Always begin from a position of power. This is what Panu had been taught. If you hit them and they were down and begging, then you could ask anything and they could not refuse you. This was how Tuonela, his family, had operated. It had worked very well until it hadn't.

He went through the list again. Xavier's Sister School, the Sanctuary shelter, Faust Pharmaceuticals, Jaager Worldwide. These were the ones in New York City. There were bigger ones in other countries, maybe better ones. But he was a small Finnish boy with very blonde hair. In most of Asia and Africa he would stand out too much. He did not want to stand out right now, not when his biological parents would be looking for him, and maybe (probably) the Finnish police. There was a group in Australia who was promising, but he did not like the heat, and he did not like spiders that could eat birds, so he did not think he would like Australia. Central and South America had much potential, but he did not like their infrastructure—less cameras, less networks, less wifi routers. That could be his backup plan, maybe. The drug cartels were always looking for capable mutants, Tuonela had sold many children to them. He could sell himself very easily if this did not work out. He was obedient and useful. He would be treated well.

New York City. There were 12,460 traffic lights, 7,660 of which were tied to one central control system. 61.477%, most of them localized in the city proper. Traffic cameras and business cameras and tourist cameras. Financial districts that relied on computer trading. And four potential places to go, the highest concentration of any location on his list.

Overhead, a ding sounded, and then the voice of their captain. Weather conditions were good, they were expected to arrive on time. Fasten your seat belts that will not at all help you if the plane were to crash over international waters. Turn off your electronic devices as they may interfere with inflight systems.

...That would be bad.

Panu took a deep breath, then politely worked on disconnecting himself from the plane's computers. A woman towards the back of the plane was ignoring directions, and looking online at purses. He switched her phone into airplane mode, as well as the phone of a man watching sports, a teen streaming music, and several more. He searched, but there were no more. Everyone was behaving now.

He returned to his list.

Xavier's. A school for mutants. It had been attacked and/or destroyed repeatedly in the past but had a better track record recently. They accepted students K-12, so he was not too young. He had never been to a school. It might be fun, and he could always leave if it wasn't.

He dug through the files he had downloaded before going offline. Class listings. Basic schedules. History. Staff list. There was an ice mancer, which was cool. (He allowed himself a small smile for the small joke.) An omni-ligual language teacher, a math teacher who could animate sketches. They seemed nice. Better: they seemed semi-powerful, influential. They worked with police sometimes (not ideal). It did not seem the safest, but he could help them with that. And there was a lot of information about them, a lot he could read through to make sure it was not a mistake to go there.

He paged through news articles. He had translated them to Finnish before take-off, but had not checked the quality. Some of the words didn't make sense, maybe? It was hard to tell when mutants were involved. Maybe there really had been a clay Christmas tentacle behemoth, and a… a laser death clown? (That one was recent, the other was old.) And people becoming costumes. Did they turn into cloth? He wasn't sure. But someone from Xavier's had reversed the process. She had walked up to the mutant causing it and everything had stopped.

Panu's hands clenched in his lap. The plane jolted: not something he caused (he double-checked he was still disconnected). They were just accelerating down the runway. Soon they would be in the air.

“Nervous?” The woman next to him said. He didn't need to turn his phone her way to hear the smile in her voice.

Panu shook his head. A small, tight motion.

“Don't worry. Flying alone can be scary, but your parents will be waiting to pick you up at the end, yes? My son--”

He muted his audio intake. She was distracting.

...After a moment, he turned the sound back on, just a hair. He did not want to listen to her, but he liked the sound of her voice. It was pleasant.

He took a deep breath, and let it go. His list. This was a very serious problem. A woman who made a mutant's powers stop? Maybe it wasn't, but maybe it was: a Blackout. The English was… Adapted? Maybe she wasn't, but maybe she was. If she was then hopefully her room would burn down while she slept. Panu did not like Adapteds. He moved the school to the bottom of his list.

The Sanctuary. Many mutants, many strong mutants. The articles did not say it in as many words, but he knew how reporters sounded when mutants were so strong that the polices' eyes slid away from them, like pretending you did not see the monster hiding in your closet. That was good. But bad. But good. He liked strong mutants. But his family had been a lot like them, and if their family wasn't careful, then they would step on ants and step on ants until they stepped on an anthill. Then it did not matter how strong they were and how many they killed, because the swarm would kill them. Especially if there were Adapteds in the swarm. He moved the Sanctuary to the bottom of his list—no, second from the bottom. They were still better than the school-with-Adapteds.

Faust Pharmaceuticals. This was a very very good option. Their CEO was a woman mutant, many of their staff were mutants, they hired mutants all the time for their projects, and many of their current drug trials were focused on mutants. Curing mutants was not ideal, but hopefully that was just a shady cover story and they were really doing terrible things in their labs. That would be better. Then they would not care about child labor laws or reporting him to the authorities. He pulled up a clip of the CEO speaking. She was blonde and young, and looked confident. She smiled as a microphone was stretched out to her--

--and Panu's hope went up in smoke, much like the electronics near her. No no no. Faust Pharmaceuticals, deleted. Not an option. EMP mutants were worse than Adapteds, they were like pond scum that grew and killed all the fish, except the fish were his eyes and ears and mind. No no no no no.

