Chapter Text
The city awoke to its usual bustle. The avenues filled with impatient cars, horns blaring in a harmonious cacophony, and hurried footsteps rushing against the clock. Office workers with coffee cups in hand, university students carrying backpacks that seemed larger than themselves, shopkeepers opening their metal shutters with a harsh screech, all part of the daily morning ritual. It was the ordinary life of those heading off to another day of work, with routine as their only companion.
But not everyone lived by that rhythm. In the shadows of these ordinary days existed different men and women, possessing impossible gifts, whom the public called Supers. While the city pretended to be normal, they remained vigilant for any sign of danger, ready to intervene between calm and chaos.
Behind that heroic facade, however, lay a much more austere and precise machine, the NSA. A government agency dedicated to monitoring, regulating, and, when necessary, controlling the Supers. They were bureaucrats, strategists, and military personnel working together, with a common goal, maintaining balance.
Society applauded the heroes, but rarely suspected that, behind them, someone was ensuring their power didn't run out of control.
Among those unseen agents was (Y/n). The adopted daughter of a general in the nation's military, her life had never known indulgence. Discipline was her language from childhood. Early mornings, grueling training, lessons in obedience and precision. From a young age, she learned to defend herself like a soldier and move like a spy. She was not allowed any weakness, not even the weakness of doubt in her decisions.
Her inclusion in the NSA wasn't mere nepotism, although her family name opened doors. What truly made her indispensable was her gift. (L/n) could neutralize the abilities of others. The strength that could tear down walls, the speed that defied human perception, the resilience that allowed her to survive impossible wounds, even the manipulation of elements or mind reading... She could neutralize those gifts with an ingrained ethical code as a prerequisite.
Such power was too valuable to be exposed to public scrutiny. For the NSA, she wasn't a hero; she was an asset, a contingency plan. A piece that moved only when the situation demanded it. And she accepted that. She didn't crave the glory of being a superhero or the applause of the masses. She didn't seek to have her name appear in headlines or for people to erect statues in her honor. Her mission was clear: obey, perform, continue. A mantra she repeated silently, convinced that anonymity was her true strength, as she had been conditioned to believe.
She entered the office building with a firm step. She had been called to a meeting with her colleagues, a routine gathering where they presented the weekly analysis of the assigned heroes' monitoring data, and shared observations, criticisms, or recommendations to optimize their performance.
It was still early; the building was quiet, almost deserted, except for a few receptionists who, with sleepy expressions, occupied their desks. The silence of the lobby offered her a respite before the bustle of the meeting, and she was grateful not to have to greet too many acquaintances at that moment.
She decided to stop in one of the break rooms, and upon entering, she noticed a familiar face. At the table, with a tired expression and his back slightly hunched, was Mark, a young man with brown hair who was reviewing a report with obvious fatigue. (Y/n) approached naturally, recognizing her old training partner.
"Hey, Mark, how are you?" she greeted softly, sitting down next to him. "You don't seem to have gotten enough rest." The young man barely lifted his eyes, and upon seeing her, he sighed as if her presence instantly alleviated some of his exhaustion.
"You have no idea," he replied, massaging his forehead. "Monitoring Universal Man is a job for people who thrive on adrenaline. This guy never separates his civilian life from his superhero life, so I have to be on alert twenty-four hours a day." He let out a short, ironic laugh rather than a genuine one, before continuing, "And the worst part is when his personal problems with his 'partners' pile up along with the arguments with Blazestone. It creates a chaotic mess of disagreements. Sometimes I feel like I'm monitoring children instead of heroes. At least with these monthly reports, I can get some respite from his presence."
(Y/n) looked at him with an empathetic expression. She knew that Mark was a naturally active, resilient man, someone who enjoyed physical challenges. Seeing him like this, completely drained by the stress, showed how little he enjoyed being assigned to this particular superhero. However, his sense of responsibility compelled him to persevere.
"And what about you?" he asked after a moment of silence, turning his gaze towards his friend. "I suppose, with your skills, dealing with the super you're assigned to isn't that complicated."
Mark knew the abilities of his colleagues, just as they knew his; it was an essential requirement within the NSA, since everyone had to be prepared as a contingency in case a Super went out of control.
(Y/n) pondered for a moment before replying. "Uhm... Hypershock can be impulsive at times," she finally replied, shrugging to soften her admission, "but he fulfills his duties as expected. We just have to pay closer attention to him when he's not in his right mind." She didn't want to go into too much detail; Mark already looked like a walking corpse, to exaggerate, and burdening him with more worries would have been unnecessary.
