“What was that all about?” Brock asked breathlessly in the waiting room. A crowd of uniformed students from a multitude of groups descended upon them at the conclusion of the meeting, but the Director had hustled him at a breakneck pace from the main chamber and locked the door behind. Pounding could still be heard through the thick mahogany, and the Director frowned at him briefly. Silently, he twisted his fingers through the complicated series of gestures Brock was beginning to recognize as some sort of spellcasting technique, and a portal appeared before them. Still not making any noise, the Director motioned Brock through the scintillating oval, and Brock stepped through.

They emerged back in the Director’s office, with its spacious view overlooking the lower branches of the Yggdrasil. Brock opened his mouth, but the Director held his fingers to his lips, then wove them through another summoning. Half a second later, Fiona stepped through a different portal. She shrugged her shoulders, and a familiar pair of golden knuckles appeared over her fists. Brock’s eyes widened, but before he could do more than blink, she was lashing out in a series of lightning-fast jabs. He flinched back, expecting the same apocalyptic explosions she’d raked the Overlord’s forces with, but felt nothing more than a series of quick pinpricks along his chest and face.

“That’s all I saw, boss,” she said in a satisfied tone, then whirled around as a figure stepped out of Brock's shadow, slashing up and down in photonegative waves of black and purple that barely brushed Brock’s legs and spine.

“But not all there was,” Mikael replied with a smirk, and Fiona stuck her tongue out at him.

“See, that’s why you should be on overwatch. It’s so boring.”

“You both did fine,” the Director said quietly, walking past his desk to his chair. He sank into it with a sigh. “Did you happen to spot who placed the surveillance spells?”

“No dice, boss,” Fiona said solemnly. Beside her, Mikael shook his head once, expression fierce. “They covered their tracks like pros.”

Brock raised his hand.

“Uhhh, can I talk now?”

“Yes, Brock,” the Director responded, leaning back in his chair. “This room is now as safe as I can make it. You may speak.”

“What, uhhh, what the hell was that all about?”

“The thunder of cannons before dawn,” the Director said absently, "full of sound and fury signifying nothing." He shook his head as if gathering his thoughts. “Nevermind. Listen, Brock. We, as a world, have been at peace for a long time, but you represent a level of power not seen in our reality for aeons. Furthermore, the others believe you to be a controllable power, and thus they vie for the reins.”

“A... controllable power?”

The Director waved Brock to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and Brock gratefully took a seat. Behind him, Fiona and Mikael took up station like honor guards, or executioners.

“They think you’re a normal Sekkie. That you’ll do anything if we promise to unshackle your collar, even for the briefest instant. Just like every other Sekkie that has plagued our shores.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Brock tugged nervously at the silver loop around his neck, and it buzzed unpleasantly against his fingers. Startled, he let them fall away.

“Yes,” the Director said quietly, “there are anti-tampering measures in place. However, I meant what I said.” He snapped his own fingers quickly. With a soft click, the collar fell silent.

Brock felt the world sharpen around him, each molecule in the air dancing softly with the rhythm of the universe. The potential to do anything felt limitless.

“I want you to help us of your own free will.”

Brock stared at the Director. Something, some small part of him, a tiny, treacherous part, whispered you could end him now. Some other part of him, a more empathic part, screamed he knows you’re thinking that.

Shuddering, Brock shrugged.

“I told you I would.”

“And that is what I hoped,” the Director didn’t quite sigh. He leaned forward over his desk. “Tell me, Brock, what would you do for me if I told you I’d release your Limiter permanently?”

Brock felt his mind go blank. What would he do with an indestructible body that put comic-book heroes to shame? Besides finally be good at field hockey?

“Uhhh, well, uhhh...”

“Exactly. You don’t view it as the single-most important priority in your life. You aren’t consumed with the power you hold.”

“...I’d like to play some sports without the Limiter on,” Brock ventured meekly, and the Director laughed.

“Of course you would.” His expression hardened. “What if I told you I would never release your Limiter again?”

Brock thought about it for a moment. Really stopped and thought, then smiled a bit.

“I think I’d be kind of upset,” he began, “because being able to move like I did against the ‘overlord’ was amazing, but as long as I could run around and do stuff the way I am now,” he gestured to his body, “it’d be way better than who I was before. I think I’d be okay.”

“And no one outside this room must ever discover that,” the Director replied, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. “The instant they realize that you have willingly chosen to work with me, to lend your power to my aims, is the instant they will unite to appoint my successor. They are terrified of the power you represent in any hands other than their own.”

“Uhhh, what makes your hands so clean?” Brock asked hesitantly. “You used me as bait. You’re still using me as bait.” Behind him, Mikael snorted in laughter.

“Kid’s got you there, boss.”

The Director looked at Mikael sharply, then let slip a small smile of his own. A rare real one, Brock realized.

“He does indeed. Yes, Brock,” the orc turned his attention back to him, “I am indeed terrified of the power you represent in any hands other than my own, because I know that I wish to use you for the betterment of this world, not my own personal gain, and I cannot say for certain the others share my altruism. But,” his voice dropped, “all tyrants throughout history have undoubtedly felt the same, so it is my actions which will give the truth or lie to that statement.”

“I believe you, sir,” Fiona said loyally, and the Director chuckled grimly.

“A heavy burden, to carry such trust, no doubt. I pray I am up to the task.” He shook himself briefly. “Regardless, we must press on with our task. Brock, did you notice anything out of the ordinary during the Council meeting?”

Brock frowned in confusion.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean. There were a bunch of people in school uniforms yelling and fighting with each other, and you said they’re the ones who help run the world.” He shrugged. “It all seems out of the ordinary.”

The Director gazed at him for a second longer than felt comfortable, then nodded sharply, rising from his seat to stare out the window that made up the back wall of the room.

“Very well. Fiona, make sure you write up a summary of everything you observed at the Council meeting, no matter how trivial.” Fiona sighed theatrically, but the Director ignored her. Hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on horizons unknown, Brock thought he looked like a captain at the wheel of his ship, or an emperor overlooking his domain. “Mikael, it’s time to start introducing our newest member to the duties of Squad Six. Get him integrated with the system, and then start with the harems.”

“Yes, sir,” they both chorused, turning to leave, and Brock felt a blush stealing up his neck as Mikael motioned him to follow out of the room.

“Uhhh, start with the what now?”