Chapter One Hundred and Eighty Eight
...
Grant wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected from Scientists Eleven and Twelve. He thought the time he'd put in with the Mad Scientist might have prepared him for this, but it was all too clear that the Super Bureau's version of experimentation was closer to torture than anything truly scientific. There was no rhyme, reason, and certainly no structure in terms of what they were doing to him. In fact, Grant highly doubted they had a hypothesis in the first place.
The electricity faded from the room, though lights still flashed behind his eyelids for a few moments, and Grant sagged back down onto the cold metal table as he tried to control his breathing.
"Good news, Subject 809! Scientist Fifteen forwarded our request to Scientists Seven and Eight, and it's been approved already! You'll be meeting Subject 734 soon. Now, keep in mind he won't be your usual partner; this is just a once-off, okay?" Scientist Eleven said brightly.
Grant licked his lips and waited for his brain to form words properly. "What... what are you testing?"
"Right now? We're testing your endurance against different types of energy; we can't beat the energy crisis if a super will knock it down in a second, can we?"
"With 734," he clarified, his voice hardly a whisper with how raw his throat was from screaming.
"Oh! Silly me, of course. 734 is a tattoo artist, and Seven and Eight have made some wonderful progress with their tests thanks to 734's usual partner, but we're all very eager to see what happens to someone who already has a tattoo. Well, one that 734 didn't create, that is. Isn't it exciting?"
Grant decided to let his throat rest and not answer verbally, but his face likely betrayed his feelings of disbelief and scorn, because Scientist Eleven sniffed.
"Well, you don't have to be excited, you just have to do what I - we - say."
"If you're done chatting with the test subject, 734's here," Scientist Twelve said.
A buzzer sounded and the door to his torture room opened. Grant glanced over at the noise and saw a large man with broad shoulders and tattoos covering every expanse of skin he could see. Tattoos wound down his neck towards the neckline of his tunic and up his feet towards the hem of his trousers. Grant hoped that meant he would be getting clothes sooner rather than later. The man was uncuffed, but two people behind him were armed with what looked like cattle prods, and the door was closed as soon as he entered the room.
"Subject 809, stand up so the room can be reset," Scientist Thirteen said.
It took Grant a moment to realise they were referring to him, and then another moment to gather the energy to stand. He didn't last long, his legs trembling and giving way beneath him. He hit the ground with a solid thud and contemplated staying where he was until everything stopped hurting. Grant didn't get the chance to stay there for long as 734 knelt beside him to help him sit up carefully.
"Hey, now. You're gonna be okay. It hurts like hell, but they don't want us dead," 734 said, his voice quiet with a Southern twang that Grant couldn't place.
He could, however, scoff because it certainly felt like they wanted them dead.
"Oh, I know it sounds insane, but if we're dead they can't torture us. So, do as they say and between these sack of shit torture sessions, you'll be fine."
"Fine isn't all right."
734 sighed, and helped lift Grant to his feet. "Damn straight, kid."
Grant felt unsteady on his feet, but after another few seconds of deep breathing, he steadied himself once more. He was sure the brand had something to do with it - even 734 looked surprised at how fast he'd recovered - but he wasn't given a chance to think on it for very long.
"Ah, excellent. Subject 809, meet Subject 734 and his handlers, Scientists Seven and Eight. Scientist Fifteen is assisting along with Scientist Thirteen, while Scientist Eleven - that's me - and Twelve will be conducting the initial experiments. The room will remain static for another forty-three minutes. You may now begin."
734 glanced at the walls around them nervously, and as Grant looked as well, he saw that the room had changed while he'd been briefly incapacitated. The equipment and table were gone, and now it was just a blank room with bare walls.
"What are we meant to do?" Grant asked, looking from 734 to the window where the scientists were staring like it was a zoo exhibit.
"Power up, of course! We want to see your power against his," Scientist Eleven explained, as though to a child.
"Oh. Okay."
Grant had no visual way of showing that he was already powered up, so he raised a hand with his palm flat and facing 734, and tried to look like he was concentrating on his power. He kept it a short distance so they wouldn't know the full extent of his power's reach, and tried to concentrate. He felt silly, but if it stopped them from torturing him, he'd even stand in the famous Jetstream and the Commander pose.
