Page 27 of Villainous Intent

“If there’s nothing else?” I kept my voice casual, though my blood was singing with adrenaline.

“Dismissed,” came the chorus of voices before the feeds cut out.

I ran a hand through my hair.

What was this special ability they were hiding? Something that made her uniquely qualified to hunt a rogue. Something worth protecting with threats from both the Syndicate and the Aegis.

I had pulled her file the day Havoc named her his Head Keeper. Standard operating procedure.

But the data had been frustratingly, artificially thin. Basic employment history with the Alliance. Standard Keeper qualifications. A suspiciously rapid ascent through the administrative ranks culminating in an exclusive, permanent assignment to the Tower.

There were no family connections. No childhood medical records. No teenage indiscretions. It was as if Annie Bishop had simply materialized out of thin air the day she put on her uniform.

I hadn’t pushed for more information at the time because I had been actively trying to ignore the infuriating little Keeper and the way my pulse ticked whenever I saw her. I hadn’t wanted to feed the obsession.

But now? Now the Aegis and the Syndicate were practically holding hands to protect whatever secret method she used to track a rogue Trueborn. The governing bodies of Heroes and Villains alike, united to keep me from looking too closely.

I exhaled, trying to reign myself in, before turning on my heel. “I’ll be in the lab. No interruptions unless the building is literally on fire, and even then, assess whether it’s worth disturbing me.”

Alone in my lab, I set up a full background search on Annie to tear her digital life apart. Once that was running, I pressed my forearm against the scanner embedded in my workstation. A thin red light traced the outline of my arm, detecting the implant nestled between muscle and bone. It was my greatest creation, a technological marvel that masked my Trueborn signature, making me appear as just another serum-enhanced Super.

The scan showed the suppression system was functioning at optimal levels. No anomalies detected.

Fucking good. The last thing I needed was a malfunction while spending time with someone who might be able to detect Trueborn Supers. If Annie had some method of tracking rogues, I couldn’t risk her seeing what I really was.

The “treatments” they administered to Trueborns would result in a chemical lobotomy for me. The suppression shot would cut out the parts of my mind that made me a genius and leave a hollow, compliant shell. They would destroy what made me me and call it mercy.

I’d rather die than let them take my mind.

A wave of panic flooded my veins, the raw terror that lived hidden in my bones rearing its ugly head. For a split second, the lab vanished. I was eight years old again, strapped to that cold table. I could smell the antiseptic and feel them cutting into my skull. I could hear my own screams trapped behind a paralyzed throat as they tried to map my “defective” brain.

My fingers twitched, phantom pain radiating from the scar beneath my hair. The one they’d stitched shut after they realized their mistake.

Fuck.

I forced my breathing to slow, pushing the memory back into the dark box where I kept my humanity. I focused on the screen, on the data, on the hunt.

The computer finished retrieving Annie’s files and the screen filled with her professional file. It was impressive but revealed nothing I didn’t already know. Exemplary service record. Specialized training in Super psychology. Keeper certification for both the Alliance and League.

But nothing before that.

I expanded the search parameters but this time the system bounced back an access denied.

I typed in the override and the system processed my command only to return with an access denied again, though this time a code came with it. 12-A.

Now that was interesting. 12-A was reserved for high-level security matters, witnesses in protection, undercover operatives, or those with connections to major incidents.

The code meant erasure.

I leaned back, tapping my fingers against the console.

“Computer, when did Annie Bishop first appear in Alliance records?”

The screen displayed a date nineteen years ago. She would have been ten.

“What entries are there for Annie Bishop during that time period?”

Only one entry showed, and everything in the entry was redacted apart from her name. I frowned. Havoc had turned Hero about nineteen years ago, but I couldn’t remember the details.