The words "Child of the Prophecy" belonged in the dusty fantasy novels cluttering my grandfather's estate, not an underground bunker. Hearing the Chief use the phrase made me certain of one of two things: I was either in the clutches of a dangerous cult, or a room full of lunatics.
"So, you are the famous Child of the Prophecy," the Chief murmured, leaning forward.
"The savior... the one destined to defeat Yuri. How old are you, kid?"
Henry opened his mouth to answer for me, but the Chief silenced him with a single raised hand.
"Come now, Henry. Let our guest speak for once. He isn't a selective mute anymore, is he?" The Chief grinned down at me from behind his blurred visage.
I bristled at the comment.
Putting aside the creepy fact that this blonde guy knew my entire life story, talking so casually about someone else's trauma was incredibly uncalled for.
"I'm sixteen," I said bluntly, not wanting to push my luck with a man who clearly held all the cards.
"Sixteen? Perfect! The exact same age as Jacob and Julie."
The Chief tapped his fingers on the desk. "Tell me, Nico…would you like a job?"
In that exact moment, time seemed to stop.
I certainly didn't want to spend the rest of my life clearing tables at some nameless bar in New Orleans. The proposition was genuinely intriguing, but a cold knot of dread formed in my stomach. I had no idea what these kidnappers actually did, and more importantly, whether it was even remotely legal.
"Depends," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady. "What kind of job?"
The Chief smiled, his eyes darkening behind the strange, shifting blur covering his face.
"Do you know where you are, Nico?" I shook my head, and he continued.
"You are at the headquarters of what the world secretly refers to as the 'Section.' Standard police departments handle finance, local crime, traffic, but there is one department that is kept strictly hidden from the public. We handle paranormal phenomena."
He leaned in closer.
"Agents here must be different from ordinary humans. They need the ability to see. And how do they see? With just the right amount of Chthonoids in their system. Our job is to eliminate what we call 'Entities', creatures of the paranormal world driven by Rhohonoids. A prophecy from the turn of the last century explicitly stated that this endless war would only conclude when Yuri, the 'King' of the paranormal realm, was defeated by a human. A teenage human carrying both Chthonoids and Rhohonoids in their blood."
His words hung heavily in the clinical air. He turned back around, sinking into his large black chair before continuing.
"If you truly are the Child of the Prophecy, kid, you are in grave danger. By unlocking your powers back in that alley, you essentially lit a flare in the dark. You are now entirely visible to Yuri and his followers. You must learn to control this power if you want to put an end to this madness, unless, of course, you want Yuri to conquer this world and feed us all to those unearthly freaks. I strongly advise you to join us. After all, regardless of what you choose, you just became the primary target of an SSSS-Tier monster who wants you dead on sight."
He took a casual sip of what looked like barley tea from a crystal glass, speaking as if we were merely discussing the weather.
In reality, my choice had already been made.
The memory of that grey, eyeless creature with the frozen, hollow smile still made my skin crawl. It was hideous, terrifying. I couldn't comprehend how such monsters could exist without the public knowing, or what they did to ordinary humans.
But more than that, I was fiercely drawn to any opportunity that kept me from becoming a waiter, and I needed a way to guarantee my grandfather's and brother's safety.
"I want to join," I said firmly.
The Chief stared at me for a few agonizing seconds, searching my face for any hint of hesitation or deceit.
Finding none, he nodded and pulled a thick, official-looking document out of a desk drawer.
"All righty then. Sign."
He slid the contract across the desk, accompanied by a heavy pen and a small, silver knife.
The contract stated that I would officially join the Section 77 department as a tactical agent, earning a starting salary of $4,500 after completing my training phase. It also stated that I accepted full responsibility for any operational hazards, explicitly listing everything from the loss of limbs to death.
Beneath the legal jargon was a list of strict, unyielding protocols:
SECTION 77: STANDARD CODE OF CONDUCT
1. Authorization of Power: The agent may utilize paranormal abilities exclusively during active missions or within designated training zones at headquarters.
2. Operational Secrecy: The agent's occupation must remain strictly confidential. Unauthorized disclosure to civilians is prohibited, barring pre-approved familial exceptions.
3. Fraternization: Interpersonal romantic relationships between active agents are strictly forbidden, particularly among members of the same tactical squad.
4. Post-Separation Protocol: Should an agent resign or separate from the Department, they remain bound by a lifetime non-disclosure agreement.
5. Combat Readiness: Every active member of a deployment or combat team must maintain an operational rank of E-Class or higher.
Violation of any of the aforementioned rules will result in immediate, severe disciplinary action.
"Ah, yes," the Chief muttered, filing away another document. "We need to assign you a squad. Let's see... the Child of the Prophecy. High-profile target, immense danger, bound to need an extraction if a mission goes sideways... perfect for the Black Team!"
Henry, whom I had honestly forgotten was standing right next to me, visibly stiffened.
