[COLOR=GRAY][INDENT][INDENT][i]The digital clock on Jane’s cluttered desk flicked to 9:00 PM. Outside her Toronto apartment window, the city hummed with a low, distant energy, but inside, the air felt thick, charged with the intensity of her focus. Dressed in worn grey sweatpants and an oversized Ohio State sweater, her feet bare against the cool laminate floor, she leaned back in her creaking office chair, eyes narrowed at the two faces pinned to the corkboard wall in front of her.

Two men. Two profiles. Two potential... problems.

These two men have haunted the dreams of this fledgling H.E.L.P. agent more than any Hype she helped catch.  The past week alone they have caused a crippling lack of sleep, general sense of unease about the future, and a worry about the fate of two massive cities.  Her eyes darted to the left side of the board and looked at the information collected about the first man

[b]Subject A: Jon Stevens.[/b] The photograph, clipped from an academic journal, showed a man in his late fifties, iron-grey hair swept back, eyes like chips of flint behind wire-rimmed glasses. His mouth was a thin, uncompromising line. Jane tapped a fingernail against the grainy image. The [i]dossier[/i] was nothing more than a messy stack of photocopied articles, scribbled notes, and transcribed snippets of conversations gleaned from anxious grad students at OSU bars, yet, it painted a stark picture. [i][color=F0FFFF]“Brilliant, obviously,”[/color][/i] one testimonial read, [i][color=F0FFFF]“but expects goddamn perfection. His seminars are an intellectual boot camp. Washes out more than he takes on.”[/color][/i] Another section spoke to his work professionally: [color=F0FFFF]“Published in [i]Criminology[/i], [i]Justice Quarterly[/i]… heavy hitters. But good luck getting his attention unless you’re already a star.”[/color] The consensus was clear, Stevens was a gatekeeper. Elite. Ruthlessly selective. His work on systemic bias in hyper human apprehension procedures was cited everywhere, foundational, but notoriously difficult to replicate. A hallmark, Jane knew, of either genius or deliberate obfuscation. [color=00FFFF]“Why so few students,”[/color] she mused, her mind slipping briefly into the H.E.L.P. investigator’s groove. Control? Fear of exposure? Or just sheer, unadulterated intellectual arrogance? She noted the precision of his research design, the cold, clinical language devoid of empathy. A man who saw variables, not people. Or Hypers.  He was more concerned with the cold, hard facts of the situation, and as he saw them, the facts said there was a problem with how the governments of the world were responding to the rise of powered individuals.

Her gaze shifted sharply to the right.

[b]Subject B: Phil Smith.[/b] The photo here was softer, a university directory headshot. Dr. Phil Smith of the University of Toronto. Early forties, kind eyes crinkling at the corners, a hint of a warm smile playing on his lips. The testimonials from Toronto students were markedly different, gathered through casual phone calls and a few letters exchanged with acquaintances. [i][color=F0FFFF]“Approachable,”[/color][/i] one email stated. [i][color=F0FFFF]“Remembers your name. Let's you explore your ideas, even if they’re messy.”[/color][/i] Another: [i][color=F0FFFF]“His work on community mediation in post-incident hyperhuman scenarios is applied, practical. He gets his hands dirty with community groups.  I think he actually speaks to those impacted by the government policies.”[/color][/i] Jane scanned his publication list. Solid, but not the stratospheric tier of Stevens in regards to anything. More in [i]Journal of Applied Psychology[/i], [i]Conflict Resolution Quarterly[/i], which were credible, respected, but lacked the seismic impact that Stevens had. Kinder, she thought, but is kinder what gets her to where she wanted to go? She noted his focus on restorative justice models applied to hyperhuman incidents, which stood in stark contrast to Stevens' focus on systemic flaws within enforcement actions towards them. Is he naïve? Too trusting? Or is that collaborative approach genuinely more effective in the long run? The lack of elite journal placements niggled at her. Was it a lack of ambition? Or a deliberate choice favouring real-world application over academic prestige?  She shifted her weight forward and banged her head against the desk.

