"I'm afraid I must insist. If I have to stay in this ugly little room a moment longer I'm going to make the rest of the night absolutely miserable for you."

The man he was persuading slumped even further into his chair. "Look, the ceremony's nearly done and this speech is too important to miss. If I did miss it they'd kill me," he groaned, straining to hear the voices coming out of the television.

Kirk ran his hands through his freshly washed blonde hair. His status had been upgraded from prisoner to 'guest', but at least they let him use the showers. That first touch of scalding water had to have been one of the best sensory experiences of his entire life. Even so, he'd been trapped in the same series of underground rooms for the past two weeks, and the fluorescent lights and baby-blue paint, not to mention the boredom, were testing his sanity.

Convincing Dmitri Mirzin, the man who'd been officially given the job of living there with him, to let him go on the rooftop was the only way to escape the labyrinth. Since they were all supposed to be friends he usually caved in and agreed, though reluctantly. Mirzin had been shot in the shoulder twice in the escape from the foundry, and though he avoided the subject it was clear that he wasn't recovering. He'd watched in secret as the man tried to hold a cup of water, but his fingers didn't have the strength to grip even that.

They weren't the only two in the facility, but the other visitors only appeared infrequently and never said much. The doctor who'd been treating them appeared most days, but she insisted that Kirk's ribs weren't damaged too severely, though one was fractured. Most of her time was spent in private discussions with Mirzin while Kirk was left to amuse himself. The guards patrolled the upper floors exclusively.

They had a television for news and a collection of badly written books and a few well-worn board games for entertainment. They still weren't willing to trust him with internet access, and why he'd been detained for so long when they all claimed the need for his skills was urgent hadn't been explained. He supposed it could only mean someone else was looking for him.

"I don't like the sound of this," Mirzin muttered, leaning in closer to the screen. Kirk had been avoiding the broadcast out of spite, but his curiosity and boredom overcame his pettiness and he moved his seat next to the other man.

"… identified by our top agents as a facility on an island in the south-west sea," stated a military representative to the media.

"Do we know just how complicit the Borginian government is in the deaths of the fifty men?" asked a middle aged reporter Kirk could only describe as greasy.

The redheaded spokesman paused for thought. "It may be that the conspiracy is limited to certain factions in their government, but we won't be taking any risks. Central command has full confidence in Colonel Royce's ability to find and eliminate the culprits, and we are willing to state that any resistance to our investigation of the island these extremists are using as their base of operations will be taken as an admission of guilt by all parties involved."

"What will be the Colonel's first move, Major?" asked the same reporter, holding the microphone obnoxiously close to the man's face.

"We will not be discussing operational matters so specifically for obvious reasons, but the Colonel has already left the city to begin the first stage of the mission." The interview continued, but Kirk was more interested in Mirzin's opinion than the Major on the screen's scripted responses.

"So your boss has been told to eliminate the Borginian insurgents by capturing, I presume, Ibis Island? Am I missing something, or are they just stupid?"

Mirzin's gaze shifted from the TV to Kirk. "He's being removed from Merestan along with all his staff. Whether Borginia really is funding these guys or not, they're not going to just let us walk all over them like this. Gets us out of his way into a position where we'll probably all be dead within a month," the other man replied, his forehead creased in worry.

"Removing him to an island with a functioning Third Energy generator," Kirk said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the move. "Or doesn't Hereson know what that means?"

"I think you're the only one who knows what that means. It's a smart move based on what he does know."

Kirk laughed, smirking at the officer. "You must be wondering why they're all so interested in my work."

"I had wondered that. Seems like we're all going to die because of you and your work. Maybe I should kill you, just like that."

Kirk pulled his chair over to Mirzin's place on the couch. "How about we make a deal? You tell me what Royce's goal is, why he's caused so much of a mess, and preferably why Hereson hates him so much. I tell you what the Third Energy does and why I'm so important."

Mirzin's eyes widened in surprise. "And I thought you weren't ever going to open your mouth except to insult me."

"I've been pleasant company and you know it. So is it a deal, or should we both go back to guessing the answers we won't share?"

