The Schema sent Nil back to the spot from where he’d been summoned. He wasn’t splattered against a Met-Police van. Instead, he stood on the pavement’s edge, his back pressed against one. The vehicle beeped as soon as he stepped away from it. Nil needed to set a safe recall space for future returns to Earth. It was noon, and if the Schema had dropped him off in the middle of the road, Oxford Street traffic would’ve flattened him.

“Hold it!” A police officer stepped in front of Nil before he could move. The thumb-long string of alien text tattooed across her neck suggested she was a Summoned. She carried no tools or insignia to hint at her discipline, but her eyes had a sheen similar to Mila’s. “We’ve been waiting for you, Mr Roy. You’re coming with me.”

“Am I under arrest?” Nil asked, eyes darting to the holstered Arthurtech weapon and handcuffs hanging from her belt.

“No,” she replied. “But you’re detained. 

“Look. I know it didn’t look good with me sprinting out of a war zone, but I had nothing to do with whatever happened in Soho last night.”

“You’ve been gone for two days, Mr Roy.” The policewoman’s demeanor and tone was much friendlier than that of the officers before his summoning. Two of her colleagues watched from inside the van. “You’re not in any trouble. 

“The officers were searching for a criminal mage. Your summoning proved that you’re not a Summoned. Scanning your ID told us you have no priors. Though stupid, your bravery saved two officers’ lives. If anything, the Metropolitan Police force owes you a commendation.” She walked to the police car parked in front of the van and held the rear passenger door open for him. “Unfortunately, the quantity of unregistered Summoneds has increased recently. So, I’m the local escort to the closest registration center. Your compliance will convince my superiors that you’re not connected to Summoned gangs.”

“Doesn’t the police have better things to do than wait around for me?”

“Following recent events, the higher-ups have decided to post two vehicles in this location. My shift is almost up. Someone will replace me in a few minutes.”

Nil sighed. “I planned to declare myself as soon as possible. Can’t I exchange my Schema credit as an unregistered, can I?”

“You’d be surprised by how many blow their Schema Credits in the Nexus Market, then come back to find themselves broke and jobless,” the officer explained. “If we leave the decision up to them: register and follow government guidelines or make easy money as a gang enforcer, guess what the majority pick.”

“It can’t be the majority, can it?” Nil asked, not resisting as she gently pushed him into the car. The officer placed a hand on the top of his head, ensuring he didn’t hit it on the top of the door. “The news says Summoned crime is rising, but I thought it was a quarter or third.”

“I work in vice, not analytics, but the statistics rarely lie. This is based on projections of how many Summoned blow their early earnings in the Nexus Market. Of course, we cannot confirm this, but given how many halfwits we arrest daily, I believe the numbers.”

Unlike the police van, the car wasn’t Arthurtech. Nil was sure an Expended-empowered kick would have no trouble forcing the door open. He could run for it, and once inside Soho, the police officer would struggle to find him. Fleeing would keep the government from restricting his freedoms, and Nil could take longer quests, keeping him away from Earth for months at a time. He would only need to worry about the mandatory one-week rest time between them. No government would dictate where he lived, what jobs he could undertake, or constantly monitor him.

The freedoms would come at a cost. Nil would never get to trade his Schema credits for gold or local currency. His family would face questioning and spend the remainder of their lives under constant surveillance. The latter was the price Nil refused to pay. 

“Why did you do it?” The officer asked, breaking the silence.

“What?” The abrupt question forced him out of his daydreams and musings.

“Why did you risk your life to save Officer Johanssen? I’ve seen the footage and can’t make up whether you’re brave or stupid. Did you know her?”

“No. Nothing of the sort.” Nil hesitated. He often didn’t like talking about the incident and generally skirted the topic. However, whatever bothered him before didn’t anymore. “A tweaking Summoned killed my girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry. Your records didn’t mention anything of the sort.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Nil said. “This happened just over seven years ago. Her parents didn’t want her dating someone like me—”

“Someone like you?”

“Her parents are Indian, and I’m only half. They weren’t keen on her spending time with boys outside of their community, let alone dating them.”

“So you kept your relationship a secret?”

“Only our closest friends knew about us.” He sighed. “We were visiting Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. A Summoned dealer got high on his own supply and ripped through the ice skating ring.”

“I remember that,” the officer said. “My mum and I were planning to visit, but the incident came on the news, and she swore we’d never go to Winter Wonderland again. Even though we have Summoned officers posted around Hyde Park year-round, Mum won’t go near it or let us visit. Were you there, too?”

“I watched the bastard cave in her face and failed to do anything to stop him.” The words came out easily but didn’t sound like his own. Seven years was a long time for most, but flashes of the incident still haunted him. Aisha’s visage sat in the car next to him. The bloody park and ripped jeans ensured he never forgot about his failure.