The plane reached the end of the runway, and lifted, pressing him back into his seat. They rose and rose. A steady pressure built in his ears and in his head. His list was looking less good than it had when he had boarded the plane. New York City was looking less good, but he was on his way there already.

Jaager Worldwide. Please please please don't have Adapteds or EMPs or, or, mandatory acid baths. Whatever was worse than Adapteds or EMPs, he didn't even know.

He shoved his hands into the pouch of his hoodie, and went through what he had on them.

Jaager Worldwide. Led by Ambrose Jaager. A young CEO, only twenty-five. The previous CEO, his father, had passed away just before he assumed control.

Maybe he had killed the man to take power and hid it well enough that the media did not know. This was promising. If the father had died of boring natural causes that was also okay, but less promising.

He kept reading. High concentration of mutant staff and mutant hiring, a focus on pharmaceutical drug trials aimed at a mutant cure--

--Had he accidentally overwritten this file with the Faust file? Combined the data? No, the wording was different even if the meaning was the same. Competing companies, then. Good. They could put the EMP-woman out of business so she could rot in a hobo box in some other city.

There was a recent video clip. Some sort of recorded livestream. Panu pulled it up with great trepidation, knowing, just knowing, that something would go horribly wrong. He scanned the data quickly, not able to bear watching it at normal speeds--

He was right. But. Ah. It was okay? The wrong was that the man was okay with taking off clothes on video. But he was a physical mutant with great big wings, so it made sense that he did not like shirts. Panu could live with this.

There was nothing else bad. Nothing at all.

He relaxed in his seat, and let his audio turn back to normal volumes.

“You look like you feel better,” the woman smiled at him again.

“I do.” Panu found that he could smile, too.

He would hit Mr. Jaager. When the man was down, when he knew that Panu was strong and useful, that was when Panu could ask to join him, and Jaager would have to say yes.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," Ambrose muttered beneath his breath. He sat at the head of the table of board members, listening to them discussing budget cuts - apparently, all the funding they were pouring into some government-sanctioned job was too much. The government could wait, they were saying - they just couldn't spend as much money as they were spending now on it. Back and forth the bickering went, gradually escalating as two clearly defined sides tried to get their point across.

Ambrose was playing Fruit Ninja below the table on his phone.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated, a text notification sliding down from the top of the screen. Madeline - or, as her number was labeled, "Her" - saying, "Look up."

Right behind the glass door was Madeline, staring very disapprovingly at Ambrose's clear inattentiveness. She rapped once on the door, and the arguing board members stilled to turn and look at her. Opening the door, she stepped in and turned to Ambrose.

"Mr. Jaager," she drawled, "Your eleven o'clock is here."

He frowned, glancing at his watch. Ten fifty-five. The board meeting was scheduled to go from ten-thirty to twelve.

"I haven't got an eleven o'clock," he said, puzzled, as he slid his phone very stealthily into the pocket of his suit jacket.

"Your calendar says you do," she said primly. "And it doesn't seem to me as if you leaving would have much impact on whatever is decided." Ambrose sighed as there was a faint spattering of laughter from around the table. He pushed himself away from the wooden surface and stood up.

"My apologies; if you'll excuse me," he said, and walked out, trailing after Madeline.

As soon as the door shut beside them, Ambrose stated in confusion, "I don't have an eleven o'clock. What's this about, then?"

"You do, in fact," Madeline said, sounding every bit as unsure about it as he did. "Even though I checked your calendar this morning and you didn't then."

"As did I," Ambrose murmured. More loudly, he asked, "Well, where are they, then?"

"Uh, just a he, actually," Madeline responded. "A singular he. A very... small, singular he. He's here, in the Niflheim conference room. Funny thing, though - I can't get a read off of him."

Ambrose nodded, confident that even if this person meant to attack him he'd be able to handle him as Madeline held the door, and, straightening his collar, strode in. She shut the door behind him, and Ambrose scanned the room as it thunked shut. Upon finally locating the room's sole occupant (having had a bit of trouble doing so) he frowned down at him, successfully confused.

"Who in the world are you?"

He walked past the skyscraper again. The fourth time. He didn't really worry about being spotted by anyone in the lobby, because it was only the receptionist, and she was busy on her computer. She was doing actual work, which surprised him—he was used to passing secretaries who had internet forums and videos hidden behind their other windows. A receptionist who was responsible when no one was around to watch her was a good sign for the company.

He was not worried about cameras, either. He knew exactly where they looked. He didn't try to take them over or edit their livestream or anything time consuming like that—he simply slotted himself at the side of the adults who were walking past, and became invisible. He was very short and that was useful. When he grew up this would be much more work.

The passes allowed him to keep the building in his range as he worked his way into their network. Most of their servers where in his reach already, so it was fairly simple to reach out his fingers (his mind-fingers) and scrape in the few that remained, the ones that were on the upper floors. There was nothing too exciting, except that the accounting department was extremely creative. That was reassuring. If Mr Jaager was entirely above board then he would just call the police.

Panu retied his shoes, and made sure his headphones were straight. Then he went inside.

...Tried to go inside. The revolving door wasn't an automatically rotating one, and he had to push at it to get it moving, and it took most of his weight, and then it went really fast and he had to jump out at the end before it ensnared him in its death circle.

