Well, they weren’t going to kill him—at least, not yet.

  Jack considered the bread and water he’d been given. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let him know they weren’t going to throw him somewhere and leave him to starve. Ever since awareness had returned to him—slowly, like it was reluctant to make his acquaintance—atop a concrete slab in some structure lit by a few dim skylights, he’d been running through what had happened.

  They’d grabbed him, beaten him. Time had gotten real hazy in the back of their vehicle, but he was pretty sure they hadn’t taken him out of Switzerland. He’d spent one night and soon to be two within a locked structure. There were no guards, which meant his captors were confident or stupid. Given that there was nothing around him but a red tractor that was old enough to have an (inoperative) combustion engine and a few pallets containing, of all things, fresh tomatoes, he was pretty sure it was the former. Between that, and the distinct aroma of fresh soil, he knew he wasn’t in Geneva.

  They were feeding him, but not questioning him. There were no guards, but there was no need—tossing the place over hadn’t revealed anything that’d help him break the doors open, locked from the outside as they were. So, he’d settled in, and he waited, and he listened, and he thought.

  “The first obligation of a prisoner is to escape,” Elias said, perched atop the tractor.

  “I’m working on it,” Jack murmured.

  “Working hard, or hardly working?” Elias laughed. “But seriously, you really must’ve spooked that guy.”

  “Mm. And yet they didn’t put a bullet in me. Didn’t lace this food with anything.”

  “So, what’s happening, buddy?”

  “If I had to guess,” Jack said, and he did, “then I think Thomas got spooked, called in some mates, and they grabbed me before they realized what they were doing.”

  Elias nodded. “Think they know about Sam?”

  “Probably, but she doesn’t know where I am, and I doubt she’ll go to the cops.”

  “That’s a snag,” Elias replied.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, now what?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  Someone was at the door, messing with the chains. Then, the door opened, and Thomas stepped into the shed, speaking to someone outside: “I’ll be fine, but lock it again if it’ll make you feel better.” Jack finished his cup of water as he heard Thomas’ companions lock the chain, and watched the man himself walked toward him.

  “Alright,” Jack said. “Now, let’s—”

  The punch to the face was more of a command to shut up than a desire to hurt him, more shock than pain. Blood bubbled in his nose, flooded his mouth—Jack spat some of it out. Maybe these guys weren’t as dumb as he thought, or perhaps much dumber than he thought. Jack ran his tongue against his teeth as he considered that. First upper, then lower. Well, no matter what had happened, it was a good sign if he still had all of his—

  “Fuck!”

  He’d knocked out one of his teeth. He’d knocked out one of his fucking teeth! Jack’s tongue probed the missing spot toward the front of his lower jaw and there was fear, and then anger. His hands clenched, and kept his body from dropping into free fall. If he killed Thomas, he’d never get out.

  “Sorry,” Thomas said, rubbing his knuckles, “but I kind of owe you one. You caught me with my pants down, Jones. Almost literally.”

  Jack spat blood.

  “So, we’re even then?” he asked. “Eye for an eye, and we both go home?”

  “We’re even, yes, but this isn’t about me and you.”

  “I thought you said there wasn’t a conspiracy.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a conspiracy.” Thomas pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket. “Want one?”

  “I’m fine, and don’t bother with the ‘good cop’ routine.”

  “It’s not a routine or a scam or a strategy,” Thomas replied, sounding tired. “I really do respect what you did that day, and I’m glad you weren’t killed.”

  “But a lot of other people were. How can you just go along with that?”

  “I didn’t go along with it. I wasn’t in on it.”

  “And yet here you are, interrogating me.”

  Thomas nodded. “Yeah, because you got me involved—so, thanks for that.”

  Jack shrugged. “Let’s talk options.”

  “Options?”

  “I know you’re not going to kill me, not without knowing what you think I know. But all I know is that there’s a connection between you, the bomber, and whatever this is. I can’t do much with that.”

  Thomas nodded. “Let’s just say the people more involved than me think it’s more than that. And they don’t think you’ll stop. Look, Jones, what’s a cipher like you doing working for Fiveaces?”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “While you were out, we went through your phone, your wallet. There’s four contacts on your phone—one of them is your roommate and the other is your manager. You don’t have any kind of online presence. You have no police record—no record of any kind, in fact. They tell me that your identicard was only activated six months ago, and while it says you’re an Australian citizen, you don’t have a trace of the accent, so, the more involved sorts are very curious about you.”

