A young man sits in a waiting room with uncomfortable plastic chairs and achingly off-white painted walls. There were a few generic paintings on the wall of landscapes that were beautiful but vague enough to be a rendition of anywhere. The young man slouches in one of the plastic chairs in the corner, playing around with the fabric of his pants. It was clear from the way he dressed that he was there for an important reason. It was not often he wore a suit, but he had made sure that he looked the best he possibly could. He even had his suit ironed at a professional dry cleaners before he showed up for the appointment, and he had spent half the morning on various videos on the internet that were meant to teach him how to properly tie his tie. For the most part, he looked like he belonged there. It was his philosophy that looking the part was half the battle. The other part of the battle was solidifying the fact that he was fit for the part.

He had been there for a little while. He wasn't sure when he was going to be called in for the interview. He figured that waiting for the interview was actually part of the process. They wanted to see how he dealt with stress and how he would react under pressure. He was fine, though. He was a little nervous, obviously, but who wouldn't be when they were being presented with the opportunity for all their dreams to come true with the only caveat being to impress one interviewer? A little case of dithers was nothing to get worked up about. All he needed was a deep breath and to remind himself of his resolute will. He would survive not only the excessively long wait, but he would also pass the interview with flying colors. He would have everything he wanted. He was prepared to beg, grovel, and lie if that was necessary.

The door that led deeper into the building swung open with a low pitched creak. A woman stepped out of the hallway into the waiting room. She looked around the room before her gaze settled on the young man. She had black hair combed over to hide one of her eyes, but the one he could see was sharp and fox-like. She looked him up and down before gesturing for him to follow her. She didn't wait for him to get up. She just turned around, and he was left scrambling to follow her. He couldn't let her get too far away lest he get lost, but he didn't want to rush because that would seem unprofessional.

The woman led him to a room that was oddly similar to the waiting room. The walls were painted the same color with a collection of paintings as ambiguous as the others. The main difference was this room was smaller with a table surrounded by chairs. The other room was all chairs and a couple of magazines thrown in one of the seats. The woman sat down in the chair that faced the door they entered through. The young man slid into the seat across from her. The woman put a manilla folder on the table, flipping it open to a set of papers. The papers were filled with questions and lines, but it was blank in the answer portion. He guessed the interview was going to start immediately.

"Please state your name, age, and date of birth," The woman said, placing a pen to the top of the page, ready to write down everything he said. He took a steady breath to mentally prepare himself. The moment his mouth opened, he would be laying himself bare for this woman to judge him for everything he is currently worth and everything he could be worth to the institution he was applying for. He wasn't scared about that. He didn't mind this brief moment of complete honesty and vulnerability. No, he was more terrified of failure. This was his dream, right in front of him, taunting him. He could hold onto his dream, and he needed to. This woman could snatch it away from him if she saw him unfit.

"My name is Eryn Cyberonix. I am seventeen years old. I was born on July 29th," The young man said. That was the easy stuff, he knew. He could tell just about anyone his name and age. It wasn't enough for anyone to truly understand who he was. No, the heart of the storm had yet to wash over him.

"State your place of birth and your current address," The woman continued after writing down what he told her on the paper with her pen.

Eryn took a deep breath. He didn't like discussing that part of his origin, but he had gone over the facts in his head long enough. He had discussed at length with himself whether he should lie or be vague. He decided that he would need to tread a very fine line between ambiguous and veracity. "I was born in the country of the Nether. My mother is a native from there, but my father came from Essempei. When my parents were killed in a fire, I moved in with my father's parents in the Las Nevadas district on the coast. I've been there ever since."

The one part he couldn't say, not to anyone, was the fact that his mother was more than a native of the Nether. She was one of their most infamous species: a demon. They were few and far between, but the stories about them inspired fear in whoever heard them. The hero Halo was a step in the right direction to prove that demons weren't an entirely evil species. Still, he wasn't going to let prejudice stop him from getting what he wanted. It wasn't his choice for his mother to be a demon. He was just born, and no one could fault him for that. Well, no one should, but society wasn't as kind as it should be.

