A week later, I walked into Director Piggot's office, dressed like a college intern who was trying slightly harder than necessary, right down to the name badge on a lanyard and the clipboard in my hands.

"You'd be Ouroboros, then?" Director Piggot asked, after I shut the door. "I'm surprised. Normally you people wear costumes to everything important."

"A fake name badge conceals my identity just as well," I said, looking down at the name badge that read 'DAVID J MATTHEWS.' "Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but you probably get enough self-important teenagers in spandex walking into your office as it is."

She grunted in agreement. "So, what do you have for me?"

I turned the clipboard around, setting it on her desk. "These papers constitute the efforts of multiple private investigators to find actionable evidence regarding the supervillain Coil, the full extent of his illegal activities, and a legal identity we can securely pin it on. Among other things, these documents include a number of PRT employees on his payroll, financial statements that demonstrate where Coil's funding is coming from, and a list of Coil's other employees and retainers, some of them unwilling."

She blinked, and for a moment, almost looked faintly impressed.

"Well," Piggot said, scanning the documents. "Isn't that something. Alright, I'll humor you- just what exactly do you expect me to do with all this?"

"Well, something productive, I'd hope," I said, shrugging. "I have no idea how the PRT operates, to tell you the truth. I'm not here to tell you your business, I'm here to show you the details of one particularly dangerous villain, so that, however you decide to handle this whole affair, you do so with far more complete information. To be blunt, Director, I have no idea what I'm doing. That's why I'm here, passing this off to someone who does know what they're doing."

"Fascinating," Piggot continued, still skimming the papers. "A teenage boy capable of admitting his limitations, proactively going to get help, and respecting the competence of authority figures. I don't suppose there were any more like you, wherever you came from?"

"Can't rightly say, we moved when I was ten."

Good god this woman was grating.

"Ah, Thomas Calvert," Piggot murmured. "That son of a bitch."

"I take it you're acquainted, Director?" I asked.

"Do you remember Ellisburg, and Nilbog?" Piggot asked. "Because I certainly do. Calvert and I were the only two soldiers who went in and came out alive. I came out crippled, and he came out pristine... because he'd shot his commanding officer in the back just to get up the ladder faster."

"Charming."

"Personally, the idea that he intends to create another disaster and shoot a superior officer in the back to get up the ladder again is... very believable," Piggot continued. "Man's a scumbag. But." She flashed me an ugly, predatory grin. "I think this here bundle of joy you just handed me is more than enough to take him in. So, Ouroboros... Thank you for your service. I mean that sincerely, and that makes you very special compared to the other capes." She grunted, and dropped her grin. "Don't let it go to your head. I still need you to be focused and professional for what comes next."

"With all due respect, Director, I don't actually work for you. Unless you have grounds to detain me, there's not much you can do to stop me from walking out of here and never coming back."

"One hundred thousand dollars signing bonus if you join the Wards and assist in arresting Thomas Calvert."

"...I'm flattered, but you have no idea what my power is, let alone whether I'd be ready for field duty in any kind of timely manner."

"Your power is to do with time, just as Calvert's is," Piggot said. "I do actually read the reports that cross my desk, you know. Your power, being far more narrowly focused than his, should stand a chance of actually defeating it, if it came down to it."

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"Mhm. And... field readiness?"

"You've demonstrated a basic respect for the chain of command already, and... well, I can tell just by looking that you're already a fighter. Fill out some paperwork, and you're ready to go."

"Mm. I see. Well..." I hummed quietly, considering this offer carefully. "...No. I'm not joining the Wards. If you believe you well and truly need my help with this specific incident, then fine, I'll be a contractor for this one job, but I'm not joining the Wards on a permanent basis. I have higher aspirations than beating up grown men who incorrectly think they look scary in halloween costumes."

"Lucky you," Piggot said. "Fine. Fifty thousand to help us bag Calvert, and to do some basic training just to make sure you're ready to go."

"I'm acquainted with Gallant; let him know when there's a contract for me to sign," I said. "Is there anything else you need, Director?"

"A fucking vacation, but you're not in a position to give me one," Piggot said bluntly. "If there's nothing else you need, then you're dismissed."

---

"Hey- oh, hello Mrs. Dallon."

Carol Dallon was, true to Clover's word, a blonde milf. Admittedly, her hair was more white than yellow- "platinum blonde" I think they called it- but aside from that little detail, she was stunningly hot, with piercing pale blue eyes, a face that made me imagine rather a lot of things that wouldn't happen on account of her being married, and a body with the reasonably generous curves of a human woman who actually existed and did in fact just Look Like That without the aid of shapeshifting, simply the act of having brought a human baby out of her vagina and into the world.

I wasn't sure where I found the willpower, but I did manage to not broadcast on my face the desire to fuck my friend's mom who was old enough to be my own mom, too. These people did not need to know about my ardent wish to make Carol push another baby out of her vagina.

"Mr. Norman," Carol said coolly. "I understand you have something to tell me?"

I blinked.

"...Could you please be more specific?" I asked. "I genuinely do not know what you're talking about."

"Y'know, that villain you were talking about a few weeks ago," Vicky said. "What've you dug up so far?"

"And please tell me you obeyed the laws of what is and is not permissible evidence in court," Carol said.

"...Vicky. Hermanita. Doll. When people phrase something as a hypothetical, it means they're not willing to commit to anything yet," I said.

"Hermanita?" Carol repeated.

"It's a nickname," Vicky said. "Not really sure what it means? I think it's French."

I blinked a few times.

"I'm just going to breeze right past that," I said. "At any rate, Mrs. Dallon, I'm afraid I've already handed off everything to Director Piggot. I mean no offense to your own organization, but... hers is bigger, and better-equipped. It seemed unwise to try to make a lawyer wear the detective's hat."

"I'll have you know I look very good in a deerstalker, but I suppose I can't fault your reasoning," Carol said. "Still... I must confess to being disappointed."

"Well, as it so happens, I am in need of a lawyer in the near future," I said. "Piggot wants me as a contractor, to help make the arrest, for... some godforsaken reason. And, well, I'd rather have a lawyer go over the contract to make sure I'm not screwing myself over."

"You're a minor," Carol pointed out. "If they try to screw you with a contract, they'll get their asses handed to them in court."

"So I can just sign anything she gives me without reading it."

"Absolutely fucking not." She paused. "I forgot for a moment that you were a min-"

"Ma'am, I'm a high school student. I assure you, I am not mortally offended by people saying 'fuck.' It's incongruous with the professional demeanor I'm intermittently trying to maintain, but we're in your house, not your office, so if you need to say fuck, then I'm not going to stop you."

"Can I say f-"

"No, Victoria," Carol said.

"I never get to have any fun," she whined.

"Can I?" Amy asked.

"...No," Carol said. "Girls, please. Behave yourselves in front of company."

"Again, I am a high school student," I said. "Any performance of dignity between the three of us is wholly insincere and purely performative."

"Nonetheless," Carol began.

"So what's your rate for contract review?" I asked.

"For you, a hundred dollars an hour," Carol said.

"...How feasible would it be to bill the PRT for your fee, since I can't control how long the contract is and how much time it takes to review?"

"I like the cut of your jib."

Well, that was certainly high praise from a woman who was ordinarily very, very paranoid about strangers.

"But also, not a snowball's chance in hell."

"Fuck."