I’ve been to three official Council meetings before. The first concerned my own induction to the group. The second was convened by Zero, concerning a potential existential threat she felt needed to be neutralized. The third, Machina and Astro called, regarding the Andromedan problem. This will be the first time I’ve called one. In many Western stories, narratives are structured around the rule of threes. But in Japan, the number of significance is four- shi, meaning death. That seems appropriate. I don’t know exactly what the outcome of this meeting is going to be, but I have a feeling that not everyone who attends it will be alive by the end of the day.

Zero and I are the first to arrive, naturally. Donovan and Beringer come next, taking their usual seats. Surprisingly, Pallas is next to arrive, casting me a curious look as she hovers over to her chair. I don’t blame any of them for their confusion, or even annoyance. All I said was that the meeting was of the highest urgency, and that everyone should come at once. One of Network’s bodies shows up soon after, and gives me an entirely different look, one that tells me he has some idea of what’s about to happen. After several minutes of silence, the others all arrive at once- Machina, Geas, and Astro, all reluctantly returning from the Andromedan warship. Gilgamesh isn’t with them, which I take to mean he isn’t coming at all. That’s a good thing.

With the seat at the head of the table vacant, my position at the very end feels slightly more central. All eyes in the room are on me. Some are accusatory, ready to condemn me for wasting their valuable time. Others are expectant, assuming I had a good reason for bringing everyone together. The rest are neutral, choosing not to reveal whatever they feel. I’m not in the mood to waste any time either.

“You all brought me into this group to investigate the disappearance of one of its members. My mentor, Jason Hunt. Since I began my investigation, I’ve discovered more than just what happened to him, including some things I think most of you are going to be very interested to know. But first, let’s cut to the chase.”

Nobody’s face betrays anything. I can feel a calm wash over me, the same calm I feel in the midst of a fight. Heartbeat regular, voice steady. No doubt or uncertainty. This is my job, and I’m goddamn good at it.

“Machina, Geas, and Gilgamesh. They did it, and then they covered it up. But don’t just take my word for it.”

Zero grins, and gestures to the holo-projector in the center of the table. The display activates immediately, showing a series of data entries, with associated timestamps and names. Biometric information from our implants, and translocation logs.

“What we were told,” she says, addressing the room, “is that Hunt’s implant went offline on the fourteenth of February. In reality, the last time it was active was the tenth, four days earlier. The reason they lied is so that nobody would put the dots together, and realize that something was up. The implant goes offline on the tenth, but if you look at his vitals, they don’t change at all for an entire week beforehand. Blood pressure is ninety over sixty, heart rate between eighty-five and one-twenty in a loop. The implant was online, but it wasn’t inside of Hunt. And the tracking data for that time is all redacted.”

Before Lai can continue, Pallas interrupts her, looking incensed.

“Tracking data?”

I hadn’t thought it would be possible for Zero to look more smug than she already did, but somehow she manages it.

“Yep. These two and their boss have been tracking every single one of us since the start. Now, if we look at the last time Hunt’s biometrics changed, it was February second. Location data still redacted, which either means it was manually removed, or he was inside this facility. And if we look at the translocation logs for that date, just an hour after the last real biometric update from Hunt’s implant, both of these two take a trip somewhere- destination redacted.”

Falling silent, Sandra looks back to me. We didn’t exactly script this, but she knows that this is my show.

“In case anybody needs that spelled out, the two of them- and probably Gil, who doesn’t show up in any of the logs -took Jason somewhere, killed or otherwise silenced him, and covered up any hint of it.”

Finally, Machina’s composure breaks. His stony expression has been betraying more and more frustration as Lai and I have been speaking, and with the full accusation on the table, he can’t hold it back any longer.

“Do you really expect us to believe this? I don’t record any of this data, and if I did, it would certainly be secure enough that neither of you could access it. You clearly doctored this in order to--”

“I’m not finished.”

