s work gave us the popular terms duelist and dealer, to describe broad archetypes of actors in the most abstract model.

He theorized that there exist a series of categories in his most abstract model. Civilians are normal people, imbued with powers yes, but generally without the training and combat experience of using said powers offensively and defensively. Duelists and dealers as mentioned before, affect individuals and groups respectively. After which, you have group dynamics, groups of civilians, duelists, dealers, and mixes of them.”

Caraday paused for a moment to change the slide, which now displayed a young blonde actor, wearing a partial mask over her face and flashing the camera a grin.

“Duelists don’t gravitate towards being heroes in the sense that all duelists are predisposed to be heroes. Rather, there is a process of self selection. The best heroes will tend to be duelists. On the screen here is Sympathy, a hero who was based out of Toronto. She had the ability to select a humanoid target within visual range, and force them to experience whatever sensations she was feeling, and to an extent, mental states. Forced empathy was the PRA designation when she was still living in the US.”

Caraday changed the slide again, wryly looking up at the screen, as a short man in a balaclava was shown, the image clearly taken by a security camera. A wave of snickers rippled through the audience, as they recognized him.

“As some of you may know, our fine gentleman on the screen here is the Influencer. However, aside from his status as an involuntary comic icon, he actually serves as a very good example of a dealer. Influencer has minor mental control, being able to put thoughts and impulses into people’s minds, in large groups and large areas. He could walk into the bank, tell everyone to ignore him, and rob them blind. Crucially however, it has to be something which the victim would be amenable to. In public, we are at the whim of social rules and norms. Nobody wants to cause a fuss in a bank, make a scene, so it is quite easy for the Influencer to make his victims rationalize his actions. Of course, when he was finally caught, a local hero walked into the bank, intent on arresting him, and essentially did so with no resistance.”

The screen shifted again, such that the hero and villain were juxtaposed next to one another.

“Now, Sympathy is an example of an archetypal duelist. She can only affect one target at a time, and her powers become outright liabilities when dealing with groups. However, she can take down targets which some might classify as far outside of her weight class, so to speak.

Influencer, is an example of the archetypal dealer. Capable of affecting massive numbers of people, and dealing with large crowds, he is immensely vulnerable to single individuals, who may shrug off his influence.

These people are a microcosm of dynamic power theory. Sneider theorized that bad actors are necessarily acting at cross purposes with society, and therefore must act with the principles of asymmetric warfare to effectively act. Good actors on the other hand, have only a single target, the bad actor, and as such can engage directly. This theory proposes that duelists tend to get much more traction as heroes, as their abilities lend themselves more to that activity, and the effective power they wield is effectively utilized. Dealers on the other hand, tend to be quite poor at hero work, as their manifestations don’t lend themselves to that line of work, but get magnified effects when working as a bad actor. A hero with the ability to cause explosions leveling buildings is a liability, whereas a villain with such an ability, is a credible threat.

This all leads to a sort of rock paper scissors dynamic, constantly playing out. A single civilian will always be outclassed by a duelist, but may fight on even footing with a dealer. The dealer has the advantage of experience, but his power will tend to deal with groups, and thus will struggle with a single individual. It really comes down to the power of the civilian at that point.

Duelists will always have an advantage over dealers, and as such, good actors tend to be able to suppress bad actors, who must then fight asymmetrically, targeting the civilian populace.

Groups of civilians, are a different story. A group of civilians will tend to win against a duelist, as the latter can only effectively fight single targets, or small groups. However a dealer, will mark a significant advantage over a group of civilians, as his training and experience allow them to counter the actions of groups.

Groups of duelists aren’t seen as often, as they often cannot synergize effectively. Law enforcement and police departments do form these groups as part of their doctrine, as occasionally they do need to target particularly dangerous bad actors with numbers, and police forces tend to have higher duelist representation, as normal police work involves single officers or pairs working to deal with bad actors individually, or more often, civilians who are breaking the law without use of their powers.

Now, while they might have a technical advantage against dealers, it will often be a Pyrrhic victory. By nature of the dealer’s abilities, a high number of casualties may be sustained in the act of trying to apprehend the dealer. Still though, they will almost always win.

