When I wake up, it’s to complete darkness. My helmet is still on, but I can’t see anything around me. Aubrey gave the helmet night vision, so they must have something else covering my helmet. My wrists are handcuffed behind me, and I am lying on a cold floor. My gloves and gun are missing. From what I can feel on the floor, I think I am in a warehouse of some sort. The floor is cold and hard against my skin, and I flip myself onto my side. My movement disturbs the layers of dust covering everything. There are small pieces of debris I can touch, like pebbles and tiny fragments of wood. My bindings prevent me from discovering what is covering my head and blocking my sight. The fact my helmet is still on means that they either couldn’t remove it or were afraid to. If it’s fear, then they should be easy to manipulate. If it’s the former, then I owe Aubrey my thanks.

Am I being watched, or have they left me to my own devices? I can sense Vivienne’s bundle of power on my left. She’s in a different room and not moving at all. I’d like to get to her before she wakes up and starts attacking whoever did this to us. I don’t hold our capture against her, but I’ll use this as the final straw to bind her to me. Abducted and restrained, kept away from my only ally by an unknown amount of assailants, I’m happy. This is what I want. Odds stacked against me, and a mistake could mean death. The first half of my night was painfully mundane, but now things have taken a thrilling turn. Let’s get things rolling.

I may be muscular, but I’ve always been flexible and lean over bulky. If I pull my legs up to my chest, I should be able to move my cuffed hands underneath me. Then I’d be able to remove my head covering. The possible problems are that I run the risk of opening my stitches, and I might have to pop my shoulder out to accomplish it. I’m going to have to make a second trip to the doctor. I roll onto my front with my knees resting against my chin and pull my hands down and under. The cuffs get stuck on my boots and scrape at my wrists. Gritting my teeth, I push past the pain and yank them through. My wrists are raw and slick with blood. I use the moisture to slip the handcuffs off but keep them in my hoodie pocket. I sit up and reach for whatever is covering my head. It’s a coarse cloth sack. My helmet’s night vision lets me read the tiny black lettering on the bag. It reads whole grain rice, but the words are faded, so it must be old.

From what I can see, I am in a warehouse, most likely a storage closet. The medium-sized room has no windows, and there’s nothing left in here I could use as a weapon. I glance down at my wrists, and the skin is scraped up from the metal. That’s going to hurt later. I walk over to the wall on my left, and Vivienne isn’t on the other side. She is on my left but much farther away than a single room. Did they take our vehicle with us or leave it in the parking lot? They better not have damaged the database.

They took my phone when they grabbed us. Mine is passcode protected, so they won’t get anything from it unless they have a hacker or Tinkerer specializing in phones. That was a very stupid mistake to make. I am operating in the world of geniuses and monsters now. I can’t be so careless. The door is expectedly locked, so I can either wait for Vivienne or try to break out myself. I might have to kill everyone involved in this just to make an example. The door isn’t metal, so I should be able to force it open as long as they haven’t blocked the entrance. There’s no way for me to do this without reopening my stitches. The doctor seems to be obsessed with Tinkertech. Should I offer to make him a Tinkerer? Having a personal surgeon on command would be very useful. The database will allow me to collect so many powers that I could use them to trade. I could pretend I’ve created a procedure that creates Neuvohumans.

Focusing on the present, I brace myself and slam my shoulder into the door. It barely even creaks; I need to hit harder. With the next charge, I feel a sharp stinging in my side. That would be the wound opening up. I’ve worked too hard to stop now, and I continue my assault despite the pain. It takes four more hits before the door bursts open. With the amount of noise I’m making, I expect someone will be coming to check on me. What I don't anticipate is the hallway being completely vacant. My helmet’s excellent night vision lets me make out every detail as if it were daytime. A movement to my left attracts my attention, and I see a mouse scurry down the hallway. There’s nobody around to hassle me as I head to where I sense Vivienne.

As I continue, I realize this place is infested with rodents. The little black vermin are everywhere. This place isn’t as abandoned as I previously thought. Mice are skittish creatures and tend to avoid humans. They must be used to having people here if they’re bold enough to run so close to me. There’s no repulsion or disgust inside of me for these mice. They are fragile creatures who live their lives focused only on survival. Such a single-minded drive that completes occupies their minds. They have no thoughts of anger, sadness, love, or malice, just the immediate present task at hand. It’s almost like a metaphor for myself. I follow the hallway until I reach a corner with light coming from around the bend. There’s a faint murmur I hear up ahead. I creep toward the light while pressed against the wall.

