Chapter 34 The Cage of Choices

I had no intention of accepting Mrs. Mind’s offer. I’d already turned down Royal, and I didn’t even entertain Crow’s approach. Yet, knowing Mrs. Mind’s identity unsettled me in ways I couldn’t fully articulate.

Fifteen years ago, there had been a world-breaking event that history classes loved to reference... about a single woman who had destroyed an entire country. Codename: Witch. Telepath-9. It was said she had the ability to print her consciousness and upload it into another person. The news claimed she’d died, but within months, her powers reappeared in another girl who looked eerily similar… just younger. That girl, whom I now realized must have been Mrs. Mind, had slaughtered a group of heroes before vanishing.

And now, she wanted me in her employ.

I was still stewing over the encounter when Royal called me back. His voice carried its usual blend of command and casual disdain. “Come along, we have somewhere else to be.”

Loyal wasn’t with us this time, which I found odd. Royal always seemed to have her nearby like some twisted trophy.

As we walked, he broke the silence. “So, what did Mrs. Mind want with you?”

Of course, he already knew. I didn’t bother lying. “She wanted to recruit me. I don’t mean to undervalue myself or boast, but am I really that desirable?”

Royal chuckled, the sound low and patronizing. “We telepaths have a way of gauging potential... how powerful someone might be... by the strength of their mind. We’re often more accurate than the SRC’s machines and tests when it comes to assessing power levels. Mental fortitude usually equates to overall strength. Even without factoring in gifts, the same logic applies.”

We descended a set of stairs that spiraled downward, each step feeling heavier than the last. At the bottom, we entered a large, dimly lit chamber with glass cages lining the walls. Each cage was a replica of some mundane setting... a cozy family living room, a park, a sleek nightclub, etc. Inside, men and women of varying ages went about mundane activities: drinking tea, reading books, playing instruments. They were all dressed impeccably, their appearances polished to an unnatural perfection.

It was surreal, like watching a twisted stage play.

Royal gestured broadly to the display, his voice taking on a mocking edge. “I did say I’d reward you, didn’t I? So, Eclipse, make the right choice. It’s a fine selection, isn’t it? Pick one. Don’t be greedy.”

I stared at him, my stomach churning.

It wasn’t just the cages or the people inside them. It was the way he spoke, as if I were supposed to feel honored by this “reward.” Refusing would be a slight against him, an insult he likely wouldn’t tolerate. And yet, accepting would mean crossing a line I’d promised myself I’d never approach.

Royal’s gaze bore into me, his obvious smirk behind the mask widening as if he could already taste my discomfort.

I clenched my fists, forcing my expression to remain neutral. “What exactly am I picking, Royal?”

He laughed softly, the sound almost playful. “A servant, a companion, a little helper for your escapades. Call it what you will. These fine individuals are gifts. They’ll obey you, serve you, and never question your authority. Quite the boon, wouldn’t you say? Of course, you can only pick one. I can't be too generous, can't I?”

My chest tightened. These weren’t gifts. They were slaves.

I glanced at the cages again, my eyes catching on a young man playing the piano in one of the glass enclosures. His movements were precise, his expression serene, but there was a hollowness in his eyes that I couldn’t ignore.

Royal leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Don’t make me regret being generous, Eclipse. You’ve earned this. Now, choose.”

My mind raced. Refusing outright would put me in danger. Accepting would shatter whatever scraps of integrity I had left. I needed a third option, something that would satisfy Royal without condemning someone else to this life.

“Give me a moment,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.

Royal’s smirk didn’t waver. “Take your time, but don’t take too long. I hate indecision.”

I had an idea of why Royal was doing this. Mathilda’s words about his ability to mark someone and witness their last memories haunted me. If that was true, these “gifts” weren’t just tokens of goodwill... they were unknowing spies. Rejecting his so-called generosity wasn’t just an insult to his pride. It was a refusal to be ensnared in his web of manipulation. That alone was enough to warrant elimination… and that also explained why he’d take aggressive actions when his grand gesture was rejected by someone lower than him in the food chain.

Telepathy had always been an unnerving power set. Unlike physical abilities, it was subtle, insidious, and deeply entrenched in the Monarchy’s methods. It was no surprise that telepaths had unified techniques, likely shared across their networks. Royal’s games were just another layer of control, refined over years of practice.

I needed to tread carefully.

“If you’d generously allow me,” I said, trying to sound both respectful and strained, “can I take my time to observe and strategize? I only have one chance to get this right, after all. Your Royal Majesty being here is... mentally taxing.”

Royal chuckled softly, his smirk never quite reaching his eyes. “Feel free to do so. I will be out of your hair then. Tell the dear butler if you’ve found someone to your taste.”

He didn’t wait for my reply. With a graceful turn, he strode out of the room, leaving me alone with the glass cages and the unsettling atmosphere they created. Only then did I notice the butler standing silently in the corner... a tall, gaunt man dressed in a stereotypical black suit. He radiated an air of quiet efficiency, like he could fade into the background at will.

“Eclipse,” I introduced myself, my voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Pleasure to meet you.”

The butler inclined his head slightly, his expression neutral. “Please refer to me as ‘Butler,’ plain and simple. If you have questions, feel free to ask them.”

Straight to the point. I appreciated that, even if his presence added to the discomfort of the situation.

I glanced at the cages, each one holding a person who was likely oblivious to the full extent of their circumstances. They weren’t restrained or mistreated... not outwardly, at least. They moved about in their little replicas of normal life, drinking tea, reading books, or chatting with one another. It was the illusion of freedom within a prison, and that made it all the more disturbing.