Groups of dealers are not seen as often. By and large, that is the domain of military detachments, as the synergizing effect of multiple dealers is capable of dealing vast damage to other forces. While gangs and corporations have the technical ability to put such teams together, actually doing so constitutes a threat that the government does not tolerate, and the National Guard or other equivalent forces are activated in such events.

Which isn’t to say that military dealer units are the most effective force. Due to the varied nature of manifestations, powers resist being codified into military doctrine. Moreover, while a military dealer unit can inflict massive casualties on enemy forces, they cannot sustain nearly the casualties a normal fighting force can. The synergizing effect works both ways, and if certain linchpin individuals are removed from the equation, the unit ceases to act as an effective fighting force. Which is why they are relegated to special shock units, and the bulk of military assets are comprised of conventional military units, which have the added benefit of being able to accomplish other military objectives, such as securing and holding territory.

Before we move back away from powered military doctrine, it is worth noting that powered units tend to be mixed, with the majority being dealers, and several duelists mixed in, for the ability to fight with opposing powered units.

Of course, from a geopolitical standpoint, certain countries will have different approaches to doctrine. The US tends to field a sizable, technologically advanced army, and small elite powered units. The Slavic Free Confederation however, has mandatory military service, and has a much higher proportion of powered units, with specific orders to regroup and recombine damaged and ineffective units into conventional regiments, until such a time as they become a powered regiment again through training.”

Caraday’s voice faded as I tuned her out to reflect on my own recent difficulties. It is an interesting thing, to consider the dynamics of powers in a wider social system. And duelist versus dealer is an interesting, and decidedly useful, framework for analyzing powers.

My power would be classified by most people as a duelist archetype. I don’t really have any ability to handle groups, but I gain disproportionate advantages fighting against single targets. I fought Anna several times, and mostly lost, but it’s worth noting that I was able to match her fairly well, despite super strength and durability being an insanely powerful advantage in hand to hand combat. We were both duelists, and honestly, in a genuine fight, no holds barred, I think I barely win. Same happened with the speedster, who is absolutely a duelist archetype. I got completely fucked up, but I was able to kill him.

Of course, these things tend to be context dependent. Hand me a sniper rifle, and show me a group of people a few miles away, and rest assured, the group as a whole will be negatively affected. Same is true for something like targeting or explosives.

Consider that while Anna and our mystery speedster both happen to be duelists in hand to hand combat, if you asked both of them to save people from a collapsing building, the speedster would be far more effective. And yet, if both were asked to disperse an angry mob, the speedster would have to do a lot of work to interact with each person individually, whereas Anna could ram them like a bowling ball and scatter them.

It is certainly an interesting way of thinking, and I will have to get better about making the effort to plan that way.

The rest of the lecture was interesting, but not especially noteworthy, as it was about the current geopolitical status of the major countries and states with regards to their actors, state or otherwise.

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I was walking back from the lecture, still limping a bit, when I saw a man.

He was older than me, mid thirties I would hazard. He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit, wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses. He looked somewhat pale, his skin contrasting with his black hair.

We were still in the middle of campus, so I wasn’t overly worried, but I was getting a weird vibe off the guy. I didn’t like him. Just something about him seemed unlikable.

“Mr. Cardano, I presume?” He said, as he strolled up to me. Ok, now I was put on guard. This was suspect as shit, dude in a suit, knows my name? Probably from another gang, trying to get me to flip on Candyman.

“Yeah, who’s asking?” I said, my eyes narrowed as I glared at him.

He gave a wry smile, before taking off his sunglasses. His eyes were jet black. No iris, no whites to them. They were a complete void, didn’t even shimmer or reflect light. I suspected they were spherical, but to be honest, I wouldn’t be able to tell unless I conspired to look at him in profile. That’s how dark they were.

“Interested parties.” He said affably, not that it put me at ease.

“You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” I said, fishing for a name or organization.

“Jason Stockton. You can call me Jason if you prefer.” Jason replied.

“Call me Ryan.” I said, recognizing the gesture and reciprocating.

The wrinkles around his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“Though, this isn’t a great venue for this conversation,” He began. “Would you like to get a meal at the local diner?”