“If I remember correctly, he was a brute-discipline Summoned with some strength and recovery-enhancement power. You couldn’t have done anything even if you tried.”

“I know,” Nil replied. “It took me forever to accept the fact, but I know that now. When I saw the police wom—Officer Johanssen, lying on the ground, getting clobbered, everything came back all at once.”

“The rage?”

“No. The desperation. I just couldn’t stand to see the same thing happen again.”

“This isn’t an official statement from the Met Police, but thank you,” the policewoman said. “Officer Jones’ carelessness could’ve cost the force a valuable life and maybe resulted in far more destruction. Your actions slowed and distracted the tweaker long enough for backup to reach them.”

“Is Officer Johanssen okay?”

“She suffered a few broken bones and a concussion. She’s only an acquaintance, so I haven’t checked in personally, but I heard she plans on accepting a quest once she feels a little better. The fountain will fix her right up.”

“You’re a Summoned, too, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she replied. “Psionic discipline.”

“Is the city almost exclusively hiring you—us lot nowadays?” He recalled seeing the Psionic discipline far down Layla’s chart. It gave Mind and Spark equal weighting as primary attributes and used Finesse as a secondary.

“It might look that way, but no. We are often deployed around Soho, Hackney, Islington, Wembley, and its borders. Command wants us where the Summoned gangs are most active. Why? Are you considering a career change?”

“No. Just curious.”

The police car stopped halfway between Tottenham Court Road and Leicester Square station in front of the local branch of the Nexus Bank. The buildings also served as the Summoned registration and housing assignment center.

“You won’t run if I don’t escort you in, will you?” The officer said. “My shift ended just as you reappeared, and I want nothing more than to finish my day.”

“I won’t run,” Nil replied. “My dad will kill me if I become a fugitive.”

The policewoman laughed. She unlocked the car’s doors, and Nil exited. She stuck her arm out of the car before he could walk away, holding out a card. “I have your contact details and will be checking up on you. My number might prove helpful if you want any information regarding decent luduses. I know living amongst civilians, friends, and family is comforting, but there is value in habitating with other Summoneds. It's safer for you legally when things go wrong. Being around people with lives similar to yours will help, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. The thought of joining a ludus already crossed my mind—more for the training facilities and power guidance, though.”

“Understandable. Think about it, and once again, thank you, Mr Roy.”

Once the officer drove away, Nil marched into the Nexus Bank, eager to discover the current exchange rates. A receptionist and signs directed him to the Summoned registration center in the basement. He needed to get on the system before accessing the rest of the building. Nil spoke to the woman at the desk, and she had him wait for an available agent.

He checked his phone in the meantime. Nil wasn’t surprised when he found a long list of expletive-laden messages from his chef. It started with notifications of his lateness, then demands to know his location, and then threats to his job. He had received double the number of messages when he didn’t show up for a second day in a row.

“Where the hell are you?” Chef demanded when Nil called.

“The Nexus Bank on Tottenham Court Road.”

“No.”

“I didn’t make it home the day before yesterday.”

“Fucking hell, Nil. What did I tell you? The sous chef position was contingent on you not doing anything stupid like quitting after six months or becoming a Summoned.”

“It's not like I asked for this, Chef. The choice was between trying to survive with life-threatening injuries or becoming a Summoned.”

“Are you coming to work today?” Chef asked. “We have a party of twenty in the private dining room. I need you.”

“I don’t know how long registration and all the formalities will take,” Nil replied. “I need to update my family on everything as well. It’s unlikely—”

The chef hung up on Nil. When he rang the man again, the call went straight to voicemail. 

“Everything okay, sir?” the man at the registration office’s reception desk asked. 

“I’m pretty sure I just lost my job.”

“That’s unfortunate. I’m sure one of our agents can help you figure out your options. We offer job-seeking services for Summoned.”

“It’s mostly police and Corpo security jobs, isn’t it?” Nil asked.

The man nodded. “It’s primarily for people who’ve served the Schema for a while and get long breaks between quests. They’d rather risk their lives here than in some alien world full of dragons, manticores, and all the other stuff. A job might not be necessary if you intend to work frequent quests. The earnings might be significantly greater than anything you’d earn with Earth-side employment—based on your discipline and core skill, of course.”

“Unless I’ve got a Thinker or Artisan discipline, right?”

“You won’t need our assistance if you got one of those,” the receptionist replied. “Just let us add your registration details to the public registry, and employers will hunt you down themselves.”

“What about the luduses?”

“We’re only allowed to discuss those tied to government jobs. You’ll need to approach the appropriate agents or organizations if the question is related to the Apocalypse Arena.”