Hidden amongst the shadows, I advance toward the sounds. The light is coming from a wide room with high ceilings. In the center of the room is a large six-sided poker table. There are metallic coasters strewn about the table with wine glasses and beer bottles on top of them. Sitting there are four people; no, four Cowls, playing poker. Three women and one man wearing the kind of outfits I’ve grown to associate with Cowls. They can’t be Capes because they wouldn’t have assaulted and kidnapped Vivienne and me. One is an attractive pale woman wearing a white dress, emphasizing her sensual figure and showing plenty of skin. She has a single face tattoo under her left eye, but the rest of her head is blacked out, with sharp, angular, empty lines of pale skin showing. The rest of her body is similarly inked up, with the actual designs being her skin showing through the deep black cover. Petals, diamonds, and other geometrical shapes make up the majority of her tattoos. The next woman is a petite older blonde wearing swim trunks and a bikini top made of interconnected, hexagonal metal plates. Two thick metal bands slowly circle her head, one covering her eyes and mouth. They’re hovering like Saturn’s rings. They are definitely Cowls.

The lone male is wearing a full orange suit that covers his whole body, minus his nose and mouth. It’s covered in white directional arrows, all facing the same way. The suit has extra padding around the knees and shoulders. At his hip is a black baton. So he’s the one who jumped me. I’ll return the favor. The final woman is wearing a hockey mask covered in painted flowers with her black hair falling over it. Her outfit is the oddest. It’s a tight-fitting suit similar to the man’s but with a cloak wrapped around it. The suit and cloak are various swathes of brown in an urban camouflage way. It is covert and militant looking, but then the mask is so eye-catching. The group's unique outfits distract me enough that I don’t notice Vivienne dead asleep in a cage beside them. Four new powers to take.

There’s no way I can sneak past them, especially when I do not know their capabilities. Is there a way to trick them into believing I’m stronger than them? They have no idea what powers I might have. No, it’s impossible. All four are older than I am and seem like an established group. What is their connection with me? None of them look familiar, and with my memory, I’d recall if we’d met before. I need to organize my thoughts before I make a move. What am I absolutely certain of? They ambushed us instead of having a straight-up fight, so either they’re cautious of me or know what Vivienne can do. It has to be the former because if they knew about Vivienne’s power, they’d know a cage can’t possibly hold her. They left me locked inside a room without a guard, meaning that at least one of them has a power related to recon or sensing. Otherwise, leaving an unknown Neuvohuman to roam your base freely would be moronic. The four of them are confident enough to play card games while they wait for my escape. I can infer that they have abilities that synergize well. I doubt any of them are powerhouses, or they would leave Breeton behind. Is there anything I’m missing, some glaring detail? Four assailants are relaxing at a table that’s built for six. There are six fucking chairs. Where are the other two people?

My realization arrives too late as something heavy collides with my back, sending me flying forward. I tumble across the floor like a stone skipping across a pond. My body is alight with agony as I roll. The hard ground is doing me no favors, and my side feels like it’s been torn open. I skid to a stop in the center of the room and let out a groan. There goes any possibility of diplomacy or coercion. Whoever hit me is cackling at my expense. I can see all four poker players from where I’m lying on my back. From the dark hallway emerges a reptilian man as big as Vivienne’s transformed self. He’s covered head to toe in scales, clawed fingers and toes, and an incredibly powerful-looking body ending in a long, thick tail. The beast is a deep emerald green with his stomach being an almost turquoise color. His lipless red mouth is filled with fangs, and a long, forked tongue flicks in and out of it. Instead of a nose, there are two holes, and it has vivid orange eyes.

“Looks like our prisoner didn’t like his accommodations,” the reptile said.

“It would seem that way. Be careful not to break him before we get what we want. Well, now that the defendant has arrived, we can begin the trial,” said the woman with the painted mask.

“You’re serious about this whole trial thing? We know he’s guilty. We don’t need to bother with all this,” the reptile said.

“Yes, I am quite serious. I will not condemn a man to death without being sure of his guilt,” Painted mask said.

“The voice changer, the seamless design, and our inability to open it point to him being a Tinkerer. Will that affect your whole thing?” The arrow-suit man asked.

What the heck are they talking about? None of them have moved to capture me after the reptile attacked me. They all seem content to leave me on the ground, but I can’t afford to be idle. Trial implies a crime has been committed, but what crime are they accusing me of? It’s better to assume they don’t know anything instead of bumbling and saying something unnecessary. If this truly is a trial, they have to prove I did it. How far will this farce go? Will they let me leave if I can prove my innocence? Forget my earlier idea; there is no chance I can beat them alone. I’m injured, bleeding, and outnumbered five to one. I need to waste time until Vivienne can wake up. I shakily stand up and hold my hands behind my back. I have a case to beat and captors to outsmart. Lying around won’t keep me safe.

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“You said trial, correct? As the defendant, I’d like to know what charges you’ve levied against me,” I said while limping over to their table.

“Please take a seat. Before we start, I need something from you,” the woman said.