"Explain your powers in precise detail," The woman said. Her expression didn't even flinch at the possibility of Eryn being a part Netherian. He appreciated that, but he suspected that her expressions didn't fluctuate on the regular.

"I have the ability to secrete and then manipulate this... plasma, I guess? It looks a little like blood, but I've done my research, and I know that it isn't blood. I haven't reached the upward limits of how much I can produce, but I can only manipulate about half my body weight. I can use it to form shields, weapons, and even transportation means. I have used it to unlock doors," Eryn explained. He lifted his hand into the air. From his skin came a thick, dark red liquid that did, as he said, resemble blood. There were noticeable differences, though. It seemed to slightly glow, and it was much thicker than blood. Eryn narrowed his eyes at the liquid, and it suddenly began to float in the air. Eryn twisted his hand around. The liquid responded by morphing its shape into a sphere, a cube, and a spiky star. Finally, the liquid settled its shape on a knife with a thin but sharp blade. It dropped into Eryn's awaiting palm, and he slashed it around a little to prove it didn't lose its shape with movement. "I don't know if it has a proper name. I call it ichor, in any case."

The woman examines the ichor for a moment before writing it down on her paper. "Very well. In the future, when you discuss your powers, you are to refer to it as ichor. That will become its official name. Next question. In as many words as you need, explain to me your principles, morals, and motivations."

Eryn swallowed thickly. They were roping all of those complex ideals in one question? Eryn knew he would be talking for a while, but the woman did say he could use as many words as he needed. It was her fault if he talked too much.

"Well, I really don't like arson, but I think that's more because I lost my parents to it than me thinking it's an unjustifiable crime. I think lying is a circumstantial thing. In general, it isn't good because that is what usually leads to mistrust and problems, but I know there are scenarios where it's perfectly acceptable. Theft is also a rather tricky subject. In some cases, the thief is only doing it for food or to buy some shelter for the night. I can understand why someone would turn to that. The real issue is when they steal from people who work hard for what they have. I think that if the thief is trying to forge an honest life for themselves, stealing is as huge a crime as it would be if the thief wasn't just content to steal for the rest of their lives. Violence is another one that I'm actually rather neutral on. Domestic violence is not something I tolerate, but I think that duels, or a less honorable word for it, bar brawls are actually fine. If both parties are fighting each other, like they both agreed to duke it out, what's the point in stopping them? Some people will only learn if the lesson is taught with a good punch in the face. That said, these fights should not disrupt public order. Some people just want a drink at the bar, or they want to walk down the street without getting roped into some fight. Murder is one that I can... well, I can see why some people turn to it, but I don't know... I don't think fallible humans should have that kind of power over others. I mean... someone killing their abuser or someone who was going to kill them is acceptable. Those people aren't really human anymore. They are little more than wild animals, and we're allowed to kill those, aren't we? It might just be me, though. I'd never kill anyone unless they attacked me with the intent to kill me. I'd try to subdue them first, obviously, but if it comes down to my life or theirs, I'm choosing mine. Unless they aren't trying to kill me. If I had the choice to save myself or someone else, I would try my best to rescue us both, but if that can't be achieved, I would choose them. I can see the value in blackmail and cheating. There are some uses," Eryn explained.

He knew that he was unique in his ideas for the most part, but it took him so long to come this far. When he was younger, he was more like his mother than his father. He truly believed in the ideology of the Nether: survival of the fittest. He thought anything was okay as long as he got to live in relative peace at the end of the day. His grandmother had worked extremely hard to put some manners and morals in her grandchild.

"Now, my principles. I'd say that people should always try their best to put themselves in the most advantageous position they can. Hard work, whether it be physical labor or utilizing a clever mind, is what makes the world go round," Eryn said. That was a belief he had held onto since his childhood. It had been modified over the years due to his new sense of morality, but the core concept had remained the same. "As for my motivation, I'm... not really sure. I don't think I particularly want to help people. I don't want money or fame. I think I just want a practical way to be violent. I've always been a fighter. Growing up in the Nether, arguments devolved with fights instead of using our words. I still have some of those instincts in me. I can't just fight random people on the street, so I'm applying for this job."

