A dilemma of legal proportions

Next on your schedule is hand-to-hand combat training on the field, with Larry, whose teaching method seems to be half drill instructor, half YouTube fitness coach. There, you also meet the sixth member of the super-powered group: Hurricane. The bulky black guy doesn't seem overly fond of conversation, preferring to silently loom in the back.

"Friendly guy," you mutter to Rachel.

"Yeah, none of us can get a read on him," she murmurs back. "He's barely said a word, but according to Jemma he can generate miniature lightning storms."

Larry takes you all through some of the basic principles of jiu-jitsu, gets you to practice them, then shows how it can be applied against an untrained opponent. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly knows what he's doing - though you're suspicious of how intimately he engages Sparrow, Foxgloves, and even Ultragirl. So far it all seems professionally justified, so you hold back - your pheromones won't be nearly as effective outdoors, after all. But as you see him standing centimetres from Rachel's back, helping to adjust her poise, you know a confrontation is coming, and soon.

At dinner, you again sit with Rachel to your left, Carly opposite you and Ben diagonally across. A few seats further along, Ultragirl and Hurricane sit opposite one another, eating their curries in silence.

"We have this evening off, right?" asks Ben.

"I think so," beams Rachel. "You guys want to hang out?"

Carly lazily wipes sauce off her black lips. "Only if we get to properly flex our abilities. I'm tired of feeling like a lab rat, sitting in a tank and having tests and scans run on me."

"Hey, hold that thought," you interrupt. "Official-looking people incoming."

The others follow your gaze to the approaching black-suited men, who - to your surprise - take the seats between you and Hurricane. You all look at them, not sure what's going on.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Mr Green, and I represent the government's - and the country's - interests. To be specific, their interest in you. If you don't mind me interrupting your meal, I'd like to lay out the contract we'd like you to have with us."

"I mean, we kind of do mind..." drawls Foxgloves.

"But we can see how this takes priority," overrides Ultragirl, with a pointed look at the green-skinned girl. "Please, go ahead."

Mr Green nods seriously. "Mr Archer has the complete documents here." The man next to you pulls a thick wad of papers out of his briefcase, and hands out a 60-page copy to each of you. "Signing will make you official employees of the Special Pantheon for Extraordinary and Rarefied Mutations. You will be paid $50,000 each year, and be afforded the full legal rights of your position. In return, you will undertake all training demanded of you, and perform any role requested of you, including those which involve risk to your own person."

You flick through the endless lines of text in front of you. Most of them seem to be involved in absolving the government of any responsibility for your safety, whilst binding you to do anything they say - everything from espionage to firefighting to press coverage seems to be on the table.

"What happens if we don't sign?" It's the first time you've heard Hurricane speak. His voice is deep, slow, and very ominous.

Mr Green pins the big man with a cool stare. "Then technically you will be in illegal possession of massively destructive weapons, and be treated and processed by law enforcement as such."

Several mouths fall open around the table. You're gobsmacked; just having a mutation is enough to be arrested? They're essentially giving you **** but to submit to the will of politicians.

"There, signed." You turn with surprise to the far end, where Ultragirl is putting down her pen. "May I just say how glad I am to be able to serve my fellow countrymen in this way, and I vow that I will always -"

"Thank you, Ultragirl, your cooperation is much appreciated," interrupts Mr Green.

"Can we get a few days to read this properly, and think it over?" you ask. "And shouldn't we be given an attorney to look at this?"

The suits frown at you. "I'm afraid if any third parties see this contract, including lawyers, it constitutes a breach of the statute of secrecy," says the man on the right.

"Don't forget, by signing, SPERM is obligated to continue supplying you with medical care, training, and equipment such as the suits you are currently wearing," Mr Archer offers.

You put down the papers with a sigh. "Just a few days to think about it, and maybe propose some amendments. That's all we're asking." You ignore Ultragirl's ****-stare, and focus on Mr Green, allowing your pheromones to wash over him, weakening his resolve.

"Fine," relents the suit, to the surprise of his colleagues. "You have 48 hours to consider. But after that, we'll need your signature."