  “Too curious to kill me,” Jack said.

  “Yeah. I’m not sure what’ll happen here, Jones. I think there’s something big going on.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “It’s well beyond my pay grade, I think.”

  “Well,” Jack said, and thought it through. The fact they could go through his phone was unexpected, but not unanticipated. Could’ve been a technopath or a cryptography AI or just a particularly dedicated hacker. But if they could trace his identicard’s date like that, then they probably had people within the IESA.

  Just what had he stumbled upon?

  “Well,” Jack continued, “I guess there’s no harm in telling you the truth.”

  Thomas smiled like he was his friend. “The whole and nothing but?”

  “We’ll see if you believe it,” Jack replied. “My name isn’t Perseus Jones. It’s Jack Harper. I’m a mercenary from Australia—former mercenary, actually, a group called the Animals.”

  “Never heard of them. Would I find them in the Fiveaces database?”

  “Yeah, probably, funnily enough. It was a Fiveaces guy that got me into this mess.”

  “So, what, they hauled you in, offered you a job?”

  “After a fashion. After we saved the whole fucking world. The IESA gave me this identity as a favor. But I’m not working for them or Fiveaces on this. I’m working for me. Because I was there, when your friends killed eighty people, and I can’t get it out of my fucking head. And your friends are right—I’m probably not going to drop it. Not before I’ve dropped whoever was behind it.”

  “Easy, Jones,” Thomas said, raising a hand. “Sorry, Jack. Thank you, I’ll verify this. Just, to be clear, you said your name was Jack Harper?”

  “That’s right.”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you properly," he said. "For what it’s worth, I hope you get out of here. But I don’t imagine we’ll ever meet again—so, good luck with your quest for vengeance.”

  Jack watched him go. Thomas knocked on the door, frowned when it didn’t unlock, and Jack was weighing up his options when there was a bright flash and Thomas burst into a flash of crimson vapor.

  The flash of it—the whatever it was—seared Jack’s eyes, and they shut on reflex. He forced them open, because he sure as hell couldn’t fight with his eyes closed, and saw a man stepping through the doorway. Molten metal drizzled in his wake, hissing and bubbling.

  “Howdy, friend,” he said, voice gravelly but warm, like a cowboy. “Are you alright?”

  Jack forced himself to hold his ground. He knew an empowered hero when he saw one, even if they weren’t in costume, even if the terrible radiance of their powers didn’t recede behind their eyes like a pair of dimming suns.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  The demigod smiled.

  “You can call me Phalanx.”

  About five minutes later, Phalanx took a knee and grabbed a handful of soil in his hand and let it fall between his fingers. “Ah,” he said. “Freshly tilled soil, I’d almost forgotten what it smells like. We don’t have many farms like this back home, not anymore. And those vertical setups just aren’t the same.”

  The fact that he’d just vaporized four people, turned them into free-floating clouds of energized hemoglobin, made it border on the surreal. Jack grunted vaguely. He’d never noticed whatever it was Phalanx had. Food was food.

  It wasn’t that Jack hated the people who’d just so happened to develop the ability to mock the laws of physics. It wasn’t even that they had the temerity to call themselves superheroes. It wasn’t even the fact that they killed people, consider the irony. It was that there were millions of people across the world who were starving and destitute.

  And he’d been one of them.

  Phalanx dusted off his hands and stood up. In his shirt and jeans, he looked and sounded like he’d just stepped off a ranch somewhere. He was older than Jack, that much was clear, his brown hair and beard steadily greyed. He carried himself like some good ol’ boy, and Jack wondered how long he’d spent practicing it.

  “I won’t say I’m not thankful for the assist,” Jack said, “but it’s pretty convenient. Are we safe here?”

  “For the moment. And no thanks are necessary. Under the circumstances, Mr Jones, I should be thanking you. A lot of people should be.”

  Jack nodded. “Cornavin.”

  “That’s right.”

  Jack exhaled. “It’s all anyone wants to talk about. So, your arrival really wasn’t coincidental, then. What’s going on? What do you know?”

  “Let’s not rush into things. My understanding is that you’ve been held here for about thirty hours. How are you feeling?”

  “A bit less than ideal,” Jack said, crossing his arms. “Now that we’re done with the pleasantries, let’s move onto business. Who are you, Phalanx, and what are you doing here?”

