The Ragnarok Resolution

By Virginia Soenksen

In a future without limits, humans can manipulate their genetic structure with animal DNA to become whatever they wish to be. Fast, strong, beautiful...or deadly. The only force able to stand against these modified humans is the Agency, where brutal government enforcers are raised from childhood to protect the peace by any means necessary.

For Liane, the Agency is the only home she’s ever known. Alongside her Handler, Damian, she fights against those who threaten the country. Dangerous and invaluable due to her super-human abilities, Liane knows nothing of life outside the Agency’s control or the civilians who inhabit the city.

Or does she?

Why is she haunted by flashes of events that she can’t remember? What is the reason for Damian’s sudden, obsessive surveillance of her? Why is she drawn to the forbidden world beyond the Agency? And who is the man whose face she keeps seeing in her dreams?

When Liane searches for answers, she learns that there is more to the past than she knows, and that trust can be the ultimate danger. Because within the clandestine depths of the city, new threats and enemies emerge that could spell ruin for her, Damian, and the Agency.

As whispers of the Ragnarok Resolution grow louder, the stage is set for a final confrontation that will determine not only Liane’s survival but that of humanity itself. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Sep 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781620069417

Book preview

Chapter 1

This whole city, Chayse thought, glaring up at the surrounding skyscrapers as he trudged through the exhaust-stained snow, can go rot.

He didn’t usually think so; most days, London was a fine enough place for a serum-dealing mod like him. Big enough for anonymity, even with the ID tattoo scanners at the entrance to every business and residence and filled with people needing the edge offered by genetic modification.

Chayse had certainly done alright by himself, peddling reptile serum to the city scum who squatted in the ruins beyond the restructured city and working his way up to skyscraper toffs needing the mental clarity that the serum offered. A couple of brushes with the law had gotten his ID in the dealer registry held by the Genetic Modification Task Force, but all that meant was that he shifted his sales indoors. No, London had done alright by Chayse, all things considered.

But that was changing.

At first, it was just whispers among mods of superhuman soldiers called Agents, who appeared and vanished without warning, leaving havoc and death in their wake. Then came a leaked video claiming that the soldiers weren’t mercenaries, but part of a black operation run by Libertas, the Prime Minister’s party. Chayse scowled to himself, remembering the unfortunate time he’d run into the rogue Agent who had leaked it. He remembered her all right, from her freakishly colored eyes to the bruises she’d left when shaking him down for information. He hoped she was locked in a detention cell somewhere. Not only because of the shakedown but because her video had driven Agents out into the city like so many rats flushed from flooded sewers.

And the Agents seemed to be hunting for only one thing—mods. Just a few at first—high-distribution dealers, for the most part. Then they’d started turning up at mod pubs, driving the small-time dealers out of business . . . on and on until it was rare for a day to pass without mods dying. A week ago, Chayse had even seen a pack of Agents with his own eyes, their black armor and guns gleaming under the neon signs of the city as they filed into a club full of mods. Though Chayse ran, it wasn’t fast enough to escape the sound of gunfire and screams.

The snow had soaked through holes in his boots to dampen the legs of his red tracksuit, and Chayse ducked into a doorway, shivering as he kicked the snow from the treads. The first snowfall of winter arrived without warning, blanketing London in a white veil that softened the edges of the rebuilt city. It muffled the sounds of the people within it, muting the colors. The artificial silence enveloped each and every street, making the broadcasts of the propaganda vans louder than ever.

Chayse scowled as the garbled sounds grew louder, looking up the street as one of the oversized, black vans turned the corner. It moved slowly on account of the snow; the screens mounted on top displaying a beautiful, dark-haired woman with green eyes. Prime Minister Adrian Morrigan smiled out upon the passersby, as her amplified voice said, My fellow citizens, I speak to you tonight to reassure you of the continued security of our country.

Several pedestrians eyed the van as it passed, stopping conversations mid-sentence to drift into stores and alleyways, moving out of sight. The van continued on, creeping down the snow-covered streets. On the screen, Adrian said, I know that you are hearing rumors that say otherwise. Rumors begun by those who would throw our country into a state of chaos and hardship . . .

