Chapter 10
Captain Stacy leaned back in his chair and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. His desk was buried in reports of looting, shootouts, and dozens of other incidents that had overwhelmed the city. In normal times, half of these cases would already be in progress, but now he had to prioritize. If an ordinary citizen went missing these days, their case would fall to the very bottom of the pile, waiting until things settled down.
But Sarah Connelly was no ordinary citizen. She was a world-renowned psychotherapist. Her disappearance couldn't be put on the back burner.
"Doakes, make my day. Any movement on the Connelly case?"
The detective who entered the office looked like a man who had spent the last 24 hours in the company of unpleasant thoughts. He placed a thin folder on the only free corner of the desk. "Got something. We tracked her last route. She took a cab. The driver confirmed he dropped her in the industrial zone, by some old garages."
Stacy opened one eye. "Interesting place for an evening stroll."
"It gets more interesting," Doakes continued. "That same night, in the exact same sector, an explosion went off. It's safe to assume she was there."
The captain sat up straight, pushing the stack of reports aside. "That's all we needed. What was she doing there?"
"The garage that's now a crater was registered to a 'John Law.' A person with that name doesn't exist," Doakes tapped the folder. "Looks like our psychologist had a secret life, and someone decided to put an end to it."
"What are your next steps?"
"I'll start with her patients. One of them might have found out about her secrets. Besides, judging by her records, she had a... specific clientele. Who knows what might have gotten into one of those kids' heads."
---
There was only one day left until the scheduled meeting with Stark. With the army on the streets, night-time excursions had to stop. The city was frozen in tense anticipation, and even the most desperate preferred to keep a low profile now. Who knew what kind of anti-mutant tech the soldiers had brought with them? There was no point in risking it.
On the way home, my gaze caught on a patrol car parked right at the entrance to my building. The moment I rounded the corner, the doors opened, and two men got out.
"Diego Parr?" asked the older one, stopping a few feet away. A short nod was the only reply. "Detective Austin," he briefly flashed a leather-bound badge, "this is Officer Miller. 17th Precinct."
Why did they want me? "We're investigating the disappearance of Dr. Sarah Connelly. You're on her patient list. Can you tell us anything about it?"
The answer was prepared in advance. "I was supposed to see her for a regular session. She wasn't there. The secretary said the doctor wasn't answering her calls and promised to let me know when she showed up. I don't know anything else."
The detective listened without interrupting. "Understood. Our lead detective would like to personally ask all her patients a few questions. It's just a formality. Would you mind coming down to the precinct?"
The question was polite, but it didn't leave a choice. To refuse was to immediately turn from a potential witness into a suspect. To agree was to risk slipping up on some small detail. "Sure. No problem." In the end, I was actually curious to see where this conversation would lead.
---
The interrogation room was featureless: gray walls, a stainless steel table bolted to the floor, and two chairs. In the corner, behind Diego, the dark spot of a one-way mirror was visible. The door opened, and two men entered. One was a huge African-American man with a neat mustache, who moved with a lightness unexpected for his size. The second, his partner, looked like a typical TV detective—a slightly rumpled suit, a tired gaze.
"Diego, hello," the smaller one began, sitting down opposite him. "I'm Detective Johnson, this is Detective Doakes." Doakes didn't sit. He preferred to stand, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his massive chest. Johnson opened a folder. "You were one of the last patients Dr. Connelly saw. Did her behavior seem... unusual to you in any way?"
"How can you judge someone's behavior as unusual when you've only seen them twice in your life?" Diego shrugged. "She seemed like a normal psychotherapist to me. Asked questions, listened to the answers." In the corner, Doakes frowned almost imperceptibly.
"Maybe she told you something about her personal life? Her plans?" Johnson pressed. "No. We discussed my problems, not hers. That's what the sessions are for."
At that moment, Doakes pushed off the wall and took a step toward the table. "And what problems are those, kid? The fact that you're a mutant? Or the fact that she found out, and you had to blow her up?"
The question hit hard, with no setup. A clear probe, designed for an instant reaction. A test of two theories at once: did he know about the explosion, and was he a mutant.
"Blown up?" Diego raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "So she is dead? And no, not a mutant. But even if I were... do you have a problem with that? It's strange to hear generalizations like that, especially from you." The last sentence was spoken calmly, but Diego's gaze lingered for a moment on Doakes's face, a clear allusion to his skin color.
"You're reacting way too calmly for a kid who just found out his psychologist is dead," Doakes rumbled, planting his knuckles on the table.
"I'm psychologically unstable. My parents died recently. You think after that, I have the energy to grieve for someone I've only seen twice in my life?" Doakes stared intently, trying to find a crack in his composure. "What were you doing the day she disappeared?" Another trap. He hadn't specified the date. "When was that, exactly?"
