The door to the apartment slammed shut as Zion carried the mail in. Trash was spread throughout the apartment, and the coffee table in the center of the living room was covered in unopened bills and condolence letters. The connected kitchen had dirty dishes and opened packages for microwave meals strewn about.

Zion dropped down onto the couch and stared at the many unopened bills, grabbing the most recent that he had tossed onto the table before tearing it open. He pulled the paper from within on out to read, and after a few moments of silence he tossed the paper onto the table, which read in big bold red “EVICTION NOTICE”.

His eyes wandered around the room mindlessly, having been unable to maintain a train of thought for the past three months, he just felt like he was drifting through life, though as usual, his eyes fell upon the photo of his mother.

“This isn’t what you were hoping for me, was it?” He asked for the photo before he could feel the growing pressure in his chest once more, further signaled by his sniffle as he fought back his emotions.

“I still haven’t been accepted for any jobs… It’s like everything doubled in shit after that day…” He spoke, his words barely escaping his mouth in a whisper.

As he sat there, wallowing in his grief and self-pity, he heard a knock at his door. His eyes trailed over to it, as he had no reason for any guests. All of his high school friends went their separate ways after they graduated, so the only person he could think of was the landlord.

Fueled by obligation, Zion slowly stood up from the couch before there was another knock at the door. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” He called out to whoever sat on the other side as he made his way over to the door, unlocking the latch and knob before opening the door.

Zion blinked with surprise as the one on the other side was about the same age as him from the looks of it. Definitely not his landlord. The young man that stood before him was dressed in a blue vest with a bunch of pockets, all of which seemed full. Beneath the vest, a black long-sleeve shirt, styled with tight black jeans and black and white sneakers.

“Are you Zion Aaron Barrett?” The man asked as he ran one of his hands through his thick, messy brown hair. His green eyes scanned over Zion.

“Yeah..? What do you need?” Zion asked as his confusion was clear in his tone.

“My name is Jackson Michael Foley of the Agency for Specialized Freelancers. I’m here to speak with you about your potential for a job with the Agency.” Jackson spoke in a half-assed formal tone. “May I come in?”

Zion lit up at the prospect of a job after his many applications throughout the city. “Ah, sure. Sorry that it’s a mess.” He said as he stepped aside with the door wide open for his visitor.

Jackson gave him a nod of thanks and understanding before stepping inside, making his way toward the center of the living room as he browsed his surroundings. “No problem, it’s not the first one I’ve visited that was like this.” He assured as Zion shut the door behind him.

“I don’t remember applying to any freelancing agency, but my memory has been a bit foggy these past few months. So I apologize if I don’t remember anything about the job.” Zion apologized before gesturing towards the couch for him to sit on, which Jackson denied with a shake of his head.

“We don’t take applications. We seek out new personnel ourselves.” Jackson explained. “You appeared on our radar three months ago, but we wanted to give you time to grieve before we approached. After all, we know what it’s like to lose a loved one, let alone when it’s combined with strengths or powers, you don’t understand.” He noted with a gleam in his green eyes.

Zion’s mind immediately went on the defensive. “—Is he talking about that burst of strength? I chalked it up to adrenaline… Though adrenaline can’t punch a bullet.” He thought to himself before finally speaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Relax, dude. One of the reasons I’ve come to talk to you is to tell you that you’re not alone.” Jackson immediately dropped the formal tone and relaxed a bit. “Here, let me show you.”

On cue, Zion watched as Jackson stepped to the side, although what happened as he did left Zion in total bewilderment. Where Jackson previously stood was another one of him, Zion couldn't distinguish which one was the original.

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“There’s two of you,” Zion stated the obvious as he reached out towards the one that remained where he was previously standing, only for his hand to phase through it like it was an opaque ghost.

“Hey, getting a little touchy-feely there.” The illusion spoke before chuckling, causing Zion to flinch his hand back out of the illusion.

“S-Sorry!” He apologized.

“He’s just kidding. He can’t feel anything and isn’t conscious. I’m making him talk.” The real Jackson who had taken the step explained. “My ability is to create and control illusions. I’m a Psychic-type.”

“That’s amazing,” Zion remarked rather bluntly before looking toward the real Jackson. “All I was able to do was punch a bullet.”