I take the lone seat facing them and ease myself into the chair. The relief I get from sitting is drowned by how much everything hurts. The woman gets up from her seat as I sit down and walks over to my side of the table. If they just wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. I have to go along with this mock trial if I want to get out of here alive. Once she’s standing next to me, she rolls my sleeve up. She brandishes a small, thin dagger to make a soft cut on my arm. This barely qualifies as a tickle compared to everything that’s happened recently. Confused, I watch as she wipes the blade on the cut, getting it bloody. She sits back in her chair with her weapon before she pulls her mask forward and sucks my blood off the knife. An intimidation tactic or perhaps a seductive one? Neither is going to be very effective.

“Where were we? Nobody, you have been charged with the murder of Murmur. How do you plead?”

Who is Murmur, and how do they know my name? Is this dead Murmur person related to how they know I’m Nobody? All in all, I guess it doesn’t matter if they know my Cowl name. Since the hockey-masked woman is in charge of the trial, I can assume she’s also the group leader. The serpent joins the others at the poker table, towering above everyone else, and now all five face me. If fear was an emotion I could feel, then I’m sure this group would cause me to shake. The pain is making it harder to focus on the task at hand. The other four people are watching the leader, who is, in turn, watching me. Is that important? Am I thinking about the wrong details? Do I have a head injury, and if I do, would I even know?

“Are you fucking ignoring us? Answer her goddamned question!” The tattooed woman’s first words are filled with anger. They have the added effect of pulling me out of my stupor.

“I plead not guilty. I don’t even know who Murmur is,” I said.

As soon as I answer, the leader lifts her left index finger. The other four try to hide it, but I notice them visibly react to it. The tattooed woman reacts the worst, and her face contorts into a snarl. “LIAR! YOU FUCKING KILLED HER AND GOT RID OF HER BODY!” She stands up and points at me until the bikini woman pulls her back to her seat.

Unstable. Whoever Murmur was, they were close with everyone here. Was Murmur the sixth chair? They’re a team, but they aren’t unified in the decision to put me on trial. If I can map out their personalities, I can weaponize their connections to drag this out even further. But before I can do that, I need names to identify them.

“I haven’t told a lie, Miss… forgive me, but I don’t believe I got your names.” Nobody doesn’t cower in the face of violence. They got the jump on me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll allow them to trample me. It’s ambitious to ask them for their names, but that’s who Nobody is.

“He hasn’t lied, Rorschach, not yet. We will find out if he is the culprit or not. If he is, we will kill him and his friend. If he’s not, we are looking for a replacement member. You may call me Veritas, and I am the leader of this group. You’ve met Constrictor,” she said, pointing to the scaled man. “And the other two are Rushdown and Erisate.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m skeptical if you murdered her,” said Erisate.

Rorschach scowls at me as Veritas finishes the group’s introduction. Rorschach didn’t like that. It looks like Veritas’ leadership isn’t without question. Rorschach and Constrictor both believe I’m guilty. I need to figure out where the other three lie. They’re calling Vivienne my friend, meaning they don’t know who or what she is. It's laughable that they think they could recruit me. I belong at the top of an organization, not some mere peon.

“We’ll continue our questioning. Have you ever killed someone, Nobody?” Veritas asked.

Keep the answer simple. Lies only spiral out of control when they are too complicated. “No,” I answered. I feel my body heat up from within.

“That was a lie, Nobody. I’ll ask you again: Have you ever killed a Cowl?” Veritas said.

She must have a way to discern truth from lies. Is she bluffing in the hopes that I slip up? Telling the truth runs the risk of getting me killed. It’s better to stick to my story and wait for Vivienne. “No, I haven’t.” Less than a second after the words leave my lips, the temperature within me rises enough to make me sweat.

What’s going on? Is this related to why she wanted my blood? Instead of being a seduction or persuasion tactic, is it a requirement of her ability? Think. What are the logistics of it? Disgesting blood allows her to sense deceit and generate heat inside the liar’s body. So she’s a Mentalist, but there must be limitations. If I believe something to be true, does that trigger the heat? If I say I have the most valuable ability in the world, would that be a lie? My ability is useless in combat strength, but it's the most powerful for what I want to do. So, is her power based on personal or fundamental truth?

“Lie. By now, you should have an idea of what happens every time you choose to forgo the truth. I wonder how many lies it will take before you feel as if you’re burning in the flames of hell?”

The question isn’t whether I can survive the pain. It’s whether the pain is real or just mentally afflicted. Is she actually raising my body’s temperature, or is she tricking my mind into thinking it is? There’s no way to check if my theory is correct, and it does not affect my current circumstances. Should I risk a couple of tests to understand her ability? If I know the mechanics of her ability, I can try to counter it. It must be done.