He liked regular automatic doors much, much better. They behaved themselves.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist called out.

Panu straightened his headphones again and trotted up to the front desk. He stood on his toes, and put his elbows on the counter. He was holding a brown paper bag. “My dad works here my mom's outside he forgot his lunch can I bring it to him?”

He had once brought a bomb into a building this way. This time the bag held only string cheese. He had bought it at a store, mostly so he could get a paper bag that looked like a lunch bag.

The receptionist smiled at him. “Who's your dad, sweetie?”

“Micheal Jameson. He works on fifth floor? Accounting?” Panu kept his voice soft. If she noticed his accent, this would get much harder. Michael Jameson was a real person, who was working on a spreadsheet reconciliation on the fifth floor right now. If accounting was truly an art, he would be Picasso. The background of his computer showed two young boys, both blonde haired, one of them about Panu's age. Parents made it very easy for Panu to identify them.

This is how Panu got a very official laminated vistor's pass to clip on his hoodie. He got into the elevator, and did not go to the fifth floor.

He went to the CEO's office, and peeked over another desk just outside. This one was shorter, and he could see over it without doing anything silly. Behind it was a tiger who did not look amused.

“Can I help you?” They were the same words as the woman downstairs, but the tone was completely different.

“I'm Mr. Jaager's 11 o'clock.”

“Mr. Jaager does not have an 11 o'clock.”

“Now he does.” This was true. She was logged into her calendar on her computer, so updating it was very easy. Across all synced devices, Mr. Jaager's 11 o'clock showed up as an entry created by Madeline Brass.

The woman looked at her calendar, then back at him. There was a certain narrowing of her eyes that was much more impressive when they were tiger eyes. But he couldn't show fear to a secretary. "I think he wants to see me. You should get him. I can wait." 

Her eyes stayed narrow, but he saw a flash of teeth, just briefly. He thought it was a smile. "Right this way."

He checked down the hall she was pointing towards, but there were only offices and conference rooms. Nothing worrisome. He gave her what he hoped was a proffesional nod, and followed.

She deposited him into one of the empty rooms, and left again. He sat down in a plush wheelie chair. Swung his legs, a little. Tucked his cellphone so that its camera eye was peeking out of the edge of his hoodie. Swung his legs, a little more. Finally he opened up the paper bag, and took out a string cheese.

When he saw her coming back, the winged mutant from the interview in tow, he hurried to shove the half-eaten cheese back in the bag and the bag on the table no wait under the table so that everything looked really neat. He didn't stand as she brought Jaager in, because standing was something you did to show deference. He stayed sitting, right at the head of the table.

“Hello Mr Jaager. My name is Panu. I am the new owner of all your computers and data and also your schedule. If you pay me I will give them back.”

The phone in the man's pocket had a paused game on it, something stupid with bright pictures of fruit. Panu's eyebrows drew together as he realized that. "Unless you are not the one in charge here. Then bring me that person. I do not think you are in charge if you are playing games during a..." He checked what Mr. Jaager's actual 11 o'clock was. "...a board meeting."

That sounded important. Panu would be unhappy if Ambrose was just a figurehead, but it would explain a lot about how the man acted on the internet.

“Hello Mr Jaager. My name is Panu. I am the new owner of all your computers and data and also your schedule. If you pay me I will give them back.”

Um.

What?

"Unless you are not the one in charge here. Then bring me that person. I do not think you are in charge if you are playing games during a... a board meeting." Ambrose at least had the decency to look affronted at that. Because he was. There was a tiny child in his conference room sassing him and... threatening him.

That was kind of adorable.

Well, it was very adorable.

"Well, thank you very much for the vote of confidence," he said dryly. Technomancer, then - he wasn't stupid. The kid had worked himself into Ambrose's schedule somehow and was aware of precisely what he'd been doing. A valuable asset, then, but oh my god he was so fluffy. "I am, in fact, the one in charge. Just because I'm irresponsible during board meetings discussing things that I have the last word on anyway does not mean that I am an inept CEO, thank you very much. The question is, who are you, and you cannot possibly be the one in charge. Because nobody trying to extort me would be so absolutely adorable. Seriously, you tried to threaten me. You are eight. Anything you do is automatically cute and in no way threatening."

This was not the reaction Panu was used to. Normally it was an adult talking while they used him as a threat, but he had been there for some of these negotiations, and this is not how they went.

Panu was not very good at reading faces. It wasn't often that he had an eye pointed directly at their expression. The camera in his hoodie pocket was angled upwards. It could see the man's chin very well, but the rest of his face was at a slant, harder to see and harder to decipher. The security camera in the room looked down from above and behind, catching the back of the man's head. Body language was easier--more dramatic to see on film. Tone of voice was the best, but it was hard to tell what words the man was stressing. The English moved so fast, and he did not know which word was which. He could pause for a more careful translation but then the man would know something was wrong with him. He could not be weak.

So he was not sure. But he was pretty sure. That the man was being condescending.

This is not how it would have gone if he had an adult with him. This is why he needed an adult to back him, again.

Since he could not read the man's tone, he went with the safest option, the one that let Ambrose read into Panu's words whatever was appropriate: a complete and utter deadpan, spoken in his soft voice.