734 frowned at the action, then his frown deepened as he concentrated on his own power. There was movement beneath his tunic and trousers, brief at first and almost distracting, and then the snake tattoo around 734's forearm slid off his arm and onto the ground. The snake writhed and slid towards Grant, who simply stared in shock, his hand falling to his side. Realising that he was meant to be stopping 734's power, not just staring at it, Grant lifted his hand once more. He was tempted to stop 734's display right then and there - he wasn't a fan of snakes, real or otherwise - but kept the range to a smaller circle around himself instead. As soon as the tattoo reached the circle, it collapsed in a splash of ink. 734 hissed and shook out his hand. Grant could see the snake tattoo curled around his forearm once more, though it looked lighter than before.
"Subject 809, extend your power's reach as far as it will go," Scientist Eleven said.
They started again. This time a dancing pinup made its way towards Grant and it reminded him of Jewel for a fierce and heartbreaking second, then the pinup was ink, still at the same distance as the snake.
There was a pause and then Eleven's voice came over the speakers once more. "Subject 809, we both know that you can do far better than that. We will continue to do this until you prove me right," she snapped.
So they did.
A tiger pounced. Stars shone and twinkled. Water crashed and fish leapt. Playing cards flew through the air. Cartoon images of Bill, Plati, and Chimp attacked. All of them ended the same way: splashes of ink on the floor at the exact same range as the snake and pinup girl, and faded tattoos on 734's body.
As the cartoon images started to reappear on 734, Grant glanced over to the window. It seemed the scientists were arguing with each other, and Scientist Eleven looked awfully red in the face for someone who'd been so composed earlier in the day. He'd been trying to monitor the amount of time they had left in the room, and figured there wasn't long left now.
"Subject 734, use your power on Subject 809's tattoo," an unfamiliar voice said, a different scientist standing where Eleven had been only a minute ago.
Five or Six, Grant surmised, then the words sank in. 734 wouldn't be able to do anything to his tattoo because his brand wasn't an actual tattoo. Shit.
"Subject 809, power down. The monitors show you're still powered up."
"I can't power down. I don't know how," Grant lied, hoping it was enough time to stall the scientists and the room to be... non-static.
Now that he was thinking about the wording of that, Grant wasn't sure what happened to make a room static nor what happened when it stopped being static. The way 734 had glanced at the walls earlier made him think of trash compactors with the walls closing in, and Grant hoped that 734 was right about the scientists not wanting them dead.
"Very well, a power repressing cuff will be provided," the scientist replied.
A drawer popped open beneath the scientists' observation window. Grant moved slowly, not just for show, and saw a thick cuff sitting in the open drawer. Taking it in hand, Grant couldn't see a way to delay further and slowly returned to his spot across from 734. He held his breath and slipped the cuff on his wrist, wincing as it clamped down tightly.
"734, begin."
734 had a look of concentration on his face, the tattoos on his body no longer moving. Silence filled the room, as though everyone and everything was waiting. 734 frowned, nothing more than a slight crease of his eyebrow, and looked from Grant's shoulder to his face.
An alarm started to blare in the room, a light flashing and bathing the walls in an amber glow.
"Time's up; go out the door and wait in your designated spots. Eleven, Twelve, we'll discuss additional tests and - " the scientist's voice cut off as they turned their attention to the others in the observation room rather than the test subjects.
Grant followed 734 out of the room, surprised that no one was waiting with cattle prods. On the floor two spots glowed on either side of the door, and despite his entry into this area, there was no longer a door exiting the corridor.
734 glanced at Grant briefly as he stood on a glowing spot. "You'll want to sit or stand on the spot and not move, kid. It'll take a limb if you're not careful."
Grant moved to the spot, intent on standing but his body had other plans, and he sank onto the spot in an undignified heap. He swore he could feel the adrenaline leaving his body and Grant was so tired he could have slept right then and there.
"They ain't gonna take that cuff off 'til your next session now. Keep that in mind," 734 said, his voice quiet and lips barely moving.