The truth was that Hypershock, the hero under her care, had developed the unfortunate habit of resorting to alcohol. Intoxication clouded his judgment, triggered severe headaches, and heightened the risk of him using his powers unconsciously. Lately, his drinking had grown worse, forcing her to monitor his abilities more frequently.
Mark chuckled softly, though his voice still carried the weight of fatigue. "I suppose none of us are free from the personal problems of superheroes, right?". That light, though brief, laugh eased the tension in the conversation. (Y/n) silently appreciated that gesture of humanity, an attempt to make the burden they both shared more bearable.
Many of the agents certainly wanted to be part of the BM04I group. That group fell under the direct supervision of manager Rick Dicker. It consisted of the most active and reliable heroes. Those supers with the highest ranks, those whose potential could become a real disaster if it turned against the NSA. They were monitored with special care, but also with respect. However, that was the most coveted team, as they were surrounded by a larger number of agents, assistants, mediators, and even presenters who meticulously crafted their public image.
As the minutes passed, the agents began to arrive at the center. Amidst formal greetings and brief conversations, they exchanged anecdotes about their work, shared some lighthearted jokes, or commented on the weekly reports. The murmuring grew until a voice over the loudspeakers announced the meeting in the conference room. As was customary, everyone followed protocol and moved in an orderly fashion to the designated room.
Once seated, the head supervisor, Mr. Dicker, began the session. "I am pleased that you all could attend," he started in his deep voice, projecting the NSA logo on the screen. "We will proceed as usual, but before that, there are certain procedures that we, the supervisors, have coordinated to update the Superheroes' statistics."
With a click, he changed the slide. The screen displayed the list of registered heroes, each with their respective rank and classification. "There have been some changes in the reported abilities," he explained. "Based on the monitoring you have recently conducted on some of you, a restructuring of the agent assignments will be required, according to each Super's capabilities."
Silence fell over the room. Some agents looked at each other, intrigued; others frowned, wondering what this decision meant. The supervisor sensed the doubts and spoke firmly again. "Everything will depend on the results of the individual interviews that will be conducted with each Super. Once completed, we will determine whether a change in objectives is necessary."
(Y/n) listened attentively, though inwardly she thought it unlikely she would be reassigned. Her ability was unique within the agency, especially for containing Hypershock; it was unlikely another agent could replace that role. Even so, she knew that alternatives existed. The NSA had experimented several times with artificial suppressors—injections capable of inducing a hypnotic state that temporarily blocked a Super's powers. However, their effectiveness was inconsistent and depended on the individual's resistance. If the Super had low endurance, they were easier to neutralize; otherwise, the side effects made the procedure risky, unreliable, and ineffective.
The meeting continued with a review of the weekly reports and new details that required immediate attention. Everything was discussed in a meticulous and formal tone, characteristic of the agency. Working as a spy or informant required absolute discretion. It was an unspoken rule, each agent had to keep the NSA's secrets and those of the Supers, without asking too many questions. During their training, they had all been taught to obey orders and act in silence, aware that information was as dangerous as any weapon.
Finally, Dicker raised his voice to conclude the session. “Each of you will report to your respective supervisors. They will assign you the appropriate procedures for interviewing your targets.” The murmuring ceased. The agents, disciplined, stood up, ready to receive their new instructions. The day had just begun.
Mark and (Y/n) took different paths to their respective rooms, as each of them reported to different supervisors. The young woman's team consisted of three agents, herself, in charge of Hypershock; John Williams, responsible for Everseer; and Erick Anderson, the group leader, who supervised the superhero known as Stormicide.
(Y/n) couldn't help but feel a bit envious of Anderson. Stormicide was known as the most calm, responsible, and focused of her generation; her relaxed personality made monitoring her easier, but it also made her the most unpredictable member of the group. Stormicide was the only woman in that circle of Supers on her team. For (Y/n), this represented an opportunity to empathize, to find a connection with someone similar. However, that same quality was seen by the NSA as a risk. Sympathizing too much could compromise the agent's impartiality.
The Supers under her charge rarely interacted with each other, which demonstrated the wide variety of abilities and dynamics that each team had to monitor. Her supervisor was Sir Grayson, a man with a dignified bearing, a serene gaze, and natural authority. An old acquaintance of her father, he was one of the few who knew both the strengths and weaknesses of the (h/c)-nette woman; that was why she had been assigned to be his subordinate.
