The Toyota dealership's back office is a monument to corporate mediocrity. Beige walls adorned with motivational posters featuring improbably diverse teams climbing mountains and eagles soaring over inspirational platitudes. A desk designed by committee – functional but aesthetically offensive, scattered with financing brochures and coffee rings that speak to decades of mundane transactions. Two uncomfortable folding chairs face the desk, their metal frames guaranteed to create pressure points within minutes.

  Perfect cover, really. Nothing says "legitimate business meeting" like discussing quarterly projections while "TOYOTA-THON SAVINGS EVENT – ZERO PERCENT FINANCING THROUGH MONDAY" blares intermittently through the thin walls.

  I adjust my monkey mask (the formal one today, full coverage rather than the casual sheet) and review the stack of resumes for perhaps the fifteenth time. Seventeen candidates made it through the scavenger hunt – impressive, considering the physical and intellectual challenges involved. More impressive still that they all signed our preliminary contracts without excessive questions. The beauty of desperation combined with genuine competence.

  Snake Oil sits across from me, tablet in hand, radiating his usual mixture of scientific superiority and barely contained impatience. His extraction schedule has been disrupted for this hiring process, and he's making sure everyone within a five-mile radius understands the magnitude of this inconvenience.

  "First candidate should arrive in approximately three minutes," he announces, consulting his watch with the precision of someone who considers punctuality a moral virtue rather than a social courtesy. "I've prepared a standardized technical assessment. Basic organic chemistry, pharmacokinetics, quality control protocols. Nothing revolutionary, but sufficient to separate actual chemists from enthusiastic amateurs."

  "Excellent." I straighten my tie beneath the mask – a gesture more for my own psychological preparation than any practical necessity. "I'll handle personality assessment and cultural alignment. Remember, we're looking for someone who can work with you specifically, not just someone who looks good on paper."

  His expression shifts marginally, the closest thing to vulnerability I've seen from him in months. "Meaning?"

  "Meaning you have a very particular management style," I say, keeping my tone diplomatically neutral. "Our ideal candidate needs sufficient technical competence to earn your respect while possessing the interpersonal resilience to handle your… direct communication approach."

  "I don't coddle incompetence."

  "No, you certainly don't. Which is why we need to find someone who doesn't require coddling."

  A muffled announcement interrupts: "ATTENTION SHOPPERS, TOYOTA-THON CONTINUES WITH INCREDIBLE DEALS ON PRE-OWNED VEHICLES. ASK ABOUT OUR CERTIFIED USED CAMRY SPECIAL."

  Snake Oil winces. "This location is ridiculous."

  "This location is perfect. Completely forgettable, utterly mundane, zero surveillance interest. Sometimes the best hiding place is behind a giant inflatable gorilla holding car keys."

  The first candidate arrives precisely on schedule – Melvin Broderick, according to his resume. Mid-thirties, pharmaceutical research background, doctorate from UC San Diego, currently unemployed following what his application euphemistically describes as "philosophical differences with institutional oversight."

  He enters with the nervous energy of someone attending a job interview that might fundamentally alter his career trajectory (which, to be fair, it absolutely would). Clean-shaven, professionally dressed, carrying a leather portfolio that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

  "Mr. Broderick," I gesture to the uncomfortable chairs. "Please, have a seat. I'm the hiring manager for this position, and this is Dr. Oilson, our head of research and development."

  Snake Oil barely glances up from his tablet. "Tell me about your experience with controlled substance synthesis."

  The directness catches Broderick off-guard – most interviews begin with pleasantries, requests for personal background, the ritualistic dance of professional courtesy. Snake Oil operates under the assumption that social niceties are inefficient time-wasters.

  "I, uh, primarily worked with Schedule II compounds in clinical research settings," Broderick responds, his voice gaining confidence as he shifts into familiar technical territory. "Pain management protocols, mostly. Proper DEA registration, institutional review board approval, comprehensive documentation requirements."