Part of me is expecting Robards to activate his armor, which is standing still as a statue behind his chair, and attack me. Instead, he simply shuts his mouth, glaring at me. If he attacked, it would be an implicit admission of guilt. He could have phrased his defense better, too, but pride got in the way. The man is brilliant, but he doesn’t think of other people as truly having agency. The idea that Zero might have actually gotten past his safeguards and accessed this data is inconceivable to him. Maybe he truly believes it’s doctotred, even though a part of him knows it’s the exact information he tried to conceal.

“We still have to talk about the why. These three have been lying to all of you since the very start. Unfortunately, Jason was very good at digging up things that have been buried, and so am I. Like the real reason all of you were recruited in the first place.”

If O’Connor or Robards know what’s coming, they don’t let it show. Maybe they’re planning to act surprised, and try to play it off like they don’t know. For a while, I wasn’t certain that they were in on this particular deception. Sandra’s assistance in the past week since our conversation in the warehouse was invaluable in that regard.

“Gilgamesh chose all of you because you’ve got the potential to cause the end of the world. He saw it happen personally, in his previous lives. He wanted to keep you all close, so it would be easier to kill you when necessary, and so he could use you as tools for his agenda until then. Machina and Geas are the only ones he told, because he needed their help planning out ways to kill the rest of you when the time comes. We even found some of their secret plans.”

Zero brings up another set of documents on the projector. These were in Machina’s private server- they appear to mostly be written by him, with some input by the other two. Accessing it in the first place probably wouldn’t have been possible if Robards wasn’t off-planet at the time. Despite that, nothing we found seemed to be directly written by Gilgamesh. If he keeps notes or files of any kind, it’s not anywhere we could access.

“Sam. When Robards offered to do some repairs on your ship a few years ago, he left a backdoor in the systems that would let him kill it whenever he wanted. Shut down life support mid-flight, flush all the oxygen instantly, even remotely deactivate the weapons during combat. Pallas. They’ve got pages and pages of plans for how to deal with you, and how to conquer or destroy Arcadia after you’re dead. Axel. They’ve been covertly testing out ways to kill you for years now, using memetics and psychic viruses. I’m sure they’ve been responsible for a number of your bodies disappearing unexpectedly.”

Not surprisingly, everyone I named looks furious. Donovan and Beringer are the only ones I didn’t specifically reference, both for different reasons. In Professor Superior’s case, they simply don’t consider him much of a threat, which is probably accurate. Donovan’s case, however, is even worse than the others.

“You can imagine why they might kill someone to cover this up. But that’s not all. They’ve been setting Grendel free far more often than they claim, and wiping Donovan’s mind afterwards. He doesn’t have a psychic blocker, so there’s nothing stopping Geas from doing it as much as he likes. We checked the logs, and found dozens of nearly identical cases. Two people make a jump to a certain location. O’Connor, and a one-time translocator beacon with no identification tag attached. A few hours later, they come back. And in areas nearby, there are always unexplained disappearances or deaths in the exact same timeframe.”

That provokes looks of horror, none more deep than that of Donovan himself. Geas is openly staring daggers at Machina, probably cursing him for keeping such detailed records of their transgressions. Robards is probably kicking himself too. If Zero had been a member of the group for longer, he’d probably have thought to guard against this sort of thing, but she’s the most recent addition after me, and the youngest. He underestimated her. A critical mistake.

“Some of the victims seem to have obvious explanations. A metahuman vanishing without a trace, or turning up violently mutilated. Potential threats they wanted to eliminate without telling the rest of us. Others, not so much. A family of four, all skinned alive. Dozens of innocent civilians gone missing. An entire middle school field trip never came home.”

As I’m talking, Sandra is putting up pictures of the victims on the screen, and corresponding timestamps showing Geas and Grendel arriving nearby. I’d suspected that the original story about Donovan’s alter ego was fishy from the beginning, but the extent of it was jaw-dropping. I want to believe that there were good reasons for all the killings, though that wouldn’t make them excusable, but something tells me that they gave up on that a while ago. Now they’re just feeding Grendel whatever he wants, to make sure he stays an obedient tool for them to use.

“Anybody still unconvinced? Or are you ready to--”

“Enough of this.”