The officials get up and leave, taking Ultragirl's contract with them.

The minute they're gone, the Amazonian blonde is standing over you. "What do you think you're doing, Alpha {if Futa==true}Woman{else}Man{endif}?"

Carly answers on your behalf. "Stopping us all becoming government drones like you, dumbass."

Ultragirl clenches her fists, furious. "This isn't some regular employment contract. And we're not regular people. We have a responsibility to be public servants, and a responsibility to be accountable for our actions. It doesn't make any difference whether we're legally bound or not, because we should be doing the same thing either way."

"But Ultra-G, they basically want us to be paid slaves," rebuts Woodpecker.

Despite Ultragirl's physical proximity to you, she seems to barely be affected by your pheromones. In fact, your instincts tell you that your pheromones are less effective against all of your fellow mutants, than against regular civilians. So you try a more balanced approach.

"I understand that you want to do the right thing, but the public isn't always right. Crowd psychology creates strange results, which we shouldn't be subject to. But we really shouldn't be direct servants of the government, and not under this contract. What if they told us to topple a government, or even commit genocide?"

"They're not going to..." begins the blonde uncertainly, but you plough on.

"How about the media campaigns? They've already started trying to use us as political propaganda. And if we break our contract, or refuse to sign, they claim the right to use any **** they like on us - maybe tanks, drone strikes, apaches, you name it. Ultragirl, if you want to be a real hero, you shouldn't have signed that contract."

The white-and-gold clad woman clenches her jaw, clearly fighting a mental battle. "You're wrong," she says eventually. "You'll see." With that, she picks up her tray and storms out.

As soon as she's out of earshot, Ben laughs incredulously. "That was amazing{if@ Futa==false} dude{endif}!"

Carly nods her agreement, smirking. "Pretty hot stuff there, {if Futa==true}Mikaela{else}Michael{endif}." You tense as {if Futa==true}through your boots you feel a touch{else}you feel a cold touch{endif} on your ankle, then relax as you recognise one of Foxglove's vines.

"That contract is actually pretty scary, though," says Rachel seriously. You do your best to pay attention as the vine slips under the hem of your leggings, and starts working its way up your calves.

"They'll give in." Carly seems totally relaxed, keeping a teasing eye on you as her tendril encircles your kneecap, then {if Futa==true}slides{else}pushes{endif} further upwards. "They're totally bluffing, the political fallout if we walk out and they try to stop us would be nuclear."

Your thigh tingles as the slick vine curls around it. "Yeah. I think you're right. I just hope Ultragirl will see the light - she's too powerful, too dangerous to be their puppet."

{if Futa==true}"Oh, I don't think she's the most dangerous person here," grins Carly - but as her vines prise their way under your bikini, her confident expression falters, turning to one of amazement as she discovers your multisexual package. The smile soon returns, however, as one tendril wraps around your hardening cock, another slipping into your vulva.
"She's much too inhibited to ever do anything interesting." She looks at you, and her eyes add the words, Like this. The vine wrapped around your dick starts rubbing and pulsing in time to the throb of your heartbeat, and the shaft in your pussy begins fucking you in synchrony. It's all you can do not to moan, for fear the volume of your pleasure would deafen the entire room.{else}"Oh, I don't think she's the most dangerous person here," grins Carly, as her tendril wraps around your hardening cock, the snake-like vine sliding over your leg as it cocoons your entire shaft. "She's much too inhibited to ever do anything interesting." She looks at you, and her eyes add the words, Like this. The vine starts rubbing and pulsing in time to the throb of your dick, a second one slithering up the same leg to reach your balls, to squeeze and play with them.{endif}

"She is the strongest of us, though," muses Ben, completely oblivious to what's going on beneath the table. "And completely invulnerable. I don't like to think what it'd be like to try and stop her..."

"Well, we don't know until we go out there and see what we all have up our sleeves, will we?" Foxgloves licks her lips, looking at you. "Let's go to the big field and show each other what we've got." All too suddenly, her vines withdraw from your suit, leaving your legs and crotch slick with all-natural oils, but leaving you just shy of the really good stuff.