"Well, since all three of you are here," he began calmly, holding three folders in his hands. "Each of your assignments has been outlined. Here you will also find the standard questions you must use during the interviews with your respective Supers." He handed each agent their corresponding folder.
Upon reviewing it, (Y/n) noticed that it contained the schedule for meetings with Hypershock, as well as a questionnaire that mixed technical aspects of his abilities with personal questions. Some of the latter seemed unnecessary, almost intrusive, as if deliberately designed to make the interviewee feel uncomfortable. Even so, she understood the hidden purpose, to provoke reactions, to destabilize the Super's emotional state, and thus reveal facets that would otherwise remain hidden in a controlled environment. Unethical, perhaps, but such measures had to be taken.
Worried about what might happen, she spoke up. "Excuse me, Sir, don't you think some of these questions could provoke unwanted reactions from the Super? I understand the need to verify information, but the magnitude of Hypershock's powers could cause a disaster in our facility... one that perhaps even I wouldn't be able to fully contain."
(Y/n) knew well what the limits of her ability were. Although she trained tirelessly to increase her endurance, the prolonged use of her power required a tremendous amount of energy and adrenaline, proportional to the force she had to counteract. Her endurance was good, yes, but not limitless; if the Super's strength exceeded that threshold, she wouldn't be able to maintain control for long and would collapse. That's why she had to use her gift with utmost discretion.
Sir Grayson observed her silently for a moment, before responding with the same solidity that characterized him. "Don't worry, Miss (L/n). There will be countermeasures in place should what you fear occur." He set aside his folder and took out another, thicker and different one, containing additional information not shared at the general meeting. "This wasn't presented at the plenary session to avoid creating chaos or unnecessary confusion," he explained. "Each supervisor is responsible for explaining the details to their team."
He pulled out some sheets and placed them on the table. They showed the design of some devices, discreet black wristbands with an elegant metallic finish. The manufacturer's logo clearly indicated their origin; they had been developed by the renowned superhero costume designer, Edna Moda, whose creations were both functional and effective.
"These bracelets monitor the superhero's heartbeat," he explained. "If an abnormal increase is detected, such as that which precedes the use of their powers, the device automatically releases a sedative into the bloodstream."
The document detailed the substance, a compound called Nerfisol, a laboratory drug designed exclusively for gifted organisms. In ordinary humans, it dulled the senses, generating a deep drowsiness accompanied by a degree of disorientation. However, in Supers, it acted differently; rather than weakening them, it modulated their nerve impulses, attenuating the intensity of energy discharges and reducing emotional impulsiveness. The effect didn't completely nullify their abilities, but it did slow their reactions, producing an artificial state of calm.
(Y/n) examined the graphs carefully. It was an ingenious method, although she couldn't help but think that, in essence, it was just another form of control disguised as a preventative measure.
To the young woman's surprise, her colleague Williams spoke up to express a concern. "What countermeasure exists to counteract Everseer?" he asked seriously. "I know this super-powered individual trusts the NSA, but his powers of clairvoyance and telepathy could distort the perception of those of us participating in the interview, putting me at a distinct disadvantage."
According to the reports compiled by Williams, Everseer was a highly intelligent hero with rather peculiar methods. However, he also possessed a well-documented weakness: a severe phobia of germs, a direct consequence of his "microscopic vision" ability, which forced him to perceive impurities invisible to the naked eye.
Upon hearing this, Mr. Grayson pulled another document from his folder, unfolding it calmly on the table. "The cases of Psycwave and Everseer are unique," he clarified with a firm voice. "They will first be administered a special drink designed to temporarily alter certain cognitive patterns." The document detailed its composition. It was a synthetic infusion known as Kalmeron Essence, a silvery-blue liquid with a faint, cool herbal aroma. In ordinary humans, it produced a mild drowsiness, similar to that of diluted opium, but in supers, it acted differently; it didn't induce sleep, but rather slowed down the overstimulation impulses in the cerebral cortex, thus reducing the intensity of their psychic powers.
"Depending on their mood," Grayson continued, "They will react differently to the effects of this drink. In Everseer's case, simply mentioning his obsessive-compulsive disorder related to cleanliness was enough to distract him and diminish his control.
The explanation was received in attentive silence. The agents understood that they not only had to be present at all their team's interviews, but also maintain a high level of mental and physical discipline, in case any countermeasures became necessary. With those questions clarified, the meeting ended, and each agent returned to their respective posts.
