A squad car was waiting for them on the tarmac. A uniformed man with a rough scar across his cheek stood at attention. He seemed oblivious to the pelting rain.

"Lady Weizza, the Prime Minister requires your presence. You and your two associates are to come with me."

Marcos looked to Weizza for direction, but she was focused on the policeman.

"Commissioner Kardos, this is irregular."

The man said nothing, only nodded toward the car.

"Very well. Marcos. Ko Ba Kuang." Weizza led the three of them out. Oliver had disappeared, but Kardos didn't seem to expect any more passengers.

The downpour soaked Marcos and Ba Kuang on the short walk to the car. Whatever Weizza's outfit was made of didn't seem to like rain; it slid off the dress in sheets.

Kardos opened the passenger door for Weizza, who sat down daintily, handing her white case to Kardos for inspection. He checked the contents and seemed satisfied, returning it to her with a nod.

Next he patted down the two men. Marcos had changed into civilian clothes on the plane, the rough search came up empty. Kardos seemed vaguely disappointed as he ushered them into the back of the car.

Being behind the caged barrier brought back uncomfortable memories of youthful indiscretion. It didn't seem like they were under arrest now though. At least, not yet.

The commissioner flicked the sirens and sped off through a side-gate and onto the expressway. Billboards advertised smiling people in a language Marcos no longer remembered.

The trees alongside the road were quickly replaced with the boxy concrete high-rises of the working class. Marcos had spent some time in this part of the city on his last visit. Building networks. Agitating. The fighting had mostly been downtown though.

Kardos spoke to Weizza, though his focus stayed on the road. "Our intel mentioned you might be working with Mr. Oliveira." He spat the name. "I didn't believe you would be so foolish."

"The company I keep is my own business, commissioner. Or have you forgotten our arrangement?"

"I do not disparage the value of your services Lady Weizza. But bringing this traitor here, you stretch the bounds of our friendship."

"You hire a mercenary, you shouldn't be surprised if he takes a better offer," Marcos offered.

"You will remain quiet," snapped Kardos. "Lady Weizza is our guest. Your standing is another matter."

Marcos shrugged and let it drop.

"I will sort this out when I speak with Ambrus. Until then you will refrain from antagonizing my associate," Weizza admonished.

The commissioner grunted and kept driving, wipers smearing reflected color across the windshield. The cityscape had shifted to that strange juxtaposition of glass facades with old stone that you only see around European capitals.

Wouldn't be long until they reached the parliament building. Ambrus had threatened to kill Marcos if he ever came back. Of course, he wasn't Prime Minister then. Time to see if he was a man of his word.

The car pulled into Kossuth Square, rain-slick cobblestones luminous from the street lamps. Brooding gothic spires loomed above them. Marcos half expected gargoyles and lightning.

The group was escorted past the concrete barricades and machine gun nests that surrounded the building. Still had the choke points with overlapping fields of fire, Marcos noted approvingly. He'd picked the placements himself.

Their footsteps echoed ominously as they stepped in to the polished stone floors. A sepulchral atmosphere suffused the hallway; a lone candelabra cast a pool of dim light on carpet the color of blood. The vaulted ceiling was barely visible at all. Marcos's hand itched for a gun that wasn't there.

Kardos led the group inward to a double door guarded by men with rifles. The soldiers saluted, and the doors swung in, revealing an opulent office. Behind the desk was an aging dictator in a well-tailored suit.

"Weizza." A polite nod. "Marcos." A frown. "And you young man, I don't recognize."

Weizza stepped forward. "An assistant. He is not important. You did not summon us for a meet and greet. What do you want, Ambrus?"

Another frown. "Do not be presumptuous Weizza. You will address me as Prime Minister."

"But that is an elected position," Weizza needled. Kardos took a step forward, but Ambrus waved him off.

"You antagonize me, for what Weizza? I thought you smarter. Enough with the distraction. Why are you here?"

"Because you summoned me."

"Cute. No, why are you in Budapest? And don't say 'business,' I'm done with word games."

"I cannot share that information, Mister Prime Minister. You may try to force it from me, but I promise you it will be the end of our current relationship."

Ambrus snapped his fingers. Kardos moved slowly and deliberately toward Weizza.

"You are sure this is what you want?" Weizza's tone was level, like she was confirming his dinner order.

"Seize her!" the prime minister commanded.

Kardos grabbed Weizza by the arms, then went limp. A sigh passed his lips as he collapsed to the floor.

"What manner of witchcraft? Guards, shoot them!"

"The guards cannot hear you right now Ambrus, they are too busy being dead."

"How–"

"You hired me to outfit your men with brain augmentations. Did you think I would let you use them against me?" Weizza strode calmly to the desk, flanked by her companions. The blood drained from the prime minister's face and he began shaking gently.

"A shame that our relationship has degraded so thoroughly. But I am confident our differences can be resolved with a change of attitude." Weizza brightened. "Marcos and Ko Ba Kuang, restrain the patient."

Ambrus made as if to bolt but Marcos was faster, forcing him back into his chair with a painful grip. Weizza flicked open her case, retrieving a syringe and a particularly nasty looking drill. She handed the needle to Ba Kuang, who deftly injected it into the prime minister's carotid artery.

"Someone, help me! Ahhhhhhhh–" His head slumped forward on the desk, unconscious.

"Bring in the bodies, then lock and barricade the office, I do not wish to be disturbed." Marcos and Ba Kuang complied wordlessly, dumping the soldiers int eh corner and piling furniture against the door.

Weizza went to work. A quick shave above the ear. A sterilizing swab. A minute of bone-jarring drilling. Then, the insertion. The unit calibration took longer than the actual surgery.

"Almost done here." Weizza said conversationally. She retrieved a second syringe and plunged it into the same spot on Ambrus's neck. He jerked awake.

"What the–" The prime minister looked at the gore on his desk, the three dead men on the ground. "You backstabbing little bi–" He grimaced as an involuntary gasp of pain cut off the words.

"Time to work on that attitude. Are you familiar with operant conditioning? Whenever you say or think something bad toward me, the repercussion will be swift and severe. Please me, and you will find the rewards quite enjoyable."

"Do your worst." Ambrus spat across the desk.

"I hope it does not come to that. Your first taste was a two, this will be a five. The scale goes to ten."

Marcos couldn't see Weizza do anything, but the effect on Ambrus was immediate. He tumbled from his chair but made no attempt to soften the fall, his body wracked by spasms. Weizza walked around the desk, careful to stay clear of Ambrus's kicking legs. She watched with clinical interest as an inhuman moan curdled in his throat. At some unseen signal the tremors subsided and he curled into the fetal position, whimpering softly.

Weizza leaned over him. He tried to scoot away but was pinned against the wall. "How about a smile old friend?"