The place they had brought him to was, at the very least, unsettling. A room as vast and tall as a basketball court but closed in like a medieval dungeon. The ceiling, walls, and even the floor were entirely covered with thin white padding, giving it the look of a massive asylum chamber.

  Luckily, the light—its source unknown, as there were no visible fixtures—was dim. Thank the gods for small favors. Harsh lighting in that stark white space would have been catastrophic for his eyes.

  The people accompanying were just as unsettling as the place itself. Two female agents, not exactly talkative—like everyone else in there. And yes, of course, they had their sunglasses on.

  “I wouldn’t mind if one of you offered me your shades, y’know? They’d come in handy if someone suddenly flips all the lights on in here,” he said, flashing his best attempt at a charming smile in a hopeless attempt to break the ice. All it did was confirm how solid that iceberg was. His ability to charm women clearly wouldn’t do him any good there… Or had he lost it completely after a few weeks in isolation?

  One of them motioned toward a plain wooden chair with no cushion, positioned right in the center of the room. The other asked him to unbutton his shirt—nothing remotely sexy about the request, of course; they needed his chest exposed so they could stick a few adhesive electrodes on him. The cold gel touching his skin, combined with the air conditioning, sent a chill through him that made his nipples harden.

  “Just so we’re clear, ladies—this doesn’t mean I’m turned on,” he said. His second attempt to earn a bit of sympathy went just as badly as the first. The women carried on with their work as if he hadn’t said a word.

  One of the electrodes was placed right over the tiny mark near his heart. He’d referred to it as ‘Primary Plasma’ back in the infirmary. As he started to wonder what exactly the Primary Plasma was, one of the agents crouched in front of him to activate the electrode receiver beneath the chair, distracting him.

  “Is that a lie detector?” he asked, sounding more worried than he intended.

  “Does this look like a lie detector to you, sir?”

  Rude or not, at least it was a response.

  “Well, I don’t know. You two look human, but I’d bet you’re androids. I mean, the way you move—unnatural—and your cold demeanor…”

  “We follow orders, sir, just like you do in your line of work,” she replied. “The difference is, some of us don’t act like we’re above everyone else.”

  “Above everyone else? What are you even talking about? If I were above everyone else, I wouldn’t be subjected to this farce.”

  “I’m talking about your attitude, sir,” the agent replied coolly, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, but her partner made a subtle gesture, signaling her to stop.

  “White…” the other agent said to her, her tone carrying a quiet reprimand.

  “White? Are we related or something?” Adam quipped.

  “Don’t get up from that chair, sir,” the one called White said, and the two women walked out of the massive hall, closing the door behind them.

  Geez, what a lunatic! What was wrong with those people?

  And so, Adam remained there with his shirt open, six electrodes stuck to his chest transmitting who knows what, seated alone in the center of what looked like a white shoebox.

  Yeah, thinking of it as a shoebox was better. Feeling like he was in a padded cell in a mental hospital wasn’t exactly comforting.

  He took a deep breath and braced himself for what was becoming routine in this building: waiting. Everyone in this awful place made him wait.

  Five minutes passed. He shifted positions on the chair, crossed and uncrossed his legs, stretched out his arms, leaned back as far as the rigid wooden chair would allow, and even tilted his head backward.

  His thoughts wandered to Trevor Homam and how much he owed him for using his influence to ensure the police investigation into what happened with Juzo at Liberty Park cleared him of any suspicion. Trevor had also made sure the street surveillance footage showing Adam fleeing Broga vanished. If Adam had known about the Satellites and their recordings sooner, he might have taken greater advantage of Trevor’s generosity back then.

  Or, if he’d had more trust in Lisandro Carinae—his former boss and a member of one of the country’s most powerful families—it wouldn’t have been necessary to involve Trevor at all. A single text message would have been enough to get him out of that mess.

  Of course, seeking Lisandro’s help would have required revealing the real story behind the incident at Liberty Park and the explosion that destroyed his loft—stories that paled in comparison to the true nature of the events: the Binary Project.

  In this situation, he had no choice but to rely on himself. He’d just have to endure this ordeal.

  Show that lunatic you’re not as arrogant as she thinks.

  But after five more minutes alone, his heart rate had only continued to climb.

  What was he even doing there? Why wasn’t he leaving? They’d told him to stay seated, but he wasn’t anyone’s slave or employee. He didn’t have to obey. He leaned forward, preparing to stand, when—

  “Please, Mr. White O22, remain seated, will you?” a nasal voice spoke up. “It’s better if you wait while seated.”

  The tone made him feel like an unruly student in a classroom full of overachievers. Ahead of him, about twenty feet up, a rectangular section of the wall slid open, like a garage door, revealing a window covered with dark glass. He couldn’t see what was behind it.

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  “This is Dr. Gabor speaking,” the voice announced. “I’m here with my scientific team.”

  “Congratulations,” Adam muttered under his breath.

  “The electrodes are transmitting your current heart rate, Mr. White O22. We want to compare it with what it’ll be when you do what we need you to do.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough, alright?”

  The Doctor’s voice sounded deliberate, as if the nasal tone was a calculated attempt to be irritating.

  Since he couldn’t see the man, Adam imagined a physical description: a skinny, hunched-over guy in his sixties, wearing thick glasses like Dr. Larry Masami, with the disheveled look of someone who spent endless hours locked in a lab.