As she left, the young woman looked around for her friend Mark, hoping his session was over. However, there was no sign of him. It didn't surprise her; the team he belonged to was one of the most unusual in the division. Besides Universal Man, his group had to monitor Blazestone, Psycwave, and the most narcissistic of the heroes, Gamma Jack. They were superhumans with extremely high levels of unpredictable behavior, whether consciously or unconsciously. In Universal Man's case, it was more due to his identity issues than a real threat, but the risk remained.
The young woman sighed. Hypershock, her personal assignment, was not very different. He wasn't outside that circle of risk, although he was more manageable under her supervision. For these two years, she had carried the burden of neutralizing him, and this was kept hidden from the public. In the rare cases when this Super's powers went out of control, she was always there to contain him, in the shadows. And that certainty, though invisible, had become her own form of responsibility.
(Y/n) needed a break. She had to return to her apartment and calmly review the documents for the interviews scheduled for the coming days. Above all, she hoped that Hypershock wouldn't cause any trouble prematurely. Keeping him under control was, after all, her most immediate duty. Although she didn't communicate directly with him, she had developed discreet methods to distract him from a distance. It was enough to direct his attention to news on the radio, television reports, or local broadcasts that would encourage him to act in his role as a hero. That was the advantage of living close to her assigned location. It wasn't 24-hour surveillance, but it was close enough to respond to any eventuality.
The streets she walked along to reach her home were a reflection of the city itself, albeit a more residential version, with modern buildings and shops that opened early for the morning rush. The streetlights still flickered, battling the last vestiges of night, while scattered pedestrians walked calmly to their destinations. She found comfort in this atmosphere; amidst so much secret duty, these everyday routines seemed almost a reminder of a life she could never have.
Once in her apartment, the young woman completed her daily hygiene routine and then sat down to review the submitted documents. She reread details such as the interview dates for the other superheroes, all in different offices on separate days. According to the schedule, Hypershock would be interviewed first. Two days later, Stormicide would follow, and finally, after another forty-eight hours, Everseer.
It would undoubtedly be an intense week, with each team dispersing to different locations to carry out the meticulously planned schedule devised by the IT department.
While reviewing the schedule, she thought about how different her life would have been if she had led an ordinary existence. Perhaps she would have liked to be an office worker, have a simple routine, dress up to go shopping with friends, or spend afternoons in casual conversation. Maybe even explore the possibility of romance. But since her youth, she had lived under a regime of constant training, shaped by her powers and the environment around her. Those luxuries were far beyond her reach. Even so, she allowed herself a small escape; under her disguise, she wore discreet clothing, like any ordinary civilian, in order to blend in with the crowd.
The following morning started early. Her alarm clock went off at five o'clock; it was Friday, a day she usually dedicated to preparing provisions that would last her several days. After freshening up quickly, she went to the kitchen and organized her snacks: canned goods, cut fruit, packaged bread, and some prepared dishes that were easy to reheat. She took advantage of these hours because Hypershock usually woke up later on weekends.
This extra time allowed her to get ready without interruption, clean her apartment, go shopping, and, from time to time, maintain friendly relations with the neighbors so they wouldn't suspect her true occupation. Maintaining a low profile in the neighborhood was vital; being visible was more useful than any other facade. Even so, there were days when she couldn't resist a small luxury, sleeping a few extra hours, allowing herself the rest she so desperately needed after the exhausting pace her job demanded.
The weekend passed without incident, something (h/c)-nette was immensely grateful for. This respite allowed her to resume her morning exercises with renewed discipline, exercises designed to increase her stamina and refine her control over her power. Meanwhile, Hypershock remained at home, mostly silent, finding solace in long movie marathons and the constant company of his bottles. There were no scandals, and that, in her world, was already a victory.
After the weekend break, the day of the interview arrived. The hero had been notified in advance through the official NSA channels, and the young woman prepared herself mentally for what she, deep down, sensed would not be an easy encounter.
Upon arriving at the facility, she found her colleagues already gathered. They greeted him with warm, yet formal, salutations, as usual, before focusing on waiting. To her relief, Hypershock arrived on time. His demeanor, at least outwardly, seemed composed.
Following protocol, the bracelet was placed on his wrist, with the false claim that it would monitor his heart rate and blood pressure. The hero accepted it with some reluctance, examining it as if assessing an unfamiliar object, though he eventually complied. The drink prepared by the agency was also placed on the table, presented as a natural supplement he could consume at his discretion.
