Wight tapped his foot impatiently, the sound of his shoe echoed through the empty room. It was late, but impossible to tell. Wight was four stories underground, in a bunker just outside the city. A single monitor stretched across the back wall, and the only other furniture was a small desk and a rickety chair.

He was too on edge to sit.

It felt like just yesterday that the War with the Deep Ones ended. It was a tragedy on an unfathomable scale. Some in the Summit thought it would be enough to bring the world together, at least for a little while. Wight wasn’t that naïve. Even nuclear annihilation wouldn’t bring the world together. Whoever was left would just fight over the scraps.

But Wight had hoped that the war would at least slow the world down.

Instead, it felt like the opposite had happened.

For decades, the superpowers of the world had been at a carefully structured impasse. The war had upset that power balance. First, it was Venture and the Brotherhood. Now the Menagerie…

Wight rubbed his temples. Had the world really gone to shit in three months?

A few seconds later, the screen flickered to life. The head and shoulders of Speaker Rivera appeared on one side. Judging by the harsh lighting, he was also somewhere underground. It magnified the wrinkles on his face, like the events of the Summer had carved the lines into gorges.

Wight was glad that he didn’t have a camera view of himself. He felt tired and was sure he looked even worse.

Midas appeared on the other side of the screen in a well-tailored turtleneck and carefully adjusted video feed. Thankfully, he’d left his smug smile behind.

Speaker Rivera cleared his throat. “Is this line secure?”

Midas took a deep breath, and both screens distorted. A moment later, they were clear again.

“It is now,” Midas replied.

Wight almost rolled his eyes. The Summit’s lines were arguably the most secure in the world. Midas was just putting on a show.

Wight asked, “Are our VIP’s secure?”

Rivera replied, “Confirmations are still trickling in, but we’re getting there. The House is in recess, so they’re all going to separate locations.”

Midas asked, “How are those scanners working, Speaker?”

“The ones we have are working, but we’re going to need about a thousand more. The Mage’s guilds are filling in the gaps. Thank you—both of you—for your help coordinating this.”

Wight interjected, “Speaker, have you looked at the proposal from our mages?”

Rivera nodded. “I have, and I’ve spoken with the Joint Chiefs. At this time, they’re leaning toward the Brotherhood’s scanner solution. For now, we’ll continue to employ the guilds until the Brotherhood completes the requisition.”

“Sir, their magic has proven an effective deterrent, and I don’t think it’s wise to cut humans out of our security protocol.”

Speaker Rivera took a measured breath. “No one wants deterrents anymore, Wight. They want assurances.”

“With all due respect, you’re putting your faith in unproven technology—”

“The government of the Allied States is grateful for everything the Summit and the DSA have done, but my colleagues and I feel that it’s time to push ahead. There’s still a place for capes in national defense, and if you play your cards right, there will still be a place for you, too.”

Wight bit his tongue. “We’re prepared to support the Allied States, however the people see fit.”

“Good. When will debriefings be complete?”

“Eighty-five percent of psychic Summit members are accounted for. The other fifteen percent are either on assignment outside of the country or on leave. We should reach one hundred percent within thirty-six hours. So far, two percent have been compromised. Most opted for the Vault.”

“...And the others?” Rivera waved a hand. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

Midas chimed in. “Is that rate higher or lower than you expected?”

Wight scoffed. “I’m a pessimist.”

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“You don’t find that suspicious?”

“I find everything suspicious.”

Speaker Rivera let out a raspy sigh. “Gentlemen, speak your goddamn minds.”

Wight replied curtly, “He’s insinuating that more of our psychics should be compromised, and that our psychics can’t police their own. Our check-system has worked for almost thirty years, and the mage guilds will act as a secondary check on psychics.”

Midas smirked. “Admit it. You missed something.”

“We’re working with powers that aren’t quantifiable, Midas. Psychics and mages aren’t all that far away from reality warpers. We use the data we have and adjust when we get different data.”

Midas replied, “Are you sure you’re not trying to consolidate magic powers under your own roof to prop up your organization?”

Wight narrowed his eyes. “That’s rich coming from you. How long have you had those scanners?”

“Gentlemen… I think this incident has impressed upon all of us the need to present a unified front. More than ever, humanity needs to come together.”

