Point Delta military base in north-eastern Iraq was a strange construction. Rows of barbed wire, mist sprayers, plastic sheeting, anti-aircraft weaponry; the perimeter had a thousand different means of protecting its contents; which mostly consisted of a series of air-strips, hangars, and prefabricated buildings. Never had such a sophisticated array of defenses been put in place to protect a more ramshackle, cobbled-together mass of buildings. The structures were laid out in what should have been a neat grid, but looked more like a random, confused mess from the air; the rocks and hills, not to mention a small batch of trees and a pond, had forced a variety of changes in whatever layout had been planned from the beginning, but the entire encampment surrounded a rocky hill which had been used both for raw materials for some of the defensive barriers, and a barrier of its own.
As the small plane settled down on the runway, letting off a long trail of sand and dust, Agent Hiller pulled to his feet, glancing at his watch. He was dressed in his typical work uniform; a nice black suit with an armored vest beneath it, sunglasses that doubled as UV and IR scopes, his typical sidearm attached to said vest, and an earpiece communicator that completed the look; the tall, fit, dark-haired man seemed to scream 'Fed' as he stepped down the stairs onto the runway.
He glanced at his watch for the thousandth time that day. "Agent Hiller, on location. Shadow Master status?"
A voice emerged in his ear-piece; sweet, feminine; and belonging to a woman who often served as his bodyguard, and could likely break him in half with a gesture. ~Already hundreds of miles away, sir. He finished up and is currently en route the cancer ward of a children's hospital in Turkey.. I believe he's 'refilling' as it were before he gets back to work, and is officially off-duty. He's already been paid for his time, of course.~
Hiller glanced down at the ground for a moment, lost in thought. Usually a 'refill' meant a stop by a slaughterhouse, or that the animals were delivered to him; they didn't tend to waste the meat, and it was always cooked off after... but it never seemed to taste right. Perhaps it was because he knew how it died. But then again, this was Turkey. There was a perfectly reasonable chance that the government would offer the meta a visit to their equivalent of Death Row.
Everyone knew Shadow Master. Not so much his family. But as much as the Romani was in demand, his powers were no guarantee. If you had cancer, often the cancer would be strengthened at the same time you were; and a gaping chest wound was a death sentence with or without him. But when it did work...
"Is the subject awake now, or am I doing the interrogations first?"
~Subject is awake, Affirmative. Testing supplies should be outside the room, on a cart, all prepped. Intel has the interrogations setup and waiting already, and a car waiting to take you after the test. Armored limo.~
"Excellent." Hiller stopped at the edge of the strip, pulling out his ID, pressing his thumb to the scanner; a guard looked him over for a moment; and checked his thumb, to ensure it wasn't a fake; before backing off and letting him by.
"Though... that sounds quite a bit like an active report of someone making calls and plans. I thought you were taking a few days off since I'd be in military hands and letting someone in HR handle this?" He stepped inside the military hospital; plastic flaps, little cloth shoe coverings... an airlock in one direction that was, fortunately, only rarely used... and a nurse glanced up, smiling; some hispanic gentleman, looked friendly enough. Hiller glanced at the nametag, and nodded. "Jerry, if you could take me to the subject, please."
~As if. I vacation when you do, sir.~
The nurse lifted a clipboard, checking the notes. "I wasn't assigned to this one, but I was last time he was here. Not the time before that, though. This will be the last one, which is a bit sad. Decent chap."
Hiller blinked. "The time before..." He glanced back at his watch. "Ahh. Kamikaze. I knew his name sounded familiar. I thought he was dead."
Jerry gave a short bark of a laugh as they turned the corner; each wall smooth, seamless white, most of the walls with bulletproof glass panes that allowed passerby to easily see what was inside at a glance if the curtains weren't pulled; as they were at the last door they stopped at. "Here you are, sir. Jason Bennet, AKA Kamikaze. And, yes, he was dead. We managed to get him back, though. I'd say he had nine lives, but every time they bring him back it seems to be worse. I wish we had someone like your gypsy friend on staff all the time."
Hiller glanced down at the cart. A variety of 'tools'; several decks of cards, various clips, and even a simple radio handset. All you would need to test someone with ESP, so long as the range wasn't too excessive. He thought back to the protocol. "I'd be careful about that term. Some of his people are offended, others don't care."
Start with a card facing away from the subject at three meters. Vary distance and cards to determine range and ensure luck isn't a factor. Use the speaker to see if it was auditory as well. Setup various barriers and, of course, if the range is sufficient, try it from outside the wall, or the building, using the radio. Quick, simple, methodical; open and shut ESP testing.