The interview began with a moderate and respectful tone. (Y/n), trying not to upset the superhero, exchanged pleasantries and made some preliminary comments, even offering a few calculated compliments to ease the tension. Then she addressed the first questions on the list. For a while, everything went smoothly.
However, soon the effects of his recurring migraine set in. Hypershock began to complain vehemently about the treatment he was receiving, launching accusations about the incompetence of those assisting him. The atmosphere grew tense, but the bracelet reacted to the sudden increase in his heart rate, and a controlled dose of the tranquilizer was released into his system.
The change was almost immediate. The super-powered man's muscles relaxed, his voice lost its aggressive tone, and his gaze regained a certain composure. Everyone present watched this transformation with surprise and caution. The method seemed to be working. To the agents' bewilderment, Hypershock himself stated that he felt comfortable with the bracelet and asked if he could keep it. There were no objections; it was better to grant his request than risk another altercation.
Nevertheless, the young female agent remained intrigued. While the others maintained the formality of the session, she decided to risk a question outside protocol—a discreet question, barely disguised as a casual remark. "Tell me, why do you resort to alcohol so often? Is it just the headaches… or is there something else?”
The super, still under the influence of the painkiller, replied with unusual frankness "There are vibrations… I feel them in my head, like trapped waves. If I don't release those tremors, the pain intensifies. Drinking helps me to… relax them, to silence them, even if only for a while.”
The (h/c)-nette was surprised by the confession. She took notes quickly, jotting down every detail. Carefully, she suggested—"Have you considered a medical examination with the Agency's specialists? They might find another way to relieve that discomfort.”
Hypershock shook his head, decisively, though not aggressively “It's not necessary. I can manage it. I always have.”
She sensed the limit of his patience and didn't press the issue further. The tranquilizer had already had its effect; risking the super's stability would be unwise.
The interview concluded with the usual protocol. Thanks, farewell, and the hero's release. However, when alone with her supervisor, the young woman shared what had happened with seriousness. "Sir, I think a mandatory medical examination should be considered. If what he described is true, we might be looking at a pattern that explains his dependence, and perhaps an opportunity to intervene before his power overwhelms him. Research into this could reduce future risks without relying solely on my neutralization."
Mr. Grayson listened attentively, nodding slowly as he glanced through the notes she showed him. "An interesting point, Ms. (L/n). We'll take it into account. Perhaps there's more to this than meets the eye. You may leave."
The young woman nodded. "I'm just doing my job, sir." She said goodbye to her supervisor and left, but with a lingering sense of unease, though also with the satisfaction of having sown a seed. Perhaps, amidst that cold, bureaucratic system, there was still room for finding real solutions.
Days passed, and the next interview turned out to be more charismatic and engaging than worrisome. Stormicide presented herself with a light and approachable demeanor, spoke about her skills, her responsibilities, and even shared a couple of personal anecdotes that brought smiles to the team. She even showed a certain vulnerability when mentioning the burden of taking care of her uncle, which humanized her even further in everyone's eyes. There were no issues during the session; her committed and benevolent character made her an open collaborator, willing to provide any detail requested.
For the team, this was a relief; they didn't have to activate the contingency plans in case her gaseous powers got out of control.
At that point, only one interview remained, and it wasn't just any interview. Everseer was waiting, and everyone knew they had to be extremely careful. A single inappropriate gesture, a suspicious movement, or a lapse in hygiene could trigger his germ-phobia.
The final interview, indeed, was more overwhelming than rewarding. Everseer's obsession with cleanliness created a tense atmosphere; maintaining composure in front of him was uncomfortable, as if any mistake could trigger his relentless judgment. Even so, they managed to get through the session. Interestingly, tacitly, everyone present seemed to have deduced why this super didn't have any close relationships or a partner.
However, it was noted that he did maintain a professional relationship with Psycwave, so it was recommended that both of them share the same therapist, which could balance the psychological tension they projected during the interviews.
Once the work was finished, all the supers' data was duly updated, including their flaws, weaknesses, strengths, abilities, and character traits. It was an intense week, so busy that there was barely any time for the constant monitoring of each designated superpowered individual. And yet, (Y/n) couldn't help but feel something strange; throughout the entire week, she hadn't had any issues with Hypershock. The calming effect of the bracelet seemed to be working, although she knew its effect was limited. She trusted that, even though her monitoring visits had decreased, the NSA was already conducting tests with the vibrations that used to destabilize the superpowered individual.