This time, it’s Machina who’s interrupting me. He presses two buttons on his watch, and then gives Geas a nod. Looking unhappy, the telepath stands up from his chair, and as half the room is getting on their feet too, he utters a single word.

“Sleep.”

Everyone collapses instantly. Everyone other than Zero and I. Beringer bangs his head on the table as he falls to the ground, which doesn’t seem great for someone his age, but we have bigger problems. Machina deactivated the psychic blockers for everyone else, which most of them should have seen coming the minute they found out their implants had trackers in them.

“How are they still up?”

O’Connor looks perplexed. He narrows his eyes at us, and then takes a half-step back.

“I don’t know. I’m not getting any signatures from them. Their blockers must still be active.”

“Impossible,” Robards spits, seeming insulted at the very idea. “I’d know if they tampered with the failsafe.”

Zero smirks. Normally, I would advise against smugly telling your enemies how you tricked them, but in this case, we’re trying to bait them into a specific course of action.

“Sure you would. Unless someone infected your systems with a virus that feeds you false information, making you think we’re actually in the room, and not just hard-light holograms.”

Shock crosses Machina’s face for a moment, followed by fury. He extends an arm towards us, and the suit behind him mirrors the movement, firing a wide beam of energy that annihilates the holo-projectors displaying Zero and myself. Our projections wink out without a sound. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t hit the cameras and hidden mics that I set up around the room before the meeting started, which we’ve been using to watch this entire thing unfold.

“Goddammit,” the engineer spits. He stands up violently, kicking the chair back, and his suit’s front folds open so he can step inside. It seals around him, and he scans the room. The cameras are hidden thanks to the virus, which Zero infected him with days ago, after I handed the code over. It was, in her words, ‘impressive, but not impressive enough.’ Now it’s sufficiently impressive that even Machina won’t be able to defeat it without time and effort.

“Where’s Gilgamesh?”

Robards is silent for a moment before he answers O’Connor’s question.

“I don’t know. My suit says he’s still on the warship, but I can’t be sure that’s true.”

The telepath’s calm, professorial facade has broken completely. He wipes sweat off his brow and leans forward on the table, eyes darting from one unconscious Council member to another.

“We should go find him, then.”

“No. Not yet. We can’t leave them here. Your powers can’t affect all of Thorn’s bodies at once. This one’s asleep, but the rest could be moving against us as we speak. And if he can wake up the others, things will get out of hand quickly.”

Geas seems slightly hysterical as he replies.

“What do you propose, exactly?”

It might just be the vocal filter in his armor, but Machina seems much calmer already. His voice is steady as he answers.

“I’m going to the tower. I need to get rid of this virus. Once that’s done, I’ll contact Gilgamesh and start our countermeasures against Thorn. You need to take the others somewhere secure and get to work wiping the last half hour from their memories.”

As Machina is talking, O’Connor nods along, but then pauses, glancing at the exits to the meeting room.

“What about Graves and Lai?”

“They’re still in the facility. We’re too far away from anywhere else for them to have been transmitting remotely, and I shut down their translocators. Set Grendel loose, he’ll take care of it.”

Geas considers that for a moment, before nodding again.

“All right. But you need to kill Gladwin first.”

His armor’s filters make Machina’s sigh come out like steam venting.

“We invested so goddamn much in her.”

“That’s exactly why she has to die. Her mental blocks are too strong for me to edit her memories. It’s a miracle she’s stayed out for this long already. And you know what happens if she wakes up.”

There’s another brief silence, then Robards marches over to where Pallas lies sleeping, her head resting on the table, hair splayed out messily. A small cannon emerges from his armor’s shoulder and locks onto her. I hear a humming sound through one of the hidden mics, and then it fires. No visible beam, just a heat haze, and then the strongest metahuman in the world is a pile of ash.

