Avernus was the name of a volcanic crater the ancient Romans thought to be the entrance to hell. That makes it a fitting name for the Council’s secret prison. After noticing references to it while reading through the database, I checked the list of available translocation destinations, and found it at the very bottom. Nobody had thought to tell me about it, but nor did they seem to have any interest in keeping its existence secret.

The fact that such a place exists is obviously of interest to me, but I’m not visiting on a whim. Conrad is putting the first part of our plan into motion, and I need to be elsewhere while it happens. Should things go badly, it’s crucial that I be able to deny all knowledge or involvement. Visiting Avernus gives me a solid alibi, not least because I’m sure every inch of the place is under surveillance. Plus, there’s every chance I might learn something from the visit that’s got some relevance to the case.

Translocating in to Avernus deposits me in something resembling a lobby, which is much more welcoming than where you end up when arriving at the Council’s main facility, which is essentially a glorified closet. The floors are carpeted and the lighting far warmer, which is something of an irony. The prison is well-lit and inviting, while our headquarters is all dark stone and harsh halogen. At the end of the room isn’t the imposing metal door you’d expect, but a burnished wooden one. To the right of it is a small glass booth, where a man in an unmarked uniform sits behind a desk. He’s reading a thick technical manual of some sort when I arrive, and looks surprised at my presence.

“Hawkshaw.”

“Expecting someone else?”

“Not exactly, but Marcus is the only person who comes here with any regularity.”

It doesn’t take much effort to guess that this is Network. No reason to hire ordinary security guards when you can just station as many of his bodies as you need at the prison, or anywhere else. Even when they aren’t actively working, they’re adding to the knowledge of their collective by learning new skills.

“Well, I’m not particularly busy, and I thought it would be prudent to take a look around this place, in case I ever need to help handle a breach.”

Thorn sticks a pencil in between the pages of the book and lays it down on the desk.

“I can promise you that’s not likely, but that’s a good instinct nonetheless. Your mentor made sure to keep abreast of the situation here as well. If you want, I can give you the tour.”

Part of me wants to blow him off and explore the place alone, but having him with me for a while will help solidify my alibi. Not to mention, he probably has some interesting details to share about the prison’s inmates.

“So long as it’s not taking you away from your post.”

He laughs as he exits the booth and walks over to the door. There don’t seem to be any locks involved anywhere, which makes sense. This place probably doesn’t have any entrances or exits, so translocating is the only way in or out. No point putting locks on the doors when the worst that can happen is the prisoners run around inside the facility for a while, before somebody shows up to get them back in their cells.

“Hardly. Like I said, almost nobody ever comes by here.”

The doors swing open without a hint of noise. I suppose keeping the hinges well-oiled is one of the ways Network passes the time here. Beyond, the rest of Avernus beckons. It more closely resembles a hotel than a prison, with a large staircase leading up one level, and two smaller ones on either side leading down. The larger one is labeled ‘Residential,’ and the ones beside it are marked ‘Stasis’ and ‘Cells.’

“Where do you want to start?”

“Stasis sounds interesting.”

I’m interested in all of it, but the other two seem fairly self-explanatory. Better to start with the one that I’m most curious about. Thorn accepts my choice with a nod, and leads me down the right-hand stairs.

“Is everything going well on the Andromedan ship?”

An innocent question, but also a subtle probe for information. As far as I know, none of the Council members aboard the ship have yet returned, but it’s possible Thorn knows something I don’t.

“Indeed. Samuel joined us a few days ago, at Marcus’ request. The two of them seem to be making rapid progress in reverse-engineering the Andromedan technology. Unfortunately, the same can’t quite be said for our efforts to decipher their language. Sandra’s translation software is a boon, but we’re still limited to simple text exchanges. We lack the vocal range to mimic their words, and the same can be said for them. Fortunately, Nicholas reports that their thoughts are becoming clearer to him by the day, as he studies their script and listens to them speak. Andrew still refuses to come back aboard the ship, but we’ve transported a few persevered corpses down to his lab for study, and he’s made some interesting findings already.”

If I was talking to anyone else, I’d be impressed at the depth of knowledge they had about the rest of the Council’s activities. Obviously Network has some advantages in that regard. I’d bet he sees a lot more than any of the others think, simply because they’re so used to the presence of his many bodies that they barely even register them anymore.