Those pedestrians who couldn’t escape the streets hurried their steps instead, pulling up coat collars and scarves to hide their faces from the van. The Minister’s recorded voice continued, Like poison, these lies harm us from within, and those spreading them must be extracted, so that our wounds may heal. I urge you to report any rumormongers to your nearest police station, for the good of the nation . . .

The van turned the distant corner, the sound of the broadcast fading. Chayse’s narrow, ferrety eyes followed it. There had been similar vans outside the club on the night of the shooting, screeching to a halt as Agents poured out in a deadly tide. Since that night, he’d noticed the vans more, seeing them creep through the streets, spouting out the Prime Minister’s tripe. He’d wondered, more than once, if they did more than transport Agents. If, perhaps, they listened . . .

Chayse glanced after the van again, making sure it was out of sight before spitting into the snow. Closing his fist, he banged on the door once, then paused before knocking twice more.

A latch turned on the other side, revealing a kid with a dirty face and eyes with slits for pupils from dosing with reptile serum. He eyed Chayse, then stepped aside to let the dealer saunter past into the dilapidated building lit by electric camp lanterns. Chayse went to a battered wooden table in the center, shrugging off his rucksack and pulling out a nondescript bag.

The kid called after him, They gone?

"They ain’t never gone," Chayse muttered, keeping his eyes on the bag. He opened the case to reveal row after row of serum vials, then tapped at his phone. Four minutes to the appointed time—his buyers would be there soon.

The minutes ticked by, and Chayse began to fidget from nerves, acne pustules standing out against his thin, bloodless cheeks as he toyed with his phone, his bag—anything to offer a distraction. When the back door opened with a creak of rusted hinges, he started, managing to pull himself together before it opened fully. A group of men and women walked in, all wearing the smooth, polished black face masks favored by those who wanted to bypass the facial recognition of the street cameras. When they pushed them back, Chayse found himself looking at luminous eyes that were neither human nor bestial. He fidgeted more; wolf mods gave him the creeps.

You’re late, he snapped.

You would have waited, said one of the women near the back.

Yeah, well, I got other customers, don’t I? And patrols is tighter than ever.

Why’d you think we’re here in this dump? retorted a thin mod, his eyes darting to the doors and windows. Not as if there’s anywhere better to go, what with Ahmad out of business and Agents crawling the city . . .

Chayse grinned, growing cockier in the face of their discomfort. He spread his hands, the lantern light glinting off the cheap gold rings he wore. You come ‘cause I got what you need, right? Something very special . . . with a price to match.

The lead mod, a huge man with a flat face and dark hair, stepped forward and eyed the serum. You’ve got it?

Chayse turned and selected one of the vials from within the bag, announcing, As promised, the Titan Strain. The mod reached for it with a hungry expression, but the dealer held it back and warned, This is powerful stuff . . . you know what you’re getting into, right?

Better than you, retorted one of the women. Is it all here?

All fifty vials, Chayse said. You got the money to pay for it?

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she drew out an envelope and said, Half a million pounds had better be enough.

Greed flared up within the dealer, but he gave a laconic shrug and said, Call it a first-time punter discount.

But when he reached eager, thin fingers toward the envelope, one of the mods jerked his head. Not yet. First, we see what this serum can do.

Sweat broke out across Chayse’s hairline, but he scoffed, Real mods know what the Strain can do.

Unmoved, the man stepped forward, drawing out a fresh syringe and sticking the needle through the cap to draw out the clear liquid. Chayse eyed the payment, just beginning to wonder if he could grab it and run when the mod stuck the needle in his own forearm and injected the serum.

The effect was instant; the man’s eyes turned violently yellow, and an inhuman snarl came from his open mouth. The wolf mod shuddered, his muscles rippling under his jacket. One of the women moved closer, asking, Well?

The man nodded, breathing as if he had just sprinted. It’s good. Chayse let out a minuscule sigh, but then the mod’s yellow eyes snapped over to him. In a low voice, the man added, But it’s not the Strain.