It’s almost unbelievable, in the literal sense of the world. Pallas rules a country. She’s powerful enough to take on hundreds of metahumans at once and win. They disposed of her like they might have sold off shares of a stock that failed to perform like they expected. Logically, I understand what just happened. She’s got active defenses- force-fields and the like -but none that protect her even when she’s unconscious. One of her powers removes her need to sleep, but apparently doesn’t prevent her from doing so under psychic compulsion. An ordinary attack, she could have healed from, but a disintegration is absolute.

“Happy?”

Geas rolls his eyes.

“Far from it. Now stop wasting time.”

Rather than respond, Machina activates his translocator and disappears. O’Connor is quiet for a moment, before walking over to where Donovan is laying. He rolls the man over onto his back with a foot, and then issues a command to his unconscious form.

“Wake.”

The biochemist blinks a few times and rubs his head, as awareness returns. He notices Geas looking over him and tries to scramble away, but the telepath places two fingers to his own forehead, and focuses for a second. Donovan goes limp, and then slowly stands, his terrified expression replaced with one of cruel joy at being freed.

“Boy, you really fucked that up,” Grendel says with a sneer.

O’Connor pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Graves and Lai. Find them, kill them. If you see any of Network’s other bodies, kill them too. Contact me when you’re finished.”

Smiling, Grendel reaches out a hand, palm upturned. Geas fishes around in his pocket for a moment and retrieves a small grey pill, depositing it in the killer’s hand. Grendel pops it into his mouth and heads for the nearest door, whistling to himself as he goes. A moment later, Geas disappears, along with Blake and Beringer. Apparently no point in bringing Network, as his other bodies are still out there. That’s a problem for later, though. Zero and I have something more pressing to deal with.

Lai left immediately after our holo-projectors were destroyed, to secure our way out of this facility. That means dealing with Grendel is my job. On the upside, I planned for this in advance. On the downside, I don’t have cameras anywhere else in the facility, meaning I’m currently being stalked by a serial killer who’s transforming into a monster bioengineered to be the ideal stealth predator.

Evolution has produced some impressive things. Most predatory animals are highly efficient creatures, optimized for their natural environment. But the most impressive thing evolution has ever created is the human brain. What evolution takes generations to produce, we can create in mere decades. And with metahuman abilities in play, natural selection really didn’t stand a chance. Grendel’s scales can bend light around it, making it essentially invisible. Despite mutating out of a warm-blooded human’s body, it can mask its own temperature so well that it’s got no recognizable heat signature. It moves silently, emits no odor, and kills with precision. However, the natural wonder that is the human mind can also be a weakness. Grendel’s form is brutally efficient, but the mind behind it is sadistic and cruel. And it’s been locked away inside of a mild-mannered scientist for years. That means it won’t just kill any of Network’s bodies it comes across, it’ll play with them. A pointless waste of time, which gives me an advantage. But Grendel doesn’t think in the same tactical terms that I do. That’s why I’m going to win this fight.

It doesn’t take long until I run into the first victim. Not a good sign. Zero and I sequestered ourselves about as far away from the meeting room as possible, so as to reduce the risk that anyone would notice our deception with the holograms. If Grendel is already this close, I won’t have as much time as I’d hoped.

Earlier in my career, the sight of Grendel’s victim would have made me throw up. It’s probably not great that I’m so used to violent dismemberments, but there’s no time to dwell on that at present. I recognize the victim- one of Network’s bodies I’ve seen around the facility in passing. Its legs appear to have been torn off at the knees, with the bones then used to impale it in the chest. Hardly necessary, considering the natural weapons Grendel has at its disposal, but presumably a source of amusement for the monster. An attempt seems to have been made to pin the body to the wall, which failed due to the fact that the walls are all time-locked, courtesy of Matthias Koppel. Impossible to damage in any way. Instead, the body simply dropped to the floor, smearing the inviolable walls with blood. However, the impalements seem deliberately placed to avoid hitting any vital organs. As such, the body is, for the moment, alive.

“H-Hawk—”

Network barely manages to choke out half of a word, blood dribbling from his mouth, before he breaks off, gasping.

“Shh. I’m assuming you want me to put this body out of its misery, right?”

He nods as vigorously as he can, which isn’t very much.

