Myers glanced around theatrically. “Really? Because these appear to be MCB men, and last I checked, sworn MCB agents don’t take orders from an operation that doesn’t exist.” The MCB didn’t officially exist either, as it was just a line item on the Department of Homeland Security’s budget, but in this business there were levels of not existing.

“Director Stark is—”

“Hiding from this giant clusterfuck caused by his lack of leadership,” Myers said. “Our good Director must have forgotten that it is against regulation seventy-two dash B to turn MCB handling of a level five containment to another entity, such as yours, without authorization from the President. So in the meantime I’m the highest ranking member of the MCB available, and I’m making the call. Cut Franks loose. I’m going back outside to try to contain the unholy mess you amateurs made out of one of America’s most popular tourist attractions, before every news agency in the world records video of a street full of ectoplasm and dragon parts. Is that understood, Mr. Foster?”

It was clearly understood, but not particularly liked. “We’re not done, Myers.”

“Oh, I believe that we are.” Myers glanced over and confirmed that the men had put their weapons away. “Remove Mr. Foster from my command tent.”

“I’ve got it,” Franks said. One of the men had been looking for the key to the padlock, but Franks simply took up the chain in his bare hands and twisted until a link snapped. By the time anyone realized what was happening, the chains had already hit the floor and Franks had caught Foster by the arm and effortlessly lifted him off the ground. Foster winced in pain as Franks carried him to the nearest flap, and hurled the Unicorn operative into the street.

Foster hit hard and skidded across the pavement, right into a pile of ectoplasm that had been blown off the nightmare dragon. He came up, indignant and sputtering, covered in the glowing sludge. “Stricken will hear about this!”

“Run away, little man,” Franks advised as he dropped the tent flap and returned to Myers. “You should have just had me kill him.”

“He’s but an insignificant cog in a big dangerous machine.” Myers was wearing a charcoal suit rather than his armor, but as far as most of the MCB were aware, that was because he had barely arrived on the scene. In truth, Myers had been here the whole time, secretly trying to stop the Nachtmar as fast as possible, and head off Stricken’s power-grabbing schemes. “We’ve got our work cut out for us as it is. Agent Jefferson has handled the PR surprisingly well so far, but if we fail to move quickly this event could prove to be the worst breach in MCB history.”