"Five days ago," Doakes clarified. "And the time? Or do I need to recount my entire day?" "Ten PM." "At that time, I'm usually watching shows or something on YouTube." "Can I see your phone?" Doakes held out his huge palm.
Diego unlocked the phone and handed it over. The detective spent a few minutes silently scrolling through the browsing history. "This is all strange," he drew out the word, not taking his eyes off Diego. "You're a high school kid, but you're sitting in an interrogation room like you're in class. You're answering questions faster than anyone who was in here before you. And your browser history is so clean, there's not even any porn."
The pause stretched. "Is that all?" Diego broke the silence. "I'm not sure, was that a question or a statement? If it was a question, I'll answer. I have nothing to hide, so I see no reason to worry. I plan on being a journalist, so a quick mind is a professional necessity. And for porn, there's incognito mode." A long silence followed. "You're free to go," Doakes snapped.
Diego stood up and walked out without looking back. As soon as the door closed, Stacy entered the room. "So, what do you think? He was the last one on the list." Doakes looked at his captain. "Unlike the other patients, this one wasn't nervous for a second. His answers were all perfectly clean. A normal person would hesitate, search for memories, choose their words. This kid is either innocent, or he's the coldest liar I've ever met." Stacy, heading for the door, said: "Do what you want, Doakes, but find me the person who blew her up."
---
Lying in bed, I replayed the interrogation in my head over and over. On the whole, it went smoothly. Maybe too smoothly. But I didn't like Doakes's stare. He wouldn't be able to prove anything, of course, but now he'd be digging with twice the determination. And tomorrow was the meeting with Stark. Not the best time to have a cop tail. Well, I'd deal with problems as they came.
---
The only noteworthy thing at school was an assignment from Mr. Harrington. Write an essay on the topic: "If you were a mutant, what would you do?" An attempt to make the students put themselves in someone else's shoes. He obviously wanted to make us think about what it's like to be different, and that any one of us could become one.
On the way to Stark's, a black Rolls-Royce blocked my path. The tinted rear window slid down, revealing Tony Stark himself. "Get in." There was no point in arguing. This was easier.
Stark pressed a touch panel in the armrest, and a small display of drinks and snacks slid out silently. "Want anything? There are some mini-burgers with foie gras, if the label is to be believed. Or just a soda?" The offer was tempting, but accepting food from his hands would be the height of recklessness. Who knew what he might have mixed in—from a simple sedative to nano-trackers. "No, thanks. Not hungry," I had to refuse. Stark just shrugged.
"Where are we going?" "To the lab," Stark replied, not looking up from his tablet. "We need to figure out how to grab your 'mind-controller.' Based on our conversation, his abilities are a black box to you. We don't know if his voice works at a distance, through speakers, or if he needs eye contact. We'll assume the maximum threat level."
"You've found him already?" "That wasn't hard," a smug look crossed Stark's face. "The city is riddled with cameras. He made everyone in that restaurant delete their recordings, of course, but there are still street cams on the next building. One of my stealth drones is watching him right now." Tony glanced from his tablet to his phone and grimaced in disgust. "Right now, he's... entertaining himself. In a five-star hotel suite. With some banker's wife. Forcing the poor husband to sit in a chair and watch. By the way, what's that fetish called?" He tore his gaze from the screen and looked right at me. "How would I know? I have other interests."
The Rolls-Royce dipped into an unmarked exit from the highway, which immediately vanished behind a holographic camouflage projecting a brick wall. We were in a private underground tunnel, lit by a smooth strip of LEDs. A massive titanium door met the car and slid open silently, letting us into a sterile sally port. "Security protocols," Stark said curtly, getting out of the car. "Had to upgrade the system a bit after the incident with The Hand."
"What incident?" Diego clarified, following him. "So they were sitting in your shadow?" "You were right. But as you can see, I'm a fast learner." We entered a small white room. The door had barely closed behind us when a bright, blinding light hit us from all sides. It was absolutely omnipresent, robbing objects of their depth. All shadows, including our own, simply vanished. It was a strange, disorienting sensation, like being inside a perfectly lit 3D model.
"Simple, like all brilliant ideas," Stark explained with unconcealed pride. "Sensors detect the direction of the main light source in the room, and hundreds of hidden projectors instantly illuminate the zones it doesn't hit. They create a compensating light that fills in the shadows. Not a single shadow can survive in here for a fraction of a second."
"Impressive. But what if one of them is already inside the lab?" "Logical question," Stark nodded, walking through the next door, which opened before him. We found ourselves in a huge, multi-level space filled with equipment. "Because this room is just the first filter. Jarvis now constantly monitors not only the cameras, but any microscopic spatial fluctuations in the entire tower. If something twitches in a shadow, the system flags it as a fourth-dimensional anomaly. And I know about it immediately."