Grant groaned and forced himself to sit up. The window in the torture room's door gave a spot of colour in the otherwise white corridor, and he watched as it turned from orange to red. 734 tensed at the sight, hands clenched by his sides, and kept his footing.
"What's your name?" Grant asked, not caring if anyone heard the innocent question.
734 glanced over briefly. "Kai."
"I'm Grant," he said, and would have reached out to shake the other man's hand but the floor split in half and spun them in different directions.
It was like the worst roller coaster Grant had ever been on. He didn't have anything holding him in except centripetal force and, at one point, gravity itself. There were flashing lights and walls rearranging split seconds before his body or limbs would have come into contact, and some of those walls were made out of pure metal or other substances that could have taken limbs at the speed he was moving. Then the lights changed from red to orange, the small place he was sitting on beginning to slow even though there was a wall right there. He cursed internally as the wall approached far too quickly, then sighed in relief as the wall lifted up into the building's second storey, and the Rubik's cube came to a stop.
Grant exhaled slowly, trying to keep his heart rate steady, and as he became aware of his surroundings, he saw Scientist Thirteen waiting in a section nearby with a wheelchair.
"Scientist Five didn't tell you which spot was actually yours, I thought I might've been greeted with 734 instead," they said with a brief smile. "Your containment unit has a bed, toilet, and clothes. The bed's made up already, so you can go right in and sleep. Food is provided at set times throughout the day: seven, twelve, and five. You'll be given half an hour to eat and digest; I suggest you eat as soon as the food arrives as some scientists like to start at half-past on the dot."
Thirteen helped Grant into the wheelchair, and he tried to listen to their words while taking in his surroundings as he was pushed down the corridor. The walls were bare, the corridor was straight and seemingly never ending, and everything was white. All too soon, Thirteen stopped pushing his wheelchair in front of a door.
"You have to go in yourself. I'm not allowed and the punishments are unpleasant," Thirteen murmured.
"So's torture," Grant said, standing slowly but perhaps not slow enough.
Thirteen kept their face impassive while their curiosity grew; most test subjects took far longer to recover, especially on their first day.
"What's the food like? What if I have dietary requirements?" Grant asked, moving towards his bed and clothes.
"We know you don't, 809. Goodbye," Thirteen said, the door closing automatically and abruptly between them.
Grant sighed and looked around the room. A camera was mounted in each corner, a blinking red light on each one. Their positions covered the entire room with no blind spot to get dressed or even use the toilet without someone watching.
Privacy was a luxury he wouldn't get until he was rescued, he knew with absolute certainty.
...
"When did you get in last night? I didn't hear the door," Nina said, sipping at her coffee.
"I only got in a few minutes ago. We slept at the Hive, but I needed a shower and new clothes," Warren said with a yawn, reaching for his coffee mug to make his own.
"We?" Nina echoed.
"Me, Layla, everyone else we need to rescue Grant."
Nina frowned and placed her mug on the table. "What's happened to Grant?"
Warren realised they hadn't told the adults - not even Peggy, Grant's mother, knew he'd been kidnapped yet - and let out a soft curse. "The Super Bureau took Grant. We're still not sure why, but it's likely because of his revenge against Jetstream for what she said about Jewel."
Nina blinked at the sudden rush of words and tried to process them. "Wait, his revenge... Grant was the reason Jetstream fell?"
"Uh, yeah. He powered up and took her down in a second, and from the ground. The Commander was impacted as well but no one seems to realise that. The image of Jetstream falling is far more visceral."
"I'll say. Okay, so he powered up, took her down, and now he's been kidnapped by the Super Bureau? Are you sure it's them?"
"Yeah, we're sure. Honey and Zero can't see much 'cause of Grant's power, but they get flashes every now and then. He's been taken to the giant torture building in Montana and - "
"The what?! Sorry, keep going."
Warren poured his coffee, sipped, and sat across from his mother. "We're going to break him out, but it's difficult because the building is guarded by both government and private security, we don't have a clear picture of the interior structure or setup, and even though Honey's got people in the building, they can't access everything to keep us informed. We received confirmation that Grant was processed last night, so we definitely know he's there."