  "ATTENTION TOYOTA CUSTOMERS, REMEMBER THAT TOYOTA-THON FINANCING IS AVAILABLE FOR QUALIFIED BUYERS. SEE OUR SALES TEAM FOR DETAILS."

  I observe Broderick's reaction to the announcement – slight confusion, possible concern about the professional legitimacy of our operation. Understandable, given the contrast between his pristine pharmaceutical background and our current setting.

  "And your comfort level with working outside traditional regulatory frameworks?" I ask, leaning forward slightly. The question is deliberately ambiguous, designed to gauge both his flexibility and his honesty (though the contract ensures the latter, if I need it to).

  His pause extends longer than ideal. "I believe in following proper protocols. Patient safety, quality control, ethical oversight – these systems exist for important reasons."

  Snake Oil actually looks up from his tablet, his expression conveying the particular disdain he reserves for people who confuse institutional compliance with intellectual rigor. "Mr. Broderick, if you were tasked with improving the bioavailability of a novel compound without FDA approval processes, how would you approach the problem?"

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  "I… well, I'd want to understand the regulatory pathway first. Establish proper phase trials, ensure appropriate oversight…"

  I make a note on my legal pad. Technically competent, philosophically incompatible. Broderick represents the mindset we're explicitly working against – the belief that innovation should be constrained by bureaucratic approval rather than driven by market demand and individual choice.

  The interview concludes politely but efficiently. Broderick leaves with the standard "we'll be in touch" dismissal, clearly sensing that the position isn't developing in his favor.

  "Too institutionalized," Snake Oil observes once the door closes. "He'd spend six months trying to establish proper protocols instead of actually working."

  "Agreed. Plus, he kept looking for external validation rather than making independent judgments. Not what we need for this operation."

  The second candidate – Jennifer Walsh, alias "Blackout" – presents an entirely different profile. Electromagnetic pulse capabilities, community college chemistry background, currently unemployed following what her application describes as "creative differences with previous employers" (translation: probably fired for something interesting).

  She enters with the confident swagger of someone accustomed to being the most dangerous person in any given room. Leather jacket, motorcycle boots, silver jewelry that subtly suggests both personal style and potential conducting materials for her electromagnetic abilities.

  "Jennifer," I begin, "or do you prefer Blackout in professional settings?"

  "Jennifer's fine for business meetings. Though I gotta say, this setup is pretty wild." She gestures around the Toyota office with evident amusement. "Most villain interviews I've been to were either in abandoned warehouses or penthouse suites. This is refreshingly middle-class."

  I appreciate her directness immediately. No pretense about legitimate business, no nervous energy about the unconventional setting. She understands exactly what kind of operation she's applying to join.

  Snake Oil tests her technical knowledge with rapid-fire questions about organic synthesis, purification methods, quality control standards. Her answers demonstrate practical competence rather than academic excellence – she knows what works through trial and error rather than theoretical understanding.

  "Tell me about your experience with our product," I continue.

  "Jump? Yeah, I've used it maybe a dozen times over the past year. Usually the electromagnetic variants, obviously, but I've tried some of the physical enhancement types too. Good stuff. Clean, consistent, reasonable duration. Much better than the garbage Kingdom of Keys was pushing before you guys showed up."

  Promising. User experience, competitive awareness, positive product assessment.

  "And compensation expectations?"

  Her eyes light up with mercenary enthusiasm. "How much does this pay exactly? Because my current revenue streams are, let's call them inconsistent."

  Snake Oil sets down his tablet with audible irritation. "Ms. Walsh, we're looking for someone committed to advancing human enhancement research, not someone seeking a steady paycheck."

  The shift in her demeanor is immediate – from confident professionalism to defensive aggression. "Look, Doc, I'm all about the enhancement revolution, but I've got bills to pay. Rent doesn't get waived because I'm fighting the good fight against government overreach."

