The shooting range was one of the many rooms in the Metamatics Makati office that the company didn’t leak to the public. Ever.

“Even we need to test our weapons for accuracy and… stability,” said Isaiah, standing in the waiting area on the side of the glass separating Bryce and him from the range.

On the other side, field agents aimed pistols at fast-moving targets, whipping out their Glocks from their holsters and unloading a complete magazine. The lobby Bryce stood in reeked of gunpowder and sweat. Every shot thundered. The agents were not, Bryce noticed, testing their EMP darts or Tasers—just the lethal means.

He didn’t think any more of it; his mind was more on the hardshell plastic rifle case sitting on the counter between him and Isaiah. His fingers drummed on the table with anticipation.

“I feel like I’m a 007 agent,” Bryce said, looking down at it. “Holy shit.”

“She’s all yours,” Isaiah said.

Bryce pulled open the case and gazed upon the AUG A3 M1-EMP the “NBI” had given him before. At least, he thought it was the NBI until the last meeting with Ms. Reed, when he discovered it was a prototype weapon straight out of Metamatics’s R&D, and Isaiah had handed it to him personally. The albularyo had hijacked the cameras on it back then, too, right before the security probe.

“Can she see out of it?” Bryce asked, taking the rifle and looking through its iron sight. He pointed it at the wall. It wasn’t loaded, and inside the Metamatics headquarters, there was probably an electronic override for the gun’s safety, meaning he couldn’t fire it in here if he wanted to.

“The cameras are all localized now. No network access. Not even through cords.”

The gun felt even lighter than before, probably from the networking tech removed. “Still the same rounds?”

“Uh-huh. Bullets, EMP darts, and crawlers containing the nanobots.”

Bryce slid the weapon over his back, and it felt right, resting without weighing him down. The rubber grips molded perfectly to his fingers as if nanobots were shaping it. The gun’s body was large enough to reduce recoil but compact enough to be easily concealed.

“Also,” Isaiah continued, “there’s something else.” He knelt behind the counter and rose. “Remember the prison stitching we made?”

Bryce nodded. It was the one they kept Reggie inside, that kid who had been dealing Black Fire. Bryce wondered what he was up to now.

“The second barrel of the gun is multipurpose,” Isaiah continued. “It’s not just for EMP darts, but other kinds.” Isaiah held his palm open, revealing a small cylinder about the size of a AAA battery. He held it up to the light.

Bryce drew the connection immediately. “You quacks in R&D are crazy. You managed to fit a whole prison stitching in that?”

“Not a prison stitching, but we hope to get there later. For now, it’s just normal Black Fire in a dart form. We’re calling them Black Darts… unless you can think of a better name.”

Bryce probably could, given some time, which he didn’t have.

“It’s the most effective non-lethal form of incapacitation available to us,” Isaiah explained. “Painless and even entertaining for the user. Not gonna be surprised if the PNP starts using this stuff instead of Tasers.”

Jesus, Bryce thought. “But I’m not being your weapons guinea pig again. I tried that.”

“I know, that’s why we’re only giving you a few.” Isaiah dumped five more darts into a plastic container and placed it in one of the case’s interior slots. “In case you get into a bind.”

“What kind of bind?”

“You’re a field agent, Mr. Desmond. You never know what this albularyo has done or who she’s talked to.”

“You guys should know all this shit. You built her.” Still, Bryce shuddered at what Isaiah had just said since it made an ominous sort of sense. If the albularyo could have strung Bryce along, what was she doing to others now?

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A beep came on Bryce’s wearable, and he opened it to find Ms. Reed standing in his private augment.

“Did you get your gun and prison dart?” she asked, clearly focused on another call.

Bryce didn’t correct her that the dart wasn’t replicating a mind prison yet. He was fine letting any communication failure fester between the two of them.

“Yeah, and I also told Isaiah to shove it if he makes me your guinea pig again.”

“That sounds like something you’d say. Good to have you back, Bryce.”

