The Champions building stank of Spandex.
Men and women in various degrees of dress and undress came in and out assorted offices while Blake waited in line. He was the only man in a suit, the only man not in spandex, and probably the only “human” they let into the building. However, he was a lawyer, and that carried clout.
He stopped at the information desk. “Supergroup registration,” he snapped.
“Down the hall, fourth door on the left.”
Blake picked up his briefcase and went down the hall. There was no line here, but a closed door. He opened the door and stepped inside.
A typical bureaucrat stood at a counter helping a man in leather, wearing a rackish hat with a plumed peacock feather on his head. The bureaucrat was using a computer, and saying to the other man, “You can’t call yourselves ‘Doctrine of Evil’.”
“Why not? It’s a free country.” The man in leather seemed put out.
“This is a super-hero registration?”
“We do heroic things.”
“Evilly?”
The man waved his head back and forth. “No…”
The clerk took the paperwork. “We’ll have to put this up to a vote in the committee. They meet every Thursday in the main room. I’ll put this on next week’s agenda.”
The man frowned. “Okay, I guess.”
The clerk put together the sheets of paper into one sheaf and dropped them on the desk behind him as the man walked out of the room. Blake stepped up to the counter and set his briefcase on it. “I’m the attorney for Michael…” He pulled out a paper. “LeBonte,” he read off of it.
“Name of the group he’s requesting?”
“Teen Guardians.”
The clerk sighed. “Another teen group. Does he have–”
Blake dropped a pile of papers on the counter. “Forms 1-8, form 16, 16A, 16B; form 45; form 62; and forms 12H-K in duplicate.”
The clerk blinked.
Blake smiled. “It’s what I get paid for.”
“Do you have their communication device?” Blake handed over a plastic bag with a cobalt ring inside it. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
The clerk took the plastic bag and stapled it to a form. The clerk punched up the information. “Mr. LeBonte’s been in UNITY only a couple of days.”
“Form 62 explains his past heroic efforts in Paragon City.”
The man nodded. “And form 45 says they’re accepting members; we’ll publish the group in our next catalog which is coming out in a month or so.”
“Very good, sir.” Blake closed his briefcase and shook his hand. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
Blake left the building, exhaling. As long as the guy wasn’t a mage, all those documents would pass muster. He hoped.