Villain Recruitment: I'm Just A Psychic

The air was cold and damp, carrying the faint scent of fuel and salt.

I stirred, my senses returning sluggishly, like a swimmer surfacing after too long underwater.

My head throbbed, and my body felt heavier than it should have, each movement sluggish and foreign.

I blinked, trying to make sense of the blurry shapes in my vision. Gradually, the world sharpened.

A low hum reverberated through the ground beneath me, steady and mechanical.

The first thing I registered was the massive private jet in the near distance.

Its sleek body reflected the pale morning light, its windows dark and impenetrable.

A few feet away, I could see the faint shimmer of heat rising from the engines.

That explained the fuel smell, but it didn't explain why I was here—or why I was slung over someone's shoulder like a sack of grain.

The man carrying me moved with a calm, deliberate pace.

His long, dark coat billowed slightly in the wind, revealing glimpses of the impeccably tailored suit underneath.

Even without seeing his face, his movements radiated confidence and control.

Whoever he was, this wasn't his first time abducting someone.

So fragile. Like glass. But that raw power… it's there. Unpolished, but there.

I stiffened, unsure if the words had been spoken aloud or if I'd heard his thoughts.

My own thoughts felt clouded and sluggish, like wading through thick mud.

I gritted my teeth, forcing my muscles to respond as I twisted sharply in his grasp.

"Put me down!" I croaked, my voice hoarse from disuse but rising with desperation.

The man halted mid-step, his boots clicking softly against the asphalt.

He glanced over his shoulder, his expression a mix of amusement and faint curiosity.

His dark eyes seemed to gleam with their own light, as though he found my resistance mildly entertaining.

Ah, he's awake. That complicates things.

"You're awake already?" he remarked, his tone smooth and laced with condescension.

"Impressive. Most people would still be unconscious after that."

"I said, put me down!" I growled, my fists pounding uselessly against his back.

Interesting. He woke up quite quickly even though I had healed him.

"As you wish," he said, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

Without warning, he shifted his shoulder and dropped me unceremoniously onto the tarmac.

The impact jarred me, pain shooting through my palms and knees as they scraped against the rough surface.

I hissed, biting back a curse as I scrambled to my feet.

"What the hell is your problem?" I spat, glaring at him. "You think you can just kidnap people like this? Who even are you?"

He straightened, his coat falling back into place with a practiced sweep.

His dark hair, neatly combed, barely moved in the breeze, save for a few strands that framed his sharp, angular face.

He looked like he had stepped out of a designer ad—impeccably polished and utterly indifferent to my fury.

"Who I am isn't important right now," he said coolly. "What matters is that you're alive—and you should be thanking me for that."

"Thanking you?" I snapped. "For what? For abducting me?"

"For saving you," he corrected, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Do you have any idea what would've happened if I hadn't intervened? You'd be in a government black site by now. Or worse."

I froze, his words cutting through my anger. "What are you talking about?"

"You're a wanted man, Jayden," he said, folding his arms as though he had all the time in the world.

"You killed two government operatives last night. Left their bodies in a parking lot for the world to see. And as if that wasn't enough, you nearly killed a third—your friend Anna."

"I didn't…" My voice faltered, the memories rushing back with brutal clarity.

The knife.

The invisible men.

The surge of power I couldn't control.

Anna collapsing.

My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. "I didn't mean to…"

He raised a hand, cutting me off. "Intent doesn't matter. The facts do. And the fact is, you're a threat now. To them. To their order. To everything they stand for."

I shook my head, taking a step back. "No. That's not true. I didn't want any of this. I'm not a—"

"A villain?" he interjected, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But the world doesn't care about your self-perception, Jayden. To them, you're dangerous. And dangerous people don't get second chances."

My chest tightened, my breathing shallow and uneven. "Then why didn't you just leave me there? If I'm such a 'threat,' why go through all this trouble?"

"Because I see potential in you," he said simply. "Raw, untapped potential. And because the world isn't as black-and-white as you seem to think."

Before I could respond, the sound of heavy boots against the tarmac drew my attention.

A second figure emerged from the shadows, her imposing presence dominating the space between us.

The woman was tall—easily six feet—and built like a tank.

Her platinum-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight braid, and her sharp blue eyes scanned me with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

She wore a black tactical jacket over a grey shirt, and her arms—thick with muscle—were crossed over her chest.

