Hiller's plane was... nice. Not just a jet, easily able to slip past Mach 3, but comfortable. The seats, the bathrooms; it was more like a lounge in the sort of hotel Jason had only been to once or twice in his life than the sort of stuffy coach-class seating or wall-mounted racks Jason was used to.

Jason was leaning back against his seat wearing one of the only two outfits he had that weren't uniforms; a pair of black jeans and a blue #97 'Bennett' jersey with a strip of blue fabric ironed-on over the second T. Cornelius had been one of his dad's favorites, in large part because of the last name and that he'd met the kid in high school; Jason wasn't such a big fan, but kept the jersey anyway after his dad passed; with one minor modification.

He kept looking around the vehicle at the seats, the displays; at Hiller, his eyes closed, trying to catch a nap; he could see all the little details. What would happen if he threw his glass of Captain Morgan at the agent. If he punched through the window. He could punch through the window now! Could he have done that before? It was difficult to relax while going over all the possibilities of what he could do with this new gift.

Could he make sure his shots never missed? He was okay at extreme ranges, but had never been the best sniper. Usually his quick reflexes and decision-making had carried him through combat, though the quality of those decisions might not have been the best, according to some of his friends. Could he make longer-term predictions? Buy stocks, buy lottery tickets? There were laws against people with ESP using their power to gamble. Would they cover him? Nobody had his power that her knew of.

He closed his eyes. No. He needed to stop, relax, and go through the tests. They'd figure out what he could do, and probably give him a huge salary. Maybe a signing bonus.

***

"Alright, Sam. I know playing Caseworker and doing powers trials is a bit beneath you, but I need someone read in on project Ground for this one."

Sam Terrence rolled his eyes. Wearing the same style of charcoal grey-black suit as the heavily scarred director, the slightly overweight Irishman sighed as he settled into a chair, running a hand through his hair and absently sending sweat dripping down his back. He needed to get in better shape; the DMA had too many stairs in the admin wing, his side was usually just one long elevator ride to his front door. "Look. Director Thomes. Project Ground has reached an impasse unless we discover some new breakthrough, and that's a good thing. We've been working on all sorts of things. Project Keyhole, Project Seraph. We've even made a few incremental improvements to the anti-Jotun rifle."

Rhodes stared at Sam for a few seconds, then down at his desk. "I believe you said you had five viable options, at the start."

"Yes. And every one of them we either developed a countermeasure against and gave it to him, or relies on pure luck. Use it even thirty seconds too soon and it sticks out like a sore thumb."

He sighed. "And if we could predict arrival a few seconds out?"

Sam rested his elbows on the chair's arms, staring at the director. "Then two of them would suddenly become viable, each under controlled circumstances. One in a rainstorm or other downpour, the other would require a relatively clear area. Whats the story here? The team sometimes pokes at Ground, but that hasn't changed in... five years?"

"Agent Hiller is bringing over a precognitive, though limited; we're only certain he can see a few seconds out. One of our soldiers mutated; hit by a depleted uranium slug and won the genetic lottery. The doctors, once they knew he was a meta, just not what kind, even did a fertility test; he's good. We've got an american soldier with precognition, and he can have kids."

Sam blinked... looking around the room, eyes unfocused. He then turned back. "I need a testing budget for this. At least a few million. And authorization to put him on strike-teams as part of the test. A soldier, right? I'm assuming one competent enough we don't need to give him a babysitter?"

"Front-line infantryman. Extensive combat experience, an unusually high amount, in fact; he's been demoted before. Been injured in combat a few times."

"...Eesh. Alright. Still. The easiest and best way to test long-term would involve a few... questionably legal things. Things that might look like insider trading, or result in long-term but not fatal harm." Sam tilted his head, focusing on his boss.

"...Do it. Your budget is twenty million including his signing bonus, call me if you need more; I can pull more from the discretionary fund, but would need to brief the president if it were much more than fifty mil. First priority is getting him to make a donation. I don't want you doing anything that might risk him until we're sure we can replace him if we have to."

