Max had watched the whole broadcast on his phone with Kenny. They used it to pass the time while they waited for their own interviews to begin. That is, Max was going to conduct the interviews; Kenny was to transcribe them on a stenographic machine.

Unlike Kenny, where the Pantheon came to recruit him directly after they scouted him, this group was brought in from around the world, most likely reported to the authorities who in turn agreed to extradite the person to America for safekeeping. This was how most people are inducted into the Pantheon and most of them had unremarkable mutant powers. In fact, the only heavy hitters around were Garrick, Hannah, and UnderDog which was probably part of the reason Kenny was brought into the fold so quickly.

The room they were in was built more like an interrogation room than a meet and greet. No windows except for the one-way mirror from which the real analyzers did their work. The door was made of steel and magnetically locked to ensure that those within can’t leave unless those without wanted them to.

The guards outside were equipped with cryo guns and shock pikes to subdue targets. On top of the building, Garrick’s drones were perched, waiting for the moment they would be needed. The military build-up had steadily increased to eclipse the actual police presence in the city. It made sense given the situation, but boots on the ground stood out more than drones in the sky. One day, Kenny might be one of those pairs of boots.

One of the first interviewees was a nurse from India. She had a spotless record and diary entries from the past twenty years of her life to help ‘prove’ it. The diaries were not necessary nor really admissible but they were accepted to make her feel less anxious. Even so, she was sweaty and shifty like she was dragged to this place for an execution. Is that what I looked like before? Are people going to dread the sight of me now? thought Kenny.

When Max asked her to demonstrate her power, she put a shoebox on the table and pleaded for Max to place his hand on top. He obliged and she put her hand on top of his. After a moment, they both lifted their hands and she took off the cover to reveal a stack of chocolate pancakes with a plate and a fork. Kenny and she repeated the ritual and got blueberry waffles that were drowned in butter and syrup with fried sausages on the side.

Eventually came a teen in sweatpants and sandals. He slouched in the chair, focused his attention on the interesting grey tiles of the floor, and gave curt answers to Max’s questions. It’s like he was being bothered more than anything. Don’t mind that you’re being put on an international doomsday registry for the rest of your grandchildren’s lives or anything. Great, now I’m mad that people aren’t wetting themselves, make up your mind me.

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Kenny’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a piano. The teen was tapping his fingers on the metal table and playing… itsy bitsy spider. His face was flush with embarrassment. He yanked his hand off the table and looked back at the floor. It’s probably a lot more difficult to learn any music when you can’t see the keys so he must be good.

Before the teen could even make it out the door, a man in a suit strode in, knocking the kid to the side. Cologne overwhelmed the air within seconds and choked Kenny to tears. He plopped a clay pot of dirt onto the table before taking his seat. He had a smile stapled to his face, his hair was sculpted with gel, and his every answer was a confident declaration.

When asked to demonstrate his powers, he happily obliged. He held his hands to the sides of the pot and then lifted them up, with them rose a gazania into a full bloom. He lowered his hands and the flower withered and died just as quickly as it was born. Max told him that he was good to go and the man left just as confident as he came in.

“I think he wanted to make a good impression,” said Kenny as he fanned the air around him, “but dude needs to chill with the AXE.”

“He’s a week out on probation for domestic violence,” said Max reading the folder on that man.

“...Oh.”

“What do you think about this one?”

“I… uh, what do you mean?” asked Kenny. Max reclined in his chair and threw his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Well, would you approve him?”

“Uh… I’m not paid to think about that.” Max looked blankly at Kenny then went to the next folder to prepare for the next interview. He almost seemed disappointed in that answer. “I mean, it’s a risk isn’t it?” Max perked up. “On one hand, admitting a convict, especially if he does something under our watch, would damage the reputation of both the Pantheon and mutants everywhere. On the other hand, if we automatically turned them away, then they’ll try to hide or avoid us.”

That’s right, Todd had said something similar to that before and now Kenny understood what he meant. Zariah said that being surrounded by good influences could help with behavior, but there were limits to the benefit of the doubt and that man had already crossed them once.

Beyond that, being brought to the Pantheon would be a tough situation for anyone. Kenny was lucky to live in the same city, but what about those who come from further away, sometimes from the other side of the planet from their home and family? A free trip to America, with provided stability, may even be an incentive itself, especially for those in poverty or under persecution. There are probably even more layers to think about that he never paid attention to.

The decision was out of Kenny’s hands anyways. The interviews continued on.