This chapter was getting way too long, so here's the ARC half. The Ayers half is coming soon.

"I gave you his file, did I not?" Hayden sounded bored. That was an act, surely, which meant he was deliberately goading the ARC director.

Oppenheim – calm, cool, collected Oppenheim – was visibly angry, which was disturbing Ross in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"A heavily redacted version," Oppenheim snapped. "You said he was a soldier sent through the Argent Fracture who came back with superhuman abilities. You didn't say he's invincible."

"Oh, didn't I?"

"Hayden …" Oppenheim said through his gritted teeth.

"I told you he's highly resistant to most types of damage."

" 'Highly resistant' and 'completely impervious' are not the same thing."

"He's not completely impervious."

"What," Oppenheim asked with great restraint, "do you mean?"

"I'm reasonably sure a nuclear blast would put him out of commission."

Oppenheim and Ross looked at each other, speechless.

Hayden wasn't capable of a smug grin, but Ross could feel its implied presence even over the video link.

Oppenheim bared his teeth. "I can't nuke Denver if he gets out of control. Hayden, he could kill everyone in this city and there'd be no stopping him. Losing one of the few remaining ARCs doesn't concern you?"

That did seem to get through to him. "Yes, I understand your meaning. We lost Tokyo and Osaka this morning."

Ross's heart sank. He'd been an intern at both facilities. He had friends there. 'Had,' he thought bleakly. 'Past tense.'

"Slipgate implosions?" Oppenheim asked in a subdued voice.

"Yes. After Paris, it has become the preferred method for … euthanizing … an ARC and the fortress around it."

By unspoken agreement, they had a moment of silence for the hundreds of ARC operatives and tens of thousands of civilians who had died that morning, plus the untold number of soldiers trying to defend them.

"We're building more," Hayden said.

"What?" Ross and Oppenheim exclaimed together.

"We're building more Slipgates," Hayden repeated. "If they work: excellent. We will have a transport network between the fortified cities. If they do not work … they can serve as self-destruct devices."

"That's insane," Ross mumbled in disbelief.

"Hardly, Mr. Friedmann. For example, the Rome ARC has held out this long because it was the inventor of Tether technology. The demons haven't been able to get past the suspension field. It is like an impenetrable dome of sticky gel around the complex. Demons, projectiles, even Titans can't get through." He sounded like he would have smiled if he had a mouth. "Everything they've thrown at Rome has been stopped in its tracks." He slowed. "But if they finish digging under the city … we can't let the demons have that technology, nor the ones who invented it."

"I understand," said Oppenheim. He added, "I wouldn't let them take my people, either."

Ross gave the director a wary look, and took a moment to be grateful that Denver's Slipgate project was so far away from the city.

"But sir," Ross protested, "The Slayer is already building a Gate."

"There is no guarantee we will be able to reverse-engineer it, and he doesn't seem like he's going to share the blueprint anytime soon." Hayden straightened even further. "I don't think nuking or imploding Denver is something you have to worry about. For whatever reason, The Slayer has chosen you, turning Denver into a hard target. The enemy is hunting billions of prey over 200 million square miles of land and water; they have better things to do than waste troops trying to seize a small city and an ARC that is primarily focused on making big robots."

Oppenheim narrowed his eyes, not appreciating the veiled insult. "Those 'big robots' are the only reason the fortified cities are fortified. Try putting up a hundred-foot wall around an entire city without a squad of Atlas mechs. I'll wait."

"My apologies, Director, I meant no disrespect."

'The hell you didn't,' thought Ross. 'You're pissed off that you don't have sole command of all the ARC bases. Especially this one.'

"We're getting off topic, Doctor," Oppenheim said firmly. "I want his file. His whole file. I need to know everything about him. Friedmann's red herrings may have delayed the dignitaries for a while, but eventually we need to present them with a containment plan for The Slayer so that they don't nuke Denver."

Hayden said in a harsh tone, "Director, if they knew everything about The Slayer, they would execute him without hesitation."

Ross forgot how to make his eyes blink. Or his lungs expand. What the hell was in that file?

Oppenheim said, "He's at White Sands right now. Tell me the truth, Hayden: should I be bombing the facility while I still have the chance?"

To Ross's immense relief, Hayden answered, "No. As I said, he has claimed Denver for his own. Regardless, that file must remain heavily redacted because humanity cannot be trusted with the technology contained in it. That information is simply too dangerous for a desperate, dying species. We would only hasten our own demise."