Chayse felt his breath catch, and then it was slammed out of him as the mod seized his throat and shoved him against the crumbling wall. Dust showered both of them, choking the dealer even more. The mod’s eyes glowed through the cloud of dust, his voice even more animalistic than before as he snarled, You think you can cheat us, you little prick?

Let’s just take it and get out! said one of the women, voice shrill with panic.

The mod tilted his head, lips curling even more as Chayse gurgled and kicked. "You’re a reptile mod all right; a snake out to cheat your own kind. Well, by the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to cheat, or talk, or walk ever again . . ."

Chayse’s bulging eyes darted around the room, landing on the kid standing frozen by the front door. Stupid, useless berk, Chayse thought, the room beginning to fade from lack of air. A skittering sound echoed through the room. Chayse had just enough energy to look over and see the kid staring down, frowning at the small blinking device near his feet, seconds before it exploded.

The entire building rocked with the blast, the mods knocked to hands and knees, screaming as bits of rubble and parts of the kid rained down on them. The lead mod dropped Chayse, who lay gasping through his damaged throat. He could only watch through bloodshot eyes as dark figures entered through the ruined doorway, moving faster than humans or mods. The Agents darted through the room, firing at anything that breathed. Mod after mod fell dead; Chayse began to crawl toward the door, desperately looking to the snowy street that meant freedom and survival. If he could just make it there before they noticed . . .

Behind him, the screams stopped. The only thing that sounded through the building were footsteps, slow and deliberate, as they moved toward the dealer. He froze, rolling onto his back and holding his hands up. The light of the lantern glowed behind the Agents, turning them into faceless wraiths as they reloaded their weapons and walked unhurriedly toward him.

Chayse began to shake, but he tried to keep his voice steady as he said, Look, you lot like information, right? I got plenty. I can help you.

One of the Agents laughed, while the other just locked a new magazine clip into his assault rifle.

You’re looking for someone, Chayse persisted. One of yours, a girl, right? The one who went rogue and leaked the video about the Strain. I seen her.

The Agents slowed to a stop, and one of them demanded, Where?

At a pub, Chayse lied, the words flowing fast now that he’d latched onto a way to survive. Couple days ago. I can find her again, no problem, her and the copper. And I’ll bring them right to you. All you gotta do is let me walk out of here.

The Agent tilted his head, just enough that the dealer could catch the hint of a smile. Couple of days, huh? You sure? Because she’s been in our holding cells for over a week.

Nice try, though, said the other Agent, shouldering his rifle and taking aim as he said to the other, Call the shot.

The smile on the second Agent widened, and he said, Make it a challenge; through the left eye.

Chayse opened his mouth to argue, to talk his way out as he’d always been able to do before. But all that escaped his lips was a high, keening scream that lasted until it was silenced by a single shot.

CHAPTER 2

Cold. Tired. At first, that was all she knew.

Her eyelids fluttered, struggling to open against a haze of sleep and something else, something artificial that pulled her mind toward unconsciousness.

She fought against the pull, forcing her eyes to open until the world came into focus. She lay still, eyes blinking and tearing against the low lights as she fought to orient herself. She lay on a narrow bed under stark white sheets. The room wasn’t large, and aside from the bed, there was nothing else but an empty chair. No sign of anyone else.

Dim blue lights ringed the room, and the cold air held the metallic tang of disinfectants. There was something oppressive about it, something subterranean; she wasn’t sure how she knew, but this place was deep underground. Across the room, set into the smooth, rounded walls was a door without a handle. Clearly, a chamber meant to keep a person in. All of it felt oddly familiar, but no matter how hard she tried to pinpoint why, she was left with the horrible disorientation of not knowing where she was. Or who she was, for that matter.

Did she even have a name?