“I will. Just one thing. Contact Conrad Winters, he’ll fill you in on the plan.”

Thorn nods again, even weaker this time. I wait another second to be sure the message propagates to the rest of his bodies, and then put a bullet in him. The sound resonates through the black stone halls, as good as a beacon telling Grendel where I am. Not a problem- I’ve got no patience for a game of cat and mouse, not when I’m playing the mouse.

Continuing my stroll, I maintain general situation awareness, but don’t particularly bother to look for Grendel. If he wanted to hide, I’d have very little chance of spotting him. More to the point, it’s pretty clear hiding isn’t on the agenda. Not much later, I spot a stain of blood on the floor. It stretches down the hall, clearly the result of a badly wounded person being dragged along, in order to create a trail for me to follow. Serial killers typically aren’t quite so generous as to lead me right to them, so I oblige Grendel’s unspoken wishes and follow.

Since my induction, I’ve gotten better at navigating this facility, to the point that I no longer even require the 3D blueprint to find my way around. That means I can guess where the trail is leading me before I even get there. The lounge. Halfway there, it seems Grendel started smashing the exposed light fixtures, creating a near-totally dark environment. I switch on night vision and follow, glass crunching beneath my feet. The monster thinks he’s toying with me, but he’s got it wrong. I’m the predator here, not him.

No flame burns within the fireplace when I enter the lounge. The entire bar has been emptied, bottles scattered across the floor, soaking it with alcohol and jagged shards. Not just pointless destruction- the puddles of liquor and broken glass would make it virtually impossible for me to cross the room undetected. So I don’t bother. Instead, I head straight for the main attraction. A body, presumably the one used to create Grendel’s blood trail, sits on one of the bar stools, now located in the center of the room. Despite being quite dead, with its stomach spilling intestines everywhere, it’s not slumped over, but rather sitting upright. Somewhere above it, Grendel must be perched, using its forward limbs to manipulate the corpse like a puppeteer.

It lifts one of the corpse’s limp arms and waves it back and forth jerkily, approximating a wave. Inquiry in hand, I scan the room for any sign of Grendel, and find none.

“Hi there, Hawkshaw!”

Both internally and externally, Grendel is the furthest thing there is from human. But its voice is unchanged, still unmistakably that of Andrew Donovan. Save, of course, for the way it speaks. None of the latent guilt or self-loathing, and plenty of twisted amusement to spare.

I point my gun straight at the sound’s source, even knowing it may be the wrong place. Grendel is known to be capable of throwing its voice, just one more way to torment its victims. The corpse’s arm drops back down.

“Aww, look, you made Axel sad. I’ve always hated him, you know. He’s just no fun to play with. Too dispersed among all his other bodies to care much about any given one.”

The monster’s act is already wearing thin. It’s painfully insincere, just an approximation of a tired stereotype of a cruel child. All it wants to do is provoke a reaction from me, and I have no intention of giving it anything.

“You can put the gun away,” he chides. “It’s not even gonna scratch me.”

“Koppel bullets,” I answer. Grendel gives an echoing laugh, the kind that seems to reverberate through the room.

“Point in your favor, then,” he admits. “But I’m afraid it won’t be enough. You’ve got no idea where I am. And even if you did, my vital organs aren’t where you’d expect. You might get lucky and hit one, but I’d still have plenty of time to strip off that armor and peel the skin off your face before I bled out.”

As his act drops, it becomes clear that he still possesses Donovan’s intellect, just without any of his compassion. It’s been obvious for a while that Grendel isn’t just some kind of repressed personality. No person with DID has ever behaved quite like he does. It’s a part of his power, the part that wants to be used for things other than just scientific research. Most metahuman abilities don’t go to people like Andrew Donovan. They go to people who will have some inclination to actually use them. In the rare case where a genuine pacifist manifests abilities, it seems circumstances will still conspire to drive them towards violence. Even if it was an option, I’d hesitate to have Network overwrite Donovan, for fear that the Grendel persona wouldn’t just remain, but would somehow infect all of his bodies.

