Albert cradled his now wrapped wrist. He tried not to get his hopes up. True, Mr. Reagan was going to make an appeal, but he also said that in President Arnold’s office. Albert wasn’t sure what he could trust. Mr. Reagan seemed sincere, but why would President Arnold and Mr. Germain be there? Mr. Reagan was liable to say anything in President Arnold’s office, so why would he say he would help Albert unless it was some cruel trick?

Albert was relieved when Billy and Poe didn’t join him in the basement. He even expected Nik to be down here too, but Albert was alone. Except for the times Mr. Holmes was here. Mr. Holmes seemed to be the expert on pain, and Albert tried to last as long as he could. At this point, giving the underground as much time as they could to get a plan together was all he could hope for.

The door swung open and President Arnold, Mr. Germain, and Mr. Holmes walked into the room. Albert held his broken wrist to his chest as he watched them come in, a growing dread in the pit of his stomach. It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen them, though it was hard to tell time down here.

President Arnold looked irate as he walked right up to Albert. “You thought you could seduce Ron to your side?”

“What?” Albert asked, his eyes bouncing between Mr. Holmes and President Arnold.

“You thought you could play the victim and get him all sympathetic?” Albert blinked. President Arnold was furious, and he doubted there was anything he could say to make the situation better. “I’ve sent someone to take care of Ron. I can’t handle such weakness among my numbers.”

Albert’s eyes widened. “No.” It came out as a whisper.

President Arnold glared at Albert. “You have turned out to be far more of a nuisance than I thought, Albert. Do you honestly think I need you that bad? If you’re not going to tell me where the underground is, I might as well get rid of you.”

Albert’s chest heaved as his eyes again bounced between President Arnold and Mr. Holmes. President Arnold had a dangerous anger about him, the kind that brought about death.

President Arnold turned to Mr. Holmes, no longer looking at Albert. “I honestly don’t care what you do to him. He’s too dangerous to be kept alive.”

Mr. Holmes stepped forward, pulling out a thick baton. Albert used his good arm to scoot away. “Wait, please. Wait.”

It didn’t take long for Mr. Holmes to catch up to Albert’s inadequate attempt at getting away. He brought the baton down hard on his left leg, and Albert gasped as he heard his thigh pop. The color drained from Albert’s face before he could comprehend what happened. Albert still wasn’t sure whether or not his leg was broken when Mr. Holmes lifted the baton and brought it down on his other leg. Albert cried out in pain as he tried desperately to breathe. He couldn’t scoot away anymore. Not without feeling blinding pain. Wet blood began to soak his pants, and Albert tried to keep his breathing steady. He looked up at Mr. Holmes just in time to see him raising his baton over his head. Albert lifted his bandaged arm instinctually to protect his head as Mr. Holmes brought the baton down. Another sickening crack, and his arm started to bleed, soaking the wrapping around his wrist too quickly. His body was shaking, his brain starting to shut down. Again, Albert tried to scoot away with his good arm, but it was no use. His legs were completely useless and covered in blood. Far too much blood.

“Please,” Albert said before Mr. Holmes pushed him in the chest with his foot. Albert’s back smashed against the wall before he slid to the ground. Albert tried desperately to curl in on himself to protect him from the beating, but he screamed in agony as his brain tried to force his broken legs to move.

Mr. Holmes was there again, kicking him in the gut, cracking rib after rib. Albert let out a cry with every kick, his vision alternating between fading gray and blinding light. Albert’s brain struggled to keep up with the overwhelming pain as it continued to build. He couldn’t go on like this.

“Stop.”

Albert must have hallucinated someone saying the word. President Arnold intended to kill him. His stomach heaved, and his body began to shake as it tried to dispel the vomit and breath at the same time. He didn’t have the strength to turn on his side.