I don’t know, she said aloud, her voice hoarse and scratchy. Fear swept up her spine, and in an effort to stave off panic, she tried to focus on what she could tell about herself. She lifted a hand to run through the softness of her chin-length, white-blonde hair, then pushed aside the sheets to find that she wore white sleeping clothes. On her wrist, a motion monitor flashed blue at regular intervals. Her skin felt clean, and several bandages covered her arms. When she pried up the adhesive, she found the skin indented with healing wounds that she somehow knew to be needle marks.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Nothing felt right, not even her body. She was weak and unsteady as if recovering from an illness. When she tried to think back to what she had been doing, there was just a void, an empty space in place of the memory.

She stood, feeling her muscles shake from disuse. The sensor on her wrist flashed red, triggered by her movements. Someone is watching me; someone will come now that I’m awake, she thought, wondering how she knew that. Ripping the sensor from her wrist, she moved to the door and pressed her ear against it.

Sound filtered through the durasteel; the heavy beat of steel-toed boots against metal floors, the muted hum of conversations, and distorted loudspeaker announcements. She backed away from the door, her heart hammering out a panicked rhythm. None of it felt safe, none of it made sense. But she was certain of one thing; she wanted to get out.

She’d barely formed the thought when the door began to slide open. An older man stood on the other side, distracted and gazing at the tablet in his hand. The sight of his white coat sent a chill through her, the air seizing within her lungs. There was only a split second to decide what to do, and as he glanced up with eyes that widened in surprise, she darted forward and slammed her shoulder into the man’s chest before he had time to shout. The man went sprawling backward, the wind knocked out of him, as she ran out of the chamber and down a white, rounded hallway.

Her bare feet beat silently against the metal floor as she ran; the world around her blurring as she careened through the hall and around a blind corner. She collided with two more people in white coats, sending all three of them to the ground. The woman shouted and pressed a device at her wrist. The lights overhead and along the walls began to flash red, and a deafening alarm blared from loudspeakers. She scrambled up, more afraid than ever as she dodged past the cowering, unfamiliar people, and ran on.

Ahead of her, several men and women in black stepped out of an elevator. She slid to a stop as they emerged, backing away and feeling her eyes go wide with fear. They moved toward her, raising weapons and shouting for her to kneel. Instead, she whirled around, hearing several darts strike the wall behind her as she turned another corner at a sprint.

On she ran, her heart pounding in time with the unrelenting sirens. Fear choked her, making the floor seem to tilt and shift as she went. She turned down another corridor, glancing back to see the soldiers closing the gap to catch her.

Time to stop running and fight, instinct whispered.

She slammed to a stop, the metal burning against her bare feet as she launched herself back at her pursuers. The first one she flipped over her back, the next she seized by the wrist and tossed into the wall. She had no idea how she knew what to do, but she did; dodging blows and tranquilizing shots, she wreaked havoc through the hall. The world swirled into noise and chaos around her; when she caught a glimpse of movement behind her, she snatched up one of the guns from the holster of an unconscious soldier and whirled to level it at whoever had joined the fight.

The newcomer turned out to be a handsome, dark-haired man wearing a black suit, his hands outspread to show that he was unarmed. Soldiers stood behind him, trying to take aim at her while the man seemed determined to block their shots. They didn’t like that, shouting for the man to step away. The man said nothing, only raised one hand in a wordless gesture for them to stand down. They went silent, weapons lowering, and out of the periphery of her vision, she saw the soldiers at her back mirror the movement. The sirens and lights stopped as well, silence descending throughout the hallway.

The man in black took a step toward her, and she flinched, her hand shaking around the gun as she rasped out, Stay back.

He tilted his head, not a trace of fear in his dark, green-flecked eyes. Then he asked in a deep, commanding voice, Don’t you know who I am, Liane?

It was the familiarity of the voice that made her finger relax from the trigger. She didn’t know who she was or where, but she knew the man in front of her, and that meant something.

An aching wave of pain swept through her head, and as she closed her eyes against the blistering hurt, it all came back in a rush—her name, her life, her purpose, memories flooding like a rip current through her mind.  She was Liane, an Agent trained from childhood as one of the country’s elite soldiers. And the man standing before her had been her Handler since the day of her recruitment; her minder, teacher, sole companion, and the one person in the world she trusted without question.