"All right. What else? You haven't told me everything, have you?" Nina asked, drinking the last of her coffee and clenching her hands in her lap, hoping to prepare herself for whatever else they had planned to rescue their friend.
Warren looked at his mug, turning it this way and that, then stopped and looked straight at his mother. "We need the buses from Maxville Super Penitentiary to get past Montana's forcefield. We're going to let all of the prisoners loose to keep the Super Bureau occupied so we can steal the buses and... we're freeing Dad, as well."
Nina swallowed hard. "Oh."
"I don't want to, but he's got the biggest vendetta and honestly the strongest power of anyone incarcerated in there, and he'll keep the Commander and Jetstream busy. We've already organised for Westville to be booked with Airborne and Earthstone, so it's a part of a bigger plan. Besides, they'll probably defeat him and send him straight back to prison with another life sentence, and - "
"Warren, baby, breathe. It's okay. I understand. I don't like it, just like you don't, but I understand," she said, unclenching her fists and moving so she could curl an arm around her son. She had felt his turmoiled emotions even from across the table and this close it felt like a tsunami ready to bring her down with it. Nina held on to her son and her own composure as tightly as she could.
Warren surprised her by breaking down into tears against her shoulder. "Ah, shit. I'm sorry, I've been so worried and you just... " His voice cracked and he pulled away with a shuddering breath. "I didn't think you'd understand."
Trying not to take the statement personally, Nina smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "It's all right, baby. I get it. Whatever your plans are, include me. There's no way you're breaking Barron out of prison without me."
"Wait, what? Ma, you can't - "
"Yes, I can. I could've broken him out years ago if he wasn't such a stubborn and narcissistic asshole. I'm going this time and you're not stopping me."
Warren winced, remembering that he hadn't told his mother about France and how worried she'd been when he'd come back after the Wardens. "I'll have to check the plan, Ma. It's not just up to me."
"Why not? You're the leader, aren't you? You and Layla," Nina amended.
"Well, yeah, but the strategy stuff is everyone's say. I can't just add someone randomly without going over how you'll be able to help or what part of the plan you could be involved in. This is a multi-step operation, not just a snatch and grab like we did with the kids."
"Don't rely on those steps too much; it rarely turns out the way you planned in real life. Whether you're a hero or a villain," she added.
"I know, it's why we've got backup plans and backup-backup plans. Let me just text everyone, yeah?"
"Should you be getting ready for school?" Nina prompted, seeing the time.
"Probably."
She sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead, even as Warren continued to text his friends.
"What're you doing?" he asked, glancing up at his mother as she took her hand away and headed to the phone.
"You're heating up. I don't want to risk you going to school with a fever."
Warren frowned and felt his own forehead. "I'm fine, what are you - "
"Fever, you're staying home. Or wherever else you need to be that isn't school. I'll organise the parents, you organise your friends. Deal?"
"Okay. Uh, Peggy doesn't know he's been kidnapped yet."
"All right, I can break it to her gently."
Warren felt relief to a tension he hadn't even known he'd been holding. "Thanks, Ma."
"When is the prison break planned for? Do I need time off work?"
"This weekend. Friday is Jewel's auction and she can't miss it even though she's tried everything to get out of it. Too many people know and even the citizen's tickets are already sold out."
"Will she be all right?"
Warren shook his head. "Probably not; Craig's going to be there but he's barely holding on himself. Beau's going to be there in a security capacity, but he's looking for a reason to beat someone up. He's broken six dummies in the last two days."
"Two days? I thought Grant was kidnapped yesterday?"
"Night before, and we've spent a lot of time training while Craig used Chrono's ability."
"Maybe that's why it felt like today dragged on forever. Ah, yes, hello, this is Nina Peace, Warren's mother. I just wanted to inform you he's unwell and won't be at school today. I'm planning on keeping him home for the rest of the week... Yes, I'll get a medical certificate, of course... I'll pick up his homework packets myself, thank you... Very well, I'll keep you updated. Have a lovely day," Nina said, ending the call.
"What was that last part about?" Warren asked with a frown, drinking the last of his coffee.