He knew Mirzin would crack, and judging by the pitiful attempts the man was making to pretend he was hesitant, he knew it too.

After a final moment of silence he gave Kirk an answer. "Ever notice how nothing ever improves around here? What am I saying, of course you must have. Call it corruption or just the way it works, but both the military and the elected government are backed by the same people, and they're only in it for themselves. He wants a change in management."

"So that's it. I was convinced he had to be either a hopeless idealist or a manipulative sociopath." It was the answer he'd expected, but there was no need to be disappointed. Based on his observations there were few other reasons for such reckless behaviour from a man of his status.

"Either? So which is it?"

He shrugged, noting the broadcast had entered the phase where media personalities discussed the revelations amongst themselves. "It's entirely possible that he's both, but that depends on whether he intends to change the system that allows such groups of people to exist or simply wants to replace them with himself and his friends."

"Does Hereson know that? Is he one of these mystery men?" he asked, genuinely curious. The major general had never seemed particularly interesting to him.

"I think so," Mirzin said, reaching for the remote control on the table to his left. "I always thought he was a bit… ordinary, but if he had it in him to storm our foundry, maybe not." The remote fell to the floor and Mirzin flinched, his jaw clenching in frustration.

"Not even thirty, and my left arm's useless," he muttered with a sigh, sinking so low into the seat Kirk could barely see him past the armrest.

He reached over and handed the remote back. "Two weeks is hardly enough time to make that kind of assessment."

"Oh, you're a real doctor now? Good to know," Mirzin snapped. He apologised a moment later, but Kirk didn't hold it against him. He knew he'd be taking such an injury even harder than the assistant was.

They remained silent for a moment, but Kirk was quite aware he still hadn't been asked to uphold his end of the deal.

"Have I seen that man somewhere before?" he asked, pointing to an image of a man being shown on the television.

Mirzin looked back at the screen, turning the volume up as he did so. "Might have been one of the guys from the foundry. I think I saw him die, actually," he murmured, a slight hint of confusion in his voice.

A woman spoke over the image. "This man is believed to be leading a group of militants planning attacks throughout southern Alvernia. He is to be considered extremely dangerous. If you see this man, notify the local military authorities immediately. Do not approach him yourself under any circumstances."

His image disappeared, replaced by a live feed of a blonde newsreader with a grave expression. "In related news, several prisoners have shared information leading to the identification of several traitors in the government. As of tonight the identities of these people are to be released publicly. All eight of these individuals are wanted for questioning. They are also to be considered extremely dangerous. The office of Major General Hereson warns that while not every person pictured has been confirmed as a traitor, none of them are to be confronted directly. Inform the nearest officials immediately if you see any of these people, and do not openly panic; this may alert them and endanger your own life."

The woman vanished, replaced by eight photographs. The remote fell to the floor again, but Kirk knew it wasn't because of his crippled arm. Mirzin's photograph was prominently displayed in the top right corner, the smiling man in the image almost impossible to see in the horrified face staring back at the screen.

He scanned the other photographs. One man he saw killed only two weeks before. The next two he didn't know. The fourth was Mirzin, the fifth a middle-aged woman, the sixth a frowning young girl with short red hair. The last two might have been familiar, but he couldn't say for sure.

"Kirk, look, that's her. She's only been in the city a few weeks, why would they go after her?"

He took a closer look at the young woman's picture. The hair was shorter and undyed, and she was definitely younger, but there was no doubt they'd marked Regina as one of the eight traitors. "Both of you will be interrogated and killed if they capture you," he said, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome him. All eight were associates of Colonel Royce, if he'd guessed correctly. That and the assault on the foundry indicated an information leak, and if that was the case then the inclusion of unimportant or dead faces had to have been done to divert attention from their primary targets.

"I don't think we're safe here. How can Royce do anything with no support in the city? If they knew about the other facility, it's only logical to assume this one may also have been compromised," he murmured to himself, eyes fixed on the blue wall behind the screen.

