“Wait, so let me get this straight,” said Will, “Everyone Dawn knew is dead?!”

“Well not everyone, technically,” Matt replied, their shoes crunching on the gravel, “Some of the Ashes he presumably knows. Plus this guy. But yes, everyone else.”

Will swore. “That’s insane,” he mumbled. The teleporter rounded on Matt. “We’ve got to tell someone.”

“Why do you think I’ve got your phone?” Matt muttered, not looking up from the screen, “I’m telling everyone.” Logged into his email address, he hit ‘Send’ on the message he’d spent the morning crafting to every major media outlet in the country, attached to which was the most succinct compilation of his and Jane’s research. “Just wanted to wait until we were clear of Morningstar.”

“You think anyone will believe you?” asked Will. Matt shook his head.

“No,” he answered truthfully, “But it’ll pique their interest. They’ll look into it to confirm I’m nuts and end up realising I’m right. It’s like if you tell someone it’s impossible to lick your elbow – it sounds ridiculous so as soon as you say it they try to prove you wrong.” He glanced over at Will, who to his credit looked too disturbed to try licking his elbow.

They’d warped in a good quarter mile from the front door of the facility, half out of common sense, not wanting to spook prison security, and half not knowing how far the Disruptance fields stretched. The biggest building for miles around, ADX Florence sat square in the middle of a patch of flat, dry Colorado desert, the colours of its walls and towers not far removed from the dust and barren scrub surrounding it on every side. The road leading up to it through which the two of them now walked was little more than a strip of rocks and dirt, ruts weathered through the dry grass by years of heavy vehicles coming and going. At its conclusion sat the maroon entrance to the Super‑Max as well as the larger, adjacent lower security yard – both fenced, imposing and looming over the landscape like overbearing tyrants. But it wasn’t to either of these that Matt and Will now walked.

Less obvious but more out of place, ADX Florence’s third facility looked more like an expensive phone store than a gaol. Half the height of its siblings and sitting quietly off to one side, its walls were white, dull and sterile, its front doors and lobby made entirely of glass, a paved carpark occupied by a half dozen cars situated neatly out front. While it would have been a stretch to describe it as ‘inviting’, the lone two-story building lacked the obvious intentional hostility present in the architecture of its counterparts – more reminiscent of a hospital, truthfully, than a prison. Which was in essence what it was; a maximum-security hospice, built to house those society needed locked away, but who themselves needed medical care. All prisons had a hospital wing – Florence’s just stood apart, purpose built around a single great and damaged mind.

It was, if nothing else, an impressive dedication to prolonging a life sentence.

The glass doors ‘dinged’ as Matt and Will walked through them, and immediately they were assaulted by a rush of cold, artificial air. Across the room in a small booth beside a glass door blocking further access into the complex, two tall men in tan uniforms paused midway through their conversation and glanced over at them.

“Can I help you?” asked one of the guards, a muscular man with a mid-west accent and sleek crew cut. Will shot a nervous glance at Matt, who did his best to appear unperturbed.

“Hi,” Matt said, striding purposefully across the room. He reached the counter, the small, windowed security station behind which both men were standing. “I’m Matthew Callaghan, clairvoyant, this is William Herd, teleporter. We’re from the Legion of Heroes.” He held out his Identity Card, and Will fumbled to do the same. “We’re here to inspect Viktor Mentok.”

Behind a wall of plexiglass, the guards exchanged glances. To Matt’s relief, their immediate reaction was not to break out laughing.

“Um…” began the second one – slightly shorter, with darker hair, though of a similar style and build. He glanced down at their Identity Cards. “…why?”

“Surprise inspection,” Matt replied. He tried to sound self-assured. “The Legion’s been hearing some disturbing stuff. We’re here to put the rumours to rest.”

“What rumours?” asked the first guard, sounding defensive and maybe a little insulted. Matt stared coolly at him.

“Nothing you need to be concerned about,” he replied, “Providing everything’s in order. What’s The Mindtaker’s status?” He looked from one to the other, keeping his face resolutely professional.

The men exchanged glances.

“You say you’re from the Legion of Heroes?” the second guard asked sceptically. Matt shot him a scathing, impatient look, as if the question was beneath him. Two pairs of eyes followed his hand as he reached into his pocket and removed Jane’s badge, placing it on the counter in front of them.

“We’d appreciate your cooperation,” he said dryly.

The two men glanced at each other, wearing mirrored looks of hesitation and concern. As they turned, Matt snuck a glimpse at the back of their necks – which were unadorned, as far as he could see. No invasive neural implants. And so far no ticks, slurring or any other signs of mental control. If Mentok had somehow overrun this facility, these guys weren’t showing it.

One of the guards turned back to him, a worried expression on his tanned face and clean-shaven, well-defined jaw. “I don’t know what to tell you sir,” he began. Matt had to stop the corners of his mouth from twitching at a full-grown adult probably twice his age calling him, some baby-faced high schooler, ‘Sir’. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but on our end he’s the same as always.”

