Short Story Serial

Over the next 8 weeks, I'll be posting installments of Third Person, Unlikely or the Not-So-Super Adventures of Leonard the Scrub.

Here's the first one:


“Next.”

Finally.

Leonard had been waiting for hours, but he knew that’s just how it was when you’re trying to get an agency to represent you. Truth is, he’d been waiting for more than hours. He’d been waiting for years. He had been seen and rejected by more agencies than he could remember.

This one, The Last Chance Agency, was the first to agree to see him. Of course, the name said it all. It wasn’t known for top talent, high standards, or great gigs, but what else could he do? He’d been working the night shift at a local warehouse since he dropped out of college. That’s not how he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

“So, what’s your – mmph, mmph – ability?” asked the disheveled, middle-aged man between mammoth bites of whatever kind of sandwich he was stuffing in his mouth.

Leonard had been rehearsing his pitch ever since his appointment was confirmed. He practiced eye contact, posture, tone, gestures, and pace. Naturally, he froze. Not the kind of freezing that looks like you momentarily lost your place – more like the kind where you run into a grizzly bear and you suddenly recall that your nickname in High School was Salmon, which you also had for breakfast.

“You okay, kid?” asked the sandwich eater.

The question shook Leonard out of his catatonic state. In his rush to compensate for this disastrous first impression, he abandoned everything he practiced and started to randomly mash words together.

“First no one, I mean, first, no one, at least I don’t think anyone –” Leonard blurted. “It’s unique and, and –“

“Stop. Just stop,” the man behind the desk pleaded, reluctantly putting his lunch aside. “You’re obviously not a first-tier, and I doubt you’re even a second-tier, which means whatever it is you can do isn’t really that special or someone else would have signed you by now, so don’t try to make your power out to be anything more than it is, okay?”

Leonard hesitated, then nodded. No sense in denying the obvious. The agent was right. He was a scrub, someone with minimal abilities.

He looked around the office. It was mostly barren, just like the waiting room he had been in all morning. There was a dying houseplant by the window, a generic abstract picture hanging from the wall, and not much else. The only thing that stood out was the name plate on the desk: Last Chance, Agent.

“Your name is actually ‘Last Chance?’” Leonard asked, incredulous. Okay, maybe not incredulous, but in-something.

“Yeah, it is,” Last Chance sighed, an indication that this wasn’t the first time the subject came up. “My parents were a bit different. I was the youngest of seven. The oldest was named First, then came Second, and on it went until me. What a riot, huh?”

Not wanting to spend any more time on the subject, Chance turned the conversation back to the business at hand.

“Look, kid. Unless you have first-tier super-strength, telekinesis, command of a primary element, can fly, or teleport, you’re going to have a hard time cashing in on your abilities. Even second-tiers struggle to maintain a steady income.” Chance paused to make sure what he said was sinking in.

“So, let’s start with something simple. Tell me your name.”

“Um, Leonard.”

Chance rolled his eyes. “Not your given name – your moniker. You know, the name that informs friend and foe alike that you’re not someone to be trifled with. You have one, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” Leonard replied enthusiastically. “It’s Crisscross.”

Chance laughed before he could catch himself. “Like the pop singer from the 80s? Or was it the 70s? What were his hits? Oh yeah, Sailing, Ride Like the Wind, probably some others. Why would you choose that for your name? What’s your ability, fading into the background on an elevator?”

“What? No.” This was not how Leonard imagined his first real meeting would go. “It’s kind of hard to explain. When I make physical contact with two people who have abilities, I merge what they do together.”

“So, if one of those people has impenetrable skin,” Chance hypothesized. “And the other can make trees grow spontaneously –“

“Well, in that case, the end result would be trees that can’t be cut, I guess,” Leonard concluded.

Chance thought for a moment. “Not sure how useful that is. What’s more of a problem is you’re dependent on having two other powers with you. Otherwise, zip, right?”

“Please,” Leonard implored. “I just want to be –“

Chance cut him off. Why did he ever get in this business, he wondered. “Let me guess. Special? Appreciated? Noticed?”

Leonard was feeling stupid. He was also thinking he would be working at the warehouse for the rest of his life.

“If this were fifty years ago, you probably would have gotten all the attention you wanted.” Chance explained. “Hell, three hundred years ago, you would have been declared a witch. But it’s different today. Everyone is screened at a young age for ability genes. And over 80% of the population has them. Most don’t bother trying to develop their abilities because they’re generally unremarkable.”

“Take all of those others out in my waiting room,” he continued. “There’s one kid whose amazing power is making things warm. Not scorching. Not even hot. Just warm. He calls himself Heater. Can you imagine that? His name should be Toaster Oven. I’ve got another hopeful out there who changes the color of everything around her to magenta. That’s it. Talk about one-dimensional.”

“Now, in your case,” Chance went on, turning his attention back to Leonard. “I’d not only have to find a gig for you, but I’d have to find two other clients to work with you who had complementary skills.”

That’s it, Leonard thought. It’s over. No agent. No opportunity. Nothing.

Chance watched Leonard. He was just sitting there. It was like watching a sad puppy. No, it was worse. At least you could give a puppy a treat and it would instantly be happy. He had no treats for this kid. Unless, of course, he sent him to her. Sure, it might be nasty, but the kid – Leonard – could try it out and decide for himself. And if he survived, well then, who knows? If nothing else, at least Chance could finish his lunch.