“So, as it turns out, this Lethe place isn’t quite as secret as I thought it would be.”

Even with Machina taken care of, we’re still following information hygiene protocols, which means minimizing the amount of intelligence shared over long-range communications. As far as we know, Robards was the only one with the skills and tech necessary to monitor them, but it wouldn’t be prudent to abandon protocol until after the mission is complete.

“I spent a while trying to pin it down using satellites, but it took Zero about five minutes to figure out that they’ve got a website. It’s called the Lethe Clinic, a high-end wellness center sort of thing. She grabbed the client list- celebrities, politicians, CEOs, you name it. No obvious connection to O’Connor, but if Grendel was telling the truth, it’s pretty easy to guess what his role is. They sucker in people with power and influence, tell them they’re going to get some advanced treatment, and then Geas comes in to mess up their memories as much as he wants. Pretty clever, to be honest.”

Conrad is right. If Geas, Machina, and Gilgamesh wanted to build yet another secret facility for this memory-alteration program, it would be difficult to pull off without any of the other Council members noticing. But disguising it as an ordinary business, if a highly exclusive one, provides a certain amount of cover. It’s also a much more effective way of getting their targets than just kidnapping. I shudder to think what they’ve been implanting in the minds of politicians and CEOs that they didn’t want the rest of us knowing about.

“Plus, it’s got a killer view of the Alps. Unfortunately, that makes a frontal assault undesirable. Attacking the Keep was one thing, but if some shitbag ex-president saw the Front Line trashing their Swiss sanctuary, it would be difficult to cover up. Thanks to Network, we’ve got translocation back online, but jumping straight into the clinic wouldn’t be smart either, since we don’t know what would be waiting for us on the other side. That’s why we’re going to take a more conventional approach.”

‘We’ meaning Conrad, Atalanta, and myself. The others will be on standby in case things go really badly, but with any luck, it won’t be necessary for them to intervene. It does reassure me somewhat to have the powerhouses waiting in the wings. Our initial plan gets fuzzy from this point forward. We had a pretty good idea where Machina would go, and how we’d get to him inside of the Keep. Dealing with Grendel proved fairly simple in the end as well. But without knowing what O’Connor’s move would be, we couldn’t commit to a particular approach in advance. That also means we don’t have any tricks up our sleeves like I did for Robards or Grendel. Just an objective, and a giant panic button to hit if completing it seems impossible.

“That’s why I called you two here. And why I brought this.”

Winters gestures to a duffel bag resting on the ground beside him. ‘Here’ is the hangar where the Council keeps Black Beauty, Samuel Blake’s supersonic jet. Normally, it would take hours to get from where we are to Switzerland, but that’s time we don’t have. And with Network in control of the translocation system, all three of us could jump directly here. Since my implant is still hooked up to a machine at Baker Street feeding it false biometric data, and the others never had ones in the first place, we had to make do with one-time beacons.

Unzipping the bag, Conrad reveals its contents. On top are a few articles of clothing. One copy of my trenchcoat, seemingly identical except for the fact that it’s pure white rather than deep black. The others are slightly more generic white tactical gear, which he hands to Liv. The variant coat has to have been taken from Baker Street, where I keep a number of other alternate options for my uniform more suited to different environments. The armor itself is too complex to have a dozen variants of, but as I put the coat on, I switch its ‘skin’ from standard black to polar camo. White’s never been quite my color, but it doesn’t bother me much.

“You two would stick out like sore thumbs with all that snow, so I took the initiative. Hopefully I got your sizes right.”

Liv makes a vaguely grateful noise as she’s donning her white parka and snow pants. The gear set also came with a visor similar to what a snowboarder might wear, which she keeps in hand. Winters is already wearing a cold-weather version of his usual uniform, which spoiled the surprise somewhat. The two of them never quite got along, even after Conrad quit the supercriminal lifestyle. Hopefully it won’t be a problem for this mission.

Beneath the clothes, Winters packed a number of weapons. Some I recognize from my own arsenal at Baker Street, while others seem to be of his own design.

“Remember, we want to go nonlethal. Any guards there will just be doing their jobs, and if we end up having to fight Astro and Superior, it won’t be of their own free will. I’d be happy to kill Geas, but we need him alive so Network can overwrite him.”

The others acknowledge my reminder nonverbally, and retrieve their chosen weapons. Atalanta takes a sidearm and sticks it in her thigh holster, then picks up a shotgun, tapping the underslung beanbag launcher to indicate it’s got a less-than-lethal option. Winters has most of his gear equipped already, but he selects a slightly strange-looking rifle I don’t recognize and straps it to his back. His father was more into gadgets than guns, and Conrad followed that rule for a while, but since rejecting the old man’s attempt to enforce a destiny upon him, he started applying the superhuman smarts he inherited to more serious ends. He also pulls out a sheathed sword from the bag, and attaches it to his waist. Not something I was particularly expecting, but he wouldn’t bring it along if he didn’t think it would be useful.