“Good to hear. Any indication when they’ll be finished?”

Thorn shakes his head.

“Nicholas went home for a brief respite earlier in the week, but he seems determined to continue. Samuel and Marcus will find it difficult to tear themselves away, I suspect. And Gilgamesh… well, he hasn’t exactly made himself available, but he seems to have no intention of leaving anytime soon either.”

Whatever Gil is doing up there probably isn’t good, but I’m still glad he’s not running around down here right now. The others are major concerns, but he’s still easily the biggest one.

At the bottom of the stairwell, the carpeting ends, replaced with cold concrete. The whole room is cold, in fact, though my suit keeps me insulated from the worst of it. Both sides of the room are lined with several dozen sealed metal chambers, large enough to accommodate a single body.

“This is the Stasis facility. We keep a number of people here in cryogenic chambers, for a variety of reasons. Many of these chambers are unoccupied at the moment, but it’s preferable to have excess capacity than insufficient capacity, so a sudden surplus of prisoners doesn’t overwhelm us.”

Many of the cryo units have names stamped on them, while the ones further from the stairs are blank. Thorn walks up to one and raps his knuckles on it.

“This is Accel. I assume you’re familiar?”

“Serial killer who got a minute of super-speed for every hour she spent asleep.”

Network nods approvingly.

“That’s the one. Exceptionally powerful and exceptionally cruel. Another falsified death, I’m afraid. Normally, Pallas would lay claim to any powerful metahuman who we wanted dead, but she doesn’t require sleep, so Accel’s powers were useless to her. Instead, I copied myself into her body, and then placed the body in storage. It’s had thousands of hours of sleep since then, virtually uninterrupted, though we do take it out and let it get some exercise once every month. It wouldn’t be very useful with atrophied muscles.”

I wonder whether the copy of Network still ‘updates’ when all of the others do, considering it’s essentially comatose, but before I can indulge my curiosity and ask, Thorn has already moved onto another unit.

“Unfortunately, not everyone here is so lucky. The young man inside this chamber was turned into a carrier for a highly infectious disease by a deranged meta-scientist. We placed him here in order to slow the progression of the disease through his body, and prevent it from spreading, until a cure can be found. Or, failing that, until we manage to reverse-engineer the disease and weaponize it.” He coughs. “After inoculating ourselves, obviously.”

That’s more than a little cold, and not just because he’s literally in cryogenic stasis. Still, I know as well as anyone that it’s foolish to waste resources. Even if the kid can’t be saved, his condition could prove useful one day.

“Most of the people in these chambers are here because we don’t want them running free, but don’t want them dead either. I suppose that’s the case with most prisons, but considering the resources at our disposal, the number of cases where incarceration is the best option is fairly low. Stasis isn’t an option for every prisoner, though, which is why we have other forms of containment as well.”

As he speaks, Thorn is heading back up the stairs. I follow him back to the lobby, and then down to the other side, where the rest of the prisoners apparently are. Despite my line of work, I don’t have much cause to think about prisons. Plenty of the people I bring in end up going there, but once that happens, they’re usually not my concern anymore. Unfortunately, American prisons have been nightmarish for a long time, and Jason made sure I knew to think long and hard before condemning someone to them. Thankfully, they’ve gotten better over the last decade or so, hewing closer to the European model, which I have a feeling is the Council’s doing, and probably Network specifically. So much of the group’s good works are entirely thanks to him, which makes me wonder if the others are even aware of the extent of it.

The Cells sector is carpeted all the way down, but the walls go from wood paneling to thick metal pretty quickly. Most of the doors are uniform steel, but a few have visible differences- particularly one that seems to have been designed to be completely airtight. That’s what Network heads towards first.

“As I said, we don’t have cause to lock a lot of people up. If they don’t deserve death, they can usually go to a regular jail, and if they do, either Pallas or I handles it, depending on whether or not she wants their powers. However, there are cases where regular prisons are unequipped to handle a prisoner, or where killing an individual simply isn’t possible. Take, for example, Martin Geiszler. ‘Infizieren,’ as he preferred. His metahuman ability transformed him permanently into a cloud of gas, the chemical composition of which he could choose. He chose Zyklon-B.”

“Christ.”