“I may have had a hand in the death of someone before.” I deliver my words carefully. Veritas’ left index finger rises, and even the skeptics amongst the five look at me differently. So that’s how she signals my truths. “I’ve been wondering, do you have any evidence of this supposed crime?”

There’s a minute of tense silence as nobody speaks. The four try to avoid it, but they all sneak a peek at their leader. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Is this an aspect of her power as well? Finally, Veritas breaks the silence and answers my question.

“We have a witness.” Her words come out stilted and forced. I’m on to something. She can’t lie. It’s still an incredible power; I want it. I can use this to sway the momentum.

“I won’t ask you who your witness is. But from now on, for the sake of the sanctity of this court, why don’t we go tit-for-tat? You get a question, and then I get a question. In exchange for indulging me, I will tell you the complete truth. How does that sound?”

Once again, Veritas raises her finger. It’s a gamble, plain and simple. Could I somehow get them to be willing to work for me? I could always try and subdue them and take their powers, but I can’t keep murdering people left and right. I already have quite an assortment of powers and no people to give them to. They’re already organized and work well together. You know that I’m telling the truth when I offer complete honesty. Take the plunge, Veritas.

“This needs to be put to a vote, Veritas. You don’t get to make this decision for the rest of us,” said Erisate.

“She’s right, Veritas. This is too damn important,” Constrictor said.

The other two chime in and a vote is now being conducted. The group doesn’t leave alone while they deliberate. Instead, they choose to argue right in front of me as if I’m not there. Friends might be the wrong word, but they are all friendly with each other. Quite overconfident as well. Maybe it’s me, but I would diligently figure out my captive’s power before leaving them to themselves. They would all be dead if I was a Caster. Unfortunately, my ability is that of a commander, not a soldier. Oh, it looks like they have finished their discussion.

“I’m against it. There’s more to him than meets the eye,” said Constrictor.

“I’m always on the side of truth. I’m for it,” said Veritas.

“It doesn’t matter to me, so I’m for it,” Rushdown said.

“Just because I don’t think you did it doesn’t mean I want to trade secrets,” Erisate said.

The tiebreaker is the woman who hates my guts. The one who decided I was guilty before I got here.

“I’m for it. I want to hear you admit to your crimes instead of us going in circles,” Rorshach said.

I read her wrong. She isn’t overemotional. She’s calculating and cruel.

“The vote ends with three in favor. We accept your offer, Nobody. How many people’s deaths are you responsible for?”

Veritas’ question is vague enough that it can’t be skirted around. How many people have fallen due to my actions? In order, it would be Davis, Marcus, that mafioso at the dock, Froggy, Dynax, Lee Daeshim, the dominatrix woman, and Kitt Sursich—a total of eight. A mere paltry sum for what I have accomplished, and my body count on my deathbed will be multitudes larger.

“Eight,” I answered.

Erisate and Rushdown both flinch slightly at my answer. Veritas no longer bothers with the finger trick now that we’ve agreed to complete honesty, and I figured out her power. The whole point of my proposed truth game is to give Vivienne more time to wake up. I want to figure out their powers and whether I want them. If I play off their ideas of me, I can get more out of them without revealing my own secrets. Specifically, I need to know what the two who distrust me have.

“I seem to be at a disadvantage. You all know about my power, but I don’t know any of yours. You’re a Mentalist, Veritas, but the other four are mysteries. I guess Constrictor is obvious. He’s a Shifter, right?”

Constrictor somehow hisses in irritation at my inquiry. Veritas lightly sighs before answering. “No, he’s not.”

I wait for her to elaborate, but nothing else comes. Technically, Veritas doesn’t have to explain anymore to me. She answered my yes or no question, which means my turn is over. I got played. I have to be completely truthful, and they don’t. The information is still useful. If he isn’t a Shifter, his physical appearance is a byproduct of his power. If he is unhappy with his appearance, I have leverage on him. The headache has only grown since sitting down. In the best-case scenario, I have a concussion. Worst case scenario, I will have to spend a fortune at the doctor to repair some form of brain damage. He seems like the type to overcharge someone if he has to use his Tinkertech. Stay present, Eryk. My mind keeps wandering away from me. Who knows what details I’ve missed already?

“Why did you kill those eight people?” Veritas asked.

That's an odd question to ask. “I have killed for two reasons: knowing me and having something I want.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” Rorschach said.

“I am not a psychopath. I take no pleasure in murder or violence. In a perfect world, I’d never have to kill anyone,” I responded.

Veritas raises her finger, and everyone seems confused by it. It is the truth.

“How do you kill eight people and act like it’s nothing? Do peoples’ lives not mean anything to you?” Rushdown asked.

Time to test my theory. “I have a unique perspective on life. And you know what they say, ‘You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.’”

No heat follows my statement, so I was correct in my assumption. If I keep my answer vaguely true, the punishment never comes. Now, the real trial can begin.