“That would make you a Martial-type,” Jackson replied before crossing his arms, his illusion fading away in less than a second. “Though from the security footage I saw, it was a good thing the ASF intervened. Had we not used our connections you would have been locked up for murder, even if it was self-defense.”

Zion responded to that note with silence, his expression shifting from that of bewilderment and excitement back to the sullen expression he had been carrying the past few months. “Right… Thank you…” He eventually responded.

“You’re not the only one. Many of us, unfortunately, killed some people when our abilities manifested.” Jackson reassured Zion in the best way he could think of at that moment. “Listen, the main reason I came was to see if you would be willing to join the Agency for Specialized Freelancers. All of us there are Blessed, like you. We pay well, and we can teach you how to use your powers, and maybe even help others with them.”

“I’m in,” Zion replied without hesitation, catching Jackson off guard.

“Are you sure you don’t want to think it over?” Jackson asked, making sure Zion was positive he wanted to join them.

“I don’t need to. My mother told me I was destined for great things, and this whole situation feels too comic-book-like for me to turn you down. I mean, it would be strange if I turned it down, right?” The pink-haired young man replied with a chuckle and a truly kind smile.

Jackson couldn’t help his eventual smile before he nodded.

“Awesome. We can head there now, my boss can explain everything to you in better detail than I can.” He offered with a point towards the door.

Zion nodded before he made his way to the door, opening it for Jackson before he followed him out, pulling his keys from his pocket and locking the door.

“How far away is this place?” He asked as he put his keys back into his pocket and followed as Jackson took the lead toward the stairs of the apartment complex.

“It’s in the Central-East side of town. Headquarters are there because it allows us to respond to Blessed based incidents anywhere in the city quicker.” Jackson answered.

Zion took in the information, though it was followed by an awkward silence as they made their way down the stairs, their shoes clopping the whole way.

“So, um, what is it exactly you do for the Agency, just recruit people?” He eventually asked to break the few moments of silence.

“My specialty is investigation. I’m able to recreate crime scenes with illusions with limited information with remarkable precision.” Jackson answered with as technical and easy-to-understand terms as he could.

“That’s so cool. So far my specialty is punching bullets.” Zion joked, which did earn a chuckle from Jackson.

“So it is.”

Eventually, the two would make it to the ground floor of the complex, stepping out onto the sidewalk where Zion would see a black sports car parked and running next to the curb. In the driver’s seat, he was able to spot a tall blonde man smoking with the window down, his sharp monolid gray eyes locking onto Zion as he approached. His hair was blonde and slicked back, his arms and a bit of his neck coated in tattoos reminiscent of traditional Japanese art, though they were mostly hidden by his white button-up shirt, which creased slightly from his black suspenders. His looks are best described as both formal, and intimidating. His face showed signs of stress and age, Zion pinning him as somewhere in his thirties, not knowing just how accurate he was.

“Good job, you secured a new dog.” The man congratulated Jackson in his unique way, to which Jackson chuckled before looking toward Zion.

“This is Nasaomi, also known as Uzume in the Agency. Oh right, my codename in the ASF is Loki by the way. Whenever we’re all together during work, you should refer to each other by your codenames. Makes communication easier and also helps protect whatever loved ones we have left.” Jackson introduced the man and explained his secondary name.

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Uzume.” Zion greeted the man before Jackson opened the car door in the back for him. The newbie hopped in and sat down on the black leather seat before responsibly buckling his seat belt.

Jackson would then shut the door, before making his way around to the front passenger side door, going to open it only for the locks to click.

“Really?” He asked Nasaomi through the closed window before the blonde-haired man gestured toward the back.

“The front is for adults.”

Jackson gave an exasperated sigh before taking one step to his left, the locks clicking unlocked before he opened the door and got in. “I suppose this will make talking easier.” He noted towards Zion.

“True.” He replied before immediately changing the subject. “I wonder what my codename will be. I hope it’s badass.”

“You’ll find out soon.” The more punkish young man replied before gripping the handle on the roof and the side of the seat.

“What’s with the caution—” Zion was quick to find out as the car took off like a bat out of hell with a screech of its tires and a puff of smoke behind it. Nasaomi turned out to be not just a ridiculously crazy driver, but a skillful crazy driver. His drifts and sharp turns that tilted the car to one side were all expertly maneuvered as they made their way off toward their destination.