  I make another note. Ideologically compatible, technically adequate, but primarily motivated by personal gain rather than systemic change. Useful as a contractor, but not ideal for our core research team.

  "TOYOTA-THON CONTINUES THIS WEEKEND. BRING YOUR TRADE-IN FOR MAXIMUM VALUE ON YOUR NEW TOYOTA PURCHASE."

  After Walsh leaves, Snake Oil and I review our notes in companionable silence. The process is revealing not just about candidates, but about our own operational requirements. We need someone technically sophisticated enough to contribute meaningfully to research, ideologically aligned enough to work without moral hesitation, and psychologically resilient enough to function effectively under Snake Oil's management style.

  The third candidate – David Kim – arrives with military precision and a security clearance portfolio that makes my legal background look quaint. Former Army Chemical Corps, current contractor with various government agencies (none of which he can discuss in detail, naturally), impressive technical credentials, and absolutely no aliases or known superhuman abilities.

  "Mr. Kim," I begin, "walk us through your experience with enhancement substances."

  "Limited direct experience, but extensive theoretical knowledge through hazmat and chemical weapons defense training. I understand the basic principles involved in temporary ability enhancement through targeted neurochemical modification."

  His language is careful, clinical, deliberately avoiding any phrasing that might suggest personal use or illegal activity. Professional discipline, certainly, but the kind of professional discipline that makes me wonder about his true motivations for being here. I wonder, idly, if he's been involved in Project Titan?

  Snake Oil probes his technical knowledge aggressively, testing both competence and comfort level with morally ambiguous research. Kim handles the questions expertly, demonstrating both genuine expertise and suspicious familiarity with our operational parameters.

  "And your views on current regulatory approaches to enhancement research?" I ask.

  "Existing frameworks are inadequate for emerging technologies. Innovation requires flexibility that traditional oversight structures can't provide. Sometimes you have to work outside established parameters to achieve meaningful progress."

  The answer is perfect. Too perfect. Either he's genuinely aligned with our philosophy, or he's been extensively coached on what responses we'd want to hear.

  I lean back in my chair, studying him through my mask. The contract guarantees honesty, but it doesn't guarantee complete disclosure of motivations or affiliations.

  "Mr. Kim, are you currently employed by any law enforcement agencies?"

  "No."

  "Have you ever been employed by any law enforcement agencies?"

  "Yes. Army Chemical Corps, as mentioned in my resume."

  "Are you currently providing information about this interview or our organization to any outside parties?"

  A slight pause. "No."

  Technically honest answers, but the hesitation suggests complexity in his situation that warrants further investigation.

  After Kim leaves, Snake Oil expresses enthusiasm for his technical qualifications while I voice concerns about his potential dual loyalties.

  "He's clearly competent," Snake Oil argues. "Military chemical training, security clearances, experience with classified research. Those credentials don't come easily."

  "Exactly my concern. Those credentials make him valuable, but they also make him potentially compromised. We need someone whose primary loyalty is to our operation, not someone who might view us as a stepping stone or intelligence gathering opportunity."

  "ATTENTION SHOPPERS, TOYOTA-THON FEATURES SPECIAL FINANCING ON ALL NEW PRIUS MODELS. ENVIRONMENTAL RESPONSIBILITY MEETS EXCEPTIONAL VALUE."

  I check my watch. Four more candidates scheduled before lunch, then the afternoon session. The process is illuminating our requirements with increasing clarity. We need someone technically competent but not institutionally constrained, ideologically committed but not mercenary, and psychologically compatible with Snake Oil's particular management approach.

  A challenging combination, but not impossible. After all, we managed to assemble our current team through similar selective pressure.

  The fourth candidate arrives – Dr. Rebecca Foster, PhD in biochemistry from Johns Hopkins, currently between positions following what her application describes as "irreconcilable differences regarding research ethics oversight."

  Now this has potential.