Chapter 19. A Matter of Principle

I froze in front of the wall of my room, hands clasped behind my back, openly savoring the sight of the results of my efforts. In heavy, expensive frames under anti-glare glass, three elite certificates were displayed, my personal trophies in this race for military ranks and self-improvement.

The first confirmed mastery of four types of firearms, from pistols to sniper rifles. The second certified completion of an advanced jiu-jitsu course, the precise ability to neutralize an opponent without leaving a single serious bruise on their body. And finally, the third, the newest and darkest, a special Krav Maga course focused on the rapid and irreversible elimination of an opponent. Looking at the official seals and calligraphic signatures, I felt my chest swell with pride.

“Tom, sweetheart, maybe we should hang them in the living room?” my mother’s cheerful voice called from the doorway.

I turned and could not help but smile. Mom stood in the doorway in her usual outfit, over which she wore an elite tactical vest from the Taran club. The same heavy armored vest with a multitude of pouches that I had been forced to buy for the courses and had never worn even once after finishing them. What did I need it for? Danny had made it clear that in the Awakened Corps I would be issued the best gear completely free of charge. Throwing away an expensive item felt wasteful, so Mom had found a worthy use for it.

Into the narrow pockets meant for pistol magazines, she had carefully stuffed coins and stacks of discount coupons. From the holster holder, instead of a formidable Glock, protruded her favorite telescopic grabber, the one she used to reach jars from the top shelves.

“Seriously, Tom,” she continued, adjusting the shoulder straps. “The living room’s exactly where they belong. Let everyone who walks in see what a great kid and protector you are!”

“Mom, with that specific set of papers, guests are going to think a professional killer lives here,” I said with a smirk, imagining the neighbors’ faces.

“And what’s so bad about that?” Mom slyly adjusted her glasses, a mischievous spark flashing in her eyes. “The neighbors’ll instantly be filled with deep respect. They’ll greet us first, politely hold the door… No one in their right mind will dare be rude to a killer’s mother. There’s a certain charm to it, don’t you think?”

“I’d prefer something less bloodthirsty for the general public. Black belts or gold medals, for example,” I muttered, although deep down the idea amused me. “Why’d you come in, anyway?”

“Just to let you know I’m taking your car and heading to the supermarket. With your new appetite, son, I have to pack the fridge to the brim every week. You eat like three people!”

Mom grabbed the keys and, cheerfully jingling the coins in her tactical pockets, headed for the exit. As soon as the door closed behind her, I decided to test a theory that had been bothering me and dialed my curator’s number.

“Tom? Did something happen?” Danny’s voice on the line sounded unusually tense. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, right?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Why the sudden concern?”

“Well, you don’t call me often,” Danny noticeably relaxed, I could almost hear him leaning back in his chair. “And when you do, it usually means you need urgent help dealing with yet another problem.”

“Hm. That sounds like you’re accusing me of being utilitarian. Should I call more often just to ask how you’re doing and what you had for breakfast?”

“Tom, relax, that’s not what I meant,” his voice regained its usual lightness. “Honestly, I’m even glad you don’t turn me into your personal audio diary. You wouldn’t believe how many of my charges dump everything that happened to them during the day onto me. And as a curator, by protocol, I’m not allowed to hang up and have to listen to that stream of consciousness.”

“I genuinely sympathize,” I said, recalling some of my former colleagues who could complain about the injustice of the universe for hours.

“All right, down to business. What did you want, Tom?”

“Just one question. Am I right in understanding that the Awakened are strictly forbidden from participating in official sports competitions? Say, the Olympics?”

A silence fell on the line so long that I instinctively glanced at the screen to check if the call had dropped.

“Danny, are you still there?”

“Huh? Yes, Tom, I’m here,” he replied in a somewhat stunned voice, as if I had just suggested robbing a bank. “Listen… There’s no official law written into the constitution. Civilians simply don’t have the technology to identify an Awakened unless one starts shooting lightning out of their eyes. But I strongly, do you hear me, strongly advise you not to get involved in that.”

“Why?”

“Because the civilian population is already under constant stress. People are afraid that we will come and take their jobs. And if it comes out that one of us is collecting gold medals by the dozen using superpowers, it will trigger such hysteria that it will hit the entire Corps.”

“Got it. Makes sense. Thanks for the clarification, I won’t even look in that direction.”

“I really hope so, Tom. Talk to you later.”

The call ended, leaving me with plenty to think about. Of course, I was not planning to become a professional athlete and collect trophies. I do not like showing off, and entertaining my mother’s friends with my records held no appeal. But simply knowing that such a loophole existed was oddly comforting. Who knew when an official champion status might come in handy?

I still had time. The morning training session at the gym had gone well, my muscles ached pleasantly. Yesterday, I had wrapped up the Krav Maga course, and an unfamiliar gap had appeared in my schedule. The first aid classes would not start until tomorrow, so I decided not to lose momentum. After browsing online and recalling Danny’s recommendations, I signed up for an intensive course in extreme running and sprinting. That place did not hand out flashy diplomas for the military office, but I needed it for myself.

Suddenly, my smartphone let out a short beep, signaling an incoming message. I glanced at the screen. A notification about a deposit. Twenty thousand dollars from the Ministry of Defense.

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Damn, that felt good. Especially considering that my personal savings had started to melt away rapidly after paying for all those elite courses. It had been exactly a month since I discovered my abilities. A month since I left the office. My salary still had not arrived.

I dialed the reception desk, keeping my voice as calm as possible, although a dull irritation was already beginning to boil inside.

As expected, the call was picked up by Jess, the boss’s ever-present secretary. The familiar office noise came through the line, the chatter of a printer, muffled voices, and the sharp clicks of heels on laminate flooring.

“It’s Tom again. It’s been a month since I left, and I still don’t see the promised salary in my account.”

“Oh, Tom, hi!” her voice instantly turned syrupy sweet, and she started talking so fast it felt like she was afraid I would interrupt. “You know our company policy perfectly well. According to regulations, all final payments to former employees are sent exclusively by check through the mail. It’s standard procedure, we can’t change anything.”

“Let’s go point by point, Jess,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “First, I wasn’t fired, I left of my own accord after fulfilling all obligations. Second, the check’s taking suspiciously long even for our turtle-paced mail.”

“Well, that’s definitely not our responsibility!” offended notes crept into her tone. “The post office must have messed something up again, mixed up the zip code or just lost the envelope in a pile of other mail. You know how those slackers work, they don’t care about other people’s money.”