***

With his duffel over his shoulder, Jason took a deep breath; the air was... hot. Humid. Iraq got hot, and it got cold, but if there were any parts that stayed this humid, he'd never been there. It almost felt like home. He looked around for a moment in confusion. He'd expected to be getting out at Dulles, or one of the bases. This strip wasn't even big enough for a cargo plane, it was...

Mostly surrounded by trees. Where the hell... He thought through his knowledge of DC. Was this some smaller airport in virginia?

His musing about the nature of the airport was cut-off by two factors; the jet behind him starting to taxi away; not even stopping to fuel up before take-off, though modern, fuel-efficient jets usually didn't need to do so every day; and a limo approaching. A limo? Did he rate a limo? Or was it for Hiller?

When the limo pulled to a stop before him, Hiller stepped up, opening the back, and climbing in; directly beside another suited figure. "Come on, mister Bennet. We've got places to be, and we need to drop you off at the DMA. We need to get you a contract, and get you settled into the dorm."

Jason blinked... and then climbed in, sitting down across from the two men. While Hiller immediately started ignoring him, quietly murmuring to his phone, the man who had been waiting in the car; a tall, scrawny man whose pale skin was contrasted by a thick pair of black glasses; extended a hand. "Mister Bennet! I'm Agent Barnes, and I'm here to make a recruitment offer. My associate tells me you expressed interest in working for us?"

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Hiller lowered his phone, looking at Jason. "He doesn't know your power, and lacks the clearance to do so. Please don't tell anyone, and, one again, try not to think of it, til we reach the DMA."

The man seemed a bit nonplussed at the interruption, as Jason shook his hand, chuckling. "Don't worry about it. Nothing world-changing, just useful. What sort of contract are we talking?"

Barnes whistled to himself as he picked up a small black folder, extending it, with a pen attached, to Jason. "Million-dollar signing bonus, hundred thousand a month paycheck, complete health coverage, a secured dorm-room on-site, and we also agree to cover the complete cost of security systems at any home you purchase within the borders of the US. In the event you should come across individuals with bounties while in the course of your work for the DMA, you will, of course, be able to collect your appropriate share as well."

Jason looked down at the folder, then up at Barnes. "Thats... thats Why are you offering this?"

The man looked uncomfortable. "We can make it two million up-front and two-hundred thousand a month?"

Jason shook his head, raising his hands. "Whoah, whoah. On the one hand, hell yes. On the other, I wasn't negotiating, the first offer was fine, more than I expected. Why the high salary and signing bonus? Aren't we still soldiers, just, you know... with powers?"

The man sighed. "Oh, thank god. I don't even know why the director sent me to handle the paperwork if I'm not allowed to know your power. We generally try to make salary offers that match up to what prospective agents could get doing private-sector work. Could you imagine what someone like Paladin could get if he worked for a construction firm? Some folks like to say that if we'd made him a good enough offer, the Lord of Iron would have been working for us." He took the folder back, and reached beside him; pulling out another. There were a stack of a dozen folders there.

For a moment, Jason considered negotiating. If there were a dozen different offers, and the first one was a million up front... but no. When he received the second folder, he opened it, and started glancing it over. Could be terminated by either party at any time, but if it was terminated by himself within the first year, he had to return... half... of the signing bonus. So he could quit next month and keep a million dollars? He shook his head as he looked over it. "On the one hand, I guess if someone could afford him, it would be the US government. On the other.... didn't he say he was gonna conquer the world when he escaped from prison? I think, best case scenario, he'd have screwed us over from the inside."

He signed the contract; feeling as if a weight had settled on him. This was still a government position; and he'd have access to classified materials. It had never really mattered to him before, because he didn't know anything that mattered, but he could go to prison if he told the wrong person the right thing.

Barnes took the folder, and smiled. "Thank you! The director told me to treat you like a Class-A metahuman. If you'd asked for something outrageous or outlandish I was supposed to call him, but he'd probably agree."

"..Outrageous or outlandish?"

