New pains now plagued him. The sickness was spreading. He had expected it, but it did not make it any easier to accept.

He had been coughing for five minutes straight when the bout finally relented. The pain had brought tears to his eyes, which he angrily wiped away.

His wristpad blinked, announcing a new message. He had been ignoring most of them—even those from his friends. What would he have told them? That he was dying? That his only hope was to become an immortal, a Zendaar? He wasn’t even sure it was possible.

But the new message, he saw, was from his doctor.

He opened it and read it.

It only confirmed what the previous mail had said. It also implored him to go to the nearest hospital so he could be treated as soon as possible.

And then what? It’s not like they could save him. The doctor had been clear about that. All they could do was to make him more comfortable for the little time he had left. To ease the pain.

That would have been nice, of course. But he was not ready to give up. Not while he still had some hope. And if that meant he’d have to endure the pain, then so be it.

He groaned as he felt a sharp jab in his side.

Irritated, he reached for a paper and pen and jotted down a message to the Zendaar.

There was no way he would make a deal with Valerian. Not when he’d been offered another option. That man—though he wondered if the term was appropriate—was a menace to society. How could he be let loose? He hated to admit it though, but had there been no other alternative, he likely would have made a deal with that lunatic.

He finished his letter. Reread it. Pondered.

There had to be no doubt in their mind. They had to understand what it was exactly he was asking for in exchange for the mask. He did not want them to think, like Valerian had, that he was after money or gold or jewels... What good would any of those be to him if he was dead?

He leaned down and scribbled a few more lines, to clarify his demands.

Once he was satisfied, he added his signature, slid the note into an envelope, and sealed it.

He’d have Victor deliver it as soon as he returned from buying groceries.

A sharp pain in his throat caught him by surprise and sent him into another five minute-coughing bout.

***

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was that his hands were tied behind his back. He was sitting, too.

Opening his eyes, he noticed he was on a chair in an empty room. Not completely empty, though, as three other men were here with him. Two stood on each side of a door, while the third sat across from him, watching him with curiosity.

“Ah, our guest has awoken,” he said with a slight smile. “Hello Brian, my name is Joe. You and I need to have a little chat.”

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Ward would have liked to rub the back of his head—it still hurt where they had knocked him—but the bonds made any movement impossible.

“How about you untie me first?” he suggested. “I’m itching to scratch myself...”

“Nice try,” chuckled Joe. “But no can do.”

“Why am I here?”

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that. You’ve been asking too many questions. That needs to stop.”

“Am I making some folks nervous? In my line of work, that’s usually a good sign.”

“You are not on Exudia, detective. This world does not follow your antiquated laws.”

“Last time I checked, Qojja was still a part of the Weld...”

Joe made a dismissive gesture. “That’s irrelevant. The empire never comes here. As long as they leave us alone, we leave them alone. It’s a win-win.”

Ward found the phrasing strange. Was this man really suggesting they were more powerful than the Weld? It was a ridiculous notion.

“Are you a Zendaar?” he asked.

His captor laughed. He looked at the two standing guards.

“Did you hear that? He’s asking if I’m a Zendaar!”

The two grinned as Joe looked back at the prisoner.

“You’re a funny man. You really think they’d take a second out of their precious time to deal with one such as you? Of course not. They have us for that.”

“Are you going to kill me, then? Like you killed Rosenkrantz?”

“Kill you? What for? You have no power here. You can not hurt the Zendaar.”

“And yet... here I am.”

Joe stared at him quietly for a moment.

“What are you looking for, detective? What do you hope to achieve here?”

“I want answers. That’s my job.”

“Answers? To what?”

“Rosenkrantz and Brown. Why did you kill them?”

“Is that all? Very well.”

The man tapped on his wristpad, flicked through some data, then looked back at Ward.

“The journalist had uncovered some of our, let’s say, shadier activities on Exudia. He hadn’t connected the dots yet, but he would have eventually. We couldn’t let his story come out. Brown, though, wasn’t our doing. Apparently, it was an accident.”

“I don’t believe it! The timing was too convenient for you...”

Joe shrugged. “It was convenient, I won’t deny that, but we had nothing to do with it. Maybe he committed suicide.”

That was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. But why would he admit to one murder and not the other? Because Brown had been a cop? No, they didn’t seem to care about such trivial details.

“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked.

“Because none of it matters anymore...”

“So you are going to kill me.”

Joe sighed. “What is this obsession you have with wanting us to kill you? We’re not savages. As I said, you have no power here. No one on Qojja would believe you. And even if they did, no one would dare anything against the Zendaar.”

“I’ll go to the Weld—”

“With what evidence?”

“You just told me—”

“Do you have a recording of my confession?”

Ward pressed his lips.

The man looked at the blinking red light on his wristpad, indicating an incoming message. He scanned through it then looked back up.

“Change of plans,” he said with a slight smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Joe stepped out of the room, leaving the detective with the two guards. They kept staring at him with blank expressions.

Ten minutes later, his captor returned with a woman in a white blouse. She held a syringe in her hand.

“What is this?” asked Ward with apprehension.

Joe motioned for the two heavies to circle around the chair. Ward felt their hands grab his shoulders and hold him firmly as the woman approached. She lifted the sleeve of his left arm, and inserted the needle into his skin.

He tried to pull away, but between the bonds and the two holding him, he found it impossible to resist.

“Are you drugging me?” he panicked.

The woman pulled out the syringe and, without a word, left the room. The two heavies returned to their position at the door.

“You’ll be happy to hear the Zendaar have granted you your wish.”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“You have now officially become their exclusive property.”

“What?” he repeated, his voice more high-pitched.

“You will be immediately transferred to your new permanent home in Ahuaxa.”

“You can’t do this! I’m a cop! There will be an investigation into my disappearance. The Weld will be all over you...”

“There will be a new bombing tomorrow. Again, it will be claimed by the Brothers of Thuyn. Among the victims, a disfigured body will be found. Analysis of its DNA will identify one Brian Ward.” Joe’s grin widened. “No one will come looking for you, detective.”