  “If this is an EKG, Doctor, I should be lying down—not sitting in a chair that’s killing my butt, don’t you think?”

  “If you’re sitting, it’s because, believe me, that’s how we need you.”

  Another snide remark—in less than five minutes. Being good at dishing it out didn’t make receiving it any easier. The intervals between Adam’s heartbeats shortened.

  “Are you getting nervous, Mr. White O22?”

  Adam bit his lip. What a stupid question.

  “Hey, Adam… I can call you Adam, can’t I?”

  “You just did.”

  “Come on, Adam. No need to be grumpy. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  Adam snorted. “Easy for you to say, Gabor. I’d like to see you in my place. Oh, I’m sorry, Gabor—it’s okay if I address you like that, right?”

  “Well… I’d prefer you address me as Dr. Gabor.”

  Adam’s heartbeat spiked again. The machine beneath his chair emitted a beep, and the Doctor chuckled—a nasal, unpleasant sound.

  “I’m kidding. Sure, you can call me Gabor—doesn’t change our doctor-patient relationship.”

  Adam forced a grin. “Ah, yeah—Old man Larry said you had a sense of humor. Let me ask you this, Gabor: is it this agency’s policy to hire gray-suited automatons and chatty clown doctors?”

  “You know, Adam, they say sarcasm is the mark of a sharp mind.”

  “I don’t need your flattery to know I’m smart, Gabor, but thanks. And for the record, I’m not your patient. Here, I’m the sideshow attraction. Don’t try to dress it up as something else.”

  “Put that way, Adam, it does sound a bit harsh—but unfortunately, you’re right. And if I’m being entirely honest, I’m not a medical doctor. I hold a doctorate in biophysics.”

  “See, Gabor? Talking helps us understand each other. Now, care to explain why I’m here?”

  “Hold on, Adam. Let’s not rush things. I’d like to ask you something personal first.”

  “More personal than what you’ve already asked? Fine, let me guess: do I like people with nasal voices? The answer is no.”

  “That’s quite rude, Adam.”

  “Just giving back some of the attitude you’re throwing my way, Gabor.”

  “Fair enough. Tell me, Adam, what’s your opinion of magazines?”

  A humorless smile spread across Adam’s face. “Where’s this going?” he asked, though he already knew.

  Gabor smacked his lips, producing an unpleasant sound. “You know, I recently read that article about you in Loud magazine. I found it… enlightening, to say the least.”

  Adam squinted, trying to pierce through the dark glass and see the people hidden behind it. All he could make out were blurry silhouettes—Gabor’s scientific team, presumably.

  “I must say, Adam, in some ways, we’re quite alike.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. I’m only a few years older than you, I’m not married, I don’t have a family, and I never knew my parents.”

  Adam didn’t look impressed. “Plenty of people in Proxima are in the same boat,” he said.

  “I’m not from Proxima, Adam, but I understand what you mean. Still, very few of us have achieved so much with so little. Take you, for instance: a business star who started with nothing. Of course, we all get a little push at the beginning, don’t we? Yours came from Lisandro Carinae when you modeled underwear for him, and later from Mr. Homam.”

  Adam frowned. He didn’t like where this was headed. His heart raced again.

  “You’re a public figure, Adam. Not as famous as a movie star, sure, and maybe people don’t stop you on the street for autographs, but that doesn’t mean you lack recognition. Your friendship with Mr. Homam and your, shall we say, camaraderie with the younger Carinae were well-known long before you graced the cover of Loud.”

  “Maybe so,” Adam conceded. “And what was your little push, Gabor? What brought an orphan like you—assuming you were, based on what you’ve said—to become such a brilliant biophysicist that even a top-secret agency wanted you?”

  Gabor let out that nasal chuckle again. “Connections, Adam. It all comes down to having the right connections, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, Gabor, now that we’re pals, how about you tell me what I’m supposed to do so I can get the hell out of here?”

  “You must feel very disoriented now that you have these powers, Adam. It must be difficult to reconcile your old life with your new one.”

  Adam pressed his lips together. What’s it to you, you nasal freak? he thought.

  “I’m referring to your social life,” Gabor clarified, “because your private life is just as lonely as it’s always been. I’d wager you’ve never had a lasting romantic relationship and are extremely protective of your privacy. Am I right?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. You seem to know me better than I do.”

  “Not quite, Adam. Most of this is simple deduction, y’know—classic orphan stuff. I know you’ve taken a leave from work and dropped off the city’s nightlife radar. Your friends have stopped calling you. What’s it like realizing you never had real friends, never truly connected with anyone, and the women in your life just used you as a stepping stone into high society?”

  Adam’s heart rate spiked again, triggering another beep from the machine.

  “How many of them got jobs thanks to your connections? I bet plenty!” Gabor continued. “See? It’s all about having the right contact in the right place. Sleeping with you must have been quite beneficial for aspiring models back when you worked half-naked for the Carinae brand. Remember those days? When your abs were still visible?”

  Another beep.

  “But don’t get discouraged, Adam. Maybe you don’t have the impeccable figure you did in your youth, but from what I can see, you’re still in good shape. What you haven’t managed to keep are the privileges of that life—a life that, I’m afraid, you’ll never get back. You let it all slip away.”

  Another beep. And another.

  “What happened?” Gabor pressed. “Are you no longer welcome at parties? Tell me, Adam, with your powers out of control, have you set fire to any of your lovers?”

  The machine beeped incessantly.