" 'Those who play with the devil's toys will be brought by degrees to wield his sword,' " Oppenheim quoted.

Ross had a horrifying vision of ordinary, non-Cultist humans sacrificing people so they could escape through portals to another dimension. The fact that he had no trouble picturing it was proof enough that it could happen. Would happen.

"Like Taras Nabad," he said to himself.

Hayden's head whipped around to focus its blue sensor strip on Ross. "What did you say?"

" 'Your very own Taras Nabad. Maybe you can save your city from itself this time,' " Ross quoted from Hayden's conversation with The Slayer. He gave both directors an apologetic shrug. "I have a good memory."

The directors stared at him for so long that Ross started to feel like a frog awaiting dissection.

Eventually Ross asked, "Where is Taras Nabad, sir?"

Oppenheim raised his eyebrows at Hayden to echo Ross's question, but the cyborg was silent.

"Or maybe I should be asking: when is Taras Nabad?" His mind began to work overtime picturing a parallel Earth in the far future.

Hayden interrupted his churning thoughts. "There is very little I can share with you gentlemen, but I can clear a few things up."

"We'll take whatever we can get," Oppenheim responded.

"The Slayer is from Earth. He is a former soldier. He is from the same time period. He is enhanced by technology far beyond our current capabilities. He can be … temperamental … but he is here to help you. Friedmann, when he does not respond to your questions, it is because the answer is too dangerous. It would be like giving a child a loaded weapon. He is protecting you with his silence."

Oppenheim scowled, unconvinced.

"Dr. Oppenheim," Hayden said decisively, "you are much more likely to die as collateral damage in one of his battles than by his hand directly. The Slayer values innocent life above all else. To a fault, in my opinion."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he would give his life to protect a goddamn kitten up a tree," Hayden said bitterly, "and throw the survival of humanity out the window because the kitten is right in front of him and 'the good of all mankind' is an abstract concept that is apparently too difficult to comprehend."

Ross hid a smile by rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Hayden made his body shift to indicate the conversation was coming to an end. "Is there anything else, gentlemen?"

"Hayden," Oppenheim insisted, "what if he decides the 'kitten' is more important than Denver?"

"Cross your fingers," Hayden suggested. "And try to stay on his good side."

The moment they returned to the control room, Garcia's voice came blasting through the speakers.

"He shot my helicopter!"

Oppenheim rushed to Catherine's console. "Video, please, Ms. Charbonneau."

"Yes, sir." Catherine moved to the side to contact Agent Tucker for surveillance access.

"Oh, God! My beautiful machine! He shot it!"

A picture flickered into view on Catherine's projector screen. Garcia was making laps around the small aircraft, pulling at his hair. The Slayer stood casually, the sole of his boot resting on a horizontal chain two feet off the ground. Thompson seemed too relaxed for the scene in front of him.

Catherine switched to a better view.

The Slayer had indeed pierced the helicopter's rear fuselage with his shotgun's harpoon attachment and wrapped the gun end around a light pole, resting one large foot on the "knot" to keep the chain anchored. Garcia continued to circle the aircraft helplessly.

Thompson tapped his earpiece. "Yep, he's definitely put a good-sized hole in it."

"But why?" Jessie voiced the question in everyone's minds. "What on Earth did he do that for?"

"Well," Thompson answered, "when we got here he came out, walked around it, looked inside, and decided to chain it down." Thompson looked up at the nearest camera. "I think he was looking for Friedmann."

"For me?" Ross asked. "Why?"

"Permission to speak freely, Director?"

"Go ahead, Corporal."

"Ross is the only one of us that he can stand. He's like a military liaison."

Oppenheim frowned. "He's in a bad mood?" His tone was careful.

Thompson shrugged. "Maybe he's pissed he had to spend the better part of a day running down here from Denver, and when we finally decided to send the helicopter it didn't bring the people he expected."

The director turned to Ross. "Time to put on the suit."

Jessie had spent all morning turning a corner of the control room into a VR suite and sizing down a men's motion-capture suit. They probably could have simply projected a public announcement-type hologram of Ross, but the director thought it would go over better with The Slayer if he were in full color and as realistic as possible.

"Damn, Jessie," Ross said as he tottered in from changing in the nearby restroom. "Why'd you make the crotch so tight? Did I do something to piss you off?"