Liane dropped the gun to the floor, sagging with the weight of the memories as she opened her mismatched eyes and whispered, Damian.

Damian stepped toward her, resting a precautionary hand on the back of her neck as he asked in a low voice, Do you know where we are?

She looked around them again, having trouble recalling the exact words she wanted. We . . . we’re inside the Agency. In headquarters.

Do you remember why?

Liane bit into her lower lip, then shook her head. She began to tremble, fear and exhaustion taking hold, and not knowing why somehow made it all seem worse.

You had an accident, he explained. You hit your head, damaged the temporal lobe in your brain.

Her mouth shook, as did her voice when she said, I don’t remember . . . Why can’t I remember?

You’ve just lost a little bit of time, Damian said. The injury has healed, and you’re going to be fine.

But her breaths came more rapidly, her voice growing high with panic as she said, "I can’t remember anything—there’s just a blank, only a blank . . ."

Damian’s grip on her tightened, anticipating a fight even as he soothed, There’s nothing to be afraid of, Liane. You’re safe now.

She looked up at him, her voice holding a plea. "Promise me that I am. Promise."

His grip vanished from her neck, his hand cradling her face instead. It was the gesture, alien in its affection, that struck her more than when he said, I promise that everything will be alright. When she still regarded him warily, he asked, Would I lie to you?

Relief flooded through her; Liane slowly shook her head, some of the tension leaving her body. Damian smiled as she let out a shuddering breath, her shoulders sagging with fatigue. When he drew her in, closing his arms around her, Liane almost pulled away in surprise; she hadn’t been comforted in her waking memory. Certainly not by her Handler. But instead of questioning why, she leaned her cheek into his chest with a sigh, shaking from the loss of adrenaline.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Agents behind her move aside to make way for the arriving medics. The men and women in white coats prepped a syringe and moved toward her. The line of her back went tense, and she shrank further against Damian, tucking in her arms and pleading, No . . . don’t make me sleep again.

You need to let them help you, Damian murmured, running a hand over her hair before adding, I’m right here.

She extended her arm, allowing the waiting medics to inject her. Damian held her throughout, whispering reassurances to which she only partially listened.

As the needle pulled free from her vein, Liane felt her body relax as the drugs began to take effect. Everything had just begun to feel distant and unimportant when her knees gave way. Damian stooped to pick her up, her head resting on his shoulder and arms hanging limp. He walked down the hall with her, the crowd of Agents and medics parting to let him pass.

Liane wondered where he was taking her, but not knowing didn’t seem to matter that much. The worry and fear she’d felt upon waking had faded away, chased off by the drugs stealing away her desire for everything but sleep. As she closed her eyes, sinking into the darkness, she took comfort in the truth that she was right where she belonged.

She was home.

CHAPTER 3

Seth jolted awake, heart pounding as he tried to sort out where he was. All he could see was darkness, and all he felt was the ache of legs cramped against his chest for too long. Then he heard the rumble of an engine shifting gears as the scent of petrol filled the air. Letting out a breath, Seth slumped back, remembering where he was and why.

He sat in the back of a large smuggler’s van, exhausted and driven to the end of his resources by a week of being on the run. He shifted against the box that acted as his backrest, shivering from the cold as he blinked into the complete darkness. No, not complete—he could see the light of a screen glowing nearby, and flashes of neon shone through the chinks in the tinted plastic that covered the van windows. The vehicle lurched again, and Seth stretched out his shaking legs between the boxes of counterfeit electronics. From across the van, a dark lump shifted near the glowing screen, and Neil asked in a weary voice, You awake?

Yeah, Seth said, rubbing his eyes. Where are we?

Should be near Kent by now, Neil said, sitting up so that the blanket fell away from his shoulders. In the light of the screen, Seth could just make out the reptile mod’s pale green eyes.

Seth nodded to the screen, asking, You checking the news feed?

Neil picked up the tablet, handing it across to him as he said, Look at the excuse they used for our attack on the Agency . . .