I take a sonic rifle first, going for something familiar from the armory. Then I grab a few assorted goodies to fill out the gear I expended in my fight with Machina. A few toys from home, but mostly things I recognize as a Winters family design. He used most of them against me at one point or another, so I don’t require any explanation about what they do or how to use them.

“Great,” Conrad says, zipping up the bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “We can figure out how we want to go in on the way. Zero’s driving.”

As if in response to his words, the plane’s door swings open, stairs descending, and Winters heads over to board. Liv gives me a look I can’t quite read, and I wish the mask didn’t obscure my entire face so I could smile at her. There really aren’t any other people in the world I’d rather be going on a mission like this with.

Even flying in a supersonic plane, the flight to the Lethe Clinic is still about an hour long. That means our chances of bursting in before Geas can finish programming the other Council members are pretty low. It’s not clear how long the process usually takes, but assuming we’ll have to fight Beringer and Blake seems safe. Luckily, Jason already put together files on their potential weaknesses, and I’ve got insights of my own to share. That gives us plenty of time to prepare before we arrive.

Atalanta and Winters keep things civil, mostly by talking to me rather than each other. They tangled a few times back when Conrad and I were enemies, but mostly steered clear of each other after our alliance. I’m not quite self-absorbed enough to assume they’re just fighting over me, but the exact nature of their mutual animosity still isn’t clear. Liv didn’t seem to fully understand when I talked about developing a respect for Winters when we fought. She’s got persistent enemies in her city, but none she has particularly complex relationships with. That’s just not how she approaches crime-fighting. For his part, Conrad has always taken our lifestyle very seriously, and found her irreverence annoying when they encountered each other. From my perspective, he’s loosened up since then, and Liv has gotten more serious, which I hope will lead to something resembling respect, even if friendship probably isn’t in the cards.

The Lethe Clinic isn’t just at the base of the Alps, it’s within them, built into the side of a mountain. Supposedly inaccessible except by helicopter, which also serves as a barrier to entry for anyone in sufficiently wealthy to charter a private trip up there. Needless to say, we won’t be approaching from that angle. Zero identified an alternate option for us- the staff’s living quarters. Since going up and down the mountain each day isn’t exactly an option, they live on-site, in a building on the other side of the mountain, connected by a tunnel through the rock. Most of the clientele probably have no idea it even exists, which makes it the perfect place for insertion.

Sandra alerts us once we’re nearing the drop point, and we grab our things before heading to the plane’s ‘back door.’ Atalanta has a rebreather in, which should last her until we get inside, since the air at this altitude is thin enough to make breathing normally difficult. Winters and I have similar devices built into our uniforms already. We’re also using slow-fall modules in place of parachutes. Digital cloaks will hide us, but one parachute is hard to miss, much less three, with the skies otherwise clear. We can’t even count on cloud cover, because we’re already above them.

“Fifteen seconds. Get ready.”

A timer appears on my HUD, and I wait until it’s down to five, holding tight to the railing. Zero is mission control for this operation, but once we’re inside, she’ll be leaving things to us.

“Four. Three. Two. One.”

Conrad jumps first, his form picture-perfect. I’m sure his father would have expected no less. Liv goes after him, slapping me on the back before she jumps. I follow shortly after, feeling my awareness sharpen to a single point. No doubts or distractions. Just the mission.

“Good luck.”

Skydiving is, in theory, pretty easy. There’s no real action involved other than falling, and pulling the cord on your parachute before you hit the ground. That changes when you’ve got a specific target you need to hit. Especially a small one, not especially far from where you’re making the jump. If we’re going in the wrong direction, there’s not much of a window for course-correction, and a miss means landing on the side of the mountain, which isn’t exactly cushioned for comfort.

I can’t recall if Winters has ever actually done this before, but he’s clearly familiar with the techniques necessary for going faster, because he’s far ahead of Atalanta, despite having only jumped a second before her. Liv definitely hasn’t done this before, and while I know she doesn’t scare easily, I don’t want to risk having her get lost just because I was worried about offending her. I pull my arms in close, accelerating towards her, and then extend them to brake. The coat assists with that, in much the same way a wing suit might. She glances back at me, and I reach out to grasp her hand, linking us together. Behind her visor and rebreather, it’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking, but she doesn’t protest as I help guide her towards the target.

Not long after, Conrad activates his slow-fall unit, and we follow suit. His lead means he’s on the ground several seconds before us, and already searching for a way in. The plasma torch is always on the table, but if we can find a service entrance, that’s preferable, and less likely to set off alarms. Atalanta wobbles back and forth a little, unsteady, and I reach out to hold her. She pulls the visor up for a moment, squinting at the bright sunlight, and then puts it back in place. Once I’m sure she’s not going to collapse, or fall off the roof of the building we’re on, I pull away, and she gives me a nod.