“Quite. We captured him before he could do much damage, but actually disposing of him proved difficult. Furthermore, neither Pallas nor I can make use of him, as he possesses no physical body. Flushing him into space seemed the most plausible way to eliminate him, but the cost of doing so would have been high, and sealing him in here was cheap, particularly because he doesn’t need to eat. We may have a use for him eventually, but if not, I’m sure we’ll get rid of him sooner or later.”

Network’s way of speaking has seemed strange to me for a while. My guess would be that he spends so much time pretending to be the people whose bodies he’s stolen that he doesn’t quite know how to talk as ‘himself’ anymore. His voice is almost totally accentless, and he uses an odd combination of formal and informal words. The same goes for how he carries himself- not so stiffly that it seems like an affectation, but not relaxed enough that he ever seems fully comfortable.

“This wing of the prison has very few inhabitants at present. Mainly those who cannot be harvested by Pallas, frozen like those in the Stasis wing, or killed by me. As such, most of them have powers that make it difficult or impossible to touch them. A permanent aura of flame, hot enough to melt a bullet before it could strike them, or something of that nature. Unless you’d prefer to hear the sordid details of their lives before being brought here, we can move on.”

I just nod, and he turns around to head back upstairs. It’s interesting that he refers to what he does as killing people, rather than using some sort of euphemism like ‘harvesting,’ the way most people do for Pallas. She is, at the very least, taking something from her victims in the process. But the word is still slightly less loaded than ‘killing.’ I get the sense that Thorn carries some guilt about how his power works, even if he’s taken pains never to use it against anyone who didn’t deserve it. Perhaps he has a similarly tragic story behind the first time he used it- on a loved one, or even just an innocent stranger.

“The Residential wing,” he continues, leading me up the central staircase, “is where our voluntary inmates reside. Many metahumans have powers that present dangers to them or those in their vicinity. Obviously, there are conventional resources that deal with most of these cases. Some learn to control their powers, and even use them productively. But in some cases, their powers are impossible to control, or have such destructive potential that the matter cannot be left to conventional authorities. In those cases, we bring them here. Their conditions are far better than those of our involuntary inmates, as long as circumstances permit. Some have little use for the luxuries we can provide, but I still do my best to make sure they’re as comfortable as can be.”

The shift from plural pronouns to singular doesn’t get past me. Machina may have been the one to design and build this place, but Network is the one who actually runs it, and it’s clear that he takes it just as seriously as any of his other hundreds of jobs. Axel Thorn might be one of the most genuinely good people on the Council, despite being stuck with an inherently lethal ability. He didn’t spare a thought to using it for his own gain, just how it could be turned towards improving the world. Even before he was recruited for the Council, that was all he wanted to do. It’s hard to imagine that he would have been involved in Jason’s disappearance. Not unless Jason had done something to convince him that it was truly necessary- and that seems unlikely.

From where we’re standing, the Residential wing pretty much looks like the hallway of a nice hotel. Most of the doors are completely ordinary, though I spot a few further down that are more reinforced.

“Unfortunately, I can’t introduce you to any of them. We try to limit their knowledge of the Council’s broader existence, in the hopes that they can be treated and return to society one day. Hannah here,” he says, gesturing to a nearby door without touching it, “has a voice that compels anyone who hears it to kill themselves. Even the slightest involuntary noise could be fatal. Keeping her gagged at all times seemed inhumane, so we offered her a place to stay where she would be comfortable and wouldn’t accidentally hurt anyone. She and I correspond regularly. We allow most of the voluntary inmates limited access to the internet, so they can keep up with what’s going on with the rest of the world, but not communicate with anyone. Besides that, they have access to television, literature, and any other form of entertainment they desire. Some would simply destroy whatever we gave them, but I’ve managed to come up with a few solutions- placing a television behind plexiglass and setting up a hands-free system so they could change the channel without atomizing the remote. That sort of thing.”

“That’s thoughtful of you.”

Thorn seems surprised by the compliment.

“Well, I have several dozen bodies here at any given time, and most of them have very little to do. Improving the conditions of these people is often easier than you might think, so there’s really no reason not to.”

For a moment, I really wish Network ran every prison in the world. Then I realize he probably does actually run quite a few. Certainly American ones, where it’s difficult to imagine that the various wardens and administrators don’t meet his criteria of the world being a better place if they were replaced.