Jessie grinned at him from the console where she was watching Martin enter the last of the VR code. "Too tight? Let me take a look."

Ross quickly shielded his privates from view. "That is none of your business. But could one of you run down to the gym and get me an athletic cup or something? No way am I showing up to meet The Slayer sporting a 'moose knuckle'."

Philips laughed good-naturedly. "C'mon, Ross. Let's get you and your allegedly oversize privates some strategic shielding." After grumbling at Jessie again, Ross followed his friend in an embarrassing penguin waddle, stretching the crotch seam down so he didn't get chafed in the last place you'd want to be chafed.

Later wearing a more comfortable arrangement, Ross stepped into the center of the clear-walled VR booth and Jessie attached the clear mo-cap stickers to his face before firing up the device. The Slayer appeared in front of Ross as a 2D figure. Garcia's occasional cries of "My helicopter!" were still to be heard in the background.

The Slayer waited, his boot holding down the helicopter's leash. His image wasn't as sharp and fluid as Ross's, but his displeased expression was clear as a bell. He'd probably expected Ross to show up in the flesh.

"Hey, uh, how's it going?" Now that he was online, Ross didn't know where to start.

The Slayer looked pointedly at the helicopter.

"Right. Enough chit-chat. I'm not there, obviously, but it isn't for the reason you think. I needed some time in the Machine."

The Slayer scowled abruptly. It was the kind of scowl that made people wet their pants. Ross was grateful that he'd taken the opportunity to pee while he'd been changing clothes.

"The Trauma Machine, I mean. Mixom Health Consortium developed it as non-invasive brain surgery. I'll show you the schematics if you like. It repairs the part of the amygdala that goes into permanent overdrive in people with PTSD. There's more to the disorder than that, of course, but the Machine can at least turn off the hypervigilance and emotional instability. I was kind of having the last one, after that little girl and her dad." Ross winced. "The, um, the military applications are actually kind of creepy; Mixom was developing it to get soldiers back to full functionality. So they could … send them right back out to fight." Ross waved away the larger implications of intraspecies warfare for another time. "Anyway, that's why I'm not at White Sands today. I was in the Machine all morning."

The Slayer's scowl lessened only a fraction. He was still waiting for answers.

"Listen, I'm sorry if we offended you yesterday. Nobody meant to be insulting."

The Slayer did not look appeased.

"Honestly," Ross started again, "they're just a little spooked. I was too. We weren't expecting you to be quite that strong."

The big hologram in front of Ross did nothing. It took Ross a second to realize it wasn't a glitch; The Slayer wasn't moving, not even a centimeter. Clearly he wouldn't until Ross explained himself.

"It's like …" Ross fumbled for a metaphor, or an example, anything to make him understand. "All human relationships are governed by the implication that force could be used."

Everyone looked a bit confused, including The Slayer.

Ross continued, "It's implied, but it's always there. The strongest person gets whatever they want. Unless enough of the weaker ones combine their strength. Even the strongest human is no match for a hundred people working together. Humanity has always used strength in numbers to protect the weak. Yesterday we found out you're stronger than all of us put together. If you wanted to hurt us, there would be nothing we could do about it."

"Friedmann," Oppenheim said in warning. The directional mics meant The Slayer could only hear Ross. "You were the one who said not to insult him."

"Sir," Ross replied, turning his head so The Slayer would know he was addressing someone else. "We're going to keep having communication problems unless we deal with the elephant in the room."

The Slayer cocked his head like he wasn't familiar with the phrase. 'Definitely not from around here,' Ross thought. 'That's been common English vernacular for hundreds of years.'

Oppenheim grunted unhappily, but nodded for Ross to continue.

Ross's brow furrowed as he turned back to The Slayer. Time for the harsh truth.

"We don't have any way to protect ourselves from you, and that's scary. To people who are already threatened by incredibly strong creatures, discovering another one was just a little too much."

The Slayer turned his head toward the aircraft and its distressed pilot. He blinked, and for a moment Ross thought he saw a flicker of regret behind the smoky visor.

"But look, people like having an army protecting them. They trust it to defend them, instead of attack." Ross shrugged. "Yeah, Denver's defense force is basically just you, but they'll get used to the idea of a one-man army."

The big guy didn't respond, watching Garcia lamenting over his machine.

Ross pressed his lips together, and then decided that it mattered very little if the others thought he was a simpering fan.