"So, what's the plan?" "First, we need to define the threat boundaries," Stark replied, his attention fixed on a massive holographic interface he had deployed in the middle of the lab. "We'll build a profile on our client, based on the worst-case scenario." His fingers flew through the air, and structured blocks of text began to appear on the screen. "Okay, vector of attack. Voice? Thought? Let's assume both. Range..." he paused for a moment. "Let's start with absurd. Ten kilometers. It's ridiculous, of course. He's probably limited to line-of-sight or hearing, but in this business, it's better to be safe than sorry. Activation conditions: hearing a command, sensing a mental pulse, eye contact... What else?"
"If I had that power," the thought came on its own, "I wouldn't just rely on random people. I'd create a permanent guard of strong mutants. I wonder, if you ordered someone to 'awaken your X-gene,' would it work?" Stark stopped typing and looked at me. "Stay on topic, but that's a sound thought. And I think you hit on something. Jarvis, pull up the file on Jessica Jones." A dossier of a woman with a tired face appeared on the screen. "Private investigator. Went missing a couple of weeks ago. Initially, I wrote her off as another one of his fetishes," Stark rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But your bodyguard idea makes me see this in a new light." He added a new item to the threat profile: "Controlled superhuman allies."
"And now for the fun part," Stark continued with a note of dark enthusiasm. "Hostages. What if he doesn't keep them on a leash? What if he just told a thousand random people one day, 'Download this health monitoring app. Check my pulse every six hours. If it stops—bite off your tongue.' Instant leverage over the entire city. So, let's add the possible existence of 'sleeper' agents and an unlimited duration for his commands. We have no idea how long his control lasts."
"Or worse," I had to add, as an even more unpleasant picture formed in my head. "What if they don't have to constantly check his pulse? What if he is the one who has to perform a certain ritual? For example, press a button in that app once a day, letting everyone know he's alive and free. If he fails to do so—for any reason, be it death or capture—the suicide command activates." Stark froze, his fingers hovering over the hologram. "Shit," he said quietly. He added a new item to the threat profile: "Active 'dead man's switch' protocol."
I had to sigh heavily. "Yeah. This is much worse than I thought. Okay, to start, we just need to watch him. Map out his habits, find patterns, a daily routine." "Exactly," Stark said. "And the goal of this surveillance isn't just to find out what kind of coffee he prefers. We need to find that ritual. We must find out with absolute certainty if he performs some action to keep his hostages alive."
"But it could be anything," Diego continued. "A daily call to a number, sending a coded message. A simple button press on his phone app. Something easy to miss if you don't know what you're looking for."
"Which is why Jarvis will handle it. He'll analyze his every step, every movement, every click, 24/7. He'll look for repeating patterns. If our guy scratches his left ear every day at 12:05 sharp, Jarvis will notice and log it. Our job is not to miss the moment when we're sure we've found it."
"Once we figure out the ritual, we'll need to grab him. With your tech, that shouldn't be hard. One of your suits flies in, clamps onto him like a sarcophagus. It'll have to perform an instant, detailed scan to assess his current physical state. Then, based on that data, it injects a precisely calculated medical cocktail to put him to sleep smoothly, without causing any sharp spikes in his pulse or blood pressure. Just in case he really does have sensors monitoring his vitals."
"We'll call it plan 'Iron Maiden,'" Stark smirked, but then grew serious. "That only works if he doesn't have some hidden super-strength to rip the suit apart from the inside. And don't forget his... potential allies."
"That's why, during the operation, we'll need at least two more suits for cover and diversion. And I'll be nearby, invisible, in case something goes wrong. To stop his guards." Stark stopped mid-sentence. His gaze focused on me, and a wide grin slowly spread across his face. "That's right. I totally forgot. The police report from the docks said your face was 'transparent,' but your clothes weren't." He leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter. "Ha-ha-ha... Fess up. You've already... strutted around New York naked, haven't you?" My silence was more eloquent than any words. "The Invisible Nudist!" Stark kept at it.
"Are you done?" "Hah... yeah, that was funny," he wiped away a tear. "But it gave me an idea. You need an upgrade. Your ability isn't just light refraction; it's a field that extends over your whole body, including dead keratin tissues—hair, nails. Right?" I had to nod. "So, theoretically, if we create a suit from your own biomaterial... say, from your hair... it would also become part of that field. You could turn completely invisible, clothes and all." A suit made by Stark would undoubtedly be packed with all-seeing sensors.
As if reading my mind, he added: "Well, of course, it'll come with a full sensor suite. How else am I supposed to find you when you decide to play ghost?" he finished with irony. There was no choice. This was the price for new capabilities. "Fine." I had to sigh and run a hand through my hair, as if saying goodbye.