“You’re late,” Shirley said as she heard the familiar footsteps behind her. It was the third time this week that Markus had been late for his shift.

“I know you’re busy, but you’re going to have to try harder to be on t—” Shirley stopped.

Her brother was in an Imperial battlesuit—with a combat sidearm.

“Markus? What are you doing?”

Her brother did not respond.

“Markus!”

Shirley activated the shop’s defenses. All doors were locked, all customers were placed in stasis, and deflectors blocked the glass.

Markus pressed a button on his visor, and his form was bathed in a red light.

“Markus! Stop!” Shirley moved to intercept him, but it was too late. He reached for his weapon. With flash and a crackle, the deflectors were breached and the door lock was vaporized.

The door opened and closed.

Markus was gone.

Aunty Floresta rushed from the kitchen.

“What’s going on—was that a blaster? Where’s Markus?”

“Location unknown. He took the car, but he cloaked himself and the vehicle.”

“Do your best to trace him—and keep scanning for energy.” A standard-issue cloak would obscure normal activity, but any sort of teleportation, replication, or weapon discharge would cause a detectable surge.

“Where’s the captain?”

“Mother is having dinner with Shizuka Satomi, but I sent her a Code Red. She’s returning immediately.”

“Good. Erase the memories of all the customers and let them go. Close the store—say we’re doing inventory. Then keep scanning for any power surge.”

And please, Aunty Floresta thought, let it not be from a blaster.

Thinh Dinh and his friends were hanging out in his uncle’s furniture warehouse parking lot. His uncle didn’t mind, as long as they didn’t leave their cigarette butts, used rubbers, or broken bottles.

Later, some of them might go to Long Beach or Wilmington for the street races. For now, they were talking about whether or not the Lakers should draft another point guard.

Thinh looked up. Headlights. The engine sounded stock—a Toyota Corolla. Was this someone’s relative? Despite the headlights pointed directly at him, he could make out someone getting out of the car.

“Oh shit. It’s that donut gook.”

“What’s that shit he’s wearing?”

“What the fuck are you doing here? Bringing us more donuts? I said, what the fuck—”

Before he could finish, the figure seemed to blur. Thinh felt something like a beanbag whip across his face.

“What did you call her?” a voice said calmly.

Thinh tried to get up. He couldn’t see out of his left eye. He slipped. Wait? Blood…?

“My mother. What did you call her?” The calm was chilling.

Thinh’s friends froze. In one blow, half of their friend’s face had been torn off its skull.

“What did you call her?” Markus asked again, bringing his foot down on Thinh Dinh’s chest.

Thinh gasped.