A phone call pulled her from her thoughts. From her cubicle, she answered the phone and immediately recognized her supervisor, Mr. Grayson's voice. His tone was firm, as always, but it hinted at the urgency of the matter; he requested her immediate presence. She confirmed, hung up calmly, and stood up.
As she headed towards her boss's office, she surmised that the conversation would likely be about Hypershock—perhaps an update on his condition or a change in the monitoring strategy. She knocked on the door and, upon hearing the "come in" from inside, entered with her usual formality.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Grayson?" she asked in a clear voice.
The supervisor looked up from the document he was reviewing and gave her his full attention. He gestured to the seat across from his desk. "Miss (L/n), please, have a seat. I have an important matter to discuss with you," he said, his tone calm, yet conveying the seriousness of the situation.
She nodded and settled into the chair, aware that these words never meant anything trivial. On the table, she noticed several folders with labels for the different teams. The one Mr. Grayson held had the code of the group her friend Mark belonged to. Her heart tightened for a moment. Had something happened to her friend?
Before she could even formulate her questions, the answer came. "The reports from the other teams have already been submitted," Grayson continued, without looking away from the folder. "And due to certain incidents during the recent interviews, team BR013 has suggested a personnel change, or the addition of extra support for monitoring one of their supers."
The young woman straightened her posture, her gaze becoming firm and determined. If they had called her here, it was because she was considered the right person for this task. That could only mean a change in her assignment, something she had already anticipated from the initial reunion with the general supervisor, Mr. Dicker.
Mr. Grayson sensed this thought reflected in her expression. From the folder, he opened a specific page and spoke without further ado. "To get straight to the point, Miss (L/n), you have been assigned to monitor the super Gamma Jack."
The open document revealed the super's file, with the image of that narcissistic man whose fame and temper made him one of the most 'difficult' to handle.
The young woman couldn't help but show surprise upon hearing the name of the hero she would now be monitoring. For a moment, she thought it would be about supporting her friend Mark, considering the recent problems with Universal Man. But Gamma Jack? That made no sense. Why assign her to a superpowered individual who—at least according to previous reports—seemed to manage his impulses relatively effectively and fulfill his duties as a hero? It was true that he showed a certain preference for choosing missions that suited him, and that he cultivated a reputation based more on his attractiveness and the attention of numerous female admirers than on serious conflicts. But none of that, in (Y/n)'s opinion, justified such a drastic change in her assignment.
"I don't understand... why? Did something happen with Gamma Jack that warrants my neutralization?" she asked cautiously, unable to hide the suspicion in her voice.
Mr. Grayson, understanding her doubts, slid a document across the desk. "I think you need to review his file," he said calmly. She took the folder and, curiously, began to read. As she did so, her boss continued explaining, "His previous agent reported some inappropriate decisions during his missions. Although the collateral damage has been minor, enough to go unnoticed by the public, these incidents still compromise the superhero service's credibility."
The reading revealed a disturbing portrait: tyrannical tendencies, megalomaniacal impulses, and a dangerous belief that supers were a superior race. (Y/n) frowned. She knew that, deep down, many supers harbored that kind of ego or sense of superiority; some disguised it discreetly, others revealed it without shame. Gamma Jack clearly belonged to the latter group.
Grayson continued, "In the latest interview, some of these impulses were confirmed. Fortunately, he didn't reach an extreme. However, he recognized the 'journalist' observing him as an undercover agent. He even admitted that he almost killed him, mistaking him for a villain, but he stopped himself when he discovered he belonged to the NSA."
(Y/n) raised an eyebrow. That spoke of a sharp intelligence, perceptive down to the smallest detail. However, it also highlighted how volatile her character could be. “I understand the mission… but I still don’t understand why me,” she inquired, revealing her pent-up frustration.
The supervisor pointed to a section in the file. She glanced down and saw a note that made her purse her lips in discomfort “Favoritism towards women.”
Every agent knew that Gamma Jack usually prioritized rescuing women, even if it meant acting recklessly. But what the report added was even more absurd. She found it difficult to eliminate overly attractive female villains, delaying confrontation and sometimes jeopardizing the mission. Only after struggling with his own weakness did he finally fulfill his duty. For that reason, it was recommended that he be assigned tasks where the presence of female villains was minimal.
To the (h/c)-nette, this seemed almost absurd. That a weakness like attraction to women... Was it considered a tactical factor? She forced herself to suppress a grimace of disbelief.
"If what you want is for Gamma Jack to be monitored by a female agent... don't you think that could be, precisely, another distraction?" she questioned, calmly but with an obvious sense of unease.