"They're concerned because you supposedly had the super flu last month and now you've come down with this as well. They want to know if it's the super flu again so the school can organise vaccinations against the new strain. I'm tempted to tell them it's horrendous diarrhoea."
Warren snorted so hard his nose hurt. "For a week? I'd call the doctor myself."
Nina gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and would have answered if her phone didn't ring. "Oh, it's Frieda. You go have a shower and do what you need to do, okay?"
"Thanks, Ma. Connor and the Special Forces guys are already part of it," Warren said as he left the kitchen and headed to the bathroom.
Nina answered her phone with a brief smile. "Frieda, I hope Layla's told you about Grant? Yes, Warren just told me, too. I'm giving him the day off, and I'll talk to Ida about the rest of the week... No, there's really no point to school when they've got this to deal with."
"Have you spoken to Peggy yet? The poor dear will be beside herself when she finds out; she's been so worried since Ursula was defeated by the Commander and Jetstream, and now this," Frieda said with a sigh.
"No, but I think it's best to do something like this in person. Do you know if she's working today?"
"No, I think she did a double shift yesterday and has today off. Why don't I bring Layla to yours and we can talk with Peggy together? She'll need the support, and Angelina's made several test batches of her new wine."
"That's a good idea. Though the Hive is neutral, and the kids'll want to train. I'll call everyone in; none of the kids will be able to concentrate. Except maybe Ethan, but that's more to do with his ability to compartmentalise."
"Yes, that's true. Let me call the school and we'll meet you at the Hive."
"They'll probably kick up a fuss about the super flu with you, too. We might need to get Ida to forge a few medical certificates, if she's got time."
"I'll text and ask while I'm on the phone to the school. It really is amazing how fast the flu can be picked up again, isn't it?"
"Mmm, it is. See you soon, Frieda."
Frieda ended the fall and turned to Layla with a brief smile. "Go get ready; we're going to the Hive for the day. We'll organise the school and parents, all right?"
"Thank you so much, Frieda. I'm so sorry to skip school like this, but Grant's welfare is important, and - "
"I know, dear. Go on, I've a few phone calls to make."
Layla nodded firmly, hugged Frieda tightly, and hurried upstairs to shower and change.
...
"Your two o'clock's here, Bill."
"Thanks, Charlie. Send 'em in," he said, his door opening in response.
"Here you are, Mrs. Jones. If I can getcha water or anything else, you just let me know, okay?"
"I'll be all right. Thank you, Charlie," Mrs. Jones said with a smile and nod, moving to sit across from Bill.
The wife of the missing father of five was shorter than she seemed on TV, but there was a look of the same fierce determination now that she'd had when first reporting her husband missing. The main difference between now and then was the pregnant-swollen stomach she sported, and growing faster by the minute, it seemed.
"I just want to start this by thanking you for meeting me today."
Bill smiled briefly. "Well, you did request me by name, and I'm not one to turn down requests from such a lovely lady."
Faith gave a snort that was anything but ladylike, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, now I know you're from the South; ain't no one called me a lovely lady since I left to marry Landon and move to the big evil city," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Texas, born and bred, and I received similar comments when I left, too," he admitted with a chuckle. "Now, how can I help you, Mrs. Jones?"
"Please, call me Faith. Mrs. Jones is my mother-in-law, and I keep expecting to see her."
"All right; how can I help you, Faith?"
Faith gave a short nod, straightened her shoulders, and stared Bill down like he was a bull at a rodeo championship. "I was told you can help me. I want you to find my husband."
Bill frowned. "I've seen the news reports, of course, but I don't know that I can help - "
"He's a super," Faith blurted out, clutching her handbag in front of her.
Bill had dealt with his fair share of walk-ins over the years and knew when to question and when to shut the hell up. He shut the hell up and waited.
"Landon comes from a big family. Like, super big. Every second generation, someone seems to get the lucky gene as the Jones' call it, and they have a big family. His grandmother's sister had twenty kids, the first at sixteen and her last at seventy-three, and she brought 'em all up, too. Landon's great-great grandmother had fifteen kids; his great-great-great-great grandfather had forty kids across three wives, but that's a story for another time."