"And what job would that be, Mr. Cyberonix? What are you applying for?" The woman asked. She was now looking Eryn in the eye. Her gaze was apathetic, but he still felt something strange twist in his chest. He didn't like the way she made him feel. It reminded him of a snake in the line of sight of a hawk. A cold-blooded, uncaring apex predator staring down at a pitiful creature that believed itself incapable of being prey.

"I want to be a sidekick," Eryn said without hesitation. If she was going to make him feel this level of instinctual terror, he might as well push back with a challenge. He kept his face neutral, but he knew that his eyebrows were brought down enough to create shadows around his eyes. One of his eyes was as red as ruby fire, and the other was gray like the smoke that departed from the location of the fire. He had been told before that they were foul things, but he had no problem weaponizing them.

"Why is that? Most people want to try out for a hero immediately," The woman asked, the eyebrow Eryn could see raising. This was the first sign of emotion Eryn had seen from her, and he wondered why it was this question that made her want to show off her feelings.

"All my favorite heroes were once heroes. In fact, my favorite hero right now is a sidekick. He's the one that works for Dream. I don't know if you've heard of him," Eryn said with a small smile. He thought his life would end up with him getting killed in a bar fight. He never had lofty goals or bold ambitions. That all changed when he witnessed the hero Dream and his sidekicks in action when he had recently arrived in Essempei. While he had been fascinated by the prospect of violence being a valid career, his attention had been immediately grasped by one of the people there. The sidekick in red had powers that mystified Eryn, partly because they looked like his ichor and partly because they seemed to be based on chaos. Whatever the sidekick touched was either flung around like a ragdoll or completely decimated. Eryn researched the sidekick until he came upon the name 'Reverie'. There wasn't much about the sidekick, but he got in touch with another person online by the username 'Bee_Boy' who shared links to all the websites he had about Reverie. Eryn didn't care much for the judicial ideas of hero society, but he would enjoy beating up criminals and meeting some of his heroes, including Reverie.

"That is true. Most heroes were once sidekicks. There is a higher likelihood of becoming a hero that way," The woman noted, writing down what he said. He blinked in surprise. He didn't think what he just said was important, but the woman found it crucial enough to jot down. "It will be some time before you can become a sidekick. No heroes are currently in need of one."

"I can do some service work for the Hero's Association. That will look good on my resume. I might just get a real good hero if they know I've been this helpful," Eryn noted. He didn't want to do chores for the association, but he knew that getting his dream position would require this kind of manual labor. It was all for the greater good.

"I understand. There are a few positions that I think will benefit you. They will allow you to gain some practical skills that will be helpful for any sidekick," The woman said. She pulled the packet she was writing in aside to show a list of jobs with brief descriptions. She seemed like she was about to show them to Eryn for him to pick one, but the door behind him swung open. Eryn and the woman looked to see the receptionist who had ushered Eryn to the waiting room enter the room with wide, darting eyes. The receptionist leaned down to whisper something in the woman's ear. The woman visibly startled, and Eryn wondered what she was told for her to react like that. The receptionist left, her eyes turning pitiful when they passed Eryn.

"There has been a change in plans. You will be a sidekick to a hero that has just now requested one. Ms. Sara, the woman you just saw, will give you the paperwork that you will need to fill out. Furthermore, you will need to take a short training course to teach you some of the basic skills a sidekick needs to know along with some physical combat training and a run-down of the rules imposed on heroes," The woman said after a brief lapse in silence.

Eryn's eyes widened. Who could the hero be if it made the woman react like that? It had to be someone important if their simple demand could be instantly fulfilled. He couldn't hold his tongue. He had to ask, "Wait. Who's the hero? Who will I be working with?"

The woman hesitated. She opened her mouth to tell him before looking away. She seems pained. She stood up, her fists pressing into the table. She finally breathed out. The one eye Eryn could see met his own eyes. She searched his face before finally coming back to his eyes. "The hero is... Dream."

Eryn's personality is a little off from his canon one. This is mainly because c!Eryn is more chaotic and murder-y, and I wanted to make him a hero in this story. I had to dial it back or reframe it to make it fit. I hope you guys didn't mind and still enjoyed this chapter.