A Special Recruitment Fair in the Basement

"Not bad, we netted another one."

Sing Sing corrected him. "Not netted. Recruited."

The group entered through the back door of the wellness center. The lights were still on in the basement.

Riptide was sitting on the edge of the bed. Hearing them, he stood up. "You're back."

His gaze finally settled on the severed arm in Sing Sing's hand. "Is it too late to ask?"

Sing Sing set the arm in the corner. "Too late. You're in charge of moving it tomorrow."

Riptide: "..."

Anton lay on the bed, his eyes open.

His face was still pale, but his eyes were bright.

Sing Sing went over to him. "How are you feeling?"

Anton thought for a moment. "Like I got hit by a train."

"Then you're recovering well. People who actually get hit by trains usually don't get a chance to describe how they feel."

"You're the one who saved me?"

"To be precise, I'm the one who saved you and is about to arrange a job for you."

Sing Sing pulled up a chair and sat down. "Comrade Anton, let me make this clear first. You still have remnants of Stryker's messy genetic modifications in your body, so you're not fit for physical labor in the short term."

"So my preliminary plan is to find you a clerical job. Warehouse management, filing blueprints, logistics records—any of those would work. I hear you used to be a librarian?"

Anton stared at him. "Yes."

"Perfect."

Sing Sing slapped his thigh. "An archivist in the records room. That would make yours a key technical support position."

Anton looked at him.

After he woke up, Riptide had told him what had happened, haltingly and in bits and pieces.

The underground laboratory, the pursuit, the Chinese man, the contract, Five Insurances and One Housing Fund...

At first, Anton thought someone had damaged his brother's brain. Then he met Sing Sing himself and realized the man really was a lunatic.

But he was a very serious lunatic.

"Can I... really still work?"

Anton asked quietly.

As he asked, he unconsciously tightened his grip on the hem of his clothes.

He wasn't a mutant.

He had just been an ordinary librarian.

He liked drawing and quiet, and his greatest dream had been to work at the city library until he retired.

Then one day, a group of people had barged into his life, strapped him to an operating table, and filled his body with unfamiliar genes and pain.

Sing Sing looked at him, his joking expression gone.

"You can."

Anton lay on the narrow folding bed, his expression complicated. He looked like someone who had woken from a nightmare and still wasn't sure whether he was awake.

"Even... like this, I can work?"

"Of course. So, can you sort things?"

"Yes."

"Keep records?"

"Yes."

"File a mess of documents by number?"

"Yes."

"Argue with unreasonable library patrons?"

Anton paused. "...Sometimes."

"Even better."

Sing Sing slapped his thigh. "What our organization's records room needs most is a comrade like you: patient, meticulous, and able to reason with people."

Riptide sat on the edge of the bed, frowning. "Stephen, he still has Stryker's stuff in his body."

"That's all the more reason not to leave him idle. When people have nothing to do, they start dwelling on things. That leads to anxiety. Anxiety makes genetic rejection more likely. Genetic rejection makes light tubes more likely to burst. And burst light tubes have to be paid for."

Lorna leaned against the wall with her arms crossed and sneered. "So the light tubes are still what you care about most?"

"Light tubes are public property too."

Sing Sing raised a finger.

"Comrade Little Lorna, that's a dangerous way of thinking. Public property might look like a light tube, but it's actually the people's right to lighting. Without light, how can the night-shift workers read their blueprints?"

"If they can't see the blueprints and build a bridge pier crooked, what then? If the pier is crooked, who's responsible? Are you?"

Lorna was momentarily speechless, unsure how to argue back.

Soft Serve sat in the corner, holding the three-dollar tub of ice cream and listening in bewilderment.

Anton suddenly lowered his head.

"But I'm worried I'll lose control. I don't want to hurt anyone."

They had all seen what happened in the underground laboratory.

He could punch Riptide straight into a wall.

"Relax. At Stryker's place, if you lost control, they'd sedate you, tie you up, and keep drawing your blood."

"On the streets of the United States, if you lost control, the SWAT team would point guns at you, and the news would call you a monster the next day."

"With us, if you don't feel well, you go to the infirmary. If the infirmary can't treat you, we send you to a hospital. If the hospital can't help either, I'll take you to Da Vinci. If Da Vinci can't do it, I'll shut off the power to his lab and make him find a way."

Slug sniffled at the computer. "Da Vinci does curse people out."

"He can curse all he wants. He still has to do the work."

Sing Sing spoke with absolute conviction. "No one gets to casually write off our organization's talented people before they've signed out."

"Talented..."

The word sounded strange to Anton. No one had ever called him talented before.

Riptide lowered his head, his eyes slightly red.

Sing Sing glanced at him. "Riptide, don't make that face."

Riptide looked up and rubbed his eyes. "What face?"

"Like you owe me eight hundred and won't pay it back."

"..."

"Your brother's follow-up treatment, nutritious meals, resettlement allowance, temporary documents, and international transportation all cost money. Once we get back, you'd better work hard for me."

Riptide took a deep breath. "I will."

"Don't just say it."

Sing Sing pulled a stack of papers from the suitcase beside him and slapped them down on the table.

"Come on, while everyone's awake, let's sign the letters of intent first."

Lorna's eyelid twitched.

"You carry contracts around with you?"

"What do you mean, carry contracts around?" Sing Sing looked displeased. "This is an emergency overseas special talent recruitment temporary labor cooperation letter of intent confirmation. Temporary contract for short. It's perfectly official."

Soft Serve leaned over to take a look.

The sheets had been pieced together from notepaper swiped from some hotel front desk.

English and Chinese were mixed together on them, the handwriting wild and sweeping.

The first line read:

I voluntarily agree to go to China to accept lawful employment placement, living support, and a position suited to my abilities. I shall not engage in conduct that endangers public safety, damages construction equipment, arbitrarily rips off roofs, dismantles tower cranes without authorization, or the like.

The second line:

The organization promises to do its best to provide room and board, wages, Five Insurances and One Housing Fund, necessary medical assistance, basic language training, and hot meals no worse than those served at local construction-site cafeterias.

The third line:

If a loss of emotional control causes damage to public property such as rebar, doors, windows, pipes, vehicles, or public toilets, compensation shall be discussed according to the circumstances or offset through overtime.

Lorna's face darkened. "Are you targeting me?"

Sing Sing looked solemn. "No. This clause applies to everyone."

"Then why is there also a rule against twisting a coworker's belt buckle into a pretzel?"