A force took control of Barnes’s muscles, used them to take manual control of the car, and drove onto the bridge. At the halfway point, against his will, he stopped, stepped out of the car, fighting it every step of the way, stepped up on onto the railing in the wind, and raised his phone, the camera pointed at himself.

In the wind and rain, Barnes was sure he’d slip into the fast rushing waters below. He hoped he’d slip. He strained at his muscles, tried to push his legs out from underneath him, to jerk his arms, to kill himself without giving his enemies this victory

But the intelligence that held him kept his body steady.

Barnes struggled, vainly, as some malevolent force used his thumb to activate the camera, and started speaking, loudly and clearly, with his voice.

No. No. No!

“My name is Maximilian Barnes,” his own voice yelled into the camera. A status indicator showed that it was streaming successfully to the net.

“For the last few months I have served as Acting Director of the Emerging Risks Directorate of the Department of Homeland Security,” Barnes’s voice went on.

He pushed at the thing controlling him, fought to unclench his hand, to drop the phone, tried to bite his tongue, to topple himself backwards, even just to wink one eye! To let people know it wasn’t real!

Nothing.

“For the past eight years I have served as Special Policy Advisor, first under President Miles Jameson, and then under President John Stockton. Eight years ago, at the orders of President Jameson, and with very deep personal reservations, I created the Post-human Liberation Front, the international terrorist group known as the PLF, as a front group to frighten America and the world into accepting laws and international agreements that restrict the use of and research into neurotechnology, biotechnology, nanotechnology, and artificial intelligence. To my shame, I’ve run this terrorist organization every day since then, with the full knowledge of President Jameson…”

Fight! Barnes roared at himself. Fight! He pushed with everything he had, one massive surge at his right foot, just to move it an inch, just enough to slip, to fall, to die before he said the words!

“…and with the full knowledge of President Stockton, and the full knowledge of key members of his administration.”

NOOOOO!

“At the President’s direct orders, despite the misgivings of my conscience, I staged the assassination attempt in July, knowing the President himself would be unharmed, and that it would secure his re-election.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“I’ve killed men to keep my secrets. To keep the President’s secrets.”

On the screen, his face was mournful, contrite, a man who regretted his deeds.

I REGRET NOTHING! NOTHING!

“I can no longer live with what I’ve done. To my country, all I can tell you is this: you deserve better.”

LIES! LIES! Barnes tried to force the words out of his mouth. ALL LIES!