“Gotcha. Over here.”

If there were any locks on the maintenance hatch Winters has found, he’s bypassed them, though I can’t imagine why anyone would think to lock it from the outside- or how they’d even get back in afterwards. This place is so remote that someone breaking in from the rooftop is almost ridiculous. Or it would be if we weren’t doing it.

The interior of the Lethe Clinic’s staff quarters does not match the sleek, modern design advertised on their website. It’s uninvitingly industrial, with the heating equipment totally undisguised, and no consideration given to the droning noises it produces. That can’t make it easy to sleep at night, though I suppose it must be preferable to freezing to death. Even at an incredibly exclusive Swiss clinic secretly run by the people that control the entire world, the staff is treated like shit. Disappointing, but not surprising.

All three of us sweep the area, which looks to be a locker room, but nobody is present. At this time of day, I’d expect most of them to be inside the clinic itself. After my experience with the Earthshaker, though, I’m not about to drop my guard. Weapons in hand, we advance as a group, with Conrad taking the lead and Atalanta close behind, while I cover the rear. The hallways in this building are painfully narrow, forcing us to move in single file, but thankfully it isn’t long before we find a sign that reads ‘To Clinic,’ with a helpful arrow indicating exactly where we need to go. The same is written in German underneath, for the benefit of any Swiss who actually work here. I’m sure the front-facing staff is as European as they come, but the maintenance workers are probably flown in from other parts of the world, where they’ll work for less.

Following the arrows, we reach a room with a small tram on a track, which leads into a tunnel. The tram’s presence on this end confuses me for a moment, before I register the presence of three people in uniform, speaking Hindi. Our appearance understandably startles them, but before any of them have the chance to go for an alarm, Atalanta fires, a beanbag striking one of the men in the chest and knocking him to the ground. I lower the sonic rifle and fire my gauntlet’s taser at the woman to his right, feeling vaguely guilty, while Winters launches some sort of dart from his wrist that strikes the older man in the neck, causing him to fall unconscious almost immediately.

Working in silent unison, we zip-tie each of them and make sure they’re positioned upright, so none of them choke on their tongues. A bit of tape ensures they won’t be able to shout for help when they wake up. It’s harsh but necessary, given what we’re here to do.

Conrad takes a moment to examine the tram’s control panel, before opening the door and taking a seat inside. Liv joins him, and I follow shortly after, taking a moment to finish gagging the last staff member. He presses a button on the inside of the cart and it lurches into motion, moving at a decent pace. It’s not really the time for banter, but I can’t help feeling slightly uncomfortable at the silence. Atalanta loads another beanbag into her shotgun and places it in her lap. I run a brief systems check, and discover absolutely nothing out of place within the suit, save for the taser’s charge being depleted.

“There’s gonna be a security check on the other end,” Winters informs us, breaking the silence. “If we’re quick, we should be able to prevent them from raising the alarm, but try to leave one conscious so we can ask them some questions.”

Despite having Zero’s help, we weren’t able to identify exactly where Geas brings people for memory modification. Blueprints obviously aren’t available, and satellite imaging only helps so much on short notice. With more time for a deep scan, we could have mapped the entire place out in advance, but it seemed imprudent to wait that long considering the time-sensitivity of the whole operation.

“Understood,” Atalanta replies tersely. I’ve had a hard time reading her this whole time- since I told her about the Council in general, really. She offered to help without reservation, but it’s clearly weighing on her in a way I don’t fully understand. Maybe she’s got reservations about fighting people who’ve done so much good in the world, even if they’ve crossed plenty of lines in the process. Or maybe she’s just mad I kept it from her for so long. I tried to head that off by telling her I had a secret I couldn’t share, but emotions aren’t exactly rational, and I can’t fault her for being upset.

Another silent minute passes, and the light at the end of the dark tunnel gets closer. So does the sound of voices. The guards, presumably.

“Anything happen while I was pissin’?”

“Yeah, someone thought it would be a funny prank to send the cart over without anybody inside.”

With our digital cloaks active, the guards would have looked at the security feeds inside the tunnel and seen an empty tram. Fortunate for us, because they’d have sounded the alarm already if not.

“Assholes. They know we gotta check it anyway.”

It’s not much of a surprise that the staff here speaks English. After all, the main clientele is Americans and Europeans with money and power, most of whom speak English, either as their native language or to make international dealings more convenient. Plus, Geas needs to share a language with anyone he uses his powers on, or their thoughts are just as incomprehensible to him as their speech.

