Mary Oceanrunner's life at the orphanage was a misery. Sure, she had plenty of free food, little to no responsibilities, education and competent adults supporting her, but... three more years, and she would have her sweet, sweet freedom. Well, that, and she'd have to find a job, wake up even earlier every morning, and work her less rose-scented parts off to earn a living, but Mary preferred to think about the freedom. She would roam the world like the mighty heroes she’d always read about, or at least like the rich guys that appeared on the news… daily after 5 pm and over the weekends, if she'd be lucky enough to get by working nine to five.
Sadly, her life wouldn’t turn marvellous just after she’d turn eighteen - well, not unless some magical godfairy appeared out of the chimney and revealed her to be a secret heir to an unimaginable fortune. Said national treasure would, of course, be prescribed to her in the Declaration of Independence by the founding fathers, who would turn out to secretly be dwarven lords in disguise.
Unfortunately, magic was just a thing of stories. So when she was called to meet Mr Venture, she was a bit nervous. He was a frequent guest here, at her home - he came round every few months, and with each visit, he took a single child away. Sister Angelica said they were either adopted or sent to other orphanages for some bizarre legal reasons. Mary felt that something strange was going on - why would a stranger get involved if it was that simple? Still, maybe it was an adventure just to move out to another place, even if the only difference would be that spaghetti with meatballs would be served on Wednesday instead of Tuesdays…
Maybe they would even have better chairs. It wouldn’t be too hard, even though theirs were a true work of art. Unfortunately, that art was torture. They were all exactly the same, as if delivered fresh from the factory merely forty years ago. Their backs were brownish-grey, and normally, things this worn out and old would seem to remember better times. Not these chairs. All they seem to remember was generations of children spines slowly bending under the weight of their teachers’ careful sight. After years of sitting in them, Mary felt like she was becoming an old woman, like the Asian one she saw on TV, only at the age of fifteen instead of a hundred. And if the chairs were too small for a girl like her, she shuddered at the hell some larger boys must have gone through.
Nevertheless, she was rather nervous when entering Sister Angelica’s office. She saw the man sitting behind the desk in a dark uniform, looking more like a businessman than a teacher or caretaker. Sister Angelica sent Mary a last, reassuring smile, and shut the door as she left. Surprisingly, this did calm her, if only the tiniest bit - she knew the older woman for almost eight years, and she’d never let any harm come to her. Would she?
“Mr Venture? You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Please, call me Adam,” said the man in a suspiciously friendly tone, not quite fitting his tired face. “Mary, Sister Angelica told me that you had an anchor-shaped scar on your heel. Is that correct?”
It was, but Mary didn’t see what did it have to do with anything. She went way out of her way to try and get it covered by an actual anchor tattoo, but the result was… well, let’s say that she didn’t have the money for a true master of the craft. She had to bend over backwards just to get a legal permission to do it, as if having a tattoo was worse than having a scar….
“And... if I do?” She asked cautiously.
“Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble. You’ve been selected for a special government program. But before we go any further, I need you to fill in this test,” Adam said, pulling a packet of papers. “Just choose what you feel best describes you. There aren’t any good and bad answers.”
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What followed was the worst psychological test she was ever forced to take. Seriously, what were the authors even thinking? ‘On a scale from one to ten, how much do you like kicking dogs?’ Surely, had you been someone willing to take an opportunity to make a big amount of money illegally, you’d admit to it in writing. Or if you saw a hurt kitten, why, of course, you’d like people to think you’d look the other way. And for the love of everyone and the Author Muchmighty above, would anyone really check ‘I would like to take over the world and make humanity my slaves’ box? Well, at least the thing annoyed Mary enough that she’d almost forgot about her nervousness. Almost.
It took her over half an hour to waste enough paper to make an adult tree cry. Mr Venture apparently managed to forget that bit about ‘no right or wrong answers’ in the meantime.
“Amazing,” he said with a wide, but positively unnerving smile on his face. “You’ve got a perfect score!”
“Um…,” Mary said, “had anyone ever gotten a lower one?”
“Not really, no. But it’s standardised, and it wasn’t me that came up with those questions. Anyway, you’ve passed with flying colours, so we can go to the next step. Please sign here,” he said, pulling another packet out of his briefcase. “Just a quick mark on each page that you’ve read it, and a full name on the last one.”
Mary took the papers with visible scepticism, but couldn’t see any way out. She sighed heavily, but started to read through the largest agreement she’d ever seen.
“You don’t have to read it, just sign at the bottom,” Adam offered. “There isn’t anything too important.”
Mary looked at him with incredulity suitable to the situation. “You expect me to sign an agreement without reading it?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter whether you read it or not. You have to sign it anyway. Please, don’t look at me like that - I didn’t write the law, I just follow orders.”
“And... if I won’t?”
He shrugged. “The procedure doesn’t really cover this case, so we’d have to stay here until you do. I’m really sorry, but I didn’t make those rules,” he added apologetically.
Mary tried. She really tried. But after four pages of introducing definitions of State Government, Federal Government, Planetary Government, Plane Government, Dimension Government, and other things that might come up in novels she loved to read, but surely weren’t really a thing, Mary had to admit that it was too much. With a heavy sigh, she skimmed through the document, and scribbled whatever as illegibly as she could, in a tiny hope for plausible deniability had this really been as bad an idea as she thought it was.
It didn’t work for the final signature, since Mr Venture insisted that it needed to be as clear and as formal as possible. She even had to use her middle name, which she never did. It wasn’t that she had anything against ‘Susan’ - it was a beautiful name and everything - but her first name was given to her after her grandmother, and she was the only family member she could remember.
“So… what happens now? Can I go back to my room?”
“Of course not,” said Adam seriously, despite the smile still twisting his face. “Now, it’s time for you to become a hero.”
.
.
.
“WHAT?”