Chapter 73: God Help Us, These Are the Applicants
The four of them were behind the folding table with the focused energy of people who had decided to take this seriously, which would turn out to be a mistake.
Rango picked up the headshot Ted had printed from the application email and held it at arm's length, comparing it to the man standing on the other side of the table.
The photo was George Clooney circa Ocean's Eleven. The man in front of them was not.
"This your photo?"
"That's me."
"...That is not you."
"I was going through a phase."
"That is a different person."
Rango put the photo face-down on the table with the careful deliberateness of someone managing their blood pressure and looked at the actual man before him — mid-fifties, cargo shorts in November, the general energy of someone who'd found the listing on his phone at a Applebee's and driven over.
"Sir," Ted said, with the diplomatic tone he deployed when Rango was close to the edge, "we're going to set aside the photo. Tell us about your abilities."
The man shifted his weight. "So, about that."
"Yes?"
"I don't technically have any."
Dean put his pen down.
"I saw ten thousand a day," the man said, with the unapologetic shrug of someone who considered this a complete explanation. "I'm a self-starter. I figured I'd see what happened."
"What happens," Rango said, "is that you leave."
"If it helps, I have pretty severe sleep apnea. I stop breathing like six times a night."
"It doesn't help. Please go."
The man waved pleasantly and let himself out.
Rango stared at the door for a moment.
"Ted."
"I know."
"The next one better—"
"Next!" Ted called toward the door.
The next applicant came in wearing a red satin cape and a magician's top hat with the specific confidence of someone who had never once been told their bit wasn't working.
"Good evening," he said, and actually bowed.
Rango lit a cigarette. "Skip the intro. Show us something."
"Gladly." The man produced a deck of cards from somewhere inside the cape, fanned them with practiced ease, and pointed at Rango. "I have never met you. I know nothing about you. And yet—" dramatic pause— "magic will reveal all."
He drew a card without looking at it.
"Tell me," he said. "What day of the month is your birthday?"
"The eighteenth," Rango said.
The man flipped the card. It was a nine.
Silence.
"Nine," Rango said.
"Times two," the man said immediately, "is eighteen."
Rango looked at the nine of clubs. Looked at the man. Looked at the nine again.
"That's not — that's just multiplication."
"It's mathemagic."
"That's not a thing."
"Sam," the man said, pivoting with the energy of someone who'd decided forward momentum was his only option, pointing now at Sam. "Birthday. Day of the month."
Sam blinked. "The thirtieth."
The card came up a two.
"Fifteen times—"
"Get out," Sam said.
"I have seventeen more cards—"
"Sir," Ted said. "We're going to need you to leave."
"The next one is really good, I can do a thing with the Jack of Spades where—"
Rango stood up.
The man left.
The next forty minutes went like this:
"I can communicate with the dead, but only dead people who don't have anything to say."
"My power is that I never get hangovers. Ever. Medically verified."
"I saw Firestarter and I think I might be like that. I haven't tested it yet."
"I can control the element of surprise."
That one actually got a hopeful beat of silence before it landed. Dean threw a pen cap at him.
"I can read minds."
"Now we're talking," Rango said. "Sit down. Tell me what I'm thinking right now."
The man sat. Focused. Put two fingers to his temple.
"I'm — still calibrating. The range is a little limited currently."
"How limited?"
"I can read my own mind. Exclusively. But very accurately."
Next.
"I can make any two cats fight each other."
"My grandmother was a bruja and I think some of it transferred. I can make milk curdle by looking at it."
"I haven't manifested yet but I feel like I'm really close."
Forty minutes later, all four of them were slumped in their chairs in the particular way of people who have lost something they'll never fully recover.
"Okay," Ted said quietly. "I accept partial responsibility."
"Partial," Dean said.
"I posted the listing in good faith. I cannot be held accountable for the population of New York."
Rango rubbed his face. "How many left?"
Ted checked his clipboard. "Dozen or so. There's an Invisible Man listed on here."
"Of course there is." Rango straightened up with the resolve of someone deciding to finish a bad movie because they've already come this far. "Send him in."
The Invisible Man was a compact guy in his thirties who came in with the careful energy of someone about to explain something that sounded worse than it was.
"Before I demonstrate," he said, "I need to be upfront about a limitation."
"Go ahead," Rango said.
"The ability is real. Full invisibility, works every time. But it has a — it has a trigger condition." He paused. "It only activates when I do a backflip."
A beat.
"Okay," Sam said slowly. "So do a backflip."
The man's expression shifted. "That's the other part. I can't do a backflip."
Rango stared at him. "You have the ability to turn invisible, which activates via backflip, and you cannot do a backflip."
"Correct."
"So functionally you cannot turn invisible."
"Technically, the ability exists—"
"Sir, if I have the ability to fly but only when I'm already airborne, I cannot fly."
"I've been working on the backflip. I'm close. If you give me two weeks—"
"Can you demonstrate anything else?"
The man set his jaw. "I can demonstrate the backflip."
Before anyone could say anything, he moved to the open space in front of the table, shook out his arms, bent his knees, and launched himself backward with genuine commitment.
He disappeared.
All four of them shot to their feet.
"Holy—" Dean started.
Then they heard the sound. The specific, horrible, singular crack of someone's head making full unbroken contact with a museum floor.
Then silence.
Then a slow, thin red line beginning to travel across the tile.
Nobody spoke for a long moment.
"He couldn't do a backflip," Ted said finally.
"He really couldn't," Sam said.
Rango sat back down heavily. Looked at the ceiling. Looked at the remaining applications on the table.
"Call 911," he said. "And then—" he exhaled— "next."
[Power Stone Goal: 500 = +1 Chapter]
[Review Goal: 10 = +1 Chapter]
If you liked it, feel free to leave a review.
20+chapters ahead on P1treon Soulforger