Something clattered to the floor and next thing he knew, strong hands grabbed him and helped him to a sitting position. With the absolute last of his strength, Albert heaved a bout of vomit onto his blood-soaked lap. He took a beautiful, glorious breath to gain the strength he needed to vomit again. For thirty seconds he gasped enough air to live and then vomited the mashed potatoes, gravy, and rolls that Mr. Reagan gave him not that long ago. When the last of the vomit was out, he gasped for air, feeling the full force of the pain as tears raced down his cheeks. He was so cold. Everything was so cold. His body trembled as it tried to retain its warmth.

With the immediate survival needs being taken care of, Albert finally noticed Mr. Germain had him in his arms, keeping him in an upright position. Albert’s head rested against Mr. Germain’s shoulder as he sucked in the air that had turned ice cold in the basement. Albert reached up with his good arm and grabbed Mr. Germain’s arm to keep him steady. Mr. Germain was not letting him go, waiting as Albert’s erratic breathing turned more steady.

“Did you get it all out?” Mr. Germain asked, not looking at Albert.

Albert nodded. At least he had the strength to do that.

“Ambrose, step aside,” President Arnold said. “Mr. Holmes isn’t done yet.”

“Yes he is.” Mr. Germain’s voice was low but firm. It took another breath for Albert to remember it was Mr. Germain who told Mr. Holmes to stop.

“Ambrose.” There was a warning in President Arnold’s tone.

“What are we doing, sir? This is wrong. We all know it.” Mr. Germain’s voice began to grow in conviction. He gently set Albert down.

“I didn’t hear you object when Tom and Nik were tortured,” President Arnold said.

Mr. Germain rose. “Because you told me they were dangerous mad scientists, a blight on this city, and they needed to be kept in line. I let you torture them because you gave me an actual good reason. When we had Vlad down here, you listened to me when I asked you not to torture him. Listen to me now. Stop this. Albert’s just a boy.”

President Arnold’s eyes narrowed. “Are you switching sides on me, Ambrose?”

“No sir. I will fight against mad scientists to my dying day. But Albert has done nothing to prove he’s a mad scientist. You can’t torture him like this.” Mr. Germain pointed at Albert on the ground, his blood mixed with vomit.

“Nothing to prove he’s…” President Arnold trailed off, sounding absolutely stunned. “Are you serious? He’s willingly admitted to joining the underground! You know that group is nothing but composed of mad scientists!”

Mr. Germain shook his head. “Besides that.”

“Besides that!” A vein bulged in President Arnold’s forehead. “You want to throw out the most condemning information about him?”

“What bombs has he created? What secret formula is he working on to destroy the city? He’s just a boy. We can’t torture him for crimes he might commit in the future,” Mr. Germain said.

“He’s a part of the underground!”

“An underground that’s splintering!” Mr. Germain took a step forward. “You said so yourself they weren’t much of a threat because they were fighting amongst themselves! Albert has told us he’s following Marie’s underground. One that, so far, has not proven violent.”

“You just wait. They’re going to show their true colors,” President Arnold said.

“Probably because we’ve taken a teenager and are torturing him to death!” Mr. Germain snapped. Albert was trying his hardest to remain conscious. He had a horrible feeling that remaining awake was his best chance at staying alive. If he gave in to the darkness now, he wasn’t going to wake up again. Mr. Germain ran a shaking hand through his hair, trying to steady his breathing. “Sir, I have said over and over that this is the group I will fight for, because this group kept their humanity. But if I step aside and let you kill this boy, I will never be able to say that again.”

President Arnold glared at Mr. Germain. “Scientists don’t deserve to be treated humanely.”

“You cannot honestly believe that, sir,” Mr. Germain said.

President Arnold took steps toward Mr. Germain, the hatred in his eyes clear to Albert’s waning vision. “They’re like cockroaches, all of them. A pest, no matter their age. They must all be exterminated.”

Mr. Germain’s shoulders went stiff, his eyes grew wide. His face morphed into a realization of horror. “All of them?” His voice was quiet, almost lost. “Even…”

Sophie, Albert finished for Mr. Germain in his head.

President Arnold’s eyes narrowed, the paranoia returning. He didn’t answer, simply turned and stormed out of the room. Mr. Holmes put away his baton before he followed.