“Look, Vigilante…” Thorpe starts to pace, winces slightly, then stops. “But from what I understand none of them are particularly good.” “Yeah,” Vigilante says sourly, “this was a pretty bad one.” “You needed something a bit sturdier than our standard medical facilities.” “When you first arrived, Street Ronin made it very clear you needed a… well.” He sweeps his hand across the room. Just predators pretending to be scientists. The point is, I know you have a general mistrust of mad scientists, including me, and it makes me reluctant to have this conversation.” Once upon a time I might have felt obligated to protect them-duty, law and order, all that-but these days I’m more inclined to believe they deserve what they get. I don’t feel any pity for people who use science as a way to excuse their own sociopathy. Especially since you spend a lot of time going after the more unethical branches of my profession.” There’s no getting around that, and because of that I realize I’m not the best person to be bringing this up. “The Guardians and Crossfire always had a complicated history. He sits on the floor and starts pulling on a pair of athletic socks. “This sounds like it’s going to be fun,” Vigilante says. Red Shift sighs softly as he shakes his head. Street Ronin sets his jaw, staring back defiantly. Thorpe fidgets uneasily, wincing slightly as his weight shifts from his right foot to his left. Right now I wanted to talk to you about something else.” “It’s only been two days, and the data is incomplete. Vigilante looks at Red Shift pointedly, an unspoken question hanging between them. The patients are in stasis right now, and they’ll stay that way until we’re positive we can wake them up without killing them. “We’ve been trying to work through the data to figure out what happened to them. Vigilante buttons up a light blue denim shirt. A general, tentative agreement to work together to nail down what was going on. Everyone going to Thorpe’s floating island. Curveball and Agent Grant discovering test subjects in the complex. He dresses quickly as they take turns bringing him up to date: Regiment arriving at the fight. Street Ronin snorts again, then throws the sports bag at his feet. “Look, Doc, I don’t mind answering your questions, but I’d rather not do it naked.” Thorpe continues to stare at Vigilante thoughtfully. I was about to kill myself with that last push. “I owe him for sucker-punching me back in Farraday City, but other than that he’s fine.” “He’s OK, Doc.” Red Shift’s laid-back, easygoing voice is light and conversational. Anyway, I’m OK until the next time I get torn to bits.” “Whenever I’m sleeping off the last bit of a really big hurt I dream I’m building something. I guess it worked eventually.” Vigilante looks at the damaged section of wall again. “Your guys tried to sedate me with some kind of knockout gas. I woke up in here, went nuts, your guys-I assume they’re your guys?” “I guess I passed out while the magic robot was grinding me to a pulp. “Normally people who experience that level of physical trauma suffer memory loss…” “How much of that do you remember?” The curiosity in Thorpe’s voice is unmistakable. Vigilante glances over, and sees a that a piece has buckled outward, the ends beginning to twist. “We were monitoring your neurological functions, and they weren’t spiking like they were earlier.” He nods toward one of the walls. He sees Street Ronin and Red Shift relax as Doctor Thorpe nods. They’re both out of uniform, which is unusual, but he’s pretty sure the third man-a slim, tall man, reddish-brown hair with graying temples, leaning heavily on a cane-is the reason why. Street Ronin carries a sports bag looped over one shoulder, and Red Shift’s left arm is in a sling. He knows two of them very well, and he has some history with the third. Immediately he sits upright, turning to face the three men watching him. At a certain point in the process it’s the same thing. The floor, walls, and ceiling all gleam dull white under the harsh lights recessed in the high ceiling. He lies in the middle of a large, empty cube, naked and curled tightly into a ball. Part One: Thorpe Island, Secure Recovery Room
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