"No, don't do it!" I shouted, my voice panicked and my forehead slick with fear.
"I'm sorry Evan, but this is just evening it out." Lionel brandished her sword, its azure figure not only menacing but a stark contrast to my gray one. Her hushed voice, something she learned to keep from being too loud, felt colder than I'd ever heard.
I didn't know if I'd make it in time. Even with my enchantments, wading through the water was too slow. If I didn't reach her it would cost me dearly, so I swam anyway.
After an infinity I reached the shore. I rushed towards my beach home and slammed the door open. Unfortunately all that stood in my living space was Lionel and an empty living room. Before Lionels feet sat a flimsy wad of string.
I was too late. I was almost speechless, as only one accusation came to mind as I mourningly glanced at the drop.
"You killed Fishsticks! And how do you even have diamond armor? We just started."
I could see her grin through the screen. No facecam, yet I could see that evil smirk.
"Get good. You shouldn't have killed Siz."
"That was a creeper you trapped in a 2 block hole right outside my base." I replied flatly.
"He was MY creeper trapped in a 2 block hole right outside your base!" Her voice practically airblasted her microphone.
Yeah, Lionel and I have been getting into minecraft as a way to pass time ever since I got a personal computer. Unfortunately I'm a rather casual minecraft player. For some reason I expected to be better at the game than the girl who enjoys playing a game thats over a century old.
Rookie mistake. It's been 15 minutes and she has diamond tools. I'm still at stone, though I would have been further had I not found a cat and built a 'beach home'; thats what I call my wooden box on the sandy minecraft shore.
Her own thunder-like exclamation, besides giving me tinitus, also seemed to embarrass the girl. She went silent for a few moments. I decided to clear the silence while building Fishsticks grave.
"I think we should downloads some mods next time we play. There's this one that I've been looking at that makes the game like skyrim. It looks pretty cool."
"…you mean Eldercraft? It's fun for about an hour, but I'd rather play Reckoning or Deadman Rise. They're more fun."
One caveat about living in the future is that you have to acclimize to the new cultural fads. Back in my time, Games were fun but had clear limitations. The average gamers computer could only load so much of the map at once, a game could only have so much content at once and developes had to optimize like crazy if they didn't want to bloat shit up.
Now though? My cheap ass potato laptop could run about 14 cyberpunk 2077's with raytracing at the same time. Why is that a bad thing? Because developers don't optimize shit when they have 2 terabytes of ram.
Still, games were much larger now. Not to mention there were AAAA games now. And AAAAA games. Too bad the indie industry left them in the dust.
"Sorry, I have to get off." Lionel quietly stated before the call was cut. She also dissappeared from the server, which left just me. I sighed. This was a common occurance when she got too loud. Not that I don't understand it, she probably still lives with her parents.
I checked the time. It was 3PM. Normally I'd be out of the apartment at this time buying dinner. My eyes absentmindedly drifted to the letter on my desk.
My 'heroic actions' had earned me attention from the local government. Unfortunately, that attention turned into interest when I came back with no identity, fingerprints, medical history, etc. This is highly unusual, even for illegal immigrants. I still shudder at the memory of my interrogation.
————
The silver haired brickhouse glared at me, her malice clearly visible even if her eyes were covered by 2 red eyepatches. She pointed a scarred finger at me and roared for the hundreth time.
"WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?! WHAT IS THE LOCATION OF YOUR SLEEPER CELL?!"
I yelled back half-frustrated and half-frightened.
"I WORK FOR A CONSTRUCTION COMPANY! I DON'T HAVE A SLEEPER CELL!"
Eyepatch woman slammed her fist on the desk before turning around. My ears barely caught her murmur. "He's not lying. Damn, this guys good. Don't worry boss, I can still move onto the 'sleeper seduction' technique."
What. The. Fuck.
She turned around, her bearing completely changed. She moved her arms under her.. 'bust' and batted her eyelashes at me. Think of an buff ironing board pirate making kissy faces at you. And then weep as I did.
"Look mr Wayne, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I know a man as.. *gag* .. handsome as you probably deals with lots of loud women on a daily basis-" thankfully this crazy woman was interrupted by the door opening.
"That's enough, Ellen. I'll take it from here." Another brickhouse entered the room, but with a much more friendly-and dare I say, elegant- disposition. Ellen clicked her tongue, giving me one glance before leaving the room.
The man sat down, readjusting his tie as he gave me a smile. A solitary yellow folder was set upon the table, not yet opened.