Faith paused briefly, looked at Bill and his scepticism, and continued, "Well, my Landon thought it was all just a case of 'that was the olden times, they didn't have education about sex and condoms back then' even though we found out his grandmother's sister had a surprisingly healthy and well-used sex toy collection when she died at a hundred and three. Anyway, despite all that, Landon really wanted a big family and I... I couldn't give that to him. I have POI - primary ovarian insufficiency - and it's a damned near miracle for anyone with POI to get pregnant."
Bill glanced down at her stomach and then back up, all of his questions and concerns hidden behind his lips, but he obviously didn't do as good of a job as hiding them in his expression because Faith grinned in response.
"Yeah, that was about the same face I had when I first found out I was pregnant, too. Obviously, the doctor's fuck- uh, mucked up along the way, right? I mean, I couldn't get pregnant, me and Landon went through a big rocky patch and almost broke up because of it, and then bam, right out of the gate, I'm knocked up! Oh, my Mama let me have it, and then the doctors did as well, but... well, none of that mattered. I wanted a family too, always had, and I'd planned on fostering and adopting kids when I found out I couldn't conceive naturally. But then Landon happened... "
She let out a small huff here, both fond and amused, and Bill couldn't help but smile in response.
"It took a long time for Landon to tell me about his family's so-called lucky genes. He still thought it was bullshit, even after I got pregnant, but then I made them gaslighting pieces of crap doctors do more tests after I'd had our little miracle baby, 'cause there was no way I went through hell in middle school and high school to be told I was lying." Faith sniffed, rolled her shoulders, and continued, "They found out I still had POI, in fact worse than before, and I wasn't making damn near enough eggs to have a kid naturally. Mira was still my miracle baby, there was a whole thing written up about her, and I thought that was it. Then we had sex again, and again, I ended up pregnant. It ended up happening two more times before I went out and bought the condoms myself the same day I got outta hospital with Landon Jr. Even oral contraception, an IUD, and a diaphragm did nothing against that lucky gene."
Bill waited until Faith had taken a breath before asking, "How do you know he's a super and not just... very virile? You said Landon thought it was bullshit, too, even after your pregnancy."
"Mira had to do her family tree, and we needed six sheets of paper for Landon's side of the family alone. There was a pattern there, plain as day. The fact that I kept getting pregnant when it wasn't possible with my POI was a pretty big neon sign to me, at least. Then, six years ago, I had a miscarriage. It resulted in me getting my tubes tied," Faith said, clutching her handbag strap tightly and fighting back tears. "Despite that, I got pregnant a year later. My tubes were still tied, there was no way I could produce an egg to fertilise, and yet... I had to use Landon's family resources to get a doctor and midwife who wouldn't tell the first reporter they could find. Landon believed me then - there was no other choice - and excepting the day he went missing, he's been double-wrapped up ever since."
Faith sniffled and dug in her bag for tissues. "Now, I know it's all TMI, especially with a lady you just met, but you believe me now, don't you? I even brought the ultrasounds and medical records, if you need more than my talking for evidence," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "Landon was so excited to be a father again; he loves me and our kids more than anything, and no matter what anyone says, I know he'd never leave. He just wouldn't. And he doesn't have a second or third family, either," she added with a brittle smile.
"All right, Faith. I believe you. However, I'm still not sure what you think I can do to find him. If he has been kidnapped - "
"He has! Those... those anti-super groups out there, they must've found out about him or about me, and they've taken him, I know it! It's either that or it's someone wanting to use Landon. The... super gene isn't specific to me; anyone with a womb and fallopian tubes will get pregnant. Hell, they don't even need the tubes to be working," she said with a trembling lip as she gestured to her stomach. "He needs to come back home before our sixth baby arrives. Landon hates it when he misses the birth, and we've got Harper's birthday coming up, too. She's not our biological daughter, but he loves her like she is, just like I knew he would with any kids we had, conceived or otherwise," Faith said with another brief smile and sniffle.
"Let me get you some water. I'll get more details from you, but I'm not going to be able to guarantee anything, Faith," Bill said gently, standing to get a water jug and a glass.
