PETAR WATCHED AGENT BILL Brodham as he stood and signaled to the guard. He'd already spent too much time here, so part of him was glad the interrogation was finally over. But more than anything, he was frustrated. It had been a long shot coming to the detention center, he knew. One in a million it would work. But it was his last shot. He'd been everywhere else, and sooner or later he knew his luck would run out.

Petar didn't have time for that.

The world didn't have time.

The door to the interrogation room opened. Brodham nodded to one of the guards. A gesture of familiarity. In the dark hall behind them, a flicker caught Petar's eye.

No, no, Petar thought. It's too soon!

A blink later, the world exploded.

Petar had unlatched the handcuffs around his wrists within minutes of being placed in them. Now, he moved fast.

With a flick, the cuffs were off and tumbling to the table. The sharp rraap that could only come from a fermion rifle split the room and the first guard opened from the neck out in a spray of red.

Petar dropped and rolled under the table. An unseen beam of energy hit the second guard at the top of the spine. Viscera fountained from the hollow under his Adam's apple. Brodham was wheeling, slow motion. Too slow. As Petar rolled out from under the table, knocking over the chair in which Brodham had been sitting, he made a spit-second decision and lunged away from the door, shoulder first. He barreled into Brodham's chest and knocked him back. A third energy beam flew from the doorway and hit right where Petar's shoulder was pushing into the soft flesh of Brodham's chest. Its energy dissipated between the two of them. Blinding electric pain sliced down Petar's arm.

Brodham took the main charge square over his heart and tumbled backward from the force of Petar's push. Lunging after him, Petar gripped Brodham by the collar and brushed an index finger across his chest. A thin line of white fluid foamed in its path. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Petar whirled and backpedaled until his spine smacked up against the wall beside the door. He fired a glance back at Brodham. The agent was on the floor slumped against the wall, out cold but breathing. The front of his button-down shirt was a charred stain. Second-degree burns for sure, and likely a painful heart murmer for the rest of his life from the quantum surge, but alive. Petar was glad. He liked the guy.

A round blue glow floated through the doorway on Petar's left. He pressed his back tight against the wall and inhaled slowly. The glow was followed by a thin silver rod. Wider at the back. Then a black-gloved hand, clutched firmly over the rod's midsection. Another hand, steadying the rod from behind where it spread into a curved metallic butt.

They'd found him.

It was too soon.

The barrel of the spider-like fermion rifle swept the room from the doorway. Left, across the interrogation chamber toward the one-way mirror. Right, blank walls. The barrel came within inches of Petar's face, close enough to smell the ozone wafting from the glowing quark amplifier in its tip.

The man holding it, if he could be called that, stepped into the room. He was wearing a full-length black cloak that shimmered deep green when the light struck it directly. The hood pulled over his head kept Petar from seeing his face, but Petar didn't need to. Dark skin, the color of a bruise. Luminsescent blue veins rippling just under the surface. Black eyes that sucked the light away.

His father's men. Koscheis.

Petar had known they'd find him, but he'd hoped it wouldn't be for another day. His father must really want him back, and the thought filled Petar with simultaneous hope and terror. If his father felt threatened, maybe there was a chance to make the world believe they were in danger. On the other hand, he'd gone too far this time, and his father might very well kill him for it if he caught him.

The first Koschei swept into the room, and behind him came another. This was who Petar had been waiting for. They always traveled in pairs. As the second Koschei stepped over the fallen bodies of the guards, Petar slipped out the door behind them.

Holding his burned shoulder, Petar raced down the corridors. One by one, the electronic doors beeped open for him. He barely had to break stride. Wouldn't have at all, if not for the mess the Koscheis had made on their way in.

In the antechamber of S Block outside the elevators, three guards stormed past Petar. He sidled against the wall to give them plenty of room to pass. One of them, a slack-faced young man in dark green fatigues, slowed as he passed Petar. He sniffed the air and glanced around the hallway with a look of suspicion. He scrunched his nose, forcing his pale freckled cheeks out like a bulldog's, and sniffed the air.

Petar silently cursed. The fermion bolt he'd taken to the shoulder must have short-circuited his cloak. The guard could smell him. Sense something. The two others had disappeared around the next hallway and Petar tensed to make his move. Hopefully, the strike wouldn't kill the guard, just immobilize him long enough to get away. He didn't want to kill anyone.

Petar crouched, stretched his fingers into a knife edge. Slid his left foot out a millimeter, widening his stance. The guard thumbed the safety of his M4 into the "off" position and raised its barrel away from the floor. He definitely felt something. It had to be now.

"Oh dear God!" The voice drifted from the direction of the guard's two squadmates.

"What happened? Oh man, it's everywhere!" Another voice joined it. They'd found the Koscheis' trail of bodies. Petar didn't envy them the nightmares. The sound of retching followed the shouts.

Hearing the cries, the guard in front of Petar looked around slowly one more time, then swore and ran down the hall after them, calling out.

Petar was gone before he could hear the freckled guard's reaction.

The sun was dying behind the tall pines when Petar exited the compound. Gold and purple and orange burned the outer compound into a soft blush. He'd passed three more groups of guards on his way out of the labyrinthine prison, all of them sprinting toward an open grave.

Could he have helped them? Stayed and killed the Koscheis before they could kill anyone else in their quest to find him? Maybe. Probably. Was it okay to let them die so that he wouldn't be caught. Was his mission that important? Petar wrestled with his fragmented doubts even as he sprinted across the grass causeway toward the raised parking deck at the far end of the compound. Every decision he'd made since coming here had ended up with someone else getting hurt.

And if his plan worked, the destruction was far from over.

Petar vaulted a low cement wall and slapped onto the concrete floor on the other side. Rows of empty parking spaces marked by yellow paint lined the parking deck. Half a dozen sedans were scattered among them, no two parked in sequence. Petar scanned them. There, at the far end. A slate-blue, 2014 Infiniti. Should work. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, Petar slid his thumb across his right wrist and flicked off the light-deflector field. He shimmered into view. It was all well and good to run through a CIA holding center without being seen, but cars didn't drive themselves. He'd have to stay visible on the road.

The Infiniti was state-of-the-art. Petar couldn't have cared less about the all-wheel drive, the rear-mounted cameras, or the whatever-horsepower engine, but two of the sedan's features were music to his ears: keyless entry and keyless ignition.

Petar wiggled his fingers and the polytransmitter embedded in his arm sent a radio command to the vehicle's entry system.

The windshield wipers lurched into motion with a rubbery squeal on the dry windshield. The left-turn signal blinked in time with the wipers. Petar wiggled his fingers again, and this time a muffled click told him that the locks had disengaged. The driver's-side door opened with a whisper and Petar slid into the seat.

Petar knew how to drive – in theory – but this was the first time he'd been behind the wheel of a car. Oh well, Petar figured. He had a good hour to learn before he got into the traffic of New York City. There couldn't be too many vehicles out on the road in the upstate backwoods.

Petar thumbed the ignition, switched off the windshield wipers and blinker, and backed out of the parking space.

He was running late.

There was someone he needed to accidentally bump into.

Thanks for reading my story! Please VOTE and let me know what you think of it so far, then check out Chapter 4!