She looked like she could snap me in half without breaking a sweat.

He's just a boy. We don't have time for this. He'll break before he bends.

"Are we ready for take-off or are you still wasting time?" she asked, her voice carrying a thick Russian accent that made her words sound more like commands.

The man turned to her, his smirk softening slightly. "Nadya, meet Jayden. He is soon going to be our newest recruit."

"Jayden, meet Nadya. She's my pilot, among other things."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked me over. "This is the boy? He looks like he couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag."

"I'm right here," I muttered, glaring at her. "And I didn't ask to be here."

She snorted, clearly unimpressed. "And yet here you are. Lucky me."

Nadya's patience is paper-thin. She won't like this assignment.

"Nadya," the man said, his tone carrying a warning edge. "You'll handle his training."

Her gaze flicked back to him, her expression hardening. "I thought you were personally going to be in charge of his training. That's what you said."

"Plans have changed," he replied, his voice unyielding. "There's a conflict brewing in your homeland. The president needs allies."

Nadya's jaw tightened, her fists clenching at her sides.

Of course. Use me. Always using me.

"The president is a good man," she said finally. "He doesn't deserve this."

"Which is why you'll be fighting for him," the man said evenly. "And Jayden will be at your side. There's no better training than real experience."

"Wait—what?" I blurted, my pulse spiking. "You're sending me into a war? Are you insane?"

The man's gaze locked onto mine, his expression unreadable.

"You said you didn't want to be a villain, Jayden. Here's your chance to prove it. Fight for something bigger than yourself. Or stay here and let the world decide who you are."

Nadya looked less than pleased, but she didn't argue.

Instead, she turned sharply and strode toward the jet, muttering something in Russian under her breath.

This boy will get us all killed. 

I stared after her, my heart pounding as the jet's engines roared to life. "I'm not ready for this," I said, my voice barely audible.

The man's expression softened—just slightly. "No one ever is. But you'll adapt. Or you won't. That's up to you."

He then turned and started to walk away.

He paused just before the mist swallowed him, turning back to glance at me.

His expression softened, ever so slightly, as if some distant part of him understood the weight pressing on me.

For a moment, the hum of the jet engines and the wind on the tarmac seemed to fade, leaving just the two of us in an uneasy silence.

"You're worried about your mother," he said quietly, as if he could pluck the thought from my mind as easily as breathing.

I stiffened, caught off guard, but I didn't deny it.

"She has nothing to do with this," I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it. "She doesn't deserve to be dragged into… whatever this is."

He studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes calculating but not unkind. "She won't be," he said firmly. "I'll make sure of that."

"How?" I asked, my voice sharp with disbelief. "You can't just promise something like that. Don't they always?"

"They won't," he said, stepping closer, his tone brooking no argument. "Because I'll make it clear to them that she's untouchable. As long as you're with us, she'll be safe. That's my word."

I wanted to believe him but doubt still gnawed at me. "Why would you do that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "You don't even know her. You don't know me."

His smirk returned, faint but still maddeningly confident.

"Because you're useful to me, Jayden. And keeping your mother safe ensures your cooperation. Call it pragmatism if that helps you sleep at night."

I clenched my fists, torn between gratitude and frustration. "If anything happens to her—"

"Nothing will," he interrupted, his voice low and certain. "You have my word. Now stop wasting time and get on that jet so that you'll prove to the world that you're a freaking hero. You have bigger things to worry about."

Nadya stopped at the base of the jet's stairway, glancing back over her shoulder at me with an expression that made it clear she wasn't thrilled about babysitting.

She motioned sharply with her hand, her blue eyes narrowing.

"Get moving," she barked. "You don't want me to drag you inside."

I hesitated, glancing back at the man but he was already disappearing into the mist as though he'd never been there.

It left me with no choice but to follow the towering woman up the steps.

The faint hum of the engines grew louder as I ascended, the metal staircase cold under my palms when I instinctively reached out to steady myself.

***

The moment I stepped into the jet, the sharp tang of fuel and salt vanished, replaced by the subtle scent of leather and something faintly floral—like lilies, maybe.

The air was cool, almost unnaturally so, a sharp contrast to the tarmac's damp chill.

I stood at the top of the stairs, blinking, overwhelmed by the interior that was nothing like what I expected.

The space was enormous—far larger than it had any right to be.

It didn't feel like I was on a plane at all but rather in some billionaire's penthouse.