A pen, balanced precariously on the edge of her desk, began to roll towards the precipice. Without looking, Jane flicked a finger almost imperceptibly. The pen stopped dead, shifted its course silently, and settled towards the center of the desk. Her power had become an extension of herself and at it’s core it was almost siimple. Controlled.

Unlike this decision.

She pushed back from the desk, pacing the small space between the corkboard and her sagging bookshelf. Her H.E.L.P. training screamed for more data. Hard evidence. Witness intimidation? Jane returned to the desk and placed her head back down on the still-warm surface.  She knew that was unlikely, but Stevens' intensity could be misconstrued. Financial irregularities? Smith's lower profile suggested less grant money, but no red flags to speak of.  Hell, he even drove a fifteen year old car that was on its last leg. Connections to known hyperhuman agitators? Nothing surfaced in either public record, and her research in the systems she did have access to did not turn up anything.  Jane took a deep breath as she pulled herself off the desk and placed her hands on the sides of her face.  Why was she doing this?  This wasn't a criminal profile, she reminded herself sternly, though the methodology felt eerily similar as she was building a picture from fragments, assessing risk, and trying to predict outcomes.

Jane raised her head upwards, off the desk, and stared at the two faces. Stevens: the challenge, the potential for unparalleled rigor, the near-certainty of brutal rejection or, worse, being ground down. Smith: the safer harbor, the collaborative spirit, the risk of plateauing, of not being pushed to her absolute limit.

Her eyes drifted down from the intense faces on the wall to the open folder lying on her desk. Not case files. Not H.E.L.P. briefings.

[color=F0FFFF][b]GRAD SCHOOL APPLICATIONS.[/b][/color]

The stark, bold letters on the tab cut through the investigative thoughts like a knife. The tension in her shoulders, held so tightly while profiling the professors, suddenly bled away, replaced by a weary sigh. She sank back into the chair, the adrenaline of the "hunt" dissipating.

This was never about suspects or threats. It was about her future.

Whose environment would shape the next crucial phase of her life?

Sure, things with H.E.L.P. were good.  The highs were high, and the lows were almost non-existent, and the work mattered. Yet she felt this constant draw back to academia that gnawed at the corners of her mind.  She knew she eventually wanted a doctorate, to follow in the footsteps of her parents and use her expertise to make a difference down the road.  The world was not kind to people like her, and she knew she wanted to make a change going forward.

She picked up the pen she'd stopped earlier. No power needed now. Just a simple, human hand. She pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards her. The tone shifted from tense investigation to quiet, determined contemplation.

[color=00FFFF]"Okay,"[/color] Jane murmured to the empty room, her voice soft but resolved. [color=00FFFF]"Profs. Stevens. Smith. Pros and cons. For me."[/color]

She wrote [color=F0FFFF]"[b]OSU - Stevens[/b]"[/color] at the top left. [color=F0FFFF]"[b]UofT - Smith[/b]"[/color] on the right. Under each, she began to list, not just their reputations and publications, but what they meant for Jane.

The clock ticked past 9:30. The city lights still glowed outside. Inside, the tension had melted and was replaced by the focused, pragmatic energy of a woman mapping her future one carefully considered bullet point at a time. The final decision wasn't made, but the lens had shifted. The suspects were now potential mentors. The investigation had become a choice. She wrote on her calendar’s both phone numbers as she knew it was time to request informational interviews. A decision was about to be made.

Jane would have continued with this inquisition had it not been for a singular [i]RING[/i] shouting out through the second phone line in her apartment.  Her eyebrow raised up as a smile crossed her face.  She waited for just a second, with bated breath, to see if she was imagining things.  [i]RING[/i].  It sang out again.  This roused Jane to her feet and she ever so carefully navigated her way to the phone and, with a trepid hand, picked it up.  The first voice was robotic, and was an automated method of delivering the news.  It sucked, and did not seem to work very well, but groups like H.E.L.P. seemed to love picking up all the new gadgets when they could.