He opened the door to the room, nodding his thanks at Jerry as the nurse held it for him, and started to push the cart in, glancing up at the bandaged man on the bed. The man was just staring at the wall as if it were the most interesting thing on the planet, that strange third eye seeming to almost glow as it focused on nothing; before glancing at Hiller. "Ahh. Whoops! Careful there!"
Hiller blinked. "Well. Hello.." He stopped; sliding in a puddle of some liquid spilled on the floor, smacking into the cart and almost ramming it into the injured man's bed; god, this was a hospital, this man had been confined to a bed for weeks, there was a bedpan not three feet away... please say it was water. "Ahem. That was.."
He stopped. Glanced down at the puddle of hopefully water, and then the patient.. and the deck of cards. "...I'm Agent Hiller, Verification, part, of course, of the Department of Metahuman Affairs. Would you mind telling me why you said that, just now, before I slipped?"
All three eyes blinked. The lid on the third one looked... just wrong. Good lord. "What do you mean, before? You almost fell in my lap, so I joked about it? Sorry if it was rude, I thought I was toning it down. If I were talking to another grunt, it would've been a bit more... colorful."
He could feel it. The man had no idea what Hiller was talking about and seemed completely confused. He thought Hiller was being silly... and that he'd said those words after Hiller had slipped. He shut the door, leaving the cart in place, and checked the curtains; making certain they were completely shut.
"Ah. Well. Mister Bennet. No longer Private, I'm afraid; you received a discharge after your most recent antics. Almost a dishonorable one... if any of your fellow soldiers had been hurt by your foolishness, it would have been. It came close, though." He looked at his watch; and tapped a few buttons. He glanced up at the soldier; who abruptly squinted, shutting his eyes. "What was that for?"
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His watch flashed seconds later; a brief strobe of light blotted out by Hiller's glasses; before he set it on the cart. A soft hum started to fill the room. "Just part of the test, mister Bennet. I... believe we'll need to test you more thoroughly back home. The tools I have on-hand would be fine for ESP. But... that's not what you have."
"What do you..." All three eyes focused on the watch. Then on Hiller's mouth. "Wait. You said that.... and the light... I can..."
Hiller held up a finger. "What you can do is going to be classified. Top secret. Don't mention it, and try not to even think about it, until we're back home. You're no longer military; you're a free man. But I can tell you right now that at bare minimum we'll be offering you a consulting job with the DMA. I remember your service record; you're a bit infamous among military circles here; but no-one could say you didn't try to do your best for your country. If you want to be a wealthy man, I can promise you that. If you want to serve your country, I can promise you that as well. Technically, you haven't signed your discharge paperwork, so we could just bring you over until your current enlistment was over, or even draft you. But that's not how the DMA generally does business."
Bennet looked at Hiller for a few seconds. Hope. Exuberant joy. The man's face looked as if he'd just been handed a winning lottery ticket. Which, in some ways, he had. "...I get to be a superhero?"
Hiller sighed. "I suppose so. At the very least, you'll get to work with them. Now. I want you on the first plane back home to DC. You can finish recovery stateside, if there's any left you need to do; whether you can walk or they have to push the bed up the ramp, you're taking the same flight back I am in a couple of hours. I know the Shadow Master's work; if you're not already good, you will be soon. So... don't say anything. Try..."
"Not to think anything. Understood, sir. I'm in. All the way."
Hiller glanced at the cart, and the decks of cards. "...If anyone asks, you've got enough ESP we thought it'd be useful. Welcome to the DMA." For a moment, he started to extend a hand; only to stop himself after a glance at Jason's bandaged state. They hadn't removed those on the arms. He might even still need them, for the moment; the Shadow Master had left not long ago at all. He gave a curt nod; and opened the door, shoving the cart back out. If that puddle of whatever hadn't been there, and he'd just conducted the ordinary test... good lord. He could've missed this entirely, and associated any delayed or messed up timing with someone coming down from surgery.
He shut it gingerly behind him; and put his watch back on, turning off the suppressor. "Siri, call director Thomes."
He glanced at the window. He still had interrogations to witness. Men who would be roughly interrogated, possible even tortured, while Hiller watched, just to confirm if they were telling the truth with whatever nonsense they spouted. But... it was hard to believe any of it would be even a fraction of the value of this.
"Sir. This is Hiller. Just finished the testing of that potential, the one we had to route a healer in for. Frankly, he's Appalling. Management for this one will be a pain going forward, but we still need to bring him in for some Oversight."