“You’re right. I can’t beat you. That’s why I rigged this fight. Nano-bombs in Donovan’s morning coffee. My heart stops, they detonate. So you’d be advised not to try anything stupid.”

Grendel is silent. If it even breathes, it’s not audible to me. Then it replies.

“You’re bluffing. I would have noticed.”

“You might have noticed. But when Donovan is in the driver’s seat, you only see as much as he does. Besides, if I was bluffing, I would offer you a chance to survive if you cooperate. That’s already off the table. You’re too dangerous to leave alive.”

The act is gone completely now. Even the cold, cruel confidence is fading, as he faces up to the possibility that I won this fight before he even knew it started. That’s something I learned from Jason. There are plenty of fights you can’t win, but that only matters if you care about playing fair.

“If I’ve got no chance to live, why shouldn’t I take you with me?”

“Simple. I dosed you with triple the amount necessary to kill a human, to account for your biology. Normally, the entire dose has to cluster together to produce a lethal detonation. With the amount in your system, that’s not necessary. So if my heart stops, half the nanites will detonate immediately, doing massive internal damage, but leaving you alive. After a few hours, the rest will activate, in case internal bleeding hasn’t killed you yet. If you refuse to cooperate, the same thing happens. Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll detonate them all at once. It’ll be instant, and relatively painless.”

Better than he deserves, most likely. He prefers to leave his victims alive and suffering for as long as possible, and my more vindictive side says I should make him go out the same way. However, Grendel wouldn’t be the only one suffering, and Donovan deserves as little pain as possible.

“How do you know I’ll die? You said it yourself, my biology’s different.”

“It’s still just a mutated human body. The contents of your stomach and intestines don’t go anywhere when you change. Now, are you going to cooperate, or not?”

Another long pause. Grendel hisses with fury as he replies.

“Fine. What do you want?”

“Geas. Where would he have taken the others?”

It’s possible Grendel has no idea. It doesn’t seem to have been a part of the conspiracy so much as a willing tool of it. However, Geas left to reprogram Astro and Professor Superior, something he’d have done with Grendel in the past, erasing Donvoan’s memories of his alter ego’s crimes. I’m sure we could track them down eventually, but this will save time, especially if we want to get there before he’s finished turning Beringer and Blake against us.

“…Lethe,” the monster answers. I appreciate that it doesn’t bother protesting its own ignorance. “I don’t know where it is. Somewhere mountainous… maybe Switzerland. Only he, Robards, and the old man have translocator access. But it’s where he brings people who need complex memory modification.”

“Thank you for your cooperation,” I reply, and move to activate the nano-bombs.

“Wait!”

Grendel’s desperation is palpable now. I’d feel some measure of pity, if I didn’t know exactly how many people he’s had in this precise situation in the past.

“If you kill me, you’re killing Andrew too. Think of all the lives he could save! You could keep him on a leash, make sure I never got loose again!”

Persuasive arguments, but ones I’ve already resolved well before coming to this point. Besides, Grendel isn’t fooling anybody, pretending that it cares about the lives Donovan has saved. It wouldn’t tolerate living in the back seat forever, and it’s clever enough to come up with a way to disable the nano-bombs, given enough time. But there’s also another reason not to let it live, one I doubt it’s considered in the slightest.

“Considering how many people you killed for the Council, we both know he wouldn’t want to risk any chance of you getting loose again.”

No more bargaining attempts. Either he’s coming to terms with his fate, or he’s getting ready for a final, spiteful attack. I don’t wait to find out.

“Goodbye, Andrew.”

There’s no massive explosion. Just a dull, muffled detonation, followed by a loud thud as Grendel falls to the ground. The impact knocks the corpse off of its stool. Still hesitant to approach, I unclip a canister from my belt and begin spraying paint in the monster’s general direction. Slowly, its unmoving form becomes visible.