“You already know where I live?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Jason raised an eyebrow, but nodded silently. “Right then. Lets head to my dorm. My roommate should be at his classes, so we won’t be disturbed.”

I was taking a risk, but I felt it was worth it. The dorm was still on campus, and Jason seemed at least somewhat friendly. He already knows where I live, so this isn’t a particularly big loss. On the other hand, following him to some diner, where he might have other gang members to back him up seemed like a terrible idea.

Luckily, we were only about ten minutes from my dorm. Stockton tried making small talk about the weather, but something about him was incredibly unsettling. Not the eyes, interestingly enough. He had put his aviators back, and while startling at first, it’s not really something to worry about. Statistically, a fair number of people develop physical changes and characteristics with their manifestations, and as a schoolkid, it had always been hammered into me to not judge based on appearance, but rather actions.

Mind you, at this point, I was splitting the difference and judging based on gut instinct, but nobody has ever accused me of being a saint. God forbid.

I tapped my key-card to the door panel, listening for the electronic click, before letting myself in.

“Hey Thomas, you in?” I called, before nodding decisively at the lack of reply and showing Jason in, before closing and locking the door.

I took a quick moment to tap out a message to Thomas, saying that I was in the dorm with a guy I had just met, and was hoping for some privacy for the next hour, since it was a sensitive affair. A second barely passed, before he sent a truly incomprehensible string of emoji. The few whose slang meaning I knew were breathtakingly raunchy. Yeah Thomas, I fucking wish I were getting laid, but I have some fucking weirdo gangster to talk to. Thanks for rubbing it in jackass.

“So, Jason, can I get you something to drink? Coffee maybe?” I asked, mostly out of a desire to be polite, but admittedly the thought of procrastinating this chat was a bit more influential in that decision than I rather cared to admit.

“Sure. I take it with sugar.” He said, smiling again. He did have a nice smile, I would give him that.

After brewing the coffee, and serving us both, I sat on the couch, facing him as he sat back in one of the shitty chairs that came as part of the dorm furniture.

“Do you mind of I cut to the heart of the matter?” I asked, steeling myself for this. Jason shook his head, looking a bit bemused.

“I am not flipping on Candyman. If I have to be under a gang’s thumb, I would prefer it be the one which is predictable and stable. There isn’t much you could offer me to put myself on his shitlist, especially since he might take it out on my family.” I said, letting out a sigh of relief as the words escaped my mouth.

Stockton quirked a smile at that.

“Are you quite certain of that? My organization does have a lot to offer someone like you.”

“I’ll hear you out, but unless you are offering something which is both significant enough to haggle over, and is verifiably in your power, I think I will be seeing you out, and speaking to Candyman about this.”

“Decisive. I like that in a person. However. I believe you have gotten the wrong idea of exactly who I am, and what I am doing here. I am Agent Jason Stockton, from the Power Regulation Agency.”

I legitimately malfunctioned. I froze up. A part of me was ecstatic. A PRA agent? Here? Seriously? Did they change their minds?

Unfortunately, the other, much bigger part of me was petrified in fear. I am fundamentally a pessimist at heart. Of course they don’t want me. They never did. But I had actively used my powers. In combat. I had killed someone with them. That’s the sort of thing which the PRA does not tolerate.

I swallowed nervously, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Ah. It seems you are correct. I did get the wrong idea of who you are.”

Stockton let out a polite chuckle.

“Surprisingly common in my line of work. Now, I understand that you got into an altercation recently? Go ahead and describe it for me.”

“Don’t you already have that information?” I asked cautiously. “I was under the impression that Barley had submitted all the relevant paperwork.”

“Oh, I do. I read it extensively over the past couple days.” Stockton said. “Rest assured, your Mr. Barley did an excellent job with the paperwork. However, occasionally our system flags certain aspects, which calls for a manual review. Which is where I come in.”

“What aspects, if I can ask?” I asked nervously. I didn’t really bother putting on a front. I was nervous frankly, and I doubt that emoting like I was calm or angry would help my situation. I internally cursed Barley for not giving me the reports to read. If I knew what he had said, I wouldn’t have to fish for information from Stockton here so that I wouldn’t contradict the story.

