Chapter 27 #3
Annie gave me a questioning look. “Schedule change,” I explained, rising from my seat and bringing her with me. “Media wants me now.”
Her body tensed against mine, a subtle shift that would be imperceptible to anyone who hadn’t spent hours memorizing her every reaction.
“Let me guess,” I murmured as we made our way toward the media section. Numbers Five, Six, and Fourteen formed a protective triangle around us. “You’re imagining yourself draped across my lap while I give sound bites about my villainous exploits.”
“Am I that transparent?” Her voice was tight despite her attempt at casualness.
“Only to me.” I placed my hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd. “And yes, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
“Fantastic,” she said flatly.
“It could be worse,” I pointed out as we descended the stairs. “I could make you sit at my feet.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“Who’s joking? I ran the numbers. You sitting at my feet would increase your credibility as my plaything by at least 12%.” I tried to keep my expression neutral, but a corner of my mouth twitched.
That earned me a ghost of a smile.
The media area buzzed with activity. Cameras, lights, sound equipment, and the particular brand of artificial enthusiasm that television personalities seemed to manufacture on demand.
“Go with Six. Get some air instead.” The words were out before I could think better of it.
Annie stared at me like I’d just suggested we rob a bank together. “What?”
“Skip the interview.” I nodded toward a side exit where security was minimal. “Number Six can take you.”
“But the League requested I be with—”
“Fuck the League. They’ve gotten enough of a show for one day.”
Annie’s eyes widened behind her mask. “They’ll be furious.”
“So.” I shrugged. “I’ll tell them you were overwhelmed by the crowd and needed to compose yourself. They’ll buy it, they already think you’re a fragile little thing.”
Her lips twitched. “And I’m not?”
“You electrocuted me off a building. Fragile isn’t the word I’d use.” I turned to Number Six, who was hovering at a respectful distance. “Take her for some air. Make sure she has everything she needs.”
Six nodded. “Of course, sir.”
Annie hesitated, searching my face. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.” I ran a quick probability calculation on how much shit I’d catch for this from the League (considerable) versus how much I cared (surprisingly little). “Go before I change my mind and drag you in front of the cameras anyway.”
As I turned toward the interview room, I caught Annie’s gaze once more. The small smile she gave me shouldn’t have mattered. It certainly shouldn’t have made me feel like I’d done something significant.
But it did.
I slipped into performance mode and by the time I took my seat between Avalanche and Nightmare, Annie had been compartmentalized to a background process in my mind, at least as much as she could be.
The interviewer, Vivian Blake, flashed her trademark smile as the cameras went live. The red lights blinked on, and Cipher, Villain, took center stage.
“—and that’s why my force field technology remains Superior to anything the Alliance has developed,” I finished, leaning back in my chair.
Blake laughed appreciatively. “Always three steps ahead, aren’t you, Cipher?”
“At minimum,” I replied with a smirk.
This was the part of villainy I genuinely enjoyed, the performance of it. The chance to showcase both my intellect and my carefully cultivated persona. I knew exactly how to play to the cameras and give them the right balance of arrogance and charm, of menace and wit.
“And what about Baron Ash’s claim that his pyrokinetic abilities will overwhelm your technology?” she asked, leaning forward eagerly.
I laughed, the sound deliberately condescending. “Baron Ash confuses heat with power. That will be a costly mistake.”
Beside me, Avalanche chuckled appreciatively while Nightmare rolled her eyes.
“Speaking of power,” Blake turned to Nightmare, “your recent battle…”
I tuned them out as my earpiece indicated an incoming message.
“Sir,” came Eight’s voice, tense and low, “we’ve lost visual on Bishop. All cameras.”
The world stopped.
The studio lights, the drone of the interview, the heat of the room, it all vanished. The only thing left was the cold, hollow space in my chest.
Explain, I subvocalized.
“She entered the east corridor with Six,” Eight continued. “They went through a service door. We switched to the next camera feed to pick them up and they weren’t there. The corridor was empty, Sir. Six is gone. Bishop is gone.”
Blake was wrapping up the segment. “Thank you all for your time—”
I stood up and my chair scraped loudly against the floor, toppling over. Avalanche jumped and Blake faltered mid-sentence.
“Cipher?” she asked, her smile wavering. “We’re still live—“
“Six, report,” I commanded into the open channel, ignoring everything else as I strode for the exit.
Static.
“Six!”
Nothing.
Fear sliced through me, the blind, animal panic of a man who has just realized his heart is no longer inside his chest.
Gone.
The word echoed in my mind.
I broke into a run.