Mirzin ran to the other side of the room and unlocked a cupboard near the door to the bathroom. "I'm not trained for this kind of thing, what are we meant to do now?" he muttered, rummaging through the supplies and pulling a pistol and box of ammunition out the back of the cupboard.

Edward rose from the chair, watching the man try to awkwardly load the pistol with only his right hand. He sighed in resignation and shoved his hands in the pockets of the jacket they'd given him. Looked like he'd be on the run again, but there would be no deals on the table with these people. They were completely trapped; the complex only had the one concealed door as an escape route, and even if they did leave there was nowhere to hide.

"How many men does Hereson command?" he asked, looking at the furniture in hope he was missing some important detail.

"Twenty thousand, I think," Mirzin called back. "Most of his men are in the base up north or spread around the western districts."

He felt like smashing his head into the wall. There was still a chance they believed he was dead, but he couldn't honestly say that to himself without it feeling like a liar.

The pistol was finally loaded. "We have to assume all the safehouses have been discovered," Mirzin murmured, eyes unfocused as he thought. "There are still security checkpoints at every major district, and I don't know where to go even if we could leave. My savings aren't going to pay for much, and even if they would, I can't just show my face in a store."

The sound of the main door's motor interrupted his planning. They shared a horrified glance as Kirk moved behind the officer and his weapon. "Maybe we could just shoot ourselves," Mirzin muttered, eyes on the gun in his trembling right hand.

Kirk caught a glimpse of a blue uniform as someone came down the stairs. Still, that meant nothing.

"Dmitri? So you're still here," said the man as he entered the room. He was old, and the exhaustion in his voice was clear enough, but it couldn't have been physical.

The pistol lowered an inch. "You saw the broadcast, right? What are we going to do, John?"

He didn't recognise the man, and what reassurance was it that Mirzin knew him? None. 'John' took another step forward and Kirk saw the light shine off his face. There were tears in his eyes.

"There's nothing we can do," John replied. The emotion in his voice was obvious. If anyone should have recognised it, Edward Kirk was that person. Despair and hopelessness wrapped around self-loathing. His own failures inspired the exact same feeling, and it was dripping from that man's voice.

"Don't think like that. The Colonel's made it out of worse than this," Mirzin said, a nervous smile appearing on his face for a brief moment.

"This is different and you know it. He's never going to come back from that island. You never did want to admit we might get burned if we pushed this too far."

"Then why are you here?" Mirzin asked, the hand holding the gun shaking and lowering even further. Kirk was debating the merits of seizing the weapon, but it was impossible to determine whether that was the best course of action.

John was silent for a long, terribly tense moment. He seemed to have difficulty with each word, but eventually broke the silence. "I have to escort Kirk to the port. The last ship leaves in three hours, Doctor," he said, glancing at Kirk for a moment. The man was unable to meet his eyes.

"Very well," Kirk replied, feigning both politeness and complicity. "Let's go, Mirzin."

"He'll never get past the checkpoints. Only the two of us will make it, Kirk. Get moving."

Kirk raised an eyebrow. "Well, isn't that a shame. But do you know, I'm not convinced it's safe for any of us to be on the streets. How do you propose we get to the port unseen? You've seen what they'll do to win, and I can't imagine one of the Colonel's officers would be left to roam the city without being watched."

"I assure you that staying here is far more dangerous than travelling to the port. We'll be there within twenty minutes. I took all precautions to ensure I wasn't seen before entering the facility," he replied in a voice so devoid of emotion it could only be described as mechanical.

"But how could you suggest leaving your injured friend here to be captured and killed?" Kirk asked, putting his hand on Mirzin's shoulder with a smirk. It was too easy for him, really. He looked down at the shorter man and realised he was shaking. Fear, or perhaps anger?

The older man's jaw clenched. "I'm not suggesting anything of that sort, it's just that," he began before breaking off. He looked directly at Mirzin. "I'm sorry, Dmitri, really I am." He swept forward, covering the ground from the door to them within a second, and seized Mirzin's gun. They struggled for a brief moment, but the intruder slammed the palm of his hand into the younger man's wounded shoulder and he fell to the floor with a hiss of pain.