Seth blinked, his eyes tearing in the bright light as he read the short news feed. ‘Structural damage caused by a sinkhole’ . . . are they serious?

Neil nodded. All the major news outlets are reporting the same story. Countless mods lost in the attack on the Agency, and for what? Nothing but another fake headline.

Seth handed back the tablet, leaning his head against the crate behind him. It’s what the people believe that matters. Do we know if they’re buying the story?

No idea. We can check on that when we’re in France.

Looking toward the front of the van, Seth murmured, And you trust this bloke to get us there?

We paid him what he wanted. That means a ride to the station, forged IDs, and tickets to match.

Seth rubbed at his forearm. The tenderness of the new identification tattoo had begun to fade, but it still itched slightly.  One step down . . .

The reptile mod nodded. Two to go. Relax; we’ll be there soon.

Within ten minutes, the van slowed, the hum of pedestrians, traffic, and loudspeaker announcements trickling into the van’s interior. Seth got his feet under him, zipping up his jacket and pulling up the hood to hide his face. The van idled, and the door opened and slammed behind the driver as he got out and came around to the back. Light flooded the interior of the van, the door lifting with a clatter. Seth blinked until his eyes focused on a shifty older man in a dirty, oversized coat standing just beyond the van door. He motioned to Seth and Neil, and they jumped out into a narrow alleyway.

The smuggler handed over two tickets, glancing around as he muttered, Station’s around the corner. You’re on the maglev train to France in thirty minutes. From here on, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Got it?

Neil nodded and tugged on Seth’s sleeve. Got it. Come on.

The two men sidled along the van and out onto the street. From under his hood, Seth glanced up at the train station ahead. A massive edifice of silver and glass, it towered over the neighboring buildings. A steady stream of passengers flowed in and out, and Neil and Seth slipped through the doors with the crowd.

Neil moved toward the electronic departures board to find the platform number of their train, but Seth kept his eyes on the people around them. Hundreds stood within the cavernous central lobby, moving in and out of ticket kiosks, shops, and running toward the train platforms. A number of police officers patrolled through the crowd, moving in pairs and chatting with their partners. Seth ducked his head as two of them moved past, willing them not to notice him.

Neil reappeared, looking more nervous than usual as he jerked his head toward the platforms. Number ten. It’s boarding now.

They hurried through the lobby, moving to the security checkpoints. Guards managed the slow, shifting lines, ushering passengers through ID scanners, physical scanners, and ticket scanners. As the minutes ticked by, Seth’s nerves grew more and more strained. He reached the first checkpoint, scanning his new tattoo. Another pseudonym—the second fake identity he’d adopted since being targeted by the Agency—appeared on the screen, and the bored security guard motioned him forward to the ticket scanner. The screen flashed green to proceed, and Seth moved into the body scanner, feeling an ounce of relief as he stepped inside, the plexi-door sliding closed behind him. The lights brightened, scanning him for weapons and disease. His eyes drifted across the crowd beyond the transparent walls, knowing that in a few scant minutes, he would be through and on his way to the train.

And that was when he saw them.

Two men stood in a nearby queue, both tall and muscular, dressed in black with long overcoats. They carried nothing, and unlike the other travelers who rifled through bags or double-checked tickets, the cold, expressionless eyes of the two men remained fixated on the crowd. Scanning back and forth, their gloved hands hovering at hip-level. Maybe others would have thought nothing of it, but Seth had enough experience with weapons to know that they stood poised to draw guns from hip holsters. And he had definitely been around Liane long enough to know an Agent when he saw one.

The scan ended, the other side of the pod sliding open. It took all of Seth’s strength to not run out from the scanner. He collected his bag and ticket and walked toward the train platform. Neil stood waiting for him, and they fell in step with one another and hurried to the waiting train.

The maglev was a sleek, silver transport whose tracks pointed toward the English Channel. Created to replace the Chunnel following its destruction during the war, the maglev had been one of the first major constructions by the Libertas Party. Seth had never ridden it before and wished that he wasn’t heading toward it now—not with two Agents within spitting distance.