  Phalanx smiled. “Well, technically speaking, I am not here.”

  “At this farm, or Geneva, or...?”

  “Europe,” he replied, and sighed. “The bombing is an internal matter, and one that my country would like resolved as quietly as possible.”

  “Which is why you just vaporized four people.”

  “And when we are done here I’ll sterilize the entire location,” Phalanx replied. “I wanted a chance to talk to you, and I had to act fast. I wish I hadn’t had to.”

  Jack thought of Thomas bursting into scarlet steam, and tried to feel something—didn’t. He shook his head. “I don’t care that you killed them. I’m just making sure we know where we stand.”

  Phalanx’s smile didn’t waver. “You’re an intense individual, Mr Jones.”

  “Maybe.”

  Phalanx chuckled. “I respect that. I can work with that. I know you were there at Cornavin station, and I know you tried to save those people. But I don’t know what else you know.”

  “I know I saw someone blow himself up with military-grade explosives, and I don’t think he was in control of his actions.”

  “Good. Because I don’t think he was. The man’s name was Andreas Adams. He was a soldier. A war hero, actually. An old friend.” Phalanx’s gaze flickered with something, his eyes narrowing. “And it’s my fault he’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, if only because it was what people said.

  “But you’re right. His actions weren’t his own. The four people I killed today—I imagine they were much the same.”

  Jack frowned. “What?”

  “Have you heard of Trapdoor?”

  Jack considered the name, thought it through.

  “No.”

  “He’s a former supervillain—well, perhaps not former,” Phalanx replied. “He’s a telepath, and a unique one. One of the few who could implant long-term commands in someone’s psyche.”

  “Which would break the line-of-sight rule,” Jack said, frowning.

  Phalanx nodded. “Yes. Trapdoor fought in our war against the Imperium, which earned him a clean slate from the government. I argued against it, but...” Phalanx sighed, shaking his head. “Soon after the ceasefire, he vanished.”

  “And he ended up in Geneva.”

  “Yes. He goes by Ulysses Kortanaer now. He works in the defense industry. Which is, I imagine, how he scored the phasmite to arm his suicide bomber.”

  It made sense. All the pieces were falling into place, the classic triad of means, motive, opportunity. Only, Jack couldn’t see the piece that fit the second gap in the puzzle.

  “All this, to blow up a train station? Why?”

  Phalanx’s expression was grim. “To continue the old war.”

  “But he was on your side.”

  “Which is why I’m not here. My government needs him brought to justice. The horror of the Cornavin bombing is likely the first strike of a longer campaign. It’s likely Adams managed to resist Trapdoor’s programming, or some of it. Cornavin may not have even been the target.”

  “Maybe,” Jack replied. “It was like he was arguing with himself. He sang a song, a nursery rhyme. Mary Had A Little Lamb.”

  “It’s a standard anti-intrusion tactic. Adams fought until the end.”

  Jack nodded. “And I’m the only witness.”

  “Yes,” Phalanx replied. “Which leads us to our present location. I imagine Trapdoor wanted to find out what you knew, and then silence you. Or turn you into the newest component of his plan. But when I heard you had gone missing, I knew I had to intervene.”

  Jack frowned. “Who told you?”

  “Corporal Holley, 75th Rangers. After a fashion, that is.”

  “Sam.” Jack filed that away. “So, the big question: why haven’t you stopped him?” Or how, exactly, he had known where and when to rescue him in the first place.

  Phalanx’s expression fell.

  “Because he knows I’m here, and while I know who and where he is, he has made it clear that he won’t allow me to interfere. I fear my superiors underestimated the extent of Kortanaer’s operation, and all of it under the nose of the IESA.” He swept an arm to indicate the tomato farm. “This was a risk enough as it is. Mr Jones, and now we need to move before Trapdoor realizes what’s happened.”

  “‘We?’” Jack asked.

  Phalanx tossed him his phone and his wallet.

  “I can’t go after him, but you have space to maneuver. After what happened tonight, you have an opening we can exploit. I can give you Kortanaer. His address and the details of his security system. All you need to do is end this before it goes any further.”

  “You mean kill him. And, given what we’ve discussed,” Jack said, eying Phalanx evenly, “I get the feeling I can’t say no.”

  “Certainly,” Phalanx replied, with the smile of a superhero. “Just so we know where we stand.”