“Flicker, was the name of the speedster. Not a weak one either, he had been noted in previous incidents of breaking Mach 2, though mostly in areas outside the city. Report said you killed him, an act of self defense where you managed to get lucky and hit him with a flashgun.” Stockton said, as he pulled a manila folder from inside his suit and began leafing through the case file.

“Yeah, that all sounds about right.” I ventured warily.

“Pfft, not to me,” Stockton said incredulously, letting out an involuntary chuckle at that. “We have an eye-witness who claims that Flicker engaged you in combat, though she ran and hid before the end. I could buy that you managed to catch him while decelerated, but in single combat? Ryan, there are vanishingly few manifestations capable of killing an accelerated speedster.

Stockton took a moment and shook his head in disbelief.

“Lucky shot my ass, you cannot get lucky against speedsters, it just doesn’t happen. That said, matching them has been known to happen rarely, in precognitives and false precognitives. Don’t insult my intelligence, we’ve had a file on you since your early childhood. We know exactly what tools were available to you in Glimmerton.”

Fuck.

Slowly at first, but then all at once, the story came out. The fact that I had been working with Barley, and had made it a point to not use my power at Barley’s request. That we had gotten into a car chase which found its way into Glimmerton. That I had seen an event leading directly to my death, using passive aspects of my power which could not be feasibly deactivated. That afterwards, I engaged Flicker, and baited him into a spot where my powers could match him for a split second. That I was walking a knife’s edge, knowing full well that I would die if I didn’t use all the tools at my disposal.

Stockton was a good listener, occasionally probing with questions, getting me to elaborate on certain aspects which were vague. When I finished, I felt exhausted. I had been avoiding this, having to process the events of that day, and having to go over it with Stockton and relive it, and grasp with the benefit of hindsight exactly how close to death I was, took a lot out of me.

There was a minute, where Stockton drank the last dregs of his coffee, kindly allowing a moment for me to put myself back together.

“So, what happens now?” I asked, my voice a bit raspy with the talking I had done. I took a drink of coffee, and grimaced as it had gone cold. Helped a bit though.

“What happens now? Well, I am not particularly interested in your escapades with the Lotuses. The PRA, unlike many other agencies with legal jurisdiction and power of arrest, is confined to solely prosecuting crimes under it’s purview, namely abuses related to the use of powers. While the local PD would be mighty interested in you from that angle, our case files are not shared, save for special circumstances.”

I nodded in understanding.

“You already knew that though. Record indicates that you are attending university, started in the PRA track. Decent academic, light on extracurriculars, but that isn’t particularly important. I am curious to know how a kid like you gets mixed up with Mr. Candyman.”

“PRA rejected me.” I snarled, taken by surprise as Stockton touched on that particular exposed nerve. “All of a sudden, my job prospects were taken away, I was five digits in debt, and sinking fast. I know someone involved with Candyman. I got a meeting with the Lotuses, and they decided I might have something useful.”

“Something useful to be sure,” Jason replied grimly. “But dangerous. That’s playing with fire. You’d best hope, for your own sake, that you never find yourself in Candyman’s production facilities.”

“Whatever,” I said, blowing him off. I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear it at this point. “You didn’t answer my original question though. What happens now?”

“Right then. Well, you are in a rather awkward situation. There are carve-outs in PRA policy to allow for unregistered civilians to act in self-defense. If you are taken hostage, you are allowed to retaliate with your powers. No questions asked.

However. While I can buy that you were acting in self-defense, you were actively and knowingly engaged in activities which would have put you in that situation. A prosecutor in the PRA court could, and would make the argument that to go out on Lotus business depicts a degree of premeditation. An argument which would be easily bought by the judge, considering the reputation of those with your manifestation.”

“So what, you are referring this to the secret court?” I demanded, somewhat incredulously.

Jason held up a hand to stop me, shaking his head.

“Not as such. The department has a degree of leeway in special circumstances. Specifically, we are allowed to use our best judgment in certain cases, where a subjects manifestation would be an asset to our program, and we believe that their personality and character would not make them a liability. Provisional deputization, is the internal terminology.”