He took a step backwards, indicating a panel of security screens on the far wall behind them – the monitor in the centre showing an old, sleeping man. “This is a live feed,” he said, “Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Plus we do hourly in-person sweeps of the entire block.”

“He hasn’t moved,” his partner assured them.

“Not in the six years I’ve been here,” the first guard agreed.

Matt frowned. “And there’s been no changes?” he asked, looking from one to the other, “Nothing out of the ordinary?”

The two men exchanged glances. The taller one shook his head, and the dark-haired one shrugged and turned back to Matt.

“Nothing we’ve seen or heard about,” he said, “Every other con in this place is ten times more trouble than Vicki. All that security and he just lays there, eating from a tube.”

“All the same,” frowned Matt, “I’d appreciate being able to inspect his confinements in person.”

Another glance passed between the guards, this time more reluctant than dumbfounded. “We’re not supposed to…” the light-haired man began reluctantly.

“Come on Angus,” his counterpart replied, “They’re from the Legion. Let them do their check. Sorry,” he said, turning to Matt, “The old man’s kind of a unique case, so the protocols are a bit… iffy. Plus, this is the first time he’s had visitors.”

“He is maximum security…” frowned Angus, “Are you sure we can-”

“He’s in a coma,” the other guard replied, waving away his concerns, “And even the conscious ones have visitation rights. What’s the harm?”

“Gentlemen,” said Matt, feigning impatience, “This isn’t a social call. Unless Professor Mentok is in lockdown for bad behaviour-”

The dark-haired guard chuckled. “Funny.”

“-I’d appreciate being able to conduct our inspection.” He returned the badge to his pocket. “If you’d be so kind.”

The taller guard, Angus, still looked unconvinced – but eventually, he gave in.

“Alright,” he conceded, “Fine.” He reached behind the counter, and a harsh buzzer sounded. The metal lock on the hallway door clicked open. “However Legion or no Legion, I will have to ask you to comply with our security standards.”

“Of course,” said Matt, folding his hands behind his back.

“There are no cellphones, cameras, or other recording devices permitted on premises,” recited the crew-cut guard, “Additionally, specific power groups are by law required to comply with certain conditions. As a clairvoyant sir, I don’t believe you are restricted, but I’m afraid he is.” Angus pointed at Will, who recoiled, looking slightly offended. “Teleporters are a Class 1 flight risk.”

“Come on,” protested Matt, “Surely this facility has Disruptances.”

“That we do,” Angus replied coolly, “But policy states that no phase-walkers or teleporters are to enter a Federal Penitentiary in case our anti-distortion devices fail or are disrupted by EMP. I’m sorry sir, that’s just the law.”

“Secondly,” he continued, pressing on before Matt could protest, “In compliance with safety procedures I will need to conduct a routine psychic examination to verify your identity and lack of hostile intent.”

“I would expect nothing less,” said Matt, who hadn’t expected this at all. He quickly readied and smoothed over the surfaces of his mind. Behind him, he could feel Will’s worried gaze burning into the back of his head – but he ignored it, focusing instead on keeping firm control over his mental composure.

“With your permission sir,” the dark-haired guard said apologetically.

“Of course,” Matt replied, and a second later he felt the tendrils of the man’s consciousness extend into his brain. Matt breathed slowly, keeping calm and offering no resistance, letting the telepath explore as he pleased – feeling him glance through his memories of the Academy, Will, his time at the Legion. But not all of them, just the ones Matt was holding, the ones he wanted the guard to see. That was the trick – to create a façade, a mental mirage of identity, and believe it so firmly that the psychic believed what they were seeing was the real you.

It wasn’t hard. Another person’s mind was a daunting thing to peer too closely at. And, Matt allowed himself to think ruefully as the telepathic link withdrew, this was hardly the world’s greatest psychic.

“He’s clean,” the shorter guard assured his partner, “Is who he says he is. All above board.”

Angus nodded, somewhat reluctantly – as if he’d been hoping this was a ruse. Which admittedly it kind of was. “Thank you sir. Please come with me.” He pushed open a small plastic swing-door and stepped out of the security booth.

Matt nodded, then glanced over his shoulder at Will. “You cool to wait here?”

“Hey man,” said the teleporter, holding up his hands, “I’m peachy. Absolutely no problem with staying out of prison. You mind if I step out for a second? Might call Wally.”

“Cell reception’s best down by the freeway,” the dark-haired guard piped up helpfully, pointing at the end of the dirt road they’d just walked down. Will nodded.

“You sure you’re going to be alright?” he asked Matt.

“Sure,” Matt answered, forcing a smile he didn’t feel, “No problem.” He stepped into line behind Angus and the guard swung open the plexiglass door leading down the hallway. “Just hang around, okay?”

“You got it,” replied Will. Matt glanced back over his shoulder as he followed the guard down the bare and darkening hallway, watching the teleporter’s figure grow smaller and smaller. Well, he thought, maintaining steady control over his panic, there goes my phone and my way out.

He took a deep, shaky breath and stepped into the silver elevator behind Angus, who pushed the button for the lower floors.