Grendel is about as inhuman as they come, but of a very different variety than the Andromedans. Its design draws clear influence from Earth animals, from the fish-like scales that cover the entire body, to the segmented, arachnoid limbs and multi-jointed scorpion’s tail. Every inch seems to have been built with one purpose in mind- killing. Externally, there are no wounds. Its skin is as thick as advertised. Internally, I’m sure it’s a complete mess. However, I’m not completely convinced that the job’s done. And even if I was, I’d make sure just in case. So I put an entire magazine of Koppel rounds into the body, making sure to hit both standard vital areas, and less obvious ones. On the off chance that Grendel survived the nanite detonation, that should just about guarantee things. Plus, now that the body is visible, coated in black paint, it’ll be easier to move once we’re done.

Disposing of the corpse will probably pose some problems, but I’m sure the Council has options available for even the nominally indestructible. Or we could keep the corpse around, and try to find someone capable of studying it. Unfortunately, our resident genius biochemist is dead, but there are more like him, including non-metas. And with vacancies on the Council rapidly appearing, we might even be able to find someone of Donovan’s talents, but without his unique issues, to replace him.

All of that is counting eggs before they hatch, though. First, we have to deal with the rest of the old guard. They’ll get suspicious when Grendel fails to report, though its habit of torturing its victims means we’ve got a bit of time before that happens. Our other advantage is that they think we’ve got no way out of this facility. Zero was up-front about the fact that she probably couldn’t bypass the override shutting down our personal translocators, or at least not within a reasonable timeframe. But we had an alternative available.

“It’s done.”

We’re using personal communicators now, not our implants, which Machina would be a fool not to monitor. In fact, both Zero and I hooked ours up to machines giving back false readings- programmed to fluctuate randomly, rather than loop a stable pattern, so as to prevent anyone from noticing. The lack of movement would have presented a problem, if we hadn’t been feeding Robards false data on our whereabouts using the virus for days already.

“Great. Meet me in the workshop, I’m almost finished.”

On my way to Sandra’s location, I come across several more of Grendel’s victims. Most appear to be dead already, horribly maimed in ways that don’t particularly bear detailing. The few that are still breathing, I put out of their misery. Despite the fact that Network isn’t a hive mind, I don’t feel much guilt for killing the individual bodies. Their experiences, down to the very last second, are shared with the rest of the collective. None of them can really be said to have any individuality beyond surface appearances. All I’m doing is sparing Thorn the trouble of experiencing their suffering for any longer.

Inside the workshop, Zero is putting the finishing touches on a device that will, with any luck, allow us to exit this facility. She’s not much of an engineer, by her own admission, but the device didn’t require much assembly. In fact, most of it was self-constructing, contained within an unassuming briefcase she brought with her this morning. However, it requires calibration and adjustments before activation, and neither of us are willing to take any chances with it.

“Here, give me a hand.”

At the digital wunderkind’s request, I pick up a screwdriver and set to work. Thanks to my rapid learning ability, I’m actually a better engineer than her, despite lacking true meta-genius. We’ve both studied the schematics carefully, meaning the real task here is simply to take our time and ensure we don’t screw anything up.

Translocation technology wasn’t invented solely by the Council. It wasn’t even the first attempt at creating instant transit tech. A forties-era super-genius was the first to build a functioning teleporter, but that became taboo not long after, when it became clear the process was inherently flawed. Anyone who used it would be deconstructed on one end and rebuilt on the other, but thanks to some quirk of the design, not everything was put back together the same way. For the most part, they were fine, but the complex chemistry of the brain couldn’t be replicated perfectly. The lucky subjects merely experienced radical personality shifts, while the majority went completely, irretrievably insane.

Eventually, an alternative was discovered. Translocation doesn’t involve any sort of molecular deconstruction. Instead, it simply manipulates space in a way that makes any journey virtually instant. And among the first to work with that technology was one Byron Winters. His prototype only ever worked once, and drained an astronomical amount of power in the process. But it did work. And his son, who inherited all of his genius, retained those designs. Given the opportunity to examine a more modern version of the same technology, he was able to recreate the prototype in a much more efficient form. It still requires a staging platform on both ends, rather than simply activating at any time via an implant. But it’s safe, quick, energy-efficient, and the Council has no idea we have it.