“What’s the deal with them?” I asked, gesturing vaguely toward the cages. “Do they know what’s happening?”

“They are aware of their immediate environment,” Butler replied evenly. “The extent of their understanding varies. Each individual has undergone conditioning to ensure loyalty and compliance. Their autonomy is limited, but their personalities and skills remain intact.”

“Conditioning,” I repeated, my stomach twisting. “Is it... reversible?”

Butler’s expression didn’t change. “That information is not relevant to your selection process, sir.”

Of course not. Why would it be? The Monarchy wouldn’t want anyone undoing their work.

I turned my attention back to the cages, studying the occupants more closely. They were all so... normal-looking. That was the point, wasn’t it? To make them appear harmless, even desirable. But I couldn’t let myself forget what they really were: pawns in Royal’s game, with me as the next piece he was trying to maneuver.

“Are there any criteria I should be considering?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual. “Or is it just about picking someone who catches my eye?”

Butler stepped forward slightly, his hands clasped behind his back. “Each individual possesses unique traits and skills. Some are trained in combat, others in intelligence gathering or domestic service. It depends entirely on your needs and preferences.”

Needs and preferences. As if I were shopping for a new car.

I suppressed a shudder and took a step closer to one of the cages. A young woman was sitting at a desk, sketching intricate designs with a mechanical pencil. Her focus was intense, her movements precise. In another cage, a man was assembling a firearm, his hands moving with practiced efficiency.

“These individuals,” Butler continued, “have been trained to adapt to various roles. They are versatile and capable of fulfilling multiple functions.”

I nodded absently, my mind racing. If I had to make a choice, it needed to be someone who wouldn’t be used against me... or, better yet, someone who might even become an ally. But how could I trust anyone in this situation?

“I’ll need some time to think it over,” I said finally, stepping back from the cages. “This isn’t a decision I want to rush.”

“Of course, sir,” Butler replied, his tone polite but detached. “Take all the time you need.”

As he retreated to his corner, I took a deep breath and forced myself to think. Rejecting Royal outright wasn’t an option. Choosing the wrong person could backfire in ways I couldn’t predict.

I needed a plan... and I needed it fast.

“These people... are they all capes?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I scanned the cages again.

“Yes,” Butler replied without hesitation.

I knew it. The way they carried themselves, even in their mundane activities, hinted at something more. They weren’t ordinary people plucked off the streets... they were weapons, packaged and ready for use.

Butler continued, “If you want mundane servants, there is a different venue for them. Does the current selection dissatisfy you? If you provide me with parameters for the kind of servant you desire, I could assist you more efficiently.”

“No,” I said quickly. “The current selection is fine.”

Butler inclined his head slightly. “If you are curious about the goods, you only need to stand in front of the glass pane in their containment unit and refer to the interface.”

I nodded and approached one of the cages cautiously. The young woman sketching designs at the desk caught my attention again. The closer I got, the more apparent it became that the glass pane wasn’t just a barrier... it was a high-tech interface, seamless and sleek.

I stood in front of the glass, and a soft glow illuminated the pane. Text and images began to appear, floating in the air like a holographic display. A profile popped up with her name, abilities, and background.

Name: Claire Rendall

Alias: Trace

Gift: Projectionist—Capable of creating tangible constructs from her sketches. Constructs have a durability limit and require constant mental focus to maintain.

Training: Tactical support, reconnaissance, and art-based espionage.

I frowned. Her ability sounded impressive, but highly situational. Useful in the right circumstances, but also a liability if she lost focus. I swiped to the next profile, my fingers gliding over the glass.

Name: Marcus Henshaw

Alias: Bulletproof

Gift: Kinetic Absorption—Able to absorb kinetic energy and convert it into enhanced physical strength or speed.

Training: Close-quarters combat, infiltration, and demolition.

That was more straightforward. Someone like him could be invaluable in a fight, but his power sounded dangerously volatile. I wasn’t sure if I wanted someone who could literally explode with power if they weren’t careful.

I moved to another cage, where a woman sat cross-legged on the floor, meditating.

Name: Elena Mirova

Alias: Stillwater

Gift: Kinetic Nullification—Able to create zones where all motion ceases. Range and duration are limited.

Training: Defensive tactics, containment, and hostage retrieval.

Her power was intriguing, but I couldn’t shake the image of her shutting me down at the worst possible moment if things went sideways.

The profiles were extensive, detailing everything from their powers and training to their psychological evaluations. It was unsettling how much information the Monarchy had gathered on these people.

I turned to Butler. “These profiles… how accurate are they?”

“They are meticulously maintained,” he said. “The information is gathered through rigorous testing and observation. You may consider them reliable.”

I wasn’t sure whether that reassured me or made me even more uneasy. I turned back to the interface, scrolling through more profiles. Each one was a potential ally... or a potential liability.

“Do they remember how they ended up here?” I asked without looking away from the screen.

Butler hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his tone remained neutral. “Their memories are selectively altered to ensure compliance. They retain enough of their identities to perform effectively but are unaware of their full circumstances.”

That was horrifying. They weren’t just prisoners... they were puppets, stripped of their agency and molded into tools.

I needed to choose someone, but every option felt like a trap. Royal would expect me to make a decision soon, and I couldn’t afford to show hesitation. Taking a deep breath, I swiped through a few more profiles, searching for the least dangerous option... or, at the very least, someone I could work with.