***
Thousands of miles away, an irate older man with an overabundance of scars had sat up in his bed, picked up his phone, prepared to berate whoever had dared wake him up at this time of night... before he stopped, listening to the words closely. Assembling the line in his head. The last two words of the sentences would be key. Appalling, Oversight. They were supposed to be one of a number of different combinations that represented powers useful enough someone might want to intervene and kill the subject before he could be trained, or poach them for their own purposes. But... those didn't link up with any combination he knew of. Would they represent a name instead?
He stared at the wall for a moment... and stopped. His heart stopped beating for a moment, and restarted with a painful lurch, as the director controlled his voice. "Ahh. I understand. Bring him in when you come back, I'll want to meet him after he's properly tested. What sort of budget do you need?"
A few moments before the response came back. Either Hiller had been considering his answer, or there was lag on the phone. "Honestly, I have no idea, sir. We should talk in person, keep things... Grounded."
"...Fuck. That's... you're right." He tapped the end call button, dropping it onto the side-counter, and slid out of bed, grunting as he carefully pulled himself upright.
No way in hell he would be getting back to sleep. Of course there wouldn't be a code for that; only one known living being had that power; though there were rumors that, centuries ago, a woman named Oracle had them as well, only for the other to kill her. Or perhaps she'd killed herself? The thing was, even if the power was insignificant, he wasn't infertile; if they could convince him to have kids, or donate...
With careful planning and work, it was fully possible that the United States might someday have an Apollo of their own; and if they were lucky, it might even be now. Might as well do a bit of research into that candidate now; see just who it was that got that one in a billion sort of power.
***
Jason stared at his hands, glancing up at the young nurse who had just cut the casts off for a moment before looking back down at himself. His body; partially pale, but with an odd tan pattern familiar to those who generally went around wearing a combat helmet half the time. "This is crazy. I've had tingling in my right hand whenever I squeeze it since that first IED a few years back. Now... its amazing. I feel... perfect. When I first woke up, it was all just... pain."
He examined his most recently acquired scars. Some of them were gone. Others looked as if they'd been healed over years ago. He'd been in good shape before his injury, but was expecting, just like last time, to need to spend weeks or even months recovering before he could go fight again; assuming he still had this job.
The woman coughed, deliberately looking away as she adjusted his gown, then finished carefully cutting off the last cast. "So, what did the Verfifier guy say? What kind of power did you get?"
He glanced up at her, smiling. "Oh, he said I've got ESP. Possibly useful stuff; he couldn't test it that well with what he had on hand, I'll be doing some more stateside. I'm headed home."
She chuckled. "ESP, huh? I thought that was usually kinda a... like D-grade thing. Not really good for much since we've got like... Drones and IR goggles and stuff?" She checked his leg for a moment, nodding at the lack of any apparent injury. There had been a piece of depleted uranium shrapnel the size of her fingernail embedded in his shin, and they weren't sure if it would ever heal quite right; likely he'd walk with a limp once it was gone. But no. It looked perfect.
"Well, for some things. But ESP can usually look through things, give good details on the inside of objects, help find people buried in rubble, identify folks in masks, that sort of nonsense."
She blinked. "Looked through things? Like, see through clothes?"
He stared at her for a moment; and for a moment, an image of dark skin, a white bra and panties, a firm body shaped by years of working on her feet in an active profession, ran through his head; what would happen if he were to pull that shirt away. He abruptly turned away, shutting his eyes. "Ahhh... apparently yes. Sorry! It... was like talking about pink elephants." Even worse, despite looking away from her, he could still see it in his minds eye. As the woman started laughing; apparently a blush was running down his face and even his neck; he tried to focus on the neatly bound curly hair, the ceiling, but some errant part of his brain kept trying to show him what could happen.
"Don't worry about it. I bet most guys would do the same with that power, and just not admit it. Just don't get any ideas." Even with his eyes closed, he could tell she was going over a checklist, nodding to herself. "Jerry's coming by with your stuff. You remember Jerry?"
"Bastard beat me at poker every time. Of course I remember Jerry."
She laughed again, turning to walk away. Once she was a few steps away, the images of what might be changed dramatically, and he exhaled, opening his eyes. "Okay. Take care of yourself. Try not go get on a first-name basis with any medical professionals back home." She stepped out into the hallway, and Jason relaxed.
He was fit. Healthy. Ready to go back home, to a new job; one that would probably be incredibly lucrative. There was only one little problem. The moment he'd seen Hiller come in, and made the comment about slipping... it had felt... wrong. As if he'd made some tragic mistake, somehow. But that was nonsense. Even if he could see the future, what sort of difference could that possibly make?