Working together, it only takes about fifteen minutes for Zero and I to finish calibrating the device. We can’t exactly call Conrad to tell him we’re ready, as communication from within this facility are virtually impossible, and would be monitored by Machina regardless, but the receiving platform on the other end is already calibrated. The control panel flashes green, indicating we’re clear to go. Sandra gestures for me to step on first, and follows shortly after I do so.

Lai reaches out and presses a button to activate the platform, then pulls her hand back swiftly. There’s a short countdown before it activates, to ensure nobody loses any limbs, but I can’t blame her for being cautious. This feels rather like flying a biplane when you’re used to first class. Luckily, I know the pilot, and I trust him enough not to care what kind of vehicle he’s flying.

Thirty seconds later, we’re somewhere else. Not Baker Street. That’s the first place the enemy will attack, and as soon as they’re ready, that’s exactly what they’re going to do. Instead, we chose the Winters estate as our rally point. It’s entirely possible Geas or Machina will figure out we’re here, but it’s still a preferable location for a few reasons. First and most obvious, it’s not in a populated location like downtown Pax. There’s no telling how much collateral damage the enemy will accept in order to kill us, and I’d prefer not to be the reason Jason’s city gets nuked. This place is isolated, out in the middle of Massachusetts, miles from the nearest town. Second, it’s not exactly a secret. Very few people know where Baker Street is, but an attack would expose it pretty quickly. The Winters Estate is infamous. Abandoned for years after its owner vanished, until Conrad came around and reclaimed the place. The authorities searched it thoroughly, but still never found the hidden lab underneath, which is precisely where Zero and I end up.

The arrival chamber isn’t exactly as welcoming as the Council’s. Rather than glass doors, it’s sealed with thick metal, which slowly slides open after confirming Sandra and I are the only arrivals.

“Wow, you both survived. Guess somebody owes me fifty bucks.”

Rolling my eyes at Conrad’s joke, I give him a nod and head towards the stairs. The lab is impressive, but there’s no time for sightseeing at the moment. Winters and Lai follow. Both are already in their full combat gear. There’s tension in the air. An attack could come at any time. Rationally, I know that it probably won’t, but given who we’re up against, a certain amount of paranoia is more than justifiable.

One trip up a long staircase and past a well-hidden door later, I’m inside of the manor itself. I’ve only been in the lab a few times before, but Conrad had a habit of bringing me here even while we were enemies. He’d put his father’s trophies on display and lecture me about them, or just serve me a gourmet dinner made by a chef he kidnapped, as part of whatever bizarre scheme his programming was pushing him to concoct. It’s certainly nice, though I can’t help but notice that a number of pictures on the walls, mainly those of the elder Winters and his forefathers, are missing. This mansion was in their family before Conrad’s father turned to super-crime. His ancestors were criminals of a more pedestrian sort- robber barons, as they were called at the time. Wealth and political influence was once bountiful for them, but by the time Byron was born, it’d dried up, leaving him to regain his family’s notoriety in other ways.

Passing a number of marble busts and expensive-looking vases, I make my way to the dining room. It’s a far cry from the Council’s meeting room, lavishly decorated rather than brutally minimalist. Sitting around the table are my allies. Vindicator, looking grimly prepared for war. Adamant, cold and emotionless. Atalanta, holding a half-eaten plum in one hand and wiping its juices from her face with the other. A man who can only be Network, wearing the same expression he alwaysdoes. At the windows are a number of men in black combat gear, which would normally be cause for concern, if I couldn’t deduce that they’re yet more of Network’s bodies- presumably ones he feels are necessary for our protection. Most of the powered bodies available to him were likely claimed by Pallas instead, whose support I had hoped for, but always assumed we wouldn’t have. However, that doesn’t account for combat enhanciles, which I have a feeling these black-clad bodies are.

As I take a seat, Conrad and Sandra place themselves to my right and left respectively. I didn’t hear any idle chatter on my way in, but a certain silence still manages to settle over the room. The odds are against us, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.

“Let’s get to work.”