Edward had only reached the first step when the order to stop came. He wasn't suited to or skilled at fighting, and there was nothing he could've done to overpower the traitor even if he'd attacked while they were both standing. He turned around, hands in the air. Looked like he'd be going back to prison, and that was strictly a best case scenario.

"Why'd you do it, Pretsin?" spat Mirzin from the floor. He was leaning against the couch, one hand on his shoulder and the other hanging limp at his side.

"You had to ask? Not all of us are like the two of you. I have a wife and daughter, and do you know what happens to them if I go down with you?" Pretsin's mechanical tone had finally broken, replaced by bitterness and despair. It was the voice of a man filled with self-loathing, and he too was shaking, the pistol aimed at Kirk, who was trying terribly hard not to panic and struggling to keep his stoic expression intact. He refused to die begging for mercy.

Mirzin looked up, but couldn't find the words and lowered his head. Blood was beginning to leak from under his shirt.

"Right. Edward Kirk, I'm going to give you a choice, much like they gave me a choice. You can die now, or you can return with me to western command."

It was an offer that said more about the giver than the receiver. Pretsin had likely considered that choice himself, but a family man always has other concerns. Still, he was beaten. "We'll return to the command centre."

Prestsin nodded, gesturing at the door. "For what it's worth, Dmitri, I'm not going to tell them that you're here. I advise you get out and start over."

Kirk reached the stairs and peered into the small tunnel leading to the surface as his captor tried to soothe his conscience. A hand reached out from within and pulled him up the first few steps with ease, but the forcefulness of their approach ended with him collapsing and smashing his jaw on the stone. Pretsin fired the pistol in shock, the bullet lodging itself in the wall above him.

His saviour in the tunnel leapt down the last few steps while he struggled not to scream from the pain. He rolled himself around and caught a glimpse of the scene in the room before scrambling to hide behind the stone doorframe, fully aware of how pathetic he must look. The tunnel was quite wide and completely unlit, giving him some limited protection.

A man knelt down before him and signalled him to remain silent. It was difficult to tell who he was in the darkness, but judging from the scene below he knew he could guess from a small list just who it must be.

"Kirk, come back out," barked a female voice from below. The man next to the doctor grinned and pulled him back to his feet.

The first thing he saw upon re-entering the room was a woman dressed as an office worker holding a shotgun to John Pretsin, who in turn was holding the injured assistant before him as a human shield. The woman's vivid red hair gave her true identity away, but to think Regina had rescued him twice was almost cause to break into laughter. He'd nearly shot her in the head little more than a month before; if anyone had reason to kill him it was her.

"Well, this is an unpleasant situation," Kirk remarked, looking at the traitor with a smirk. "If you leave without me you're probably dead, but if you try to fight you're certainly dead."

"Shut up, Kirk. I'm sick of cleaning up after you," Regina snapped, taking a step closer to the two men. "If you drop the weapon, you can leave. Take the same advice you gave to Mirzin."

Pretsin was shaking. Risking his own life was one thing, but the consequences were obvious to all of them. If he left alive without killing the doctor it would be taken as a sign of betrayal, but if he managed to kill Kirk he too would die, and all they would need to do is hide his corpse and Kirk's and Hereson would still view it as a betrayal. They'd left him with only one way to secure the safety of his family, but the contemptibility of the plan came as a surprise even to Kirk, who was more familiar than most with all kinds of baseness.

"Throw it all away, and for what?" Pretsin whispered. The look of despair on his face was absolutely pitiful. His captive was barely standing, eyes unfocused and staring at the wall.

"Because it's the only way to keep your family safe," Regina said, but she shuddered and almost hesitated before saying it. What could that possibly mean, he wondered? She rarely chose to show any emotion at all, and that was surely an involuntary display.

Her ploy worked as they all knew it would. Pretsin lowered the injured captive onto the couch and dropped the gun to his side. "I'm sorry you got caught up in this. Neither of you could have seen this coming," he said, the pistol slipping from his fingers to the floor.