>> "Well, thank you very much for the vote of confidence,"

"You are welcome." 'Vote of confidence' was some kind of idiom. But the statement itself didn't seem important, so he didn't cast further afield to see what it really meant.

"My name is Panu," he made sure to say that part slowly, and he hoped that was right for conveying how stupid it was to ask again who he was. Maybe he was not the only one who didn't speak English here. "I am deleting all of the games from your phone now. If you call me adora--ador--" That was a very hard word to pronounce and he did not like it. "If you call me cute again I think I will delete everything from your secretary's computer next. Maybe then something from your research lab?"

He stared down the man (...while staring up). He hoped that his organic eyes were pointed at the man's eyes, it was hard to tell the angle with only two cameras. But the point was not the staring: the point was that it bought him quiet time to replay the audio. Twice. Adorable, adorable. Okay.

"I am the eight-year-old who will destroy your data piece by piece unless you sit down." His neck was starting to hurt and anyway Jaager was just being obnoxious. One more time: adorable.

"I am not adorable. I am very threatening." He got it right that time. He knew he did.

"You are welcome." Hmm. Ambrose could detect a faint Eastern European accent - the child definitely wasn't born in America like Ambrose was, that was for sure. Especially since he didn't seem to understand sarcasm, though that may be because he was eight and did eight year olds know what sarcasm was?

"My name is Panu," the boy said very slowly, as if Ambrose was stupid. "I am deleting all of the games from your phone now. If you call me adora--ador--" ...was he struggling to mispronounce adorable? Somehow, Ambrose found himself focused on that rather than the fact that the sole game on his phone was being deleted (Madeline had enabled parental control, so he couldn't have gotten any more). "If you call me cute again I think I will delete everything from your secretary's computer next. Maybe then something from your research lab?" So he was being threatened. And despite the fact that the perpetrator was eight and had the complexion of a tiny vampire, he started to slip into the mode he went to whenever he perceived any sort of threat.

"I am the eight-year-old who will destroy your data piece by piece unless you sit down. I am not adorable. I am very threatening."

Ambrose was almost at a loss for words. What in the world was the boy trying to do when he looked so huggable? He was trying to push that thought aside in the face of a very real threat to his company, but it was difficult. Very difficult.

"Well, how about this," Ambrose said pleasantly, taking a seat next to Panu. "You don't delete anything. You repair any damage that you may have caused. And you will accept that you are the single cutest thing to walk into this building. Why would you do that, you may ask?" And Ambrose let his claws slide out from his fingertips, waving the wickedly sharp points at the child's face. "Because then I won't kill you." And he smiled, sharpened teeth just barely showing. "And believe me, I will. You're a technopath, aren't you? Then you'll know none of the cameras here are equipped with sound. There would be no way to trace your body -" and he tapped a claw gently against the boy's forehead - "back to me. So I highly suggest you back off, my fluffy friend. Should've done more research before trying to threaten me."

The man sat down. Panu watched him from the room's camera, as he pulled out the seat next to Panu and settled himself. This put him out of the view of Panu's phone, but that was okay. The room camera had a very nice side view.

Sitting down was important. Sitting down meant that the man was starting to understand that the adorable eight-year-old could destroy him. This was more like Panu was used to being treated, when Tuonela had brought him to meetings.

The man's tone and cadence did not change. But on the camera, his body language definitely did. Panu did not see the claws initially--they were very small, when viewed from so far away. But he knew what threats looked like, and he stayed very still as the man waved a hand in his face. Against the contrast of his own pale skin, the black claws showed up very clearly in the image. They felt very sharp against his forehead, like a cat's claws, but weighted so that you only needed to let them fall and they would cut.

The translation matched the action. The threat was re-iterated several times, in varying complexity, which allowed for very little misunderstanding.

A little bit of tension went out of the boy's body. His shoulders stopped trying to be perfect squares, and he let out a breath. A death threat. And not a novice death threat, a worthless I'll kill you that anyone could say. An experienced death threat. A professional death threat.

The man had accepted that Panu could hurt him, and had admitted that he was the type of man who would hurt an eight year old. Good. Now they could talk.

Panu adjusted his headphones. They'd slipped a little when the man had poked his forehead. Then, he gave a quick nod. "Okay. Your fruit game is gone already but I have not hurt other things yet. Now you know that I can do what I say I can do, yes? Now I am useful?"

He did not know what 'technopath' was. Latin or greek roots all jumbled together, the way English speakers liked to do. But he understood from context that this is what his power was, in English, and that the man knew what he could do.

"Now you can pay me?" Were those the right words? The man hadn't seemed to understand them earlier. Panu spun a few others through the translator: "Employment? Job?"

He shoved his hands into his hoodie pouch, and nodded agreement with the man's terms. "I can accept that I am single cutest thing if you will pay me for it."

Um.

Was Panu relieved that Ambrose had just threatened to kill him?

Oh my god, he was. That was what he had been waiting for, it seemed - for Ambrose to become a legitimate threat who accepted his status as a similarly legitimate threat. The boy nodded.

"Okay. Your fruit game is gone already but I have not hurt other things yet. Now you know I can do what I say I can do, yes? Now am I useful?" If this child had been anybody else, Ambrose would likely have smiled and led him to the blind spot near the dumpsters behind the building and rapidly disposed of him. But this was an eight year old. A horribly cute eight year old. And one with a mutation that Ambrose wanted on his side.

