Ian caught up with Rourke coming through the south entrance. The captainʼs posture had withered from the late night.

“I have a few questions for you, Captain,” said Ian.

Rourke snorted. “Just make it quick. Itʼs been a long night.” He leaned against the plaster wall. Their base used to be an office complex.

“How long have the spec ops guys been here?” asked Ian. “I havenʼt seen them out here before.”

“Thatʼs because theyʼre stationed outside of town. Theyʼve been here a little while. A few weeks maybe. They mostly run recon outside the city.”

Ian nodded. “That makes sense. Have they ever run into any other firefights? Anything I mightʼve stumbled on?”

“Outside the city, yeah,” said Rourke. “Nothing you wouldʼve heard about.” He massaged his temples. “Whatʼs this mean to you?”

“I just want an idea of whatʼs going on.” Ian shrugged. “Weʼve been told there werenʼt any assault type outfits operating in this region.”

A squad of five moved past them to replace the evening patrol around base. Rourke stared down at Ian, the patches under his eyes swollen.

“There are things youʼre told, and then there are things you donʼt know. You donʼt know about special operations, and until recently, neither did I.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “I think you just need to let this pass and forget everything you saw tonight.”

“I donʼt think Iʼm ever going to put this behind me, Captain.”

“Oh, itʼs going to be burned into your nightmares for the rest of your fucking life, I guarantee you. But what you need to remember is that youʼre one of the good guys, and you canʼt possibly understand how the enemy truly operates.” Rourke pointed out the south door. “The guys out there. The guys that roam the night doing what needs to be done, they understand. Theyʼve seen a lot more than you, and they are more than justified in their actions.”

“The black troops?”

Rourke grinned, revealing those horse teeth under dark-rimmed eyes. “So, youʼve been talking to someone? I figured this would happen. Clive Wales doesnʼt know much, beyond the little bit of data we extracted from his cube. Heʼs a propagator of lies and misdirection. Kind of like what he preaches against in his own music. His imagined enemy is the new world order or some bullshit.”

Ian felt heat rise in his ears, but didnʼt speak out to the captain.

“I donʼt see the point in keeping him around on the rack,” said Rourke. “I think the most humane thing to do at this point would be destruction of the cube.”

Ian stiffened.

“Donʼt freak out. The only reason heʼd even stay on rack would be in case spec ops wanted to interrogate him. You sure as hell donʼt want that, right?”

Ian shook his head. The virtuals no one speaks of came to mind.

“Iʼm glad you understand,” said Rourke. “Because Iʼm going to have you dispose of the cube.”

Ianʼs eyes widened. His heart jumped at the surge of adrenaline. Rourke wanted him to press the button. To delete Cliveʼs existence with a fucking keyboard.

“Couldnʼt Hines take care of that?” asked Ian. “Heʼs supervising the rack.”

Rourke shook his head. “Heʼs got enough on his plate. Quite frankly, heʼs more squeamish about it than you are. Get it done for Cliveʼs sake. You spoke with him. I highly doubt he begged for his life. He resigned himself to this fate when he had the cube installed.”

Breathing out, Ian nodded. “Youʼre right. Iʼll get it done.”

“Good,” said Rourke. “Take care of that and then try to get some sleep. Iʼm going to crash myself. My reports can wait till the morning.” Rourke brushed past Ian without waiting for a salute. The captain looked like he’d fought for several days straight as he stumbled down the hall. What the fuck had he been doing since Ian got back?

Execution. Ian didnʼt mind gunning down someone in a firefight, even as the aggressor. But Rourke wanted him to do the most cold-blooded thing he could possibly think of. He didnʼt sign up to execute people. Rourke had asked for Cliveʼs deletion right after Ian brought up the black troops.

Who did Ian have to believe? Cliveʼs story didnʼt fit Ianʼs own experience, but the black troops moved through his own memories. Rourke wouldnʼt acknowledge or deny them. He gave them a different name. What else does Clive know about the black troops, the special forces?

Ian walked past the armored door protecting the storage racks. He maneuvered around the disabled retrieval arms and found Cliveʼs cube. He stared at it for a minute, his thoughts a mess. Clive knew something. He needed another virtual, but not from Hines. He pocketed the cube and made for his own quarters.

“Iʼm one of the good guys.”