"I trust you," he said.

The Slayer turned his head toward Ross. He looked doubtful.

"I do. I trust you. I trust that you're here to add your strength to our numbers. Defend the weak." He took a deep breath. "I trust that you're a good person."

The superhuman looked down at the chain under his foot.

Ross decided to go for it. "Help me show the others you're trustworthy. Let go of the helicopter."

For several moments, The Slayer only stared at him. Right when Ross was opening his mouth to make another plea, The Slayer lifted his boot off the chain and untied the metal knot. Garcia gave a grateful whimper and stopped pulling at his hair.

Ross was so relieved that he couldn't speak.

The Slayer yanked the harpoon out of the helicopter's fuselage and went back inside without another glance.

Jessie shut off the VR transmitter and Ross sat right down on the floor, feeling drained.

Oppenheim came to stand over him with his hands on his hips. Ross gave him a questioning look as Martin handed him a bottle of water.

"All that fancy talk had better work, Friedmann."

After he'd slurped down some water, Ross told them, "It'll only work if we back it up. Hold up our end of the deal."

"And what's that?"

"For starters, we can stop treating him like he's going to kill us."

"Okay," Darren said. "Okay great, but he could kill us."

Vera spoke at last. "You are all behaving like this is the first time you've been in a room with someone who could kill you."

"What?" asked Jessie.

Vera pointed to the door guard. "Private Hao has an assault rifle. None of you are armed, or proficient in hand-to-hand combat. He is also blocking the door. He could eliminate all of us in less than a minute."

Hao raised a finger. "Just to be clear, I wouldn't." He tilted his head back and forth, debating. "Unless Director Oppenheim ordered me to. Or the president. Or one of the generals. Or –"

"We get it, Hao." Catherine gave him an unamused look.

"Okay, bad example. My point is that everyone in this room is physically capable of murder, but they don't do it."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Vera," Darren grumbled. "You should write motivational speeches."

"Just keep helping him, you guys," Ross said from his seat on the floor. "That's all I'm asking."

Nobody spoke. Vera shrugged at Ross as if to say, I did my best.

"Listen, obviously he can fight this war alone, but should he have to?"

A few of them tilted their heads like they might listen.

Ross raised his arm to indicate all of Denver. "He's saved two million people from torture and death, including a truck full of puppies and kittens and cute little birdies. Doesn't that count for anything around here? Don't we owe him something?"

Only Vera looked convinced.

"At least stop treating him like a ticking time bomb, all right? How would you feel if you had a bad day at work and came home to find your friends are avoiding you?"

The group exchanged disbelieving glances.

"What?" Ross asked.

"Friedmann," Oppenheim asked incredulously, "are you under the impression that The Slayer is your friend?"

Jessie and Darren looked at him with pity. The others' faces showed various levels of confusion that he could be so self-deluded.

"Well, I mean …" Ross stuttered, his hands twisting self-consciously around the water bottle. "You know, work. Work friends. Friends from work."

"Ross, come on, dude," Darren said with unmistakable disappointment. "You do this every time. You get emotionally attached to a project and it becomes the center of your universe."

"Could we stop calling him a 'special project' like he's one of Sandeep's sticky bombs? He's a person. A person who has never lifted a finger against another human being."

"That we know of," Darren groused.

Ross had had enough. "Oh, yes, his behavior toward the Denver populace has been terrifying. That poor danish. What are we going to tell its family?"

Darren crossed his arms with a petulant grimace.

Philips gave Ross a hand up so he could stand with indignation. To the rest of them Ross said, "You'll see. I'm gonna be vindicated and you'll all be apologizing to me for ever doubting my word. How often am I wrong, Darren?"

Darren mumbled.

"Come on, speak up."

"Like, one time out of ten," he answered grudgingly.

"Thank you. So I've got a 90% chance of being right about him." Ross glared at each of them. "Anybody else around here giving you 9 to 1 odds you'll survive? No? Keep that in mind the next time you see him." Ross turned to Oppenheim, suddenly deflated. "Director, if you don't mind, I'd like to go lie down. I'm exhausted."

The corner of Oppenheim's mouth quirked up. "Being a true believer takes a lot of energy, does it?"

"With all due respect, sir: eat my unreasonably tight shorts."

I love Easter eggs. If you're a fan of XCOM, you spotted this one immediately. :)