Berry grabbed Sasha's wrist and pulled her toward Room 7. Inside, a woman with tired eyes and paperwork piled high on her desk barely looked up.
"Christan!" Berry said with relief.
"Please, take a seat," Christan instructed Sasha, her tone clipped. Then, glancing at Berry: "And you—wait in the reception."
"Sure thing," he replied, stepping out.
Christan leaned forward. "Give me your hand. I need to take your bios, alright?"
"Right." Sasha offered her hand.
"Good. Now answer clearly. No hesitation."
"Got it."
"Name?"
"Sasha Kings. Kings for Kingsley."
"Age?"
"Seventeen."
"Origin state?"
"Jaids."
"Former state of residence?"
"Jaids."
"Occupation?"
"…Nil?"
"Of course." Christan didn't even look up from her sheet. "Any possession of stran-genes?"
"No—well, none that I know of."
"Home address?"
"Berry's place."
Christan stopped writing, raised an eyebrow. "You should know these things. I'll fill it in for you this once. Don't make it a habit."
"Sure," Sasha muttered.
"Alright. Move to the next room for your photo."
"The next room? I expected more questions…"
Christan gave her a long, silent stare that made Sasha's forced smile falter.
"…Okay," Sasha said quickly, slipping out.
The photo room was empty save for a camera and a white screen. She stood before it, flashed a wide grin, and shut her eyes just as the shutter clicked.
When she returned, Berry was waiting in the reception. Together, they headed home.
That evening, something unexpected happened. Sasha sat Berry down in the quiet of the apartment, her voice steady and uncharacteristically clear.
"You don't know this, but I've been thinking about what you said earlier. You're right. It's kinda dumb to think I could oppose the heroes and win. The only thing I can do now is live a good life… maybe make my dad proud in some other way."
Berry's shoulders eased. He smiled faintly. "I'm really glad you're back to your senses, Sasha."