"Now you can pay me?" This was hurting him. The little kid wanted a job, that was all, and the threat had just been to prove to Ambrose what he could do. He was trying to prove himself, and oh god, he looked so adorably sad and hopeful as he did so. "Employment? Job?"

Ambrose sighed, looking Panu over. His eyes were unfocused - it didn't seem as if he could see Ambrose, and if he wasn't using his organic eyes yet could still see what Ambrose was doing, it was likely that he was using something in the room that was technology-related. The camera in the corner, perhaps? There were a couple in the table, currently encased in the wood, that were used for conference calls with people who couldn't meet with Ambrose in person. Leaning over, Ambrose flicked the switch beneath the table, and a camera rose, right in front of where Panu was sitting (there was one per seat, in case of large, long-distance meetings). He twisted it to face him, and when he spoke, he faced Panu but periodically glanced down at the camera.

"Of course I will. You've proved yourself, that's for sure - most adults wouldn't dare threaten me. A few terms, though - you can play in my systems, but don't modify anything without explicit permission. If you need anything, ask me or the tiger lady - that's Madeline, my secretary, but refer to her Miss Brass or she'll get upset." He wasn't trying to be patronizing, of course - he'd already suspected, judging by the child's wording that sounded very much like something being inputted into Google Translate, that his English wasn't too good, and was trying to accommodate for that with simplistic language. "Finally, make sure that you have both my and Madeline's numbers - you can get those easily, I assume - so you can contact us if you're in trouble." Panu nodded, and what he said next left Ambrose slack-jawed.

"I can accept that I am single cutest thing if you will pay me for it."

Oh my god. Ambrose just wanted to hug him, and wasn't that a foreign feeling. He shook his head slightly to try and focus back on business.

"That's all for terms, but now for some important questions - why did you come to JW for a job, and what precisely is it that you want in a job? What can you do?" Of course Ambrose was going to let him have a job; the child was too cute to ignore. The question was what job to offer him, and he had to find out the boy's motivations - he wasn't going to stop looking past that veneer of childish charm just because it was... words could not even begin to describe the absolute preciousness that was Panu.

It was almost impossible to read the man's face from the one camera Panu had on him. His body language was not encouraging. It was... still. And sighing. Panu could see the man looking him over, but he did not know what to read into the motion. Jaager had not said anything yet. Panu had said everything he had come to say but Jaager was not saying anything back.

The boy's shoulders began to tense again. His hands found his cellphone in his pocket, and wrapped around it. Not to do anything--his hands could not do anything quicker than his mind could. Just to have something to hold on to.

The man's eyes flicked briefly to the camera in the corner. Panu's eye. The boy's hands tightened.

Jaager knew.

The man knew that Panu was organically blind and people who did not know him, did not understand, they thought this was a weakness. They didn't understand that their own stupid eyes were weak, and Panu's many eyes were the true strength. His parents had coddled him like he was... like he was five. He could not be weak, they were in the middle of negotiating. But if he tried to explain he would sound weaker, and what could he do, he didn't know, deleting things would not make things better and he did not have anything that could explode and he wasn't used to doing this alone--

Jaager pressed a switch in the table. Electricity flowed through circuits, and many more eyes came to life in Panu's range, staring into darkness. The boy sat very still as the man used his hands to clumsily interface with the cameras, sending orders to them through controls like he was drawing with crayons. Panu could have done things much faster and better, but he left it alone. The man trying to say something without using words.

This was... kindness? No, people who would threaten eight year olds did not have kindness. This said I know your weakness, and I am choosing not to use it against you. This was better than kindness, safer: this was acceptance.

"Thank you," Panu said softly. Now that the man knew, the boy let his gaze drop to his lap, stopped trying to pretend like his eyes were any good, or that eye contact meant anything to him. "May I use the others? Many eyes are better." Now that the cameras were awake, he could have raised them from the table himself. But he thought it was better to ask.

The man's terms were very good. Read-only permission of all systems, with write privileges on request. He was allowed to call the tiger secretary or Jaager, either of them. Jaager valued him enough that Panu did not have to go through minions if there was something important. The boy nodded, determined not to call the man unless it was something really, super, incredibly important. He would not be a bother.

Somehow the man's words were easier to understand now. He did not know why, but he liked it.

And now questions about him. Asking what Panu wanted, instead of telling him what to do. This was a strange way for a leader to act. Maybe something was wrong with the translation after all? Or maybe Jaager was a little soft, despite his threats. Still, Panu made sure to answer him very well. All points covered.

"Xavier's has Adapted and works with police, Faust has E-M-P, Sanctuary is stepping on ant hills, Australia has spiders, I am very white so not Asia or Africa, and cartels were back up plan. Jaager is best option in New York and New York has many networked systems so it is good for me. Also I think you probably have killed your father for power and did not get caught, so that is good too."

"I can do everything with computers. They like me. I do not actually need pay, because ATMs like me too. But I need home. And adults. I am very small so adults do not fear me in your country. In Finland they know better, but I think people do not know Swans here, so it is... fresh start?"

"Any orders are okay, I am not a good boy. Just tell me what to do."

