“Uh-huh. I know we usually lose when the bad guys get their way, John. But, man, I think this one was a win-win.”

“I disagree.”

Nine rolls his eyes, then looks towards Five. “We can never trust him, though. You know that, right?”

“I know that.”

“And if it comes down to it, I’m not gonna hesitate to do it again. You won’t be able to stop me.”

“You must still be concussed,” I say to him with a smile, deflecting the bluster. I gesture to his chest and arms, still covered in scrapes and blaster burns, and his broken hand. “You want me to finish healing all that?”

Nine nods. “Unless you only do work on murderers now,” he replies.

While I heal Nine, Daniela comes over and introduces herself. She gets the usual Cheshire grin from the big idiot. We bring him up to speed on everything that happened while he was brawling across the city with Five. When I’m finished, Nine turns to look out at the water and the burning city beyond.

“We should’ve done better,” he says quietly, shaking out his arms and legs, stretching his muscles. “Should’ve gotten him when we had the chance.”

“I know,” I reply. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“We’ll have more chances,” Nine says, then claps his hands and turns to Agent Walker. “So, you bringing us to Mexico or what, lady?”

Walker raises an eyebrow at Nine. Just then, Agent Murray returns, jogging back with his arms full of thick rope he must’ve freed from the boat. He hands it over to me and I proceed to tie up the still-unconscious Five, binding his wrists and ankles as tightly as possible. The cuffs of his jeans hitch up as I’m yanking closed the knots and I catch a glimpse of his scars. So similar to mine, identifying us as part of the same nearly extinct people. How did Five ever get to this point? And what happens next?

“What’re we going to do with him?” Sam asks, reading my mind.

“Prison,” I respond, realizing this is what I want only when I say it. “Just because I saved his life doesn’t mean there won’t be justice. We need a padded room for him, one where he can’t touch anything remotely hard.”

“That can be arranged,” Walker says.

She makes this offer quickly. It makes me wonder if she and the government have already designed places like that for us, prisons capable of holding us in spite of our Legacies. Maybe that was something MogPro was working on.

“Arrange it after you figure out how to get us to Mexico,” I tell her. “We’re not waiting any longer, Walker.”

“What does that mean?”