Aware that my voice would carry to the guards if I spoke aloud, I instead silently gesture to the others to exit the cart before it reaches its destination, then follow my own advice, vaulting over the railing. The tunnel is fairly narrow, but we’ve got enough space to follow the tram as it starts to slow down. Once it stops, a flashlight appears on the other side, and I spot one of the guards leaning over the railing to check the cart’s interior.

I pull the grapnel gun from my belt and fire, the hook attaching to the guard’s uniform, before I reel him in. He shrieks as he falls down onto the tracks, but as soon as he’s close enough, I cut him off by clamping an armored hand over his mouth. A moment later, another flashlight appears.

“Derek? You okay, man? It’s not a long fall, dude.”

A beanbag strikes him in the head, and he collapses. Atalanta is already moving, aware that spotting an unconscious guard would be highly suspicious to anyone passing by. Conrad walks over and leans down to look Derek in the eyes. His mirrored lenses reflect the guard’s terror right back at him. The man struggles in my grip, but fails to break free.

“Here are your options. Scream, and my friend here snaps your neck. Or tell me what I want to know, and you live to shit yourself another day. Understand?”

Derek nods as vigorously as he’s able, and I get the sense that Winters is smiling.

“Good. Now tell me, where do they take VIPs for treatment?”

I remove my hand from the guard’s mouth, and he gasps in a few breaths shakily.

“Th-there’s a room on the third floor. Always got guards outside. Only the Director can go in.”

Keycard access won’t be a problem for us. This is a stealth mission, but we can’t expect to stay undetected forever, especially not dressed like we are.

“Who’s the Director?”

“I duh-don’t know. He’s always wearing a mask. Says he’s guh-gotta keep it secret to protect the clients.”

That would be Geas, then. Makes sense he’d want to obscure any hint of his involvement with this place. Winters doesn’t respond, just gives me a nod, and I stick a tranquilizer in Derek’s neck. He thrashes around for a moment, and then goes limp. Then comes the zip-tie and duct tape. When I bring him over to where Conrad and Atalanta are standing, they’ve already done the same for the other guy, and left him in the cart, already sporting a nasty purple bruise from where the beanbag hit him. I deposit mine in as well, and we climb up out of the tunnel, into the clinic proper.

This area is a part of maintenance, off-limits to the clinic’s visitors. It’s still much nicer than the staff’s actual quarters, with polished white floors and even some windows providing a view of the Alps. While I’m looking around, Conrad heads over to the security booth where the guards were stationed, and inserts a device from his belt into the nearest available port.

“Zero,” I hear him say over comms. “Systems are yours.”

“Copy,” Sandra replies. “Your guy wasn’t lying. They’ve got cameras in every room except the one he mentioned, and I don’t see Geas anywhere, so he’s gotta be there. Get moving- I’ll let you know if any guards are coming your way.”

Seeing how well we’re all working together, Zero included, makes me feel something. I’m not sure if pride is exactly right, but it’s along those lines. There are going to be some hiccups, that’s inevitable, but we’re professionals. And perhaps more importantly, we’re capable of actually cooperating. That might be our biggest advantage against Geas. It’s certainly what helped beat Machina. They both run huge teams, but neither was willing to rely on their subordinates for real protection, much less each other. And their boss, Gilgamesh, seems to have abandoned them. I’m not going to credit the power of friendship for our victories, but being capable of prosocial cooperation does have tangible benefits.

Guided by Zero, we take a nearby staircase up to the third floor. It’s a part of the clinic’s maintenance area, where the clients aren’t allowed, meaning we don’t have to worry about knocking out any bankers or pop stars who spot us. Unfortunately, the room where the VIPs are treated seems to be on the other side of the building, meaning we’re going to have to venture out into the facility proper. The security staff is fairly small, which makes sense considering how remote this place is, but there are at least eight clients currently on the premises, and three of them are on this floor. The part of my brain that generates jokes is trying to summon up the name of a terrible boy band singer so I can make a crack about wanting to punch him, but I refuse to give it enough processing power to even finish the thought. Besides, kpop has mostly supplanted traditional boy bands in the minds of teenage girls, and I’m sure the Korean government has their own proprietary brainwashing facilities for those poor kids.

Continuing to cover the rear, I follow Conrad through a nondescript door and into the clinic itself. The minimalist black and white design scheme extends from the walls and floors to the furniture and uniforms. Even the clients have to wear special clothes, which look comfortable, if slightly humiliating. The general design ethos seems to combine a luxury resort and a high-end hospital, which is pretty much exactly what this place is. The memory-alteration program is the only real ‘treatment’ they offer. The rest seems to consist of acupuncture, massages, and talk therapy, with an open bar and lounge for guests to entertain themselves in between sessions. Truly the sort of thing that only rich people would be stupid enough to pay money for.