While they were talking terms... Panu fidgeted, but it was such a small thing, the man couldn't mind. He blurted it out:

"Also I would like a Dog." Wait, no. That wasn't the right word. That was the name, not the object. He tried again. "A... toy helicopter? With camera? Dogs are useful."

The Finnish police had confiscated his Dog, because they were bullies and also stupid.

"Thank you," the boy said, and Ambrose couldn't help but feel just the tiniest bit pleased with himself. He wasn't very good with children, and he knew that - he was "too much of an adult," apparently, but that seemed to be something Panu was looking for. "May I use the others? Many eyes are better." Ambrose nodded, understanding from a tactical viewpoint how advantageous this was - without his organic eyes to mislead him, he'd have the advantage of various different perspectives, all combining to give him a significantly more thorough view of a potential battlefield than a normal human would have. Ambrose envied him, just a little bit, considering just how horrific his eyesight was. As for why Panu had chosen JW as an employer instead of the many criminal groups in the country - that intrigued him a bit.

"Xavier's has Adapted and works with police, Faust has E-M-P, Sanctuary is stepping on ant hills, Australia has spiders, I am very white so not Asia or Africa, and cartels were back up plan. Jaager is best option in New York and New York has many networked systems so it is good for me." Well, that was very sound logic. The Australia part wasn't diminishing Ambrose's opinion of Panu's adorableness, though, considering Panu didn't seem to realize that the worrisome spiders did not freely roam Australia murdering everything. He'd been there a few times before, and the most terrifying thing he'd seen was a cassowary. "Also I think you probably have killed your father for power and did not get caught, so that is good too." Ambrose raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. This wasn't the first time he'd heard this accusation, of course - many conservative reporters had told him the same thing, saying that with his mutation he might as well be a wild animal. But he'd been exonerated when his alibi - having been at a meeting miles away at the time - had come through.

Of course, they'd all neglected to consider that flying was a lot faster than anything else. And they had taken an unusually long break midway through the meeting. Clever boy for figuring that out, though - and Ambrose totally didn't preen at all when Panu said that it had impressed him.

...maybe just a little bit.

"I can do everything with computers. They like me. I do not actually need pay, because ATMs like me too. But I need home. And adults. I am very small so adults do not fear me in your country. In Finland they know better, but I think people do not know Swans here, so it is... fresh start?" So he was a full-fledged technopath. Lovely - those were always extremely helpful. Especially since this one understood how to play the system, both literally and figuratively. Anyway, giving him a home was easy. Ambrose rather wanted Panu on hand, because he was useful and because he was cute, so his large mansion was the obvious choice. What was this about swans and Finland, though? He presumed that was where the accent was - the boy was Finnish. The swans, though...? He would ask about that. Panu was still speaking for now, though.

"Any orders are okay, I am not a good boy. Just tell me what to do." Good. Ambrose hadn't expected the child to be the fearful kind with fluctuating morals, and he wasn't. "Also I would like a Dog." The boy frowned and Ambrose did too. He wanted a dog? Like, a living, breathing, animal? Seemed unlikely. "A... toy helicopter? With camera? Dogs are useful." It took Ambrose a moment, but eventually he determined what Panu was referring to - a drone, then. That was easy, considering JW had at least an entire team dedicated to building drones. He was confident, in fact, that there were at least twenty sitting in storage right now, unused. It seemed as if they'd have a purpose now after all.

"I can get you very many Dogs," Ambrose responded. "And it's a very good thing you can follow orders well, because I think I may have the perfect job for you. I also have a place for you to stay, should you want it - it's the same place I live. One question first, though." And Ambrose paused briefly for effect. "What are these swans, and why is you being one of them important? Is anyone looking for you back in Finland that might jeopardize you being here in America? Because I like making things legal. You're not in trouble if there is a problem; I just need to know about it so I can fix it."

Jaager would let him have a Dog. Many dogs. Very many dogs. Perämies had only ever let him have one Dog. It had been small and cheap but it had been his. None of the other children at Tuonela had been allowed things of their own, but Perämies had brought it home one day and said it was his and he'd even yelled at Ahmatti when she'd tried to snap off its wings. All he needed to do was complete Jaager's perfect job. He could do that, for Dogs.

"Does your home have many cameras?" The boy asked hopefully. "Or guns in the walls?" These were things that made a home much, much better.

The next question made him feel strange. Like a cup that somehow had air at the bottom underneath the water, or a bird looking up at its nest from the ground. Tuonela was Tuonela. Everyone knew it. Except this was America, and Tuonela was very small, much smaller than he thought they were, and no one knew them here. He reached up a hand and touched his headphones. He saw the action through many eyes, now that he had raised all the cameras from the table: many eyes, many angles. His hand briefly covered one of the swan decals before dropping back to his lap.

He had told the police that the headphones were special, that they worked with his powers, that he was deaf without them just like he was blind without his phone. This was a lie, but it was an easy lie, when he could mute audio every time they tried to take them away. He did not want them to take his headphones like they had taken his Dog.

"Tuonelan Joutsenia. Swans of... Tuonela. It does not translate. Place were dead souls gather? But not hell or heaven. Finnish souls only, I think."