[quote][b]INTERNAL H.E.L.P. COMMUNICATION AUTOMATED MESSAGE
ENCRYPTION LEVEL: GAMMA
PRIORITY: URGENT

This is a message for :[/b] Agent Deadeye
[b]FROM:[/b] H.E.L.P. Dispatch Alpha Base
[b]MMEDIATE RECALL - ALPHA BASE
[/b][/quote] 

[color=F08080]“Deadeye,”[/color] a firm, but clearly feminine voice spoke.

[color=00FFFF]“Charon.”[/color]

[color=F08080]“It’s your lucky day, you are being called in.  You have a ticket under your legal name at Lester B. Pearson, terminal 1.  We have a flight to Vancouver booked, and we’ll pick you up and bring you to the base from there.  I would pack for an extended mission.  You ready?”[/color]

[color=00FFFF]”I was born ready.”[/Color]

[color=F08080]“Good.  Be seeing you.”[/color]

The line ended with a solid thud, as if the phone was slammed down harshly.  Jane remembered Charon well from when Charon was the first agent to try and interrogate her.  Sure, Jane was no one special with her skillsets but her education gave her a window into the mind of Charon, and Charon was not ready for the interrogation to be turned against her.  Jane liked to think that Charon was one of the first agents to push for her ascension to agent, but she knew that honor most likely belonged to church.  Still, the two had a heated work relationship that Jane loved to navigate.  As she put her phone down, Jane knew that things were about to change forever.  She had the two paths ahead of her, and she had at least one month to make a decision on which one to travel.  Does she focus entirely on her education, and return to school for her masters, and then doctortal degree?  Or does she go all in on the practical application of her education, and her skills?  She had time to think this over, but tonight she needed to pack. 


[/i][/INDENT][/INDENT][hr][CENTER][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjEwNi5kOTk1MDcuU21GdVpTQlRiV2wwYUEuMA/gaviro.regular.webp[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=SILVER][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Jane’s dormitory,[/I] - [I]Alpha Campus[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=SILVER][b]Times of Trouble #1.004:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Settling in[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=SILVER][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]NA[/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=SILVER][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [I]None[/I][/right][/SUP]
[INDENT]The heavy steel door of the dorm room clanged shut behind Jane, sealing out the low but constant thrum of Alpha Base. The sudden relative quiet felt like a weight released from her back. She leaned against the walll, letting her worn duffel bag slide to the floor with a muffled thump. Exhaustion.  To most, that word carried a pretty telling meaning, yet to Jane exhaustion had quickly become all she had ever known. The sleepless night, the early morning flight, the wait for a connecting flight, and then finally the quick helicopter ride across the ocean to the island.  Exhaustion was a state of being, and Jane was in that state.  Her eyes held up dark bags, and the longer she rested against the wall the more alluring the idea of sliding down it and taking a nap became even though there was a bed a short step away from her.

She looked around the room and remembered it well.  Jane had called this place home only once before, right near the end of her outside assistant role.  It was in this room where she was told that she would become a new agent, that she could finally put the work in and get the field experience she so desperately wanted.  It was a great day.  She had worked so hard to prove that she had the capability to not only control her power, but also provide value to the team as a whole.  Jane had known at the time that she was going to go further with her education.  Now that the time had come, she was starting to have regrets fueled by a desire to be back in her room, back in Toronto, and on the phone with potential professors.  She did not bring her cute and comfy pajamas, no she needed her functional but drab grey ones.  There was no CD binder filled to the brim with her playsets; instead, the only music she would have is the drum of footsteps outside these walls.  The only personal touch was a small, faded buckeye leaf sticker clinging to the locker door.  She quickly wondered if she made the right choice.  Jane took a deep breath and prepared to collapse onto the bed ahead of her.

Before she could even take a step towards the bed, a firm, but deliberate knock sounded on the door. [b]*knock* *knock* *knock*[/b] Jane straightened instantly, smoothing her rumpled travel clothes, trying to banish the weariness from her face with a soft, but present, slap against her own cheek. She took a deep breath and turned towards the door.  [color=00FFFF]"Uhh. Enter?"[/color]  Jane cursed under her breath at the questioning tone she had decided to take.