The broken man walked to the stair, turning back and looking at the two of them as he did so. Regina said nothing, unable to meet his eyes, but the doctor watched with interest as he took the first step. As he reached the top a single shot was fired, and Regina collapsed into the chair next to the couch, head buried in her hands.

Kirk took a step closer and knelt down next to her. 'You knew that would happen," he said, barely louder than a whisper. She didn't respond, but her eyes jumped to the stair as a man entered the room, his steps echoing off the stone walls.

The grin he'd flashed Kirk in the tunnel was gone, and his grey eyes looked over the three of them, settling on no-one. There were only a few people who could have been helping her now, but Kirk had hoped it wasn't this one. People he couldn't predict were dangerous; Regina was at least predictably dangerous.

Regina's eyes narrowed, gaze still fixed on the man across the room. "You planned every part of this, didn't you? I should have seen it coming."

Harper shrugged, not even bothering to feign innocence. "Pretsin had to die. You wouldn't have killed him."

She stood up, any sign of lethargy vanishing as she did so. "You're right, he did. But if you hadn't murdered his wife we could have went through with the deal."

"I had hoped you'd have more sense than to act the naïve girl," Harper snapped in response, a sneer appearing on his face. "If you want to get caught and killed, that's how you do it. You let Pretsin go, he takes his wife and adorable daughter and runs, and he gets caught and interrogated because he's too busy worrying about them to run far, and then we get killed. I don't need to tell you any of that, but you still feel the need to pretend there was another way to do it."

"No, I don't need to make excuses for myself. We both killed him. But there was no need for you to become involved in this at any point, and yet you've orchestrated the entire thing. Until I know why, I can never trust you," Regina said, entire body rigid. And Edward had to admit, it was a tense moment, even for him. The details of the situation weren't being shared, but clearly they'd shed some blood before coming to this point. That didn't even seem to be the real point of contention.

"If I hadn't picked you up before the military police, you'd have been interrogated (and that word is always a euphemism, you know). After the interrogation the wardens are usually free to do as they like, and can you imagine what a collection of vicious sociopaths would do with you? You'd be begging for death before the end of the week," Harper said, voice soft and calming. Kirk was listening eagerly; he'd always been fascinated by such conversations and the insight they offered, at least when he wasn't a participant.

"Nobody who can kill as coldly as you did today is going to take a risk like that just to save someone you barely know. I appreciate the help, but I need to know what you want in return."

As he watched Harper contemplate his next answer a trickle of blood dripped down the last step and began pooling on the floor.

"I think at this point," Edward interrupted, "that the only person in this room whose motives can reliably be known are his," he said, pointing to Mirzin, who barely even seemed awake.

"That being said, it appears that the four of us are, for lack of a better phrase, stuck together. We're in the fortunate position of being enemies of the state through no fault of our own, am I correct?" he continued, looking between the two of them.

Harper smiled for the first time since entering the room. "Not quite. I've managed to conceal my identity since re-entering the city. Anybody outside this room who could have identified me is now dead. Pretsin was the last."

"Then we'll have to rely on you for outside information, at least for a while."

Regina looked over, puzzled. "What are you suggesting? Because right now the only option I see for you is finding a way to Ibis Island before Royce and his men all die. We're fucked either way, but I'm not going to stop you."

Oh, that was the logical suggestion, at least from her perspective. But not from his. "There's another way." He ran over to the cupboard and pulled a map of Alvernia from it. "The Ibis Island project was my second attempt, but the first was no less viable."

"Yeah, but you blew it up to fake your death. That was in my original briefing when we were sent to find you," Regina said, her scepticism obvious.

"There was no need to destroy it to do that. The facility was underground, quite small and accessible only by elevator and a small concealed stair in a tunnel system. Royce wasn't officially sanctioned to fund me at all, I later learned. When the Borginians made their offer I took the most valuable components with me and their men caved in both entrances."