He did not explain further. There was something that hurt in his throat when he tried. Why is you being one of them important? Jaager asked it like... like he had asked what are swans, or who are you. They were questions that weighed a lot. Panu needed that weight to stay inside him or he would have nothing at all. Jaager did not know what any of these things were, so how could he explain them?

Tuonelan Joutsenia were kidnappers, killers, human traffickers, terrorists. They were jailors and friends and family and people he hated and people who hugged him and let him ride on their shoulders when he had done a good job. He was Tuonelan Joutsenia now, the only one whose wings were not clipped. Just Tuonelan Joutsen--just one swan, now. In the story, there was only one swan anyway. It swam with the dead and their memories in Tuonela, at the end of all things.

Panu shook his head, though he did not know what he was denying. "If you do not know Swans, it does not matter. They are dead."

He could answer the other questions. They were easier. He tensed at first when the man asked if anyone was looking for him, but Jaager sounded patient, not angry. The blonde child gave a little nod.

"Finnish police will look. I deleted the computer records before I left, but they know me, so probably there are paper records too." He swallowed, and adjusted his headphones with both hands, making sure they were on snug. "Also my parents. They think I am their son but I am not."

Panu had said he was not a good boy. This was true. Panu's parents had hugged him when the police gave him back to them. They had put him back in his bedroom with the nightlight on the wall, and treated him like he was a good child who had been held by bad people.

Good children were used until they were not useful anymore, then they were sold or killed. Panu was alive and he was free. He was not a good boy.

His parents had treated him like an eight year old, but an eight year old swan was not a child anymore.

"What is the perfect job? What things will I do for you?"

Anything was okay. But... some things were less okay than others. Some things he had to do and then make himself forget.

"Does your home have many cameras? Or guns in the walls?" Panu asked hopefully, and, well... no. The defense systems were all exterior, as were the cameras. The house itself had been stripped by Ambrose himself of anything of that sort, because the last thing he needed was a defense system failing to recognize his monster form and shooting him, then having to go to work with bullet holes. Camera removal had been a similarly obvious choice, considering that was one of the main places Ambrose would transform, and it could not be recorded. But he was sure he could work something out to accommodate Panu.

"Tuonelan Joutsenia. Swans of... Tuonela. It does not translate. Place were dead souls gather? But not hell or heaven. Finnish souls only, I think." ...swans of the underworld? Finnish swans of the Finnish underworld? "If you do not know Swans, it does not matter. They are dead." By this point, Ambrose had deduced that Panu was referring to a gang of some sort that had taken its name from the local mythos. If they were dead, though, that was irrelevant, and if Panu didn't want to talk about it, then he wouldn't push. He was pretty confident Panu would have deleted any records that he'd have wanted to find, anyway.

"Finnish police will look. I deleted the computer records before I left, but they know me, so probably there are paper records too." Well, that was thoughtful of him. Ambrose could easily hire someone to destroy the paper records - the electronic ones had been the hard part, and once those were taken care of, everything else was easy. "Also my parents. They think I am their son but I am not." That was more important. Parents could not be made to easily forget about their son.

Well, maybe, if you had the right mutation. Ambrose just figured it would be easier to find another way. But he'd work that out later.

"What is the perfect job? What things will I do for you?" Panu looked slightly hesitant this time around, though, as if he were worried Ambrose would say something in particular. Something specific that he didn't want to have to do. That was easy; children didn't like some things, and Ambrose would leave those things to the adults who were more set in their ways. He just needed to know what those things were.

"Er, no cameras," Ambrose said apologetically. "Or weapons - inside the house, that is. There's a huge security system outside on the grounds, but we can definitely work something out for inside the house itself. Also, thank you for telling me about the Finnish police and your parents - we can deal with them at a later date." Well, now that that was covered, he had to move onto more important things.

"Now, I need to tell you what you don't want to do," Ambrose said, eyes cold to show that this was not kindness, but practicality. "If you do not wish to do it, then I need to know. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe that you will fail me when I need you. Everyone has some things that they are less comfortable with than others, and that is merely a matter of delegating the correct jobs to people. This is not a weakness; it is merely part of being a team." He paused, glancing up at the camera in the corner. "Now would also be a good time to make sure none of the footage from our meeting can be found or seen ever again," he said pointedly. "And once you've done that - have you ever heard of Ragnarok?" They'd been active for a little over a month now, but had only come to public attention about a week ago. He knew a couple of very public attacks, seemingly random, had been connected to the mystery faction previously, but it was seven days ago when the manifesto sent in to the NYPD had claimed the attacks of the work of Ragnarok. The media had gone crazy, so Ambrose would sure Panu would find something somewhere.

No cameras or guns inside the house. Jaager's tone was... apologetic? He was a very strange adult, to actually care what Panu wanted. Probably it was tone only, and he did not really feel it. But still. If the man felt the need to act like he cared, maybe Panu could ask for something and he would act like he cared about granting it. 

"Maybe live cameras only? Seeing, but no recording?" No cameras usually meant people did not want recordings. For normal humans--and normal mutants--a camera that did not record was useless, so they did not even think of them. But for Panu, any camera was a very good camera. If he wanted to record something, he did not need a factory-approved device to do so.

Keeping the weapons outside was fine with Panu. If attackers got past them and into the house, then more guns would not help. Once people were inside, everything was over.

>> "Also, thank you for telling me about the Finnish police and your parents - we can deal with them at a later date."