The doors stood open, and a chime sounded announcing that the train would soon be leaving. Neil and Seth slid through, moving down the narrow hallway to the baggage car. They shoved their duffels into the assigned containers, locked them, and then headed back to their compartment. Seth peered through every window they passed, watching for any sign of the Agents. As they slid into their seats, he turned, cheek almost pressed against the glass as he looked back to the terminal.

What is it? Neil asked with a frown, pulling the loop of his messenger bag over his head and dumping it on the seat next to him.

Agents, Seth muttered, eyes scanning back and forth. Two of them.

You shitting me? Neil demanded, jumping up to join him by the window. Where?

Back in security. He craned his neck. But I don’t see them now.

A second chime echoed through the train, and a bright female voice announced, "Doors closing, portes se ferment, türen schließen, doa ga shimarimasu, mén dū guānbì . . ."

A rush of passengers darted out from the station to catch the train. The crush of people came too fast to follow every face, and soon Seth’s eyes swam with the crowd, wondering if the Agents hid within it. The doors hissed and slid closed. Seth and Neil stayed by the window, scanning the remaining passengers on the platform until the train began to pull away from the station. As it picked up speed, Neil collapsed back into his seat, saying in a weak voice, Think we’re safe?

No, said Seth, his eyes still on the train station as it faded into the distance. I really don’t.

The maglev raced silently across the tracks, and within minutes, it reached the five-hundred kilometer per hour speed so often referenced by politicians. It would take an hour to reach the continent, and as the train tracks sank from earth into ocean, Seth let out a small sigh. It was beautiful; he had to admit. The opposing track ran on the other side of the train, so their view comprised only the open ocean. In the distance, the sun began to set, casting golden light that splintered and broke on the waves.

Neil leaned back with a groan, his eyes shut, and a hand ruffling his half-shaved head. That was too close for my taste. Get me to the Germanic States, where I can sleep in peace.

I doubt distance will help us, Seth muttered, unzipping his jacket. Liane went to the continent on missions all the time. You got anything to eat in that thing?

Neil rummaged through his messenger bag for a minute, frowning until he tossed it aside with a sigh. I left the nutrient bars in my duffel. I’ll get them in a minute—I need another hit of serum anyway. You really don’t want any? You look like you could use it.

Seth glanced out of the window; within his reflection, the dying sunlight darkened the circles under his eyes. The bleakness of his expression didn’t help matters. But he answered, I’m good. You go ahead.

The reptile mod nudged Seth’s boot with his own, saying, You holding up over there?

Seth shrugged his shoulders. Suppose so.

You’re welcome to come with me, you know. The mother cell of Black Sun in Berlin is one of the safest places I can think of for someone like you.

Seth let out a short, bitter laugh. "Sure. Because we were so safe in the last Black Sun hideout."

This is different, Neil protested, sitting up. The mods in the Germanic States know what they’re up against more than anyone. For Christ’s sake, the Agency executed the Germanic ambassador in London a couple of months ago.

Seth crossed his arms and leaned into the wall of the compartment, saying, I’ll go with you as far as France, and only so I can call my family and make sure that they’re okay. Then I’m on the next train back to Britain to get Liane out.

To get yourself killed, you mean, Neil returned, mouth pressed into a grim line.

I said I’d find her, Seth said, looking out of the window. Anyone who wants to stop me from keeping that promise is going to have to shoot me.

That’s exactly what’s going to happen, the mod retorted. You’re going to end up dead, and she probably will as well. Remind me again why you’re trying to arrange your own execution?

Because I left her, Neil! Seth burst out in a fury. "I left her back there to face them alone! They’ve got her locked up and are doing God knows what else . . . He brought up a hand and rubbed it across his eyes, clearing his throat before muttering, I took an oath to protect those in need within London. And when she needed me, I ran."

She told us to go, Neil pointed out. We’d have died if we hadn’t.

I know, Seth said, his voice strained. But what kind of friend does that make me?

Neil leaned forward, resting lean arms on his knees as he said, One who’s alive and can help her in the future. So don’t be a knobhead and throw that chance away.

