He saw Breece’s camouflaged leg shift too late, understood what was happening too late for anything but anticipation of pain.

And then the man’s booted foot slammed into Barnes’s naked crotch, with testicle-crushing force.

“Aaa…” Barnes gasped. His eyes bulged out of his face. His whole body contorted, curling up around the pain, his limbs trembling as he moaned in pain. “Uuuuuuuu…”

“What have you done to overcome him?” Breece breathed at him from above.

Barnes sat in his car, dressed in suit and tie, a block from the onramp that would take him to the bridge over the fast and rough waters of the Susquehanna, a prisoner in his own body.

It had been Nexus in that syringe. Nexus that had enabled someone, some thing, to utterly take control of him. The same force that had hacked into his home, silenced his defenses, to let Breece in, had used the drug to rifle through his mind, taking every secret, every password, every morsel of knowledge about the ERD, the PLF, the DHS, Stockton, everything.

And now this.

“Maximilian Barnes,” Breece said from the passenger seat, still a faint blur, “You are guilty of treason against the cause of post-humanity. You’ve betrayed the cause you championed. You’ve knowingly facilitated the imprisonment, torture, and deaths of dozens of activists. You’ve knowingly used lies and deception to create a culture of fear around the world, to limit the rights of individuals and families, to put in place repressive regimes of laws that rob people of freedom over their own minds and bodies. You’ve ordered the torture of children.”

Breece paused.

“You’ve ordered the murder of children.”

Another pause.

“Maximilian Barnes, I hereby sentence you to death. In your death, you are being granted this one last opportunity to serve the cause. Be grateful. Is there anything you want to say for yourself?”

Barnes turned and stared at the blur where Breece should be. He was a dead man, already. He knew that. But worse – there was no appeal to stop the damage they’d use him to inflict on the country. No appeal. No plea of “kill me but don’t do this” that would have any result.

“You won’t win,” Barnes told the man. “It’s too late for that. There’s too much hate. You made sure of that yourself. Humanity’s going to hunt down every last one of your kind, and exterminate you.”

The shadow laughed. “It’s our kind, Max. I saw those muscles.” A cloaked hand reached out and squeezed Barnes’ upper arm. “You should’ve learned to use them in a fight, though.”

The blurry figure opened the door and stepped out. The door closed behind him.