"You are welcome," the blond boy said, his blind eyes still on his lap. Inside of his hoodie pocket, he was holding his phone very tightly. He did not want his parents dealt with. He just wanted them... to go away, to find a better child. One that could be for them what Panu wasn't.

If he spoke up, would Jaager think he was weak? Would he hurt Panu's parents just to make a point?

Jaager already suspected his weakness. His next questions were spoken reasonably (or maybe there was a threat in the words that did not translate), but they were clearly a test. 

"Any orders are okay. Just tell me what to do," the Finnish boy repeated stubbornly. Jaager said he didn't believe Panu would fail, that this was a matter of delegating, but these were words words words. Adults liked to use words, then they did things anyway. Sometimes they made him do things because he had answered their questions. "Maybe I do not understand 'delegating,' but in Finnish this means using me for things I am good at. If it is computers, then I am good at it. It does not matter who am I used against." 

If it did, then the list would be long. If it really mattered, if it would change anything, then he did not want to do anything bad. But that was not an option. Good people were weak. They got hurt and killed by bad people. It was better to be a bad person. Safer.

He nodded at the man's suggestion to delete this room's footage. He started by turning the camera in the corner off. These little table ones would not record without being hooked to something else, so they were no problem. He had enough eyes with them that he did not need the wall camera. Part of his mind occupied itself with tracing the data back along its lines, to a computer and then a server. He spread outward from there, scanning other files, deleting everything that showed a small blonde boy walking through Mr. Jaager's halls. 

The other part of his concentration stayed in the room with Ambrose. Keeping his attention on the man's words was harder than keeping his attention on the cameras, or the deletions: he was not as good at purely organic things. Also he was not sure he wanted too much of his attention in that room, in his own head. If Jaager was going to punish him for not really answering that last question, probably he would do it soon. Children were like pets, Johtaja said: they had to be punished quickly after they had done something wrong, or they would not learn. Mr. Jaager was smart, so he would know this too.

...It was probably better if less of him was here. Panu sent another part of his attention searching for Ragnarok. Probably this was another test. If he said no without looking, then it would show that he was too stupid to look before answering. 

It was a quick search. Not even hidden, just a google news thing. 

"Ragnarok is group behind some attacks on city. They went public a week ago with manif--mani--with paper to police and media. Leader is known mutant Jabberwocky, new name for Ragnarok is Jörmungandr." It was nice to have a word he knew how to say. 

An image search brought up blurry images of this Jabberwocky. Not many, but some. A large black dragon, with familiar wings.

"That is quick search. Let me know if you want police search. It will take longer but I can do it, Mr. Jörmungandr." 

Saying the name like that was risky. Panu was sure he was right (mostly sure), but maybe saying it would make him sound like he was trying to be too smart, and Jaager would be angry. But if he didn't say it, maybe he would seem stupid, and Jaager would be angry at that. Panu did not know what kind of adult the man was, yet.

Well, Panu may not have done his research, but Ambrose supposed that it didn't really matter when he could do it instantaneously anyway. Like he was clearly doing now. But the inference was all him - and something that nobody else had even considered, most finding the notion too absurd. A billionaire CEO who was secretly a monster wreaking havoc at night? Blasphemy.

"Very good," Ambrose said, smiling slightly. "Jabberwocky was an undirected weapon; an agent of chaos wreaking havoc as he felt fit. Jörmungandr is a gun pointed in the right direction - and so is Ragnarok."

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest. "Tell me, Panu. Do you know who Huginn and Muninn are, and what they did? Because I suspect that you'll make a brilliant Muninn." He continued to speak, not waiting for Panu's response. "He is the embodiment of memory and flies off each day to gather information about the world, to report back to Odin every night. I do think you'd be the best choice for that role."

Jabberwocky and Jörmungandr and Jaager were all very easy to connect, once you knew that Jaager would murder an eight-year-old. Then it was very easy to see. Context made it easy, too, with the man asking about these things, and leading somewhere with the questions. Also it was normal for the adults in his life to be monsters, so Panu did not consider the possibility that Jaager was not the black dragon. He would have been very surprised if the man was not. But he was not very surprised at all when the CEO confirmed things.

He did preen a little at the very good. He adjusted his headphones a little jauntily, and did not shove his hands back to hide in his pocket. They could stay on his lap. Because very good.

Ragnarok.

Several of the cameras followed the CEO as he leaned back. The diabolical finger tap on the armrest was a good touch, very evil without being as overboard as tapping his fingers together. Jaager had a sense of class to his little movements. Never overplay the villain card, Perämies had taught him. A magnificent bastard is more entertaining for all parties. Panu approved of his new employer.

The next question was easy. He was Scandinavian. Finnish first, but also that. He opened his mouth to speak, but it had been a rhetorical question.

But still. For the record in his own mind. Yes he knew who Huginn and Muninn were. They were good birds.

Any minor sulking list to his shoulders was dispelled as the man continued. He perked up, sitting a full inch taller.

Muninn. He was going to be Muninn. It was not a swan's name, but ravens were also good birds. Something in it felt right, too. There were many dead behind him, and probably some ahead. A raven was much better with these things than a swan.

"I think," the blond boy said, "that Mr. Jaager has very good taste."