“In any event, that’s just about all there is to show. We only have about seventy total residents at the moment, though there’s room for quite a few more.”

“That’s probably a good thing. Means there aren’t many people who it’s necessary to keep locked up.”

He shrugs.

“I suppose so. If you have other responsibilities to attend to, I understand, but I’ve just put the kettle on in the break room. You’re welcome to join me.”

According to my clock, it’s been about forty-five minutes since I arrived. Conrad hasn’t contacted me yet, which means he’s still busy. Or things went quite badly, and he’s dead, but I sincerely doubt that’s the case. Particularly because he’s got a monitor on that would alert me if his heart stopped beating. I’m wearing one myself, though more as a precaution than because this visit seemed likely to be at all dangerous.

“Sounds good to me.”

It’s not like there aren’t things I could be doing right now, but leaving before Winters is finished could end up looking suspicious. Besides, I haven’t had much of a chance to speak with Thorn in private, and the investigation is still ongoing, even with the plan in motion.

Thorn takes me back down to the lobby, and then through a side door. Inside is a well-furnished break room with a kitchenette, bookshelf, sofa, and other basic comforts. One of Network’s other bodies is waiting by the kettle, and doesn’t even glance our way as we walk in. It’s wearing the same outfit, albeit a size larger. Not for the first time, I wonder where he gets most of them. Finding deserving targets among the ranks of the political elite, military commanders, and CEOs has to be easy, but finding random people whose disappearances won’t be noticed, and who actually deserve to be replaced, is probably harder. I’m sure he’s got methods- maybe selecting from people already convicted of serious crimes, pulling strings to get them released, and then copying himself into them- although that would pose some problems if they have parole officers.

The body I’ve been talking with takes a seat at the small table in the middle of the room. I sit down opposite him, feeling slightly out of place in my armor. Ideal as it may be for crime-fighting and detective work, it leaves a little to be desired in more casual contexts.

“You do prefer tea, correct?”

“Yeah. Earl Grey or black, with milk and sugar.”

While the other body bustles off to retrieve my requested ingredients, the one in front of me interlaces his fingers, resting his arms on the table. Most of his bodies that I’ve seen are in relatively good physical condition, though not exactly on the same level as me.

“So, have you made any progress with your investigation into Jason’s disappearance?”

Surprisingly, this is the first time any member of the Council has even bothered to ask me about the job I was supposedly brought on to do. Maybe they’ve been operating under the assumption that I don’t want to talk about it, much like most of them don’t seem to discuss their own projects with each other. Or they don’t want to give away any hint of their own involvement. Maybe Thorn is just bringing it up idly- or maybe he knows something I don’t. Even if he wasn’t involved directly, it’s possible one of his bodies witnessed something, and he’s trying to figure out whether or not to tell me.

“Not much. None of his usual enemies seem to be involved- I was looking into that before you all even contacted me. And most of the people who could have pulled it off are either dead, or locked up here. Since you mention it, though, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Just to get your take on the situation.”

Thorn nods. In the background, his other body is coming back with tea bags, and getting two cups from a cabinet.

“To start, how well did you know Jason?”

“Not especially well. I don’t think any of us did. But maybe better than most. He rarely asked us for any assistance, but occasionally, he’d request that I replace certain individuals in his city. City council members, judges, an assistant district attorney. People he felt deserved it, and who held positions where I could do some good. Occasionally, I’d intercede at higher levels of government to prevent retaliation against his team, as well. Certain extreme elements have long wished to eliminate your Front Line, and without my intervention, I’m sure they would have made attempts already.”

Nothing I couldn’t have guessed, but it’s still a little eerie to hear how much Network’s influence has impacted my life, even before I knew he existed.

“On that subject, can you give me an overview of what your other selves are doing at the moment? Not everything, just the highlights.”

“It’s important to understand that, for the most part, my other bodies operate on what you might think of as autopilot. We retain the memories of anyone we overwrite, which makes it easy to impersonate them. Unless they’re doing something important, those bodies can draw on the memories of their host to create a sort of simulation of them, which will go about their life as per normal. The experience is similar to that of sleepwalking. However, there are a few more notable events going on at the moment.”