A ‘doctor’ with no visible medical equipment and a lab coat folded over one arm emerges from one of the client’s rooms. Probably just a massage therapist dressed up like a medical professional to trick the VIPs into thinking they’re getting something more than a backroom Chinatown back rub, minus the happy ending. Winters darts her before she can even register our presence, and we continue down the corridor swiftly, leaving her unconscious on the ground. No point in tying her up- we’re too close to Geas for it to matter at this point.

As expected, there are two guards standing outside the door to the VIP room. I hit one in the chest with a rubber bullet, and Atalanta drops the other with a beanbag. Gunshots are conspicuous, but it’s probably a good thing if the facility goes on lockdown. Less chance for any innocents to get hurt in the fight that’s about to ensue. The door that they were guarding has some serious security- retina scanners, a voiceprint identifier, and an ordinary keypad. Before I can produce some explosives to bypass them, Winters draws his sword. It appears to be a dueling saber, with a slightly curved blade and engraved metal guard protecting the hilt. He flips some kind of hidden switch, and the blade starts to hum softly. Focusing in with my helmet’s lenses, I notice that it’s vibrating at speeds so fast as to be nearly imperceptible. The blade sinks into the heavy metal door like it’s not there, and Conrad swiftly carves a rectangular hole into it, just smaller than the door itself, before kicking it down. It lands with a thud, and we get a look at what’s inside.

Geas is sitting on a throne. That shouldn’t be surprising- he runs a team called the Royals, and styles himself their king. It’s not exactly Arthurian in design, though. It more closely resembles one of those pod-chairs that look like half an eggshell with the insides scooped out so a human can sit within. O’Connor is wearing a white suit and a ceramic face mask that doesn’t suit him particularly well. His salt-and-pepper hair is still clearly visible, which makes me wonder how nobody ever recognized him, but I suppose it’s not the most uncommon look in the world. And who would be expecting to see a world-famous superhero running a place like this?

Behind the ‘throne’ is a large, complex-looking machine. Some kind of computer, I’m sure. The chair appears to be hooked up to it somehow, as do the two beds on its right and left. Resting on those beds are Astro and Professor Superior, with diodes attached to their foreheads. Geas appears to have them too, though underneath the mask. The rest of the room has a few computer monitors and empty chairs, but is otherwise almost totally barren. According to Network, who discovered that Machina built the machine O’Connor is using, it allows him to access memories in ways that aren’t possible ordinarily. Geas can’t create outright false memories or illusions by himself, but with this machine’s assistance, he can selectively edit and rearrange memories to simulate the same effect. Making new memories from whole cloth is almost impossible, because of the level of complexity required, but with enough time and effort, plus some mechanical assistance, you can cut pre-existing memories apart and stitch them back together in more favorable ways, while removing inconvenient aspects. I’m sure what Blake and Beringer will remember when he’s done is going to make Zero and I the villains of this morning’s meeting, and Geas the hero.

“Shit,” O’Connor exclaims, as we make our entrance. I take aim and fire again, but the telepath is already moving. He scrambles out of his throne and yanks the diodes off of Beringer’s head, before diving to the ground behind the bed. My bullet strikes his chair, cracking the plastic, but neither of the unconscious Council members stir at the sound. They do, however, respond when Geas addresses them in imperious tones of command, the effect only slightly diminished by the fact that he’s cowering on the ground.

“Wake up and protect me!”

Astro and Superior sit up in unison, the former brushing diodes off his own head in the process. I choose to take that as a good sign, indicating that our arrival forced O’Connor to postpone his memory alteration in favor of simply compelling his captives to fight us. I had been preparing for a long process of deprogramming them, but with any luck, their minds should be fairly normal after this, any head trauma we inflict notwithstanding. Beringer reaches inside of his lab coat and pulls out a small device, which morphs into a sci-fi ray gun in his hand, so perfectly cartoonish that I don’t believe it’s a real weapon until he fires an energy beam right at me. Reflex takes over, and I’m bringing up the hard-light shield as soon as his finger starts to squeeze the trigger. Unfortunately, the shield has always had trouble with non-physical projectiles. Beringer’s beam filters right through and strikes me in the shoulder. My vision goes white for a moment, excruciating pain overwhelming every one of my senses. The sensation subsides just as quickly as it flared up, leaving me with memories I’m in no hurry to revisit. But when I glance at my shoulder, there’s no wound at all. That means Superior’s weapon is a pain gun. Wonderful.

On the other side of the room, Blake has already donned his alien battlesuit. I wonder whether Selene’s memories were being edited along with his own. Is she susceptible to O’Connor’s compulsion power, or just following along with whatever Astro does? Interesting questions, but this isn’t the time to answer them. Trying to communicate with the living alien weapon in the middle of a fight isn’t the best strategy. The warsuit’s arms morph into blades, turning from solid to liquid and then back to solid in a second, before Blake attacks. Liv launches a beanbag at him, and he slices it out of the air with ease. We’re constrained by a desire to keep them alive if possible, while they have no such compunctions.