"Hello Mr Wayne, my name is Moufida Sharr. Forgive us for the… underhanded interrogation. While you aren't a legal US citizen, it was still grossly unecessary to put you through what we did. Mrs Ellen is asexual by the way, rest assured that you were in no danger."
Asexual predator, maybe.
I felt a very small jolt in the table as Mr Sharr set his elbows on the table, crossing his fingers with each other as he gave me a slightly less warm look. The solitary light above cast his face in a slightly terrifying way. Did I mention he looked like an Arabic Gus Fring?
"That doesn't mean I am unaware of why you were brought in so promptly. To be frank Mr Wayne, you have no identity whatsoever. And not in the more common 'lack of a paper trail' way." He
"No camera's have caught you sans a few within the past month. The earliest recording we have of you is just a month and a half ago. In said recording, you were exiting the waters of Daytona beach. You showed signs of drowning usually only present in cadavers."
He flipped open the folder. A grainy picture of me in a hotel room, sopping wet and talking to a cat woman clerk. Yeah… my face was bloated at the time.
Another page came out of the folder- oh damn it. He slid a pie chart over, and I could already tell what it was.
"Cross referencing your DNA was even more suspicious. Mr Evan, are you aware of how many chromosomes the average man has, bar genetic conditions?"
Oh shit, how many DOES the average human in My Hero Academia have? Shit, be vague.
"I-I'm unsure sir, but I believe it's in the high fourties."
"About right. The average quirk era human has 48 chromosomes. A quirkless human has 47. You have 46 Mr Wayne. This is something you have in common with Pre Quirk Era humans."
You know what, can I get Ellen back? This guy knows too much. How did he even get my DNA?
"We've also cross referenced DNA tests from said pre quirk era humans. You know of the concept genetic ancestry? It's a fancy way of saying you share DNA with your mother's mother's mother."
There's more?
"We were baffled when the reports said you have no confirmed genetic relatives. Not here, Japan, China, Brazil, New Zealand, not even from Genghis Khan. No ancestors. Not even a cousin's aunt's uncle's little sister's 3rd cousin's grandma. We're still questioning whether or not you qualify as a regular human or an adjacent subspecies."
I was screwed. 'Oh lord, heavenly father, please don't let them put me on a table and test me or shove a probe up my ass- or do aliens do that? Wait, I'M the alien.'
Mr Sharr held up a hand to stop my panicking. "I understand your concern. Modern media has caused an unrealistic expectation for how we treat those of… exotic estimable value. But you have no reason to worry. In fact, your uniquity could have incredible value for medical resarch. Which is why we'd like to extend an offer for you."
He pulled another paper out of the folder. This one was a contract. I took the paper, giving Mr Sharr a justifiably curious look. He took it as an opportunity to explain more.
"You could consider that contract a job offer. We'd like for you to show up on certain days of the week at the local hospital for examinations and bloodwork. This includes blood donations and various other forms of sampling. In exchange, we will provide you with an identity and sizable salary. Feel free to read the terms at your discretion." And with that, Mr Sharr finally went silent.
I glanced at the paper. All Trades came in clutch here. I was no law maker, but I know how to read a contract and look for common legal pits. The contract was pretty clear cut. Go in, be a tissue farm, get out. And - HOLY FUCK 400K A YEAR?! WITH DENTAL?!
I took a mental step back, taking and releasing a deep breath as I cleared my mind. Ignoring the very sexy salary, was this something I wanted? To be a guniea pig for genetic research?
I suppose I didn't really give a shit as long as they didn't take my kidneys. Not to mention if my DNA was even half as valuable as Mr Sharr seemed to think it was, I would be doing an objectivly good deed by taking this job.
Alright, so I'll take it. So how can I milk this contract? Hm… lets do a high offer so that my real offer seems more reasonable. I gave Gus- I mean Sharr a serious look.
"Double the salary, get me a top of the line personal computer, buy me a house in a good neighborhood and I'll sign." Even as I said this, I felt I was being too obvious. Either way, I'd just ask for a 20% higher salary and the computer. The home I could probably just-
"Done. I'll have my constituates rewrite the contract. Would you like your on paper identity to be 'Evan Wayne' as well?"
…..
…..fuck it, we ball.
"Yes Sir."
Ding!
Gain the interest and employment of your local governing body: 1 Advantage Silver Ticket
Negotiated a contract vastly superiour to the one originally offered: 1 Silver Skill Ticket