"We've got a metahuman named Daemon who requested immunity from all drug-related laws, and that we warn him before going after his dealers so he can get a new one first. Its probably the craziest one we said yes to. We said no to a guy who wanted his face on mount rushmore."

Jason looked at the floor for a few seconds, thinking, then up at Barnes. "...Immunity from all drug laws. What the hell does he have?"

"Superhuman strength and durability, incredibly fast regeneration, claws sharp enough to cut steel, and while his reflexes aren't that much better than mine or yours, he can hit ninety at a sprint. Nasty habit of sprinting into obstacles when he does that, but he can take it. We actually mostly got around his request by just manufacturing cocaine in the lab for him. It takes enough to kill a normal man just to give him a buzz."

Jason held back from interjecting about the reflexes bit. His own weren't superhuman, but they were damn fine, as he'd proven many times in the past. "Won't we, you know... enforce drug laws?"

Barnes laughed. "At the DMA? Hell no. We deal with Metahumans who use their powers against the common citizens here at home, or against US interests abroad. The only time our agents ever get involved in a drug bust is if some cartel has metahuman employees on the scene; and then, we only care about the metahumans. We're the Department of Metahuman Affairs. Unless its magic, or an alien, or some sort of super-science, or a mutant like yourself, we don't really get involved, and to be honest even the feds don't care about the drug stuff aside from the violent sorts. If the cartels stopped killing people tomorrow, interest in chasing after them would dry up next week. Aside from the murderous ones, its mostly about issuing fines and seizing cash."

"Cool, cool. Honestly, I didn't really like the idea of being a glorified super-cop, or any sort of cop." He glanced out the window at the buildings flying by, the trees; he was completely unfamiliar with this area. "So where are we headed?"

"DMA Headquarters. You'll get your ID issued, a room in the dorms... and these are some damn nice rooms, by the way, that, once you get a house, you'll only need to be in when you're on-call... and then get into detailed testing. No idea what sort, but apparently Doctor T is involved. Things are always interesting when he's around."

***

The new room looked... nice, to say the least. He'd seen at least a few famous metahumans he'd recognized on TV as he'd headed through the building to the elevator, and this place... The carpet was brand-new and spotless. The TV took up one entire wall of the living room. The fridge was stocked up with expensive everything alcoholic; and when he checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, aside from the usual aspirin and bandaids, there was a note with his name on it.

~Welcome to your room, mister Bennet! According to our records from the medical professionals in Iraq, you don't have much of a history of drug use aside from alcohol; but that you most likely have PTSD-related symptoms that drive you to unusual risk-taking behaviors. We've spent decades treating PTSD here at the DMA, and one of our doctors recommended, if you wish to try it, a therapy session involving 'Shrooms' while speaking with one of our therapists authorized for classified information.~

Jason stared at the note for a moment. Back in the field, if one of his fellow soldiers had been caught with them, it would have been... well. Bad. Demotions, court-martial, dishonorable discharge; all sorts of possibilities, especially if they'd been out in the field, gun in hand, while high. Here... they were offering him giant piles of cash, drugs, whatever he wanted, just because he had a useful power.

Whatever. He pocketed the note. It might be worth trying. Sometimes some of the things he'd done haunted him. If it could genuinely help...

He looked at his new, DMA-issued ID. It wasn't just a plastic rectangle; a small smart-device, a tablet with a sensor in it that could scan him to verify who he was, and sync up with doors. And, of course, give him directions. He clipped it to his chest, after studying his picture, marveling over how... weird... he looked with that third eye in the middle of his forehead.

Well. On to testing then. Even if all he could do was see three seconds into the future, he'd at minimum be a wealthy man.

When he stepped out of his room, heading back towards the elevator, he glanced down the hall; eyes catching a dark-haired woman with cat-like ears, a distinct asian cast to her features, wearing a black combat uniform. Their eyes met for just a moment, and she smiled; revealing long, sharp, canines; before stepping through the door of her room.

Huh. He shrugged, and tapped the button. Supposedly they had some tests they were setting up for him even now. Time to see how they worked.