“I think you might be nuts, Jess,” Beatrix said. Furnace had left some minutes ago, but the tension in the room had not fully faded. “We might work with those guys, but we’re in no way their equals. We’re lucky he was in a good mood.”

  “No shit,” Cassie said, reaching up and rubbing her brow. “Christ, Jay, don’t go doing that again. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “What’s the rush?” Sam asked, giving me an uneasy look. “We’re not high tiers. What good would access to the Citadel do for us?”

  I wasn’t in much of a hurry to tell the others of my intentions, and it wouldn’t benefit them to know. If anything it ran the risk of spooking them. “Look, I don’t plan on being a nobody. If I’m gonna be a criminal, taking risks by going up against the likes of STING and Warmonger, I’m gonna be properly compensated for it.”

  Beatrix rubbed her neck. “I mean, I get you, but... look, these guys have rules and expectations. Even if we do good work for them, we’re still rookies and they’re gonna remember that.”

  “You think too small,” I said, folding my arms. I leaned against the nearest wall, looking her dead in the eye. “We’re professionals. Nothing wrong in wanting to be treated like one. Don’t settle for less, just because we’re new at this. Have some pride in yourselves.”

  “I’m mainly in it for the kicks, if I’ being honest.” Beatrix shrugged, giving a small smile. “But, sure.”

  “More importantly, we ought to figure how we’re handling this business with Impact.” I motioned to the laptop. Furnace had left the files with us but they gave no indication of where the fight club was. Apparently it moved around every few days, not wanting Jupiter, the police, or the local masks to get wise to it. “We don’t even know where to look.”

  “Well, shit. You’re a ‘professional.’ Seems a little unprofessional to be in the dark like that,” Greg snorted.

  “Don’t be a smartass if you’re not actually smart,” I replied, getting an annoyed glare from him. “My point is we need to find out where to start or this job is dead in the water.”

  “We could try checking Masquerade,” Sam said, but his voice tapered off as he said it. Anyone who got access to Impact’s fight club probably wouldn’t post about it, even on a deepweb board like Masquerade. Impact’s people would probably track and kill anyone they caught doing it.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Whoever got that recording in the first place must have been one of Jupