There was a different kind of pain deep inside his head, and that made Kurst stop. He recognized that sensation from his conditioning training. It was from the control device the scientists had implanted inside his skull. He’d been out of radio contact for nearly a minute. Foster had probably grown nervous that he’d gone rogue.

Kurst put the earpiece back in and turned on his radio. “I’m here.”

“About damned time, First!”

That is not my name! But it was not time to put the pathetic human in his place yet. “I lost contact. Still engaging the primary target.”

“The alarm’s been sounded. Get out,” Foster ordered.

“I repeat, the primary target has not been eliminated.”

“MCB security thinks Franks has gone on a massacre. We’ve got men going in with the responders. They’ll handle it from here. Leave your bomb, grab Four and the Spider and go.”

Franks had crawled around a corner. Kurst didn’t like it, but if he hesitated, then Foster would release the neurotoxin implanted in his brain and ruin everything. It wasn’t right for mere humans to destroy Franks . . . But it was doubtful any human would be able to kill Franks. The two of them would surely meet again. Kurst stepped through the broken wall of the conference room and began walking toward the elevator. They’d already tossed their backpacks into places they wouldn’t be noticed.

* * *

Franks stepped over his dying coworkers. The ones who hadn’t passed out from blood loss recoiled from his presence. Others saw him coming and hid under their desks. They thought he’d been the one to attack them.

It had been a clever ploy. It really made him angry.

Kurst hadn’t followed him into the cube farm. Instead he was retreating toward the elevator. The elder demon was getting away. That was un-fucking-acceptable.

He passed the spot where he’d dropped the other attacker. There was blood and some teeth, but he was gone. Resilient.

Franks had taken some damage, and he wasn’t even sure yet what was broken, but it was obvious that destroying Kurst’s new body with his bare hands was unlikely. There was a water fountain mounted on the wall near the bathrooms. It was one of his remodeling landmarks. Franks kicked it. The sheet metal bent and a pipe broke, spraying water on the carpet. Franks kicked it again, ripping the fountain completely off the wall. He reached into the hole, found the shotgun he had planted and yanked it out in a cloud of drywall dust. He pumped a round of buckshot into the chamber of the Ithaca 37 and ran toward the elevator.

Someone shouted “Freeze!” as he entered the main hall. He turned to see that some of the building’s security team were coming out of the stairwell. One of the guards had spotted him and was pointing a G36 carbine his way. “Drop the gun!”