While he’s speaking, the other body pours us both our tea, and brings the mugs over slowly, careful not to spill a drop. It doesn’t exactly appear to be sleepwalking, but that’s probably because it’s not impersonating its host at the moment. That’s reserved for the politicians and other public figures Thorn has replaced, who would be the subject of heightened scrutiny if their behavior patterns changed overnight. Instead, he has them act normal most of the time, and only makes changes when necessary.

“At the moment, an American ambassador and a Chinese ambassador, both of whom I control, are meeting to discuss terms of a limited nuclear disarmament agreement. However, there are observers from both countries who I don’t control in the room, which means I have to put on a show for them. I also can’t have either agree to the broadest possible terms, because it would compromise their positions inside their own governments, which would limit my own influence. I made that mistake several times early on, and wasted valuable assets in my haste. Better to take two steps forward now than five steps forward and ten steps back.”

It’s hard to argue with that point. Most arguments for incrementalism don’t sit right with me, because they tend to just be excuses for never doing anything at all. But for Thorn, he’s got a legitimate reason not to move too quickly. If any of his individual bodies make moves that seem to go against the strategic interests of their own nations, they’ll lose the positions of power that make them valuable. However, he’s also managed to shift the Overton window over time, to make better policies politically viable.

“Interesting. And none of the agencies you control have information on where Jason might be? I know they monitored him as closely as they could.”

Thorn shakes his head.

“I’m afraid not. He stopped showing up to Council meetings without warning, and then ceased making public appearances of any kind not long after. Not an entirely uncommon occurrence, but he’s never been completely radio silent for so long.”

I remove my helmet and place it on the table, before taking a drink. The tea is hot, but not scalding. Plus I’ve lost enough taste buds from various poisonings that it doesn’t bother me much anymore.

“You think he’s alive, then?”

“Oh, yes. Whatever caused his disappearance, I doubt he was unprepared for it. He would have had measures in place to make killing him the worst available option.”

Neither of our tones have changed much since this conversation started, but the content of the discussion has become rather more significant. Silently, I reach into a pocket inside my coat and pull out a small grey cylinder. The device will render our words unintelligible to anyone listening in. Not Network’s other bodies, but they aren’t the ones I’m worried about. He acknowledges the measure with a raised eyebrow and nothing else.

“Who do you think is responsible?”

With my face now exposed, Thorn gives me a long, searching look.

“Someone on the Council. They’re the only people with the resources to make him disappear completely. I don’t know why, but it’s not hard to guess. Every one of us has secrets. The founders especially.”

We’re in dangerous territory now. He’s stopped short of making a specific accusation, but neither of us is stupid. Most of the Council lacks both the motive and ability to make Jason disappear without a trace. Keeping that in mind, a very small number of them immediately become prime suspects. Clearly, Thorn has thought this through already, and come to many of the same conclusions I have.

“What do you think happened to him, if that’s the case?”

As casual as ever, Network takes a sip of tea.

“I have no idea. I didn’t replace him, if that’s what you’re asking. Jason has his flaws, but he possesses a moral clarity that I have always respected.”

Typically, denying your own involvement before the possibility is even raised indicates guilt. In this case, I don’t think that’s what’s going on. Thorn is just smart enough to understand that his power makes him an obvious suspect. In a way, avoiding any mention of the possibility would be more suspicious.

“Whatever the answer, I am going to find out eventually. You should give some thought to whose side you’ll be on when that happens.”

Inside a pocket, my phone buzzes quietly. That would be Conrad, letting me know he’s done. I stand, leaving my drink on the table.

“Thanks for the tour, Thorn. I’ll see you soon.”

“Please,” Network says, smiling politely. “Call me Axel.”

Finding a good place to meet wasn’t easy. Disabling my tracker now would be suspicious, so it had to be somewhere that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. Of course, with Machina off-planet, the hope is that he won’t be paying much attention to the whereabouts of the rest of the Council, but that’s no reason to take any risks we don’t have to. That pretty much meant it had to be somewhere in Pax. Not any of my safe-houses, that posed a different sort of risk. Luckily, I had other options.

The warehouse where Conrad and I meet isn’t officially a part of Jason’s network of hidden bases and weapons caches around the city. There’s no spare gear or secret entrances. Just a lot of shelves stocked with defective childrens’ toys manufactured by a company that went bankrupt before they could even issue a recall. And a soundproofed room in the back. For years, this place, and that room in particular, was where the Kovarovci tortured people for information. Jason saw a use for it, after shutting that part of their operation down, and kept it maintained quietly for situations just like this.