Mr. Grayson interlaced his fingers on the desk, not taking his eyes off her. "That was the initial thought, which is why a male agent was assigned to monitor him. But we reached a point where we understood that we had to use his preferences to our advantage, instead of ignoring them." His words made her feel like a mere tactical resource, just another cog in a machine that didn't consider her humanity. She didn't like the idea at all. She understood her role as a neutralization agent; she accepted that her ability was a unique asset, but being reduced to "the female solution" to control a super-narcissist gave her an uncomfortable, almost bitter feeling.
"Why now?" she insisted, with a hint of vulnerability. "What's the difference between me and any of my female colleagues? If his 'weakness' is women, any of us could fill this role."
Grayson's silence lasted only an instant, long enough for her to feel that the answer was obvious. Finally, he replied calmly, "You already know the answer, Ms. (L/n). And I don't feel the need to state it aloud. But if you want it clarified, I will confirm it. You are the only optimal option for someone with unpredictable behavior like Gamma Jack."
The words weighed more heavily than she expected. (Y/n) took a deep breath, suppressing everything she wanted to say. There was nothing more to say; the decision had been made, and she knew it. With empathy for herself, she understood that her role wasn't just a resource, but a reflection of the trust they placed in her, even if the way they communicated it was rigid. But that was the nature of her job; emotions shouldn't interfere, so even with the discomfort burning in her chest, she accepted the challenge. "If that's what everyone decided, I can't refuse," she said with a controlled voice, accepting the order more out of duty than conviction.
The supervisor nodded and added, with the same seriousness that had characterized the entire conversation, "Please, keep this confidential. I don't want it to get out; it could generate unnecessary internal controversy among the staff, and right now, we don't want a scandal related to the Supers' actions."
The warning struck home. She understood the classified nature of the assignment and responded with the professional discretion required. "You have my word," she whispered coldly, but a practical question immediately came to mind. "And what happens with my current assignment? Who will take charge of Hypershock?"
Mr. Grayson placed an additional folder on the table and, with a calm, professional gaze, began, "Thanks to the observation you made during the interview," he explained, "Measures have already been taken to mitigate the Hypershock problem. Don't worry, its monitoring will remain in the hands of the previous Gamma Jack team for the time being."
At that moment, everything fell into place in his mind; the transfer allowed (Y/n) to focus on Gamma Jack, while simultaneously strengthening Hypershock's security with personnel familiar with that group. It was an administrative solution that prevented operational problems.
"Just focus on your new mission," the supervisor continued. "We don't want you to be recognized as an agent. Choose the disguise you prefer; inform the IT team so they can provide you with a fake ID and register you with the briefing room." He handed her the folder where she had to sign the relevant documents. "You can take this file with you. Collect the rest of the background information at the briefing room and arrange your move to be near Gamma Jack's residence."
He handed her a document to sign: instructions, an operational code, and a simple confidentiality agreement. She signed without hesitation, though each stroke of the pen reminded her of the irreversible nature of the change.
"You can take that folder," he said, pointing to the file on the desk, "and please, retrieve his background information from the computer room." She nodded, stood up, but before leaving, Mr. Grayson laid down the final instruction, firm but not without a certain pressure and gravity"I have high expectations that you will not fail in this mission, Miss (L/n)."
The oyung woman replied with the most sincere and formal determination she could muster "You have my word, Mr. Grayson." And she left, her mind buzzing with tasks, meticulously noting each practical detail: moving near Gamma Jack's residence, obtaining a convincing civilian identity, coordinating schedules with the technical team.
Even so, Mr. Grayson's mention of avoiding a "scandal" lingered in her mind like a strange, unsettling feeling. What exactly had he meant? The press? Public outrage? Something darker that they couldn't yet reveal? She decided not to dwell on it further... At that moment, there was immediate work to do, and she decided to leave that conjecture for later.
The computer room smelled of warm metal and stale coffee. Rows of monitors emitted a low hum; a distant server fan whirred steadily. She gathered the files she had been instructed to take, and as she left the secure hallway where the information was stored, she ran into someone she was glad to see Mark, taking a break in the small lounge area, his eyes still tired but happy to see her. "Hey, Mark," she greeted him, trying to make her voice sound light.
"Oh," he replied, sitting up. "Hey (Y/n). I saw you leave the boss's office a while ago. Everything okay? Any trouble with Hypershock?" He glanced in the direction of the office and then turned his attention back to her. She smiled with a hint of irony. "Nothing like that. I was more curious about how your interview with your supervisor went. According to the schedule, Universal Man was the last one on your team to be interviewed."