"I just need to know what's happened to my husband. Please tell me you'll look for him, even if you're lying," she asked, begged, pleaded with teary eyes.
"I don't lie when I can help it, Fath. I can't promise that I'll find him, but I can promise you that I'll look for him."
"Thank you, William."
Bill almost dropped the water jug and hurried to set it down on the tray, setting the glass next to Faith with a trembling hand. "Now, only my Ma calls me William, and she's been dead these last three years. So I'll have to ask what I didn't when you first came in: who told you to come to me?"
...
"People risked their lives to get these to me, so please, please, please tell me every single thing you can about them," Honey said, holding out two small clear bags with a small scrap of cloth in each.
Tate's eyes widened as he took the offered bags. "Honey, what... I usually work with much larger fabrics than this."
"I know. It's the most that could be taken without being noticed, and I'm not even 100% certain about that. I'm hoping it will be blamed on a washing machine rather than a launderer on site," Honey said, wringing her hands.
Tate swallowed hard and tipped out the first scrap of fabric into his palm. His eyes closed as his mind was assaulted by images and memories, feelings and emotions, and he forced them all to stop. Exhaling slowly, Tate focused and opened his eyes once more. "What are you looking for? I've got guard rotations and passcodes to two areas within the building so far."
Honey smiled, relief flooding her whole body. "That's a fantastic start. I know the passcodes won't last long, but we're planning on being there by the end of the week; can you tell how often the passcodes are changed?"
Licking his lips, Tate nodded and closed his eyes again, letting his power flow and envelop his mind. He took on the memories and emotions once more, focusing on each scattered image before letting it move on, trying to find the associated memory for Honey.
After what felt like hours, Tate opened his eyes, and grinned at Honey across from him. "They update on Sunday evenings; they're confident about their security with the double gates and remote location so they don't update the passcodes twice a week like other Super Bureau buildings."
"Oh, fuck, that's a relief. If you've got anything about the interior layouts that would be super helpful."
"A couple of things, but they're not consistent. I'll have to look at them in more detail. Do you want that now or the second piece of material first?"
"Go with the second one; it's the one from a scientist so it may be graphic," she warned.
Tate frowned, but nodded, and opened the second bag. He tipped the scrap of material onto his palm, inhaled, and let the memories flow.
Honey watched with growing concern as Tate's pallor changed rapidly, losing all colour and getting paler with each passing second. "Tate, are you - "
His eyes opened, both bloodshot and terrified, and without a word of warning, Tate ran.
Honey scrambled to get to her feet and run after him. "Tate, wait! Don't make me run, these shoes aren't designed for this!"
Tate kept running like hellhounds were after him, and all but threw himself into one of the white rooms, the door swinging closed behind him. Honey slowed as she approached the room, stopping to rest with her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Once she had her breath back, she opened the door gently and stepped inside to find Tate curled up in a beanbag, clutching a throw pillow to his chest. Whether he was holding it for comfort or as a potential weapon, Honey didn't know and wasn't sure she wanted to find out.
"Tate? Sweetheart, are you all right?" she asked, adjusting her skirt as she moved to kneel beside the beanbag.
He shook his head firmly. "No, I'm not. Graphic was a severe understatement, Honey. Jesus fucking Christ... I just need a minute or I'm gonna puke or faint."
Honey held her hands up in a gesture of peace. "Take as long as you need."
Tate concentrated on his breathing, trying to keep his nausea at bay and his lunch in his stomach. He reached up to touch the brand on his shoulder, his emotions settling faster with the action, and he opened his eyes once more. "All right, I'm ready. Do you have it?"
"No, I thought you kept it in your hand?" Honey asked, looking around the room and out of the open doorway to the carpeted hallway.
"I dropped it and ran. It's probably back in the room," Tate said, standing and brushing off his clothes.
"It's going to be a bitch to find; that thing was tiny."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry, Honey."
"It's all right; we'll find it, even if it takes a thousand threads," Honey said firmly, hurrying back to the previous room with Tate close behind her.
...
End of the hundred and eighty-eighth chapter.
Thanks for reading!
Author's note: this chapter puts the story over 1 million words!