The door hissed open. Charon stood framed in the corridor light. She was still the same as she was when she picked Jane up, a compact, powerful build, dark hair streaked with silver pulled back into a ponytail, eyes like obsidian chips taking in the room and Jane’s state with one swift, assessing glance. She wore her usual practical gear, which was nothing more than oilskin trousers, a thick sweater under an open parka.  Agent Charon was one of the first agents that Jane had met when she was brought on, and Jane had always been under the impression that Charon hated her.

[color=F08080]"Deadeye,"[/color] Charon stated, her voice calm, low, cutting through the hum. [color=F08080]"Welcome back. Settling in?"[/color]

Jane managed a nod, trying to project a competence that didn't quite feel right. [color=00FFFF]"Trying to, Charon. Just dumped the bag."[/color] She gestured vaguely at the duffel on the floor. [color=00FFFF]"Long trip."[/color]

Charon didn't enter, remaining in the doorway, a silent, imposing figure. [color=F08080]"Oh I remember, I picked you up.  Planned your itinerary. Gets easier. Or you get used to the tired."[/color] Her gaze didn't leave Jane's face. [color=F08080]"Mind still in Toronto?"[/color]

It was a simple question, casually asked. But Jane felt the probe beneath it, Jane knew Charon had a way of doing that.  No one else she had met could make small talk feel like an evaluation. Jane was already painfully aware of her greenness. She had only ever helped in that supportive role, and this was truly her first true case.  This was the big leagues, and Jane did not want to strike out so quickly.

[color=00FFFF]"Mind's here,"[/color] Jane replied, forcing certainty into her voice. She met Charon's dark eyes, hoping her exhaustion wasn't too obvious. [color=00FFFF]"Just decompressing from the travel fog. Ready for the brief tomorrow."[/color] She deliberately mentioned the briefing, trying to sound eager, professional.

Charon gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. Her expression remained unreadable. [color=F08080]"Oh, the briefing isn’t tomorrow.  It’s today.  Soon."[/color] She paused, her eyes flicking to the buckeye sticker on the locker, then back to Jane. [color=F08080]"Different world than the lecture halls, Deadeye."[/color]

Jane felt a flush creep up her neck. Her face went red.  [color=00FFFF]“Today?”[/color]

[color=F08080]"Today.  You think you’ll be ready to go on such short notice?"[/color] Charon asked, her tone neutral, yet somehow implying a world of skepticism. [color=F08080]"If you’re too tired, I am sure no one would mind if you took a little nap."[/color] She took a half-step back into the corridor. [color=F08080]"Or they might.  I am just a lowly agent who sucks at interrogations.  What would I know?"[/color]

Shit. This is exactly what Jane expected for today. Perfect.  No sleep, exhausted, and having to meet whatever team they were putting together?  Jane blinked as she took a deep breath.  It reminded her of cram sessions in school.  She excelled in cram sessions.  She once stayed up all night to start, and finish, a research project.  She had stacks of books rented from the local library and not only did she get an A plus, she managed to return all the books on time and without a fee.  Jane’s eyes narrowed slightly as the corners of her mouth curled upwards.  [color=00FFFF]“Sleep is for the weak.”[/color]

Charon’s gaze lingered for a fraction longer, that assessing look again. It soon was replaced with a smile and a chuckle. [color=F08080]"Good."[/color]

The door hissed shut, leaving Jane alone again with the buzzing light and the profound silence.  Jane grabbed her duffle bag and tossed it on the bed.  She opened up the whole bag and pulled out an electric kettle, a couple bottles of water, and a ziploc bag filled to the brim with instant coffee.  She quickly filled the kettle, and started it and stood in front waiting impatiently.  She needed caffeine, lots of it, and she was thankful that her parents bought her a top of the line kettle.  Sure, they expected that Jane would have the selfrespect to at least use it for quality tea, instead of the dangerously bad instant coffee but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  Not today at least.


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