Seth said nothing, avoiding eye contact with the mod. Neil stood, stretching as he moved toward the compartment door and said, I’m fading; I’ll get some more serum and bring back those nutrient bars. You need anything else?

Seth shook his head, but he did glance back as the compartment slid shut. Through the window, he saw Neil turn left and head toward the baggage car. He readied to turn away when he caught a flash of black pass the window. Seth went still, moving one hand to the scan-proof pocket within his jacket. His gun was inside, loaded, and he drew it out and settled into a two-handed grip. Moving to the window, he looked to the left, spotting Neil far down the corridor. The mod didn’t notice the two Agents trailing him as he headed into the baggage car. The Agents followed, closing the door behind them.

Keeping his gun at his side, Seth moved out of the compartment and headed toward the car. His mouth went dry, his heart hammering within his chest; every second that passed felt like one step closer to the moment when they would emerge. But he reached the door without incident, trying the handle only to find it locked from the inside.

Cursing under his breath, Seth fished in his pocket for a small tube. The corrosive paste within looked like lip balm, and could even fool scanners. He removed the cap and smeared the waxy paste around the lock, watching as the plastic began to warp and melt as the caustic chemicals ate through. In seconds, the lock crumpled, and he opened the door silently, moving into the car with his weapon up.

Near the back, the three figures stood crowded together in the aisle between luggage compartments. One of the Agents held Neil’s arms, the other methodically beating him between questions.

Where are the rest of your friends? the Agent demanded.

Neil said nothing, glaring out between swollen eyes. The Agent punched him, hard, so hard that his head seemed to snap to the side. Unmoved, the Agent demanded, Where are you headed? Neil spat out a mouthful of blood at him. The Agent drew his gun, pressing the barrel into the mod’s forehead and hissing, We can make this slow, you know. So slow that by the end, you’ll be begging for me to shoot you.

"Get the hell away from him," Seth ordered, voice shaking with anger and fear as he moved closer.

The Agent turned, and as Seth stepped under one of the dim lights, the man smiled savagely. We were saving you for last, Laski. But if you want to die faster, come join us.

Drop your weapon, Seth said.

The Agent’s grin widened, and he let his gun fall with a clatter to the floor with a careless, arrogant gesture. Why not? I’ll give you a sporting chance.

The man lowered his arms, and Seth fired twice at him. The Agent dodged one bullet, catching the other in his chest armor, then rushed at Seth faster than any human could. Seth only had time to feel a cold sweep of fear before the Agent slammed into him, sending him sprawling backward.

At the other end of the car, Neil twisted free from the other Agent, attacking him as Seth scrambled up from the floor just in time to catch a fist to his face. Down he went again, barely able to see straight, as the Agent closed in on him with a smile. Fingers tightened into Seth’s hair, wrenching him up so that the Agent could turn him around and seize hold of his throat. The Agent’s sneering face loomed in front of Seth’s bulging eyes as he wondered aloud, So you’re the one who made Liane go rogue. I think her standards could use some improvement.

Seth brought his knee up, ramming it as hard as he could into the lower belly of the Agent. The man’s grip loosened, and Seth wrenched free and dove for his gun. His hand closed on it, and he turned just in time to fire at the Agent’s extended hand. The bullet ripped through his palm, and the Agent recoiled with a shout of pain as Seth fired at him. One bullet grazed his ear; the others struck his body armor, and only succeeded in slowing him down. The Agent threw himself on top of Seth, who twisted onto his stomach to try and get away. Still, the Agent held on, punching into his kidneys as hard as he could. Seth looked around wildly, fixating on the button above him that would open the side door on the train. The Agent locked a forearm across Seth’s throat, squeezing hard. Seth tore at the arm but couldn’t dislodge it. His hand went down to his jeans pocket, pulling out the tube and popping off the cap. Just as he neared the edge of unconsciousness, he drove the tube back into the Agent’s eye. The man screamed in agony and released his grip. Seth scrambled up, smashing down the button to open the doors and turning back to see the Agent flailing in