Mark let out a sigh, a mixture of exasperation and relief. "Dramatic. That sums it up." She gave a brief, gentle smile. "At least he didn't use his powers, right?" she asked, still worried about any possible incident. "No," he replied. "And I'm grateful for that."
She took the opportunity to broach another topic that concerned her. "And the other interviews? How was Gamma Jack?"
The brown-haired man considered what to say, aware of the discretion required. "Um... during the interview, he was basically the same guy: decent, arrogant, pleasant, and charming when it suits him," he began, with a hint of surprise. "He took the Kalmeron potion without hesitation; to be honest, it relaxed him quite a bit, and he let slip—let's say—some uncomfortable truths. Nothing explosive, but... revealing."
Mark relaxed as he added his next comment. "But you know how Gamma Jack is; even half 'high,' his behavior is always the same."
She frowned, trying to piece things together. If this was standard procedure, why was Mr. Grayson emphasizing her assignment so much? Before she could think further, Mark tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, and interrupted her with a teasing tone"Why are you asking? Are you a Gamma Jack fan?"
"No!" she replied quickly, surprised. "I was just assigned as his new monitor. I wanted to know any useful details or get some context."
His surprise was genuine. He sat up a little, leaning his back against the edge of the table "You are the replacement? Wow! I thought they'd transfer him to Mr. Dicker's team. That would have been the most logical thing..." He lowered his voice, realizing how obvious the decision was, so he changed his emphasis "But yes, Alex messed up by letting himself be discovered as an agent."
The news hit her with a mix of surprise and doubt, because the information her friend was giving was different from what her boss had told her "Alex?" she repeated, remembering the name of the previous assigned agent. "What exactly happened?"
Mark continued, crossing his arms "I don't have all the details, but he was making a call to the agency and didn't realize Gamma Jack was nearby and overheard the entire conversation."
The (h/c)-nette noticed that her friend was completely unaware of the other side of the story, and it was actually better that he didn't know. With a wry smile, feigning sarcasm, she commented—"Well, now I'll be his fan who follows him everywhere... I hope that doesn't get me in trouble."
The brown-haired boy could barely contain his laughter, covering his mouth with his fist. "A toxic and stalking fan?" he joked, teasingly. "Maybe, with your persistence, he'll try to avoid you."
The young woman burst into laughter and agreed with the idea "Haha, exactly! This stalking fan will give Gamma Jack chills."
They both laughed heartily at the exaggerated sarcasm, until the laughter gradually faded into a more comfortable silence. Mark spoke again, this time in a softer, almost empathetic voice. "You shouldn't worry so much about keeping an eye on him. For now, the friendship Gamma Jack has with Mr. Incredible, Frozone, and, I think, Gazerbeam, keeps him quite distracted. So you're bound to run into some of Mr. Dicker's agents." He leaned back in his chair, relaxed. "How lucky you are, your workload is a bit lighter."
(Y/n) shrugged with a certain resignation. "I wish the same for your team, which now has Hypershock in their hands." The brown-haired man let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah... well, that's not my problem anymore. I have enough with the supervillain I'm assigned to."
Just then, his watch alarm interrupted the conversation, his break was over. Mark let out a heavy sigh, but immediately recovered with a smile for his friend. "You'll do well in your new assignment," he assured her, sincerely. "You're good at this, even if they sometimes treat you like just another resource." He rolled his eyes ironically, clearly referring to their rigid supervisors, and added with a hint of warning, "Just be careful not to fall for his charm. Gamma Jack can be... He can be very charming when he wants to be".
She shook her head, self-assured. "I don't think he'd be interested... not with my rather serious appearance."
Mark raised an eyebrow, incredulous, but didn't press the issue. "Good luck, then." He stood up and, after a brief, friendly gesture, left to attend to his own affairs. She, with a slight smile that couldn't quite hide a certain unease, replied with a simple "Thank you."
As he left, the young woman headed towards her desk. Now she had to focus on training herself for the role she had been assigned, that of a supposed superhero fan. Ironical, but practical.
A new challenge awaited her, moving from monitoring an unstable alcoholic to controlling a charming narcissist. At least the latter knew how to manage his powers better, but his attitude was another story. She knew it; her only weapon in this situation would be discipline, discretion, and prudence.
"What could be so difficult about that?" she thought.