Winters meets me outside of the interrogation room, wearing his full uniform. The black bodysuit doesn’t seem to offer much protection, but it’s lined with a special material of his father’s creation, which can absorb kinetic impacts, making the wearer nearly bulletproof. Over that, he wears a tactical harness with several pouches and a few small loops where grenades usually dangle from. That’s an addition he made recently, not part of his father’s original outfit. There’s a utility belt too, of a different design than mine. He’s got black cargo pants on over the bodysuit, and a leather jacket with a sheepskin collar. The mask covers his whole head, with green-tinted lenses and a device over his mouth and nose that serves as a breathing filter and voice-changer. He used to make his voice sound a lot deeper, but now just adds a slight mechanical rasp.

“Everything went well,” he informs me immediately. Even having translocated directly back home, it took me a little while to get here, in an effort to avoid being spotted. It probably took him even longer, considering he was transporting an unconscious passenger a much greater distance, while doing his best to be completely inconspicuous. For the most part, he seems calm, but I detect a few slight tics that tell me he’s nervous.

“Good. She awake yet?”

“Seems like it. You’re clear? Weren’t followed?”

Conrad insisted on examining my implant, and verified for himself that it doesn’t contain any recording devices, but the tracker thing is getting to him. It’s getting to me, too, at least a little. If I could have left this whole operation to him, I would have, but the next part isn’t something he could do alone.

“No. Talked with Network, I’ll give you the details later. You ready?”

Taking a breath to steady himself, Winters nods. His posture changes- he’s projecting more confidence, trying not to show any anxiety he might feel. Not for my benefit, for the person behind the door. Glancing to me for confirmation, he opens it, and we both step inside.

Sandra Lai is handcuffed to a chair, blindfolded. The chair is bolted to the ground. As we enter, the door locks behind us. She’s been deprived of as much technology as possible, and that which we can’t remove, like her retinal and cochlear implants, we’ve disrupted using a short-range EMP. If they do come back online, we’ve got a surprise for her as well- a custom-tailored virus that will feed her false information about her surroundings. Part of Jason’s countermeasures against her. She experiences the entire world through a digital filter that gives her access to vast sums of information, but if you trick that filter into giving her bad data, you can blind her without her even realizing. With any luck, none of that will be necessary. But if this goes bad, we’ll be prepared.

“Who are you? How did you find me?”

To her credit, Zero doesn’t sound particularly scared. However, her body language betrays her. She stiffened up when she heard the door open. Probably assuming that she’s been taken by the same people who made Jason disappear. Not a terrible guess, either. Conrad kidnapped her from her home, which would have been virtually impossible if he hadn’t activated the virus beforehand. It didn’t matter what alarms he set off after that, because the filter edited all of it out. After that, it was as simple as drugging her unconscious and bringing her here. Jason’s files stress that the virus is a one-time trick, and that Zero is clever enough to create countermeasures even while it’s still active, so we really only had one shot at this. If things take a wrong turn, our options are extremely limited. If she won’t cooperate, we’ll pretty much have to kill her, because I can’t be confident that any method of incarceration will be able to hold her for long. And that’s not getting into the possibility that she’ll manage to contact the rest of the Council.

“Please. I’m a detective.”

Lai’s head snaps around towards the sound of my voice. The blindfold isn’t because we want to disguise our identities- it’s to prevent her from activating any hidden contingencies using eye movements. Conrad’s also been monitoring her for any discernible patterns, like tapping her feet or fingers, but she doesn’t seem to have anything that she can activate that way- or if she did, Winters made sure to remove it before bringing her here.

“Graves? What the hell is this?”

It wasn’t easy to track Zero down. Her digital presence is invisible, and she doesn’t register to any cameras of any kind, making the more technologically advanced methods I employ useless. However, my skills are far from dependent on those tools, and thanks to Jason, I had a bit of a head start. He had her home narrowed down to a single city before he disappeared- I did the rest. It’s easy for a single person to disappear in a place as large as Chicago, but even a savant like Lai leaves footprints behind. What gave her away was the power her personal computer setup uses. She was smart enough to distribute it through the city’s electrical grid, so there was no single obvious spot that used an inordinate amount of juice, but that mainly served to prevent conventional authorities from taking notice. I knew what to look for, and it didn’t take long until I found it.