"Sir, the Black Team already has two teenagers. We need someone older. An experienced vanguard."
"Shush, Henry," the Chief dismissed with a wave of his hand.
"The two sixteen-year-olds on your team are highly capable. One is the adopted daughter of the London Section's Chief, and the other is a frontline tank who is worth three adults. Besides, you became a Captain at twelve. Don't start getting picky about age now."
I glanced up at Henry, who shot me a glare so venomous it could have killed me on the spot. I looked back down at the paper, swallowed my nerves, and signed my name at the bottom.
The Chief smirked. He picked up the small knife I had been avoiding. "Give me your finger."
He reached out.
I tentatively extended my index finger, bracing for the worst, but his grip was surprisingly gentle. With a quick, practiced motion, he nicked the pad of my finger and pressed my bloodied print firmly onto the paper.
"Since you are a minor, is there a legal guardian you wish to clear for disclosure?"
he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"My grandfather."
The Chief nodded. "I'll call him right away. For now, go home. Tomorrow, Henry will pick you up bright and early."
I wanted to ask how Henry could possibly know where I lived, but then I remembered he was a literal psychic who had ransacked my brain an hour ago. I simply nodded and turned toward the door.
"Oh, and Nico?" the Chief called out just as my hand touched the brass knob.
"Regarding your eye condition... stay away from that research lab, and stop taking their medicine. If your eyes begin to ache, eat sugar or load up on caffeine. It stabilizes the Chthonoid pressure."
I didn't recall ever mentioning my eye illness to him, but at this point, nothing they did could surprise me.
The Chief gestured to Henry, who stepped forward and hauled me out of my chair.
His grip was still rough, but the outright hostility had dialed back to a simmer.
He gave a respectful nod to the Chief, forced my head down to make me do the same, and steered me out of the office like a parent dragging a misbehaving child out of a grocery store.
The drive back to my neighborhood was intensely quiet.
Every few blocks, Henry would abruptly pull one hand off the steering wheel, press his palm to his forehead, and hiss in pain, his eyes narrowing as he navigated the New Orleans streets.
Finally, he broke the silence. "Tomorrow. 5 AM sharp. I'll be outside your house for physical training."
"So... you're my Captain now?" I asked, looking over at him.
"Unfortunately, yes," Henry snapped. "Tomorrow you'll meet the rest of the squad. I demand absolute respect and blind obedience to my orders. As Captain, I have the authority to enforce discipline however I see fit, and you look like someone who desperately needs a tight leash. Especially after almost killing your classmate."
I had skipped over that detail earlier, but it was true. A few months back, before I dropped out of school in San Isidro, I had severely beaten a classmate. He deserved it, of course; the guy had spent a year telling a "freak" like me to "take a flight from the third floor", alongside physically cornering me in the halls. Instead of defending my past, I leaned into the question burning in my mind.
"How do you know all of this?"
Henry let out a long, dramatic sigh, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
"High concentrations of Chthonoids don't just let you see anomalies; they grant abilities normal humans shouldn't possess. You're the Child of the Prophecy, so it's guaranteed you'll manifest multiple traits that common mortals like us could only dream of. My trait happens to be psychic telemetry. I can read human minds, and with a much more taxing technique, the minds of Entities, provided I maintain direct physical contact."
He glanced sideways at me, his gray eyes icy. "I had to use the Entity technique on you. Which makes me like you even less."
"Why?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Because you carry Rhohonoids, Nico. Only Entities have those. And our sole purpose here is to hunt, torture, and exterminate Entities. Not everyone in the Section is thrilled about the concept of a 'savior.' A few factions believe it would be vastly more efficient to execute the Child of the Prophecy, harvest your eyes, the source of your power, and refine your blood into weapons to wipe out Yuri ourselves. You're incredibly lucky the Chief has always blocked those proposals. But don't assume every agent in Section 77 shares his sentiment."
The sheer coldness of his words sent a shiver through me, but anger quickly took its place.
"If I was born to defeat your ultimate enemy, shouldn't we be on the same side? Treating me like a monster is just—"
"Shut up, you demon!"
Henry snapped, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. The sudden outburst made me freeze.
"You don't understand a damn thing, do you? Right now you think you're fine because your awakening hasn't fully set in. You'll play soldier and act like a normal agent at first, but the moment things go south, you will lose your mind. You are built exactly like him. You have the capacity to be just as malicious, just as psychotic as Yuri. Those foul things inside your—"
He cut himself off, glaring at me through the dark interior of the car, seemingly debating whether he had already said too much.
"Tch... whatever," he muttered, throwing the car into park.
We were idling directly in front of my grandfather's house.
"Don't be late," Henry growled as I unbuckled my seatbelt. "I despise people who waste my time."
Before I could even close the passenger door completely, he slammed on the gas, leaving me standing alone under the dim streetlights of the crosswalk.