Seattle Vance

  It was three weeks before Joker contacted me. I was surprised that he reached out at all. But out of the blue, I got a phone call from a redacted number.

  I answered it. I didn’t care if he traced my location. There was no way he would be able to get to me all the way out here.

  “Hello, Mr. Vance,” Joker spoke as if this was a casual check-in.

  “Joker. I didn’t think I would be talking with you again,” I said, lounging in my camp chair. I was sitting alone in the dark mountain woods of what was formerly the Appalachian Mountains.

  “Neither did I. Plans often change like that. I was surprised you made it out in one piece. Impressive—or perhaps lucky.”

  “So now we’re talking again, I do have a few things to ask you. How do I put this kindly? What the fuck, Joker? And cut the bullshit, I know enough of what went down.”

  There was a garbled laugh on the other end of the phone. It was really strange, like a hissing noise. I remember the last time I talked to him—he seemed like just another guy. One that I had a talent for pissing off. But now it was like a mask had dropped. The angry man I talked to last time was another act, and something in my gut lurched bad when I heard his voice.

  “You should know I wanted you out because of your personal connection. You’re an unsound man, Seattle Vance. And this job needed a scalpel.”

  “A scalpel? What the fuck even was the original plan? And don’t lie to me. I saw some interesting things on the blacklist. Three names in particular, located in a sub-basement. That was what you were really after, wasn’t it?”

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  “You were always a distraction for the real job, a story for the ASA to blame for the loss of their three candidates. However, I didn’t predict you would be insane enough to try the job after we tried to kill you.”

  “Cool. So when do I get paid?”

  There was another garbled laugh. “You are quite determined to be employed by us, aren’t you? More than a few in my organization wanted to have you killed, even after we got what we wanted from the ASA. You’re a security breach, Mr. Vance. And worse, you are one of the few people in the world who have forced our hand.”

  “You come after me, and I’ll fuck you up. You think what I did in City 57 was bad? I’ve now got a list of the most dangerous people in the Democratic Union.”

  “That’s why I vetoed the decision. There’s no need for further intervention. You’re a man who looks only to the past, Vance. The blacklist couldn’t be in safer hands. Just do us a favor and don’t get caught, otherwise, we’ll have to step in.”

  “Duly noted,” I said as I picked up the binoculars again.

  I had a bottle of soda next to me in my camp chair, watching in the darkness of the mountain forest. The land sloped down into a valley that held a hidden warehouse tucked out of view. A lone truck was pulling up to it.

  “Tell me one thing, Mr. Vance. You’ve piqued my curiosity. What do you expect to gain out of all this? The brother you knew is dead. The man who is alive now... well, he’s not the sort you would want to meet.”

  I watched as men exited the truck and began pulling out a mobile sensory deprivation pod. It was like a coffin, built to contain the most powerful individuals in the Democratic Union. It contained the prisoners who weren’t prisoners, not officially anyway. It contained the experimented on, the unstable—the things that were downright deranged.

  Two workers started wheeling it toward the warehouse. I sipped some more of my soda. There was a man who came out of the building—the boss, the warden. He was dressed in a black suit and tie. I saw his face through the binoculars as clear as day, and I gritted my teeth in black rage.

  It was my brother.

  I put the phone down. “I’m getting some fucking answers.”