"Even if that's true, how does a broken prototype generator buried deep underground help any of us, even you?" she asked. Harper was leaning on the front wall, hands in his pockets, but his eyes were fixed on Kirk. "I don't need to remind you that all three times you've tried to make this Third Energy thing work it's blown up in your face, right?"

He clenched his jaw, the accusation stinging more than he'd expected. "The Stabilizer is the last piece. I was so close when they pushed me into the experiment early."

"You've got some nerve asking what I think you're asking."

Harper turned on her. "I think we should do it. None of you are going to get to Ibis Island undetected, and I don't see much reason to go back and die alone."

"Am I missing something? We finish his work, and then what?"

A loud groan announced Mirzin's return as he pulled himself into a slouch. "The Colonel always planned to use its ability to generate near infinite energy to start a revolution. It would change everything, if only it actually worked." His speech was beginning to slur. Had he taken medication, or was he seriously injured? Perhaps it didn't matter. Regina was reluctant, but he saw right through Harper. He looked disinterested, even amused, but his eyes hadn't left the researcher's face for a second.

"And the weapon you were developing for Borginia?" she asked while she cleaned the blood from a grimacing Mirzin's shoulder.

"Nothing more than the result of letting the generator overload. If you can target that overloaded energy it'll vaporise anything. The only requirements are a targeting system and a functioning Stabilizer device." He was close, closer than he'd been since Borginia.

"And suppose we controlled that power, the four of us?" Harper asked, and Edward began to understand.

He spread his hand to both sides, inviting them to imagine the possibilities. "Well, suppose the Ibis Island generator was functional. That Borginian fleet waiting just off the coast? It could be destroyed in less than a second. We'd have the power to demand anything from anyone, make entire cities vanish in a single night."

"Until they bombed the island and blew your generator to bits," Regina said, making the obvious complaint.

"But nobody knows where this generator is. They're all dead. They'll never find us, or even know who we are. We could play the role of a vengeful god if we chose, dealing out punishments at will. Do you want revenge on Hereson? Destroy the entire command centre. Do you want to remake society? Who can stop you? It's all within our reach, and we either take it or we're hunted down and killed for crimes we didn't even commit. Is that even a choice?" He was nearly laughing at the thought, and especially at how close it all was. They had to join him. How could they not?

The internal conflict was written in Regina's face, but it was decided from the start. She leaned back in the chair and sighed, hands behind her head. The shotgun had been abandoned. "If this is how the world really works, what am I protecting if I refuse? I'll play along, but don't expect me to be your servant. I won't help you with anything I wouldn't do myself."

"Oh, I'm perfectly aware of that. We understand each other well, I'm sure."

"Then I only see one problem left," Harper said, looking at each of them in turn. "Where is this generator, and how do we reach it undetected?"

"It was built under the military port for its access to water, but it was only ever accessible through an elevator in the port and a tunnel system that runs under a residential district adjacent to the port. The elevator shaft was completely caved in, but we should be able to unseal the stairway."

They continued to discuss it for several hours, but only the details of the plan's implementation. All four of them were agreed: they would continue to research Third Energy under Hereson's nose, and when the time came and it was complete? Nothing was said of that.

Mirzin would almost certainly want to support his beloved Colonel, but Kirk had no such love for the man or his methods. He'd never forget the manipulations or the condescension he'd endure at his hands. If Royce wanted his help, he'd be paying a steep price for it.

Regina was more difficult to predict, at least in this, but he couldn't see her committing mass murder under any circumstances. She knew far more about what she didn't want than what she did. Harper was the real problem. Who was he, and what were his goals? Nobody knew. What Kirk did know was that he'd perfectly manipulated events so that the three of them were completely dependent on him. He would need to be watched. It wouldn't do to perfect the generator only to meet the same fate as John Pretsin and be shot in the back of the head when it's least expected.

Even so, what he'd told her on Ibis Island was no less true. He didn't particularly care how his work was used. Which of them got their way would certainly be interesting, but he had no plans to take sides. Third Energy was going to change the world, and watching that happen was all he needed to be satisfied. Despite that, he knew he would rather burn and take the world with him than face defeat and humiliation ever again.