Again, Wight bit his tongue. This wasn’t some dick-measuring contest between politicians. The stakes were higher than political clout. A bureaucrat like Rivera should know that the only time people came together was when there was something in it for them.

Still, Midas’s comment needled Wight. It was a small wound and already scabbed over, but Wight knew it would stay there—bleeding periodically. Despite almost thirty years of checks, safeguards, and protocols, somehow Kairon had been compromised and subsequently taken over by the Menagerie.

And no one could give him a goddamn explanation.

But that was the difference between the two men. The failure of a man like Midas was thinking that he could control everything. Something would always slip through the cracks.

Wight understood that, and didn’t let pride blind him.

Rivera continued, “Now, how are we controlling the narrative?”

Midas replied, “We debriefed all Summit capes that were present during the incident at Gnosis. They’ve all been given the official narrative and have signed confidentiality agreements. Just in case, we’re keeping them away from the press and monitoring all of their communications.

“Officially, the Menagerie was never involved, and Kairon never lashed out at his team. The renegade cyborg, Mod, killed Kairon. We’ve secured all footage from the scene and doctored it to match. This way, the Summit maintains its public image, and we can lean into the importance of surveillance.”

Wight added, “You should harden your biomechs as well. Wouldn’t want a repeat of Eastside.”

“It’s already being addressed. You worry about your ranks, and I’ll worry about mine.”

Speaker Rivera raised an eyebrow. “He’s right, Midas. If those biomechs aren’t secure, then we’ll need to reconsider our arrangement.”

Midas's face twitched. “The biomechs were always a temporary stopgap. They’ll be obsolete soon enough. If anything, this proves the need to move quickly with drones and surveillance. Once our networks are up and running, not even psychics will be able to hide.”

Rivera said, “That brings us to our last order of business. The Bastion Initiative is coming up for a vote and it’s going to pass. They never did figure out a way to make it an acronym—doesn’t matter. Make sure all your preparations are ready. As soon as the vote concludes, the Joint Chiefs want it implemented. ASAP.”

To Midas’s testament, the bastard kept a straight face. “Consider it done.”

Underneath, he knew Midas was beaming. Why wouldn’t he be?

Midas was getting everything he wanted.

~ ~

Speaker Rivera closed the connection, leaving a blank screen behind. Midas barely had time for the news to settle in before Wight called again.

Midas stared at the indicator light before muting it.

Wight could wait. The world couldn’t.

With a small flex of power, Midas patched himself through to Ava. She’d been sleeping on the couch in the lab’s living room. She quickly sat up and fixed her robe.

“What is it?” she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation. Midas ignored her tone and her attire.

“The Bastion Initiative is going through. Finish the preparations. I want our first targets selected and ready for detainment before the ink dries.”

Ava rubbed her eyes. “I’ll take care of it.”

“See that you do.” Midas paused, regarding Ava for a moment. She had grown steadily more exhausted, more unrefined, more human over the Summer. Midas wasn’t so callous that he didn’t notice. He just didn’t care. They couldn’t afford to hesitate or show weakness. Not now.

Midas added, “And after that, I want a full overhaul of the biomech chassis and shielding. Eastside was unfortunate, but bad PR nonetheless. Don’t let it happen again.”

Ava glared at him. “Are you sure you don’t want those problems ironed out beforehand?”

“They’re your problems, Ava. Not mine. Fix it, or the new world order will use drones exclusively. Production is ramping up nicely. Better act fast, otherwise you’ll be obsolete.”

Ava continued glaring at him, but Midas met her eyes with indifference. She could glare all she wanted. She could struggle all she wanted.

Midas didn’t need her, and she knew it.

Mdis spoke through the connection. “AI, you answer to the name Bastion now. Begin appropriate protocols. …And see that Ava stays on schedule.”

“Understood, Midas.”

Then he closed the connection. Without the light of the screen, the room was dim. This particular room was one of numerous communication suites sprinkled throughout the world. All but a few of his bases were standardized in hardware and in appearance.

There wasn’t anything special about this room, and yet that made it all the more poetic. Why should he be in this particular one when his plans were coming to fruition? So many years leading to a specific point in time and space…

There was nothing special about the room, but the moment was a point of crystallization—of singularity—for Midas.

A point after which everything would change.

~ ~ ~