THE RIALTO – DETROIT – UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Jensen nodded toward Quinn. “Him, yeah.” He looked toward the Latino woman with the pistol

“You know these people?” snapped Pritchard, affronted by the idea. “Why am I not surprised?”

Jensen nodded toward Quinn. “Him, yeah.” He looked toward the Latino woman with the pistol. “Her, not so much.”

“The young lady with the large sidearm is Alex Vega,” said Quinn. “I suppose you could say she’s my… driver.”

Vega rolled her eyes, slipping the revolver back into a holster on her thigh. “I’m a pilot, I’m not your damn driver. But I will be the kicker of your ass if you keep that up.”

“Fiery too,” Quinn grinned, back in the Irish brogue again. “And she’s certainly capable. Alex is a lot more than just a talented flyer.”

“Also,” said the woman. “Just once, do you think you can pick an accent and stick with it?”

Quinn slipped into the rough-edged Russian manner and chuckled. “Where would be the fun in that?”

“You’re a long way from Rifleman Bank Station.” Jensen studied the other man carefully. “Last time we talked, you were about to blow the whistle on Belltower’s dirty little black site.”

“We did exactly that. And you were searching for a woman you cared for, along with some hard truth…” Quinn cocked his head. “But looking at you now, I would hazard a guess you didn’t really find either of those things.”

Jensen’s lips thinned. “I got all the answers I needed,” he said, after a moment.

During his investigation into the conspiracy behind Hugh Darrow and the Illuminati, Jensen had found himself on a floating prison complex where the Belltower PMC was illegally confining hundreds of innocent people, all of them abducted from cities around the world. It was one part of ‘the Hyron Project’, a grotesque research and development program to use human beings as part of a bio-organic computing system.

Quinn had been there, at first presenting himself as the base’s opportunistic black marketeer – but that had just been the first of the masks he wore. At the end of it, Jensen tore Rifleman Bank’s horrific secrets wide open, and Quinn showed his real face – or something close to it. He revealed he was working toward the same thing as Jensen, to sabotage the plans of the Illuminati and disrupt their schemes at every turn. Or so it seemed. That seemed like a long time ago now, with all the revelations and greater tragedy that had come afterward.

“You never did tell me who you’re working for,” Jensen went on.

“It’s complicated,” said Quinn, with a sigh. “But the important thing to know is that we have common goals.”

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Jensen recalled the old proverb, turning it over in his mind. But that doesn’t make him someone I trust.

“Panchaea,” said the woman, changing tack. “We heard that was you. Sent it all to the bottom, huh? How’d you get out?”

“People keep asking me that. I wish I knew.” Jensen eyed her. “What’s your part in this? You here to make sure Quinn keeps his lies straight?”

“Something like that.” She shrugged. “Me, I’m just another lost soul like you and your hacker pal here, who wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time and had to make some tough choices.”

“Wait… I know who you are. You’re with Juggernaut,” Pritchard said slowly, understanding creeping over his features. “Janus runs you.”

“Nobody runs us,” snapped Quinn. “The Juggernaut Collective doesn’t work that way. We’re a collaborative effort working together to oppose the same forces.” He glanced at Jensen. “The same people who have been trying to destroy you, Adam.”

“Oh, good grief.” Pritchard’s face twisted in a sneer. “I thought this was someone with an axe to grind here to bury it in your head, but that’s not it at all.” He glanced at Jensen. “Don’t you get it? They’re here because they want to recruit us!”

“Actually, just him,” Vega corrected. “Not you. We got enough hackers.”

Pritchard’s expression became thunderous at the implied slight. “What, those Go-Five idiots from Korea and that script kiddie D-Bar?” He snorted. “How did they work out for you?” He stood up. “Jensen, these people are not on anyone’s side but their own! They’re hooked up to every conspiracy theorist fringe group from the secessionist militia to the UFO abductees. All directed by some faceless ghost-hacker called Janus whom no-one has ever seen in meat space. They’re cyberterrorists and anarchists. Their only interest is in causing chaos and disorder!”

“There’s some truth in there,” admitted Quinn. “But mostly you’re quoting the lies spread by our mutual adversary.”

Pritchard’s tone turned cold. “I know Janus’s sort. You pretend to be white hats, but really you just want to watch the world burn.”

“I could stand to burn down some of it, yeah,” said Vega, an edge of venom in her reply. “The parts where all the rich bastards live behind their sky-high walls and fuck with the rest of us.”

“Clearly, your friend Pritchard has some trust issues,” Quinn told Jensen. “And perhaps a bruised ego into the bargain? If I’m honest, I don’t care. I just came here to talk to you, on behalf of Janus.”

“Is that so?” Jensen’s hand hadn’t left the grip of the machine pistol. “You told me once that we were all pawns… is that what you are right now?”

Quinn’s jaw hardened, but Vega answered for him. “Janus has an offer. And we came a long way to find you, so the least you could do is hear us out.”

“No, the least he could do is let you leave without shooting you!” Pritchard snapped.

“This isn’t a good time,” said Jensen. “I got my own issues to deal with right now.”

“Yes, we’ve been monitoring the police frequencies. Some sort of local trouble, is it?” At length, Quinn let out another sigh. “Okay, all right. Cards on the table, bratán. The fact of the matter is, we need your help.”

“Why should either of us give a damn?” snorted Pritchard.

“Because the Collective can give Jensen what he wants,” said Vega. “A way to reach those creeps hiding in their ivory towers, and drag them kicking and screaming into the light.” Her eyes flashed as she looked toward him. “Interested?”

“Keep talking,” said Jensen.

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