I stood in front of the marble steps that led to the towering building. This is it, I wore my best button-down shirt which was tucked into my dress pants and my father’s dark shoes that he normally wore to funerals. Wiping my sweaty palms on my pants I strutted forward. Glancing down at my watch, I noticed it was ten minutes till my appointment.

I hurriedly made my way across the marble and past the clear glass doors that led into the building. Several things popped from the norm. At one desk, files flew into desks, papers seemingly re-organizing themselves into different color-coordinated folders. My eyes focused on the source, a secretary who commanded them with flicks of her fingers and wrists.

I stared in amazement since most Supers you see are on the news. Not behind a desk.

A colossal man with a stocky frame sauntered past me while balancing an old-school bulky television in each hand like a waiter holding plates of food. Stacked upon the left television was a multitude of books and a toolbox that rested on the right television.

I figured this must’ve been normal for the government to hire low-level supers as employees, but I never thought about it before. I shook this out of mind as I needed to be focused on the interview. Stepping out in front of one of the desks that didn’t have a large line in front of it (and no flying office accessories either) I addressed the young woman with a blue tooth attached to her ear behind it.

“I’m Chase Millers, and uh- I have an appointment with-“ My mind blanked as I fumbled to remember and say his name. With a sigh, I took out the folded application forms from my pocket while the young women behind the desk waited impatiently.

“Mr. Dikeman” I finished, relieved I didn’t need to keep the woman waiting as the name was at the top.

Without saying a word, she typed something into her computer. While I waited my mind floated over to this building, the origin of the Project, of what I’ll hopefully succumb myself too.

A scientist, some decades ago aspired to become a super himself, after science failed him he turned to God, since back than powers were believed to come from the divine. But after scouring the Earth, hopping from church, monastery, to temple he gave up, on the brink of losing his sanity to wasting his life over his life ambition. He eventually settling in Los Angeles, where he would soon witness of what he called the metamorphosis of a Super. After a raging fire began to burn down the building he saw a man, burning to a crisp, until in a moment he stood up and would simply walk out.

The scientist inspiring of what he’d witnessed theorized how trauma could bring upon power, and he believed since he escaped that fateful day as well God had given him a second chance. An odd ideology for a scientist but some psychologists believed the time traveling through cultures influenced him. Through this, he would soon begin to introduce fear and pain into a “patient” to try to activate that person's abilities through trauma. Eventually, the government caught and shut him down after finding out about the horrors he’d inflicted on people, and what was left of them, but from what I read online apparently the government never actually caught him, and from this people tried to figure out where he went and what he did, and if he ever achieved his dream, just like I was trying to achieve mine.

The government took his research and tried to replicate it which they were unsuccessful. Until a few years ago when they attempted some experiments with different conditions (and much more humane practices). The patients for the project had a high chance to come out with Abilities and be classified as a Super after a few months. Well, the ones that survived anyway. I wanted to be one of them. A super, not dead.

Just hopefully without the maiming.

“Excuse me, excuse me, did you hear me?” The secretary’s voice jolted me back to reality.

 “Oh, uh no… Can you repeat that?” I replied slightly confused.

With a heavy sigh and with a somewhat sterner voice she went on.

“Please go to the second floor-third door to the right where Mr. Dikeman will meet with you after he is done with his earlier appointment” she instructed with a somewhat forced smile.

“Okay, thanks” I replied as I stuffed the forms into my pants and smiled back before I headed to the stairs and up to the second floor.

It's better exercise of course, plus I could check out the rest of the building as I walked.

I finally reached what I thought was his door, it was a slightly narrow hallway with several people shuffling by while they did whatever jobs they do. Huh, maybe I got the wrong door? I awkwardly stood by the door trying to look inconspicuous and like I belonged. A few men in suits and another secretary gave me odd looks, probably thinking I was a young hooligan going starting some trouble but before they could say anything the door opened.

Good timing.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Another guy my age walked out. He had a medium build and wore a suit and tie with slicked-back black hair. His shoulders were set back in a self-induced confidence that implored cockiness.

“Good luck,” his tone somehow sounded like he pitied me, since probably just knew he got in and was feeling sorry for the rest of us chumps.

“You too,” I replied on reflex.

This guy looked like another applicant, too bad I was going to get it, not him. Eh, false bravado is always important.

 “Next” Came a gruff shout from the room. I looked around until I came to the realization that it was probably me he was referring to.

Of course, he was referring to me, who else is there to call out too? Before he started to think I was daft, I stepped inside the cluttered office and closed the mahogany door behind me.

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A young man in a button-down shirt with muscles slightly bulging across his body. The kind that sprinters had, and a deep tan that revealed the time he spent outside. He had a powerful posture that reflected his confident attitude, shoes two sizes too big, and a worn-down watch on his left wrist.