“But I was rejected before for my power? What’s changed?” I asked, more bewildered than anything else.

“Do you happen to have your letter?” Stockton asked carefully. I nodded, and got up to retrieve it. It was in my room, so it was only a moment or so before I returned and placed it in his outstretched hand. He unfolded it, and began reading, lips moving as he seemed to stare forward. I couldn’t really tell if he was actually reading it, since I couldn’t track his eyes moving, due to the color, if they were even moving at all.

“Right then,” he began, folding it back up and placing it back in the envelope. “I happen to know of the person who rejected you. It’s something which can be dealt with.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” I said, uneasily. “What does deputization entail?”

“Provisional deputization,” Stockton corrected me. “You will functionally be made an asset of the agency during a period of time where I evaluate your skills and temperament, to test if you are a good fit. During the provisional period, you are not granted any legal authority or special consideration, but pending cases against you are frozen. If you make it through the provisional period, the cases are dropped and you become an asset of the program.

“Asset? Is that a paid job?” I asked, somewhat unsure.

“It doesn’t do much for you, it simply means the PRA treats you like an affiliate. You will sometimes be offered assignments to provide information to the PRA, or utilize your manifestations on behalf of the agency. The assignments are paid, but you aren’t salaried, or given an hourly paycheck. You would be more akin to a contractor, or bounty hunter even. You can also join the organization as an asset, though it would require sponsorship from your handler. Which would be me.”

“Right,” I started, trying to figure out how to phrase this. “Not that I am disinterested in your offer, but just to clarify, what happens if I refuse, hypothetically?”

“If you refuse, I state my intention to take you in. If you cooperate, then you will be sentenced by the PRA court. I would guess three to five years in federal prison, though they might go easy on you considering the circumstances. If you were to resist arrest, you would have a entry generated in the PRA database, and automatically added to the red list. I confess, I am not much of a fighter, so you would have a decent chance. But odds are someone would take you out sooner or later.”

“I see,” I said, as the hair on my neck stood on end. “I accept your offer. Is there anything I need to do, any paperwork I need to sign?”

It turns out, that there was paperwork. Quite a bit of paperwork, actually. By the end of it, I was shaking my hand out every couple minutes to relieve the cramps. I tend to type most of my work, so handwriting isn’t something I am accustomed to for long periods of time.

“Right. That all seems done. Do I get copies of these?” I asked, looking at the stack of papers which seemed about half an inch in thickness.

“No need. You hold onto these, I just need to scan for our records.” He said, pulling out a set of metal rods from his suit pocket.

I watched curiously, as he started assembling them, tapping the magnetic ends together to form what appeared to be a wire-frame of a box.

“Tinker-tech,” Stockton said, noticing my curiosity. “The pen I had you sign with has a special ink formulation which works with this framework. Basically, it detects all the ink on the paper, both printer and pen, and converts it directly to a 3D model. Some processing gets done on the phone app, and its transformed into a set of PDFs. Far easier than tracking down a conventional scanner.”

“I am pretty sure they have scanners at the library,” I said, eyebrow raised.

“True, but then we would have to walk over, and this is faster in any case.” He said, waving off my observation. “Regardless, I will be in touch in the near future about your next steps. In the meantime, do not abandon the PRA track. It will only make life harder for you. I don’t care if you continue to run around with the Lotuses, just as long as you don’t get caught. I can keep you from PRA prison, but I can’t pull you from the city jail.”

“How do I get in touch with you? In case I need to ask questions or something like that.”

“Here is my card,” Stockton said, presenting me with a white bit of card-stock with the PRA logo printed on it. Below it were several phone numbers and an email address.

“Send me an email if it isn’t urgent, like if you have questions or concerns. If it is urgent, you can access me at my work number, or my office number. Try not to abuse that, I tend to be very busy.”

“Right. Well, if there’s nothing else…” I said, voice trailing off.

“There isn’t,” He confirmed.

“Well, have a nice day.” I said, as Stockton put his aviators back on and proceeded to exit the dorm. I watched him for a couple minutes through the blinds until he left my line of sight.

It seemed I had a new career plan.