“How did you find this place? How did you even escape--” Geas breaks off, frustrated. He’s flipped over the bed to provide better cover, and I notice he ditched the mask at some point, leaving it lying on the floor. “Never mind. I’ll just tear it from your heads as you lay dying.”

That might prove difficult, considering we’re shielded against his powers. Obviously the blockers provided by the Council weren’t trustworthy, but the design itself proved replicable, and Conrad was able to remove the element which allowed Machina to disable them remotely, ensuring we wouldn’t fall victim to the trick that Superior and Astro did. The death part, however, might prove to be a real problem.

Rolling out of the way of another pain-beam, I consider simply shooting Beringer, but decide against it. He’s in his seventies- a rubber bullet isn’t meaningfully safer against him than a normal one. I could try to shoot the ray gun, but tech like that tends to be volatile, and I don’t want to risk it exploding into a wave of endless pain that will drive us all insane or something. Destroying technology you don’t fully understand is rarely a good idea, even in the middle of a fight.

With those options off the table, I don’t have a ton in my arsenal that can hit him from across the room without risking permanent damage. However, I brought a few things to this party that aren’t from my arsenal. As Superior is taking aim to fire again, moving with mechanical efficiency, I grab one such item from inside of my coat. It’s a bolas, a hunting tool that consists of a thick cord connected with two weighted orbs on either end. When thrown, the cord will wrap around a target, guided by the heavy weights, in order to incapacitate them. This model is from Conrad’s lab, and features a few improvements from the original design. The cord is longer and more durable, allowing it to more easily wrap around targets. The weights are magnetized, causing them to attract to each other while wrapping a target up, and then lock together to make escape nearly impossible. Superior tries to get out of the way when I hurl it towards him, but even with O’Connor’s compulsion making him move as efficiently as possible, he’s still old and frail. The bolas wraps around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides, while the two weights magnetize to each other to prevent him from wriggling out. As he tries to angle the pain-gun towards me from his position on the ground, Beringer also discovers that Winters gave the bolas a mild electric charge, which the cord is a perfect conductor for. I made sure it was on the lowest possible setting before I threw it, figuring Superior’s heart wouldn’t be able to take any more than that. He convulses for a second, dropping the gun, then goes limp, unconscious but breathing. That’s good. Having to give an old man CPR in the middle of a fight for the future of the planet would really spoil things.

Beringer was never a serious threat. I’m sure he’d be dangerous under the right circumstances, but without his gear or any time to prepare, he’s just an old man with some toys. Astro, on the other hand, is never truly unarmed. In the time it took me to deal with Eric, he crossed the room and engaged Conrad, blade-arm to sword. As I watch, Atalanta raises her shotgun to fire, and he morphs one arm into a shield to block it. Then that arm changes into some kind of cannon, which he uses to blast her against the wall. All the while, his attention never wavers from the duel with Winters. Selene is bonded to his central nervous system, and her malleable form allows her to take whatever shape is necessary without requiring a direct command. They’re a single organism, or at least so synced up that there's no meaningful difference. With that in mind, it’s no shock both of them were affected by O’Connor’s manipulations.

Luckily for us, Jason studied the weaknesses of every Council member as extensively as possible during the time he spent with the group. When it comes to Astro, there’s one major vulnerability he identified, and it’s one I intend to exploit. Selene can change shape to suit the environment, but a directed sonic assault can disrupt her temporarily. Hopefully long enough for us to end this fight. I sling the sonic rifle off of my back and narrow the focus as tight as possible, to avoid hurting Atalanta or Winters by mistake. Then I fire.

The sonic rifle unleashes a narrow beam of pure noise, aimed squarely at Astro’s head. Selene writhes around, like water on a shaking surface, and flashes of skin are visible underneath. Liv takes advantage of the opening to slam the butt of her shotgun into Blake’s skull, but when he stumbles away, it leaves her directly in the line of fire. I release the trigger immediately, and Atalanta drops to her knees, eyes screwed shut and hands to her ears. She delivered a solid hit, but Astro’s not down, and now he’s identified me as a threat.

Moving so fast I can barely register it, Blake lunges for me, one hand transforming into some sort of bludgeon, which he clocks me across the head with. The other one yanks my sonic rifle away, and in the moment between taking the hit and my vision returning, it’s been snapped in half. Unfortunate, but I still have a backup plan. It’ll hurt for the others, but they’ll live.