I shook his hand, feeling his firm grip and motioned for him to sit down.

This was my last appointment of the day and- I glanced down at the form- Chase Millers would be the last applicant to go through. I gestured for the kid to sit down. I glanced down to start reading through the application, both as a way to show the kid his place by not saying a word to him, as well as learn some things about him that I can’t without time from my talent. The kid was sixteen went through multiple sports that included swimming, soccer, boxing, grappling (wrestling), track, long jump, etc. From the recommendations, he got from notable coaches and a few higher-ups from Academies, Chase seemed to excel in all sports. But what was usual was that Coaches put in that he trained profusely with discipline, not just coasting on talent, a recurring theme that seemed to be ingrained in this generation. To sweeten the pot, he was a straight-A student and had mostly good behavior although with a rebellious streak that started some years ago after what the school stated “a tragic accident”.

I glanced back at Chase who fidgeted with the tip of his button-down shirt, my Empathy kicked in and his emotions seemed to pour out of him, and from what I could tell he was anxious but also confident of his placing.

I exhaled slowly to gather my thoughts and let the power flow through me that labeled me as an Empath. I began to probe his mind for any of the obvious psychological signs that may have resulted from that “tragic accident”, if he did have any he would be whitelisted from this program due to what could happen if a psychopath acquired powers suddenly.

God knows we don’t need another mass murderer on our hands.

Overall, he seemed to be in decent mental condition, and if he wasn’t, it was buried so deeply that without more…invasive techniques, I wouldn’t be able to figure out if there was anything.

Hmm but there seemed to be something in the back of his mind, almost like. - instantly I hit a wall, a mental one. Grunting in surprise I take a look at Chase who was looking around the room confused… He shouldn’t be able to sense me at a level to block me out, even as weak as the mind wall was it was impressive he had the state of mind to conjure one up at all… It was true that people that live through traumatic things come out different, some break down, some become tough, some gain powers.

 “So, Chase,” I began for the first time since he entered my office.

Chase visibly perked up, his excitement able to be felt without even peering in his mind.

“You mind telling me about what happened some years ago? Your file mentions a tragic accident,” I questioned with a practiced smile that would hopefully allow him to trust me and more importantly, open up.

Instantly I could feel anger rush to the top of his emotional pile, his face twisted as he struggled to wrangle in his emotions, “No accident, a guy he uh, broke into our house, and…” I waited patiently for him to continue.

“I lost someone.” His face was solemn as the anger was overcome by an even deeper emotion that perhaps he didn't want to recognize himself.

Loneliness.

I said nothing as I waited for Chase to compose himself, to his credit he didn’t start bawling in my office, that would be a mess and just get on my nerves. But I could sympathize with him, he had a heart and was wanted to make a change in the world like I used to back in the day. I would still be out there but after the incident… There was a reason I work in an office now.

“You know what the Greensdale Project is, and what they do to patients correct?”

He nodded as the subject changed.

“Obviously you aren’t a Super since you are applying here so you’ve lucked out on the becoming a Super genetically. The Project puts people under intense physical, emotional, and psychological pressure for their abilities to come out. Soldiers come out of the program so broken that they can never be re-entered in society, what makes you any different to succeed?” I asked as I tilted my head waiting for the answer.

“I’m hardworking, I know how to manage my time, and I’ve trained in many different sports, so I know… like, how to deal with challenges and…” He trailed off as he looked up to see me impassive as I listened to the obviously rehearsed speech.

“Well if that’s why, then I think our session ends here,” I said blankly as I snapped his file closed with a huff and stared back at him to witness his panic flood his face.

“But- I need this, to be a... Super,” Chase choked out desperately.

“I can’t be sitting here helpless while the world goes into ruins, people’s lives lost, I just can’t go through that living weak.” He added on, passion swelling up encasing the room, so emotional that I could feel it through my empathy without focusing.

“That’s all I needed to hear Chase, thank you for coming by, and just between you and me…” I leaned in closer, “I think you got a good shot at being accepted.” I said with a genuine smile.

I meant it, he was a good kid with a good heart, a person that we want on our sides.

“Thanks, Mr. Dike!” he exclaimed, grinning ear to ear.

My left eye twitched as I heard that, an old insult that kids used to yell when I was a kid, Dikeman, its Dikeman.

Shaking this off I addressed Chase.

“Take care of yourself, Chase,” I said watching him as he walked out, there weren’t many kids out there that still had ideals, dreams, or maybe they did, and it was just my jaded view of life.

Still, it was kind of refreshing, perhaps it was time to get out there again, talk to some old friends.

It’s getting kind of stuffy in this office, to be honest.