“I’m not doing this for you.”

“I know. Wouldn’t expect you to.”

Bryce thought about cutting off the call right there, until he remembered the capture drone footage in Ms. Reed’s office, and the distant contrails. He couldn’t help but think something terrible would happen, and soon. The faster he acted, the sooner he could prevent it. Whatever it would be.

“I won’t be used as a pawn again,” he reiterated to Ms. Reed. “So I’m not doing this unless I have some assurances.”

Ms. Reed smirked, perhaps at something on her other calls, but perhaps not. “You would just walk away?”

“Yup,” he lied.

She sighed. “Alright, big guy. What are your ‘terms?’ Here, let me open my Notes app so I can write them down.”

“Fuck off with the jokes, first of all.” Ms. Reed wasn’t ever funny, just sarcastic, which annoyed the shit out of him sometimes. Maybe being the equivalent of a CEO before your thirtieth birthday required you to dump your sense of humor. “Second, I want a no-fly zone.”

“What do you mean by that? Oh, wait. I know. You mean no capture drones anywhere near you.”

“Yup.”

“Nope. Malacañang will notice and be on our asses about it. I can assure you, though, that you’ll be under no more scrutiny than any other person seen by our capture drones.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“I didn’t mean to be reassuring. It’s the truth. I have people breathing down my neck, too, Bryce.”

He groaned.

“Anything else?” Ms. Reed asked.

“A few things. I don’t want security breathing down my neck.”

“We’re still under a probe.”

“What do you think we’ll be under if Malacañang finds out about the albularyo?”

Ms. Reed stopped talking for a moment. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would if you held me back.”

She fumed. “God damn it, Bryce. You know, people lost their jobs during the last probe. We had to replace a ton of IT staff.”

That was your fault anyway, Bryce wanted to say but didn’t. He knew nothing about such layoffs, though he was keenly aware Ms. Reed wasn’t giving any numbers. Maybe the loss was negligible. Maybe not. He certainly hadn’t read about any fallout.

“I’ll do my best,” Ms. Reed conceded. “Just be careful throwing money around. Security might turn a blind eye at times. The financial regulatory bodies, however, won’t.”

Bryce wondered why Ms. Reed said that. Had Black Fire impacted Metamatics’s profit that much since the raid?

“What else, Bryce?”

He opened his mouth to speak. He had planned out his next demand, scripted it out, and wondered when the best time was to ask. Every time he reiterated it, however, it seemed unnecessary.

“Bryce?”

“Nothing.”

“Alright. Then… good luck.” She hung up.

Bryce left the range, bought a change of clothes from a store in a plaza connected to the office, and put them on immediately. With all the money he ever needed, he had gotten used to buying an outfit whenever he needed to be in public for an extended period. A pair of cheap sunglasses and a hat usually did the trick, but this time, he also picked up a jacket that was too thick for Manila’s sweltering heat. He could endure it, though, if it would obscure his appearance.

When he left the clothing store, he leaned against a pillar in the mall and thought about the words hanging on his lips before. He didn’t say them. Looking back, maybe he should have.

He almost told Ms. Reed he needed a team working alongside him to ensure he wasn’t just some pawn being dragged around. But he had come to the realization, quite quickly, that he was exactly that: bait. Ms. Reed wanted him out in the open, just waiting for the albularyo to notice. Once Bryce drew the albularyo into the open, Ms. Reed would send people after it, casting him aside.

What good would EMP darts, crawler rounds, and Black Fire stitchings be against an AI, anyway? Isaiah and Ms. Reed were probably entertaining him for his confidence.

Yet, there, the jet contrails remained—right in Bryce’s thoughts. The image left a gaping pit inside him, reaching right down to his core. If news outlets had seen that footage, it would be plastered nationwide in a dozen ominous headlines. He wouldn’t wait for whatever was coming to happen.

He had to find the albularyo, even if it meant doing it alone.