“Execute Symph--”

The bludgeon morphs into a collection of tendrils, which wrap around my throat before I can finish speaking. My neck area is armored, but more lightly than the rest of my body, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to turn my head. That also means Astro could crush my windpipe before I get a chance to activate my suit’s sonic assault. Behind him, Atalanta opens fire, pumping three rounds into his back. The force staggers him, but nothing seems to penetrate. Keeping his eyes on me, Blake points his free hand backwards and fires his force pulse again. This time, Liv is ready, and braces against it, but Astro changes tactics instantly, turning the arm back into a blade, this time with much greater reach. He slashes in Atalanta’s direction, forcing her to dodge out of the way, all while the pressure around my neck is steadily increasing.

Winters makes a break for where Geas is hiding, clearly intending to cut the Gordian knot by forcing him to call Astro off. Unfortunately, it seems that Blake’s overriding imperative is still to protect O’Connor. An additional limb sprouts from his back, long and flexible, with a bladed tip. Conrad tries to deflect it with his sword, but it just wraps around his arm and stabs into his back. When the initial strike fails, thanks to the impact-resistant material in Winters’ uniform, it takes a different approach, slowly pressing the blade down rather than stabbing forcefully, and I can see it start to sink into Conrad’s flesh.

Though my vision is flickering and I’m desperately holding on to the last of my oxygen, a thought pops into my head. Selene is dealing with all three of us at once, meaning her biomass must be spread thin. Shapeshifter or no, it’s still got a finite amount of material to manipulate, and when creating a wholly new limb, the armor on other parts of her body has to be diminished. She wouldn’t draw much away from the chest, since that’s the most obvious area to strike. I can’t be certain where the vulnerable area will be, but I’ve got a pretty good guess. Tapping my boots together twice in quick succession, I draw my foot back as far as I can, and then kick Astro in the shin. The hidden blade in my boot pierces through the armor, confirming my suspicions, and he stumbles, surprised. It’s a momentary opening, but one that all of us can exploit simultaneously.

The grip around my neck loosens marginally, as biomass is rerouted to Astro’s legs to seal his wound. With the very dregs of the air in my lungs, I choke out a single word.

“Symphony.”

My suit’s speakers activate instantly, blasting an excruciatingly loud sound that produces an instant reaction in Selene. All of her extremities retract immediately, and the surface of her body ripples violently, like a silent scream. Gritting her teeth, Atalanta fires again, and the beanbag hits Astro in the back. With Selene’s form disrupted, there’s no armor to protect him, and he falls forward into his knees. A moment later, Conrad rolls over and fires a dart into his neck, which slips through the alien warsuit like it’s not there. Blake goes limp, and collapses to the ground.

When I deactivate the suit’s speakers, Selene reforms around him, taking the default form I first saw her in, but remains completely inert. Down for the count. Now we deal with Geas.

Winters forces himself to his feet, one hand pressed to the wound on his back. It doesn’t look placed to have hit anything vital, strangely enough. Maybe Selene was fighting to wound rather than kill, aware on some level that she and Blake were being controlled. Either way, being stabbed isn’t pleasant. Liv looks to have taken a few hits herself, though her body armor seems to have taken the brunt of it. Pulling a tube of RegeneraGel from her belt, she approaches Conrad with it, and he pauses for a moment before allowing her to apply it to the wound. After taking a moment to rub my neck, which feels rather sore, I approach O’Connor slowly.

There’s no chance he’ll be able to translocate away. Network’s already shut his implant down. All we have to do is knock him out and bring him somewhere for Thorn to copy over him. Shifting the toppled bed out of the way, I stand over him. Geas has literally backed himself into a corner. The man doesn’t look well. He was completely unprotected from the Symphony attack, and already seemed exhausted when we arrived. Now he looks frightened, too. No lackeys to protect him, no way to manipulate us. All of his power and influence is meaningless in this moment. If I wanted to shoot him dead, there’d be nothing he could do to stop me.

“How... how did you do this? You escaped Grendel, you must have killed Marcus... all of our power, and you still beat us.”

He’s trying to bait me into a monologue, stall for time. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing why he lost. The answer, of course, is simple. Given long enough, every guilty person will eventually give themselves away. It’s inevitable. They’ll contradict their own story by mistake, or leave a bit of evidence where an investigator might find it. Nobody is immune to making mistakes. The problem is, Geas and Machina bought into their own hype so completely that they convinced themselves they were infallible. You can’t get away with what they tried to do unless you know your own limitations, and they truly believed they had none. I know my weaknesses, which means I know how to account for them, and who to call on when I can’t get the job done on my own.

“Wait!”

As he speaks, I realize that Inquiry is in my hand, barrel level with his head. Still loaded with rubber bullets, but he doesn’t know that for sure. And I could switch to live ammo in an instant if I wanted.

“There’s something you need to know. About your mentor, Hunt. We didn’t kill him.”

Geas isn’t stuttering or speaking too quickly. He’s afraid, but not terrified. There’s an important distinction. Fear is often a reasonable reaction to a scenario in which your life is in danger. But terror is for people with no cards left to play. It seems he’s not in that category quite yet.

