“You know that part where Kirk Douglas and the slaves get all uppity and start stabbing all the Romans? It turns out that scene isn’t so great from the Romans’ point of view. We’ve got an uprising on our hands.”

“Are you telling me . . .” Heather laughed. “Wait, your precious Nemesis things have gone nuts?”

“That’s an understatement. Somehow they’ve circumvented their implanted kill switch. The only part of the facility that hasn’t been taken over yet is this section.”

She’d seen a lot of guards on her way into Stricken’s secret headquarters. “Have your guys take care of it.”

“I would, except it looks like most of them are already dead. Nemesis slaughtered everyone in a matter of minutes.”

“You must be very proud.” She tested the air for the scent of blood. Normally she could pick that up quickly, but her senses were still recovering from the drug Stricken had hit her with, so everything was kind of fuzzy and indistinct.

“They’ve seized the control room and are jamming our comms out, so I can’t get help. I’d say the worst part of all this is the feeling of betrayal, but I’m betting the part where they break in here and beat us to death might be worse.”

Stricken was a slippery bastard and he had some weird tricks up his sleeve. Before the drug had knocked her out, she remembered taking a swing at him, only he’d not been there by the time her claws arrived, and nobody was that fast without some sort of supernatural assistance. The man was also a spymaster, so there was no way he was getting cornered this easily. “I know a rat like you wouldn’t hang out in an underground bunker without having some sort of escape route planned.”

“Already checked, and somehow the prototypes knew about it. They’re sitting on the exit already. That’s what I need you for. What do you say, Kerkonen? You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Don’t do it for me, do it for my few other employees who are still alive.”

“Your employees waterboarded me!”

“Sure. Keep living in the past. Way to be a bitch, Kerkonen. . . . Help me out. You’ve got to admit those PUFF exemption tags are pretty shiny. You know you want one.”

Heather put her hands behind her head and stretched out on her cot. It was so small her feet and ankles hung off the end. “You know, Stricken, your slave rebellion sounds like a personal problem. I think I’m just going to let you guys work this out for yourselves, while I relax here in my comfy accommodations, enjoying the absurdity of your predicament.”