Bubblegum and spider webs.

At the end of the hall was another door. Armed guards were waiting for them. The men were terrified. “Mr. Stricken, we’ve been watching the security feeds. A few of the Nemesis assets are right outside the door. The First Prototype wants to speak with you.”

“Who’s that?” Heather asked.

“Our Spartacus, I suspect,” Stricken answered as he pushed past the guards into an open area. There were a dozen people clustered there, nervously watching a large metal blast door. A few looked like security types, but most of them appeared to be regular office workers. A couple of those were having panic attacks. “I’m afraid some people simply can’t handle watching live video of their coworkers being brutalized. Renfroe, can you see if First brought any explosives?”

“It doesn’t look like it,” said a thin man who was standing by the door. His eyes were closed, and he had an intense look of concentration on his face. He’d put his hand on the wall and there was a white glow seeping around his fingers. That meant he was probably another volunteer.

“Then he’s not getting in here until he does,” Stricken said. “That’s a relief.”

Heather looked at the glowing man. “What’s his deal?”

“One of your fellow travelers on the long hard road toward PUFF exemption. As for what he is? An object lesson to never piss off the Fey . . .” Stricken raised his voice. “Okay, everyone, listen up. This situation is completely under control.”

“No, it isn’t! We’re all going to die! We’re all going to die and it’s your fault!” shrieked a disheveled man with the polo-shirted business casual look of an office dweeb. “You played God and we’re all going to pay for it!”

“Heather, this is Eric. He’s one of my intel analysts. Take it easy, Eric. Panicking isn’t going to help anyone. Just calm down.”

The man had started crying. “I swear, if we get out of here, I’m going to tell the Subcommittee everythin—”

CRACK!

A red hole appeared in Eric’s forehead. Blood hit the wall behind him and the body hit the carpet. Stricken had a small pistol extended in one hand. She’d been watching the victim, but Stricken had moved so fast Heather hadn’t even caught the draw. “I said calm down.”

Except for some weeping, the room was silent.

“Nobody likes a snitch,” Stricken explained as he put the pistol back into the holster on his belt and then covered it with his suit. “Where’s the intercom?” A few people pointed at the secretary’s desk. Stricken went over and pushed the button. “Hey, First. Do you mind if I ask what you think you’re doing out there?”

The voice that came back through the speakers sounded very angry. “That is not my name!”