“Talk.”

A stay of execution. Hope flickers to life in his eyes.

“He encrypted his thoughts, so we couldn’t be sure exactly what he knew. And Gilgamesh said he’d have a heartbeat trigger ready in case we killed him. So I sealed his memories. The same thing I did with you, after he told you about the Council. But not just one memory. All of them. Total amnesia. We hid him somewhere, and figured we could use you to decode his mind. That’s why we let you join us in the first place.”

Another revelation. I don’t know why I expected anything else. How many times did Machina quietly deactivate my psychic suppressor so Geas could scan my mind for the key to Jason’s cryptographic language? Did they manage to crack it? Have I unwittingly delivered them Jason’s secrets? We already took Machina down, and Geas is helpless at the moment, but what if there was something I missed?

“Tell me where he is. Now.”

Flicking a switch on the side of my gun, I go from less-than-lethal ammo to regular tungsten. Inquiry could punch through a tank. Putting one round in O’Connor’s leg would make him talk. And seeing the smug look on his face, I’m tempted to shoot him whether he talks or not.

“I’m afraid that information is confidential.”

My trigger finger itches, but I force myself to holster the gun instead. No need to risk him bleeding out. We’ve got an easier way to get answers out of his head.

“Fine. Network will tell us, and then use your powers to restore Jason’s memories.”

Still, Geas doesn’t drop his smirk.

“Ah, that must be what happened to Marcus. I decline to share his fate.”

I draw my fist back and throw a punch, but in the time it takes for my knuckles to connect with his nose, he manages to utter a single word, in a tone I recognize. It’s a command.

“Stop.”

Blood drains from O’Connor’s face, and I whirl around to check on Beringer and Blake, but neither of them have stirred. Then it hits me. There’s only one person he could have been talking to. Himself. Two fingers to his neck confirms it- no pulse.

“No.”

No time to waste getting angry. I put my hands together and start rubbing them back and forth, the defibrillators in my palms activating as a charge begins to build. A moment later my HUD informs me they’re ready, and I slam them down on the telepath’s chest. He spasms involuntarily, nervous system still intact, but there’s no heartbeat. Pumping his chest, I quickly remove my helmet and toss it to the side, before beginning to perform CPR. Hearing my helmet clatter against the ground, Conrad and Atalanta approach, confused. Geas still refuses to start breathing, so I switch back to the pads, charging them for longer than necessary. The increased voltage does nothing- in fact, it has even less of an effect, just a few twitches. Breathing heavily, I run through my other options, but before I can try anything, acceptance sets in.

There are no tears in my eyes as I stand up and face the others. Just cold fury.

“He killed himself. He said Jason was still alive, and then he shut down all electrical activity in his brain. The fucking spiteful motherfucker!”

Surprising myself, I turn around and stomp on O’Connor’s face, feeling a grim satisfaction as something crunches underfoot. Atalanta places a hand on my shoulder, but I’ve already gotten it out of my system. No point abusing a corpse.

“We’ll find him, Kell.”

Winters nods, pulling off his own mask to look me in the eye.

“We’re the Council now. Nobody can hide from us.”

I appreciate the sentiment, but he’s not quite right. There’s still one obstacle in our way. Before I can correct him, lightning strikes.

It’s not actually lightning, but that’s certainly what it feels like. Something strikes from high above, shattering the ceiling of the Lethe Clinic and the floor beneath us in an instant. The second floor goes as well, and we all fall together, surrounded by a storm of debris. When I land, my head is ringing, and I regret taking my helmet off a great deal.

Somehow, the ground floor remained intact. Considering the force with which the rest of the facility was struck, that can’t have been unintentional. Amidst all the rubble, I spot bodies. Many of them are mangled, but all those that I can see are wearing clinic uniforms. After another moment of searching, I see Atalanta, trapped under a chunk of concrete, but seemingly unharmed. She begins lifting it, displaying a strength that should be impossible for someone of her size, but augmented by her body’s infinite energy reserves. Professor Superior is still tied up, and bleeding from a hit he took to the head. Conrad is the easiest to find, since he’s standing inside of a force-bubble that dust and rubble is falling off of. He waits until the largest pieces hit the ground, then deactivates it. Astro, I don’t see anywhere.

In the center of the room, which appears to have been the clinic’s lounge before the entire rest of the building collapsed atop it, is a gleaming metal spear. There’s no doubt in my mind- that’s the projectile that hit us. Dropped from the heavens with immeasurable force, yet no worse for wear save a faint shimmer of heat. Then lightning really does strike.

A bolt from the blue sky above arcs down, electrifying the spear for a split second. When it’s gone, a man is standing beside the spear, gauntleted fist wrapped around it. The armor he wears is unmistakable.

Gilgamesh.

“Well, boy? You started this. Are you prepared to finish it?”