A plush carpet, deep grey with gold accents, spread out beneath my feet.

It was so thick I felt like I was sinking into it.

The walls were lined with sleek, polished panels, their surface gleaming faintly in the muted, ambient light.

To my left, there was a lounge area.

The seats weren't just seats—they were massive leather recliners, each stitched with intricate patterns and arranged around a low, glass coffee table.

The table was pristine, except for a single crystal decanter filled with amber liquid and a matching set of glasses.

A faint holographic display floated above the table, shimmering faintly with unreadable symbols that shifted and twisted like living things.

Beyond the lounge was a dining area.

A long table made of dark, glossy wood stretched out, surrounded by high-backed chairs that looked more suited to a palace than an aircraft.

The table was set as if someone was expecting a formal dinner: polished silverware, pristine white napkins folded into ornate shapes, and plates that looked like they were made of actual porcelain.

"Close your mouth," Nadya snapped, her voice slicing through my awe like a whip. "You're drooling on the carpet."

I closed my mouth, heat rushing to my face, but my gaze continued to roam.

Past the dining area was another section, separated by a sliding glass door etched with intricate patterns.

Through it, I could see a faint glow—a softer, warmer light that hinted at something even more luxurious beyond.

"Do you plan to stand there all day?" Nadya's sharp tone cut in again.

She was already halfway down the aisle, heading toward the back of the jet.

Her boots barely made a sound against the carpeted floor, but her presence was impossible to ignore.

"Right," I muttered, following her as I tried not to stumble over my own feet.

As I walked, more details jumped out at me.

The ceiling was higher than it should've been, curving gently, with recessed lighting that gave off a soft, golden glow.

The air was so quiet I could hear the faint hum of the engines as a constant undertone, but it was barely noticeable compared to the serene stillness that filled the space.

To my right, I passed a sleek bar area.

Its surface was made of polished black marble, and the shelves behind it were stocked with bottles of every shape and colour imaginable.

There was even a small automated arm behind the bar, its sleek metallic frame dormant but undoubtedly capable of mixing a drink with mechanical precision.

Finally, we reached the rear of the plane, where Nadya stopped in front of a door.

Unlike the rest of the jet, the door was unremarkable—plain metal with a small keypad on the side.

She pressed a series of buttons, her fingers moving too quickly for me to follow, and the door slid open with a soft hiss.

"Welcome to your new home," she said flatly, stepping aside to let me in.

I hesitated, glancing inside.

The room was smaller than the rest of the jet but still leagues ahead of anything I'd expected.

The bed was the first thing I noticed—a full-sized, luxuriously made thing with crisp white sheets and an absurd number of pillows.

A small desk sat in the corner; its surface bare except for a slim tablet.

A single chair was tucked beneath it, its design sleek and minimalist.

On the far wall, there was a screen—massive, nearly the size of the wall itself.

It was dark now, but I had no doubt it could display anything from a movie to detailed tactical maps.

Beneath it, a narrow console was built into the wall, its surface dotted with glowing buttons and controls I couldn't begin to understand.

The room was as cold and impersonal as the rest of the jet, but it was also undeniably comfortable.

It felt like a gilded cage—a place designed to keep someone trapped but make them forget they were imprisoned.

"Don't get too comfortable," Nadya said, leaning against the doorframe.

"You'll be spending more time training than resting. I don't care what the boss sees in you; I'm not babysitting some weakling who can't pull his weight."

I turned to face her, my fists clenching at my sides.

"I didn't ask to be here," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

She snorted, her expression unimpressed. "No one ever does. But you're here now, and if you don't want to end up dead, you'll listen to me. Got it?"

Before I could respond, she pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.

"Get some rest. We've got a long flight ahead, and your training starts the second we land. Try not to break anything in the meantime."

The door slid shut behind her, sealing me inside the opulent room.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the closed door.

My heart was still pounding, my thoughts racing.

The enormity of everything that had happened—the betrayal, the abduction, the power I couldn't control—pressed down on me like a weight I couldn't lift.

Finally, I sank down onto the edge of the bed, my head in my hands.

The faint hum of the jet's engines was the only sound in the room, a constant reminder that I was thousands of feet above the ground with no way out.

I didn't know what was waiting for me at the end of this flight, but one thing was clear: my life was no longer my own.

And for the first time, I wasn't sure I'd ever get it back.