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. I brought you here to ask for your help.”

Unable to express her anger in any other way, Lai kicks against the leg of the chair. We took her shoes, so it probably hurts, which is why she only does it once.

“Go fuck yourself. I already activated my distress beacon. The others already know you’re the one who took me, and they’ll be here any minute.”

I can’t quite blame her for being upset that we kidnapped her, but it’s slightly hypocritical, considering the Council did the exact same thing to me. Of course, they skipped the handcuffs and everything, but it was still pretty impolite. I’m also tempted to scold her for just telling us that help is coming, which is something it’s typically best to keep close to the chest. Before I can do so, Conrad speaks up.

“Yeah, about that. I cut your implant out hours ago, and attached it to a device that’s replicating your exact vital signs. Even if your heart stops, it’ll keep ticking. And I made sure that there isn’t a single stray signal leaving this room, either. So the cavalry isn’t coming any time soon.”

Seeming surprised at the presence of a second voice, Zero turns towards where Winters is standing, a few feet away from me. I’d have noticed immediately, but most people can’t count how many people are in a room just by the sound of their footsteps. Lai is talented, but she needs practical training.

“That’s... clever,” she concedes. “Fine. Start talking.”

“First, you need to answer one question. Do you know what happened to Jason Hunt?”

Lai turns back towards me, and gives an exasperated sigh. If I could see her eyes, I expect she’d be rolling them.

“Christ, is that what this is about? No, I didn’t kill your daddy, and I don’t know who did.”

It’s not easy to tell when someone’s lying. Polygraph tests are about as useful as Rorschach blots when it comes to actually determining the veracity of a person’s testimony. Just about every person who administers them has a different method of scoring answers. The same goes for truth serum, which doesn’t do anything except make people suggestible, so interrogators can coax them into giving the answers they want. Torture is completely useless, because most people will just tell you whatever they think you want to hear, in order to make the pain stop. Even supposedly ‘humane’ interrogation tactics still mostly just rely on pressuring the subject until they break down and say what you want to hear. At the end of the day, the best way to figure out if something is true or not is with evidence. Failing that, you have to be very good at reading people, and know when to trust your gut. Right now, my gut tells me that Zero is telling the truth. She’s got no discernible reason to kill Jason, I doubt she’d have been able to pull it off alone, and most of the other suspects have no reason to involve her. Like Network, she’s got a certain altruistic streak, and nothing i know about her indicates she’d willingly cover up Jason’s death without a very good reason.

“There is, uh, something I do know, though. I know when his implant went offline.”

Most interrogations don’t go like this. Of course, most of the people I interrogate aren’t nominal allies of mine, nor am I making any requests of them. Intimidation is often necessary, even though it’s important not to scare them so much that they give you bad intel. Rarely do they offer something like this unprompted.

“How do you have that information?”

I’ve got my vocal filter turned up slightly, which is standard for interrogations of any kind. It’s still recognizably me, at least to the degree that Zero recognized it, but with a certain coldness to it. It’s hard to take threats seriously when they come from a normal person, but that’s not how most people see me. They see someone with an expressionless, pitiless masked face, and a voice with no hint of humanity or remorse. Right now, I need Lai willing to work with me, but also intimidated enough that she won’t refuse to cooperate at all.

“I accessed the logs. Machina’s the one who monitors them. He told everyone Hunt’s implant went offline on February fourteenth, but it was actually the tenth.”

Now that’s interesting. A minor lie, but an important one. Changing the date means that whoever was involved was buying time to make sure they had solid alibis for the day of the disappearance. The date in particular is new to me- I hadn’t seen him for over a week before that day. However, the fact that the implant went offline on that day doesn’t mean that’s when he actually disappeared- as Conrad and I proved, it’s possible to trick the implant into thinking it’s still connected to a person, when it’s already been removed. What’s really important is that Robards keeps accurate personal logs of all the implant data, even when he lies to the rest of the group about it. Too much of a control freak to falsify his own records- potentially even including location data. I’ve known about the trackers in the implants for a while, but never inquired about the last known location of Jason’s before it went offline, because the fact that the implants track us seems to be a secret. If I confronted Machina about it, he’d deny that the trackers exist, and I’d have tipped my hand prematurely. But if Lai can access that data without him knowing...

“Does he know you know?”

She shakes her head.

“I don’t think so. Most of the others don’t even realize he’s tracking them constantly.”

As I suspected. That’s good.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Zero sighs again.

“Because I didn’t trust you. I figured that if you knew Machina was involved, you’d do something stupid like this, and expose me at the same time. I’ve been looking into this too, trying to figure out what happened to Hunt, and who else knew. Difference is, I’ve been careful.”

Her mistake is confusing calculated risk-taking with recklessness, but that’s forgivable. The explanation she’s giving makes sense, but it’s also convenient, and I’m not willing to put aside my suspicion completely. Like with Winters, it’s impossible to say for absolute certain that she’s on the level. But you don’t need certainty when you can inject someone with nano-bombs in case they betray you. Once Lai’s implant was out, that was the very first thing Conrad did.

“What were you going to do?”

“What?”

“Once you cracked the case, what were you going to do? Confront them? Tell the others? Risk suffering the same fate?”

Zero opens her mouth to give some indignant retort, but can’t seem to bring forth the words. A moment later, she slumps down, looking defeated. If Winters and I were able to kidnap her this easily, it must be obvious that she had little chance of taking the Council on alone.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to know why they did it, and if they were gonna do it to anyone else.”

Self-preservation, then. I can’t blame her. She’s got no personal stake in avenging Jason, and so long as she isn’t in any danger herself, there’s really no reason for her to act. At least, that’s what I imagine the rational side of her has been saying for the past eight months. The righteous, angry side of her would be the one that’s urging her to do something, anything, rather than just letting them get away with it. I’m counting on that second voice winning out.

“Well, I’ve got a better idea. See, we both have a pretty good idea who else was involved, don’t we? They’ve been keeping secrets from the rest of us since the beginning. I bet you don’t even know why you were recruited in the first place.”

She frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Gilgamesh picked all of the current members for a specific reason. He’s seen each of you end the world before. The reason he chose you and not other people with equivalent power and influence is because he thinks you’ll do it again if you aren’t supervised.”

For most people, fundamentally altering their worldview is almost impossible. If they learn something that’s too difficult to accept, they’ll start inventing justifications to ignore it almost immediately. Lai is smarter and more open-minded than most, but even she can’t swallow it right away.

“No, that’s... that... god dammit, how did I not realize? The Leviathan program I was working on... fuck!”

“Like I said, they’ve been keeping secrets from the start. I want to expose them to the rest of the Council. I need your help to do it.”

Zero doesn’t like being lied to, that much I know. But she’s already kept plenty of secrets for the Council. I can imagine the rational voice in her head, saying ‘what’s one more?’ The same voice Geas, Machina, and Gilgamesh hear whenever they start to doubt whether what they’re doing is right. Silently, I will her not to listen. That voice has its place, but listening to it exclusively, and ignoring your moral instincts, leads down a dark path.

“What if I refuse?”

I suppress a sigh.

“That depends. You could agree to take a vacation, and not tell anyone else about this conversation. I won’t stop you. But if you’re going to go warn Machina and the others about what I’m planning... well, I can’t let you do that.”

Lai goes silent, thinking it over. I glance at Conrad, who’s remained silent for a while. Negotiating isn’t exactly his speed- usually, I was the one tied to the chair, and he was boring me to death with a monologue while his death laser was charging up to kill me to death. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking behind the mask, but I can guess. Part of him is starting to think that this might actually work, and part of him is still considering where to bury the body when we’re done.

“Okay, let’s say you actually pull this off. Expose Robards and the others. What next?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say too much until you agree to help. But in short, we would conduct a... hostile takeover.”

As per usual, Zero is playing the skeptic. I’m almost grateful. It’s a useful kind of person to have around, someone who won’t hesitate to point out holes in your plans. I’m not stupid enough to think that ours are foolproof. But with her help, we might be able to make them work.

“Once that’s done?”

“You and I talked about the Council once. About how its vast power and influence could be used more productively, if certain elements weren’t in play. If, for example, its leaders were more concerned about improving the world than maintaining the status quo. I can’t say for certain what would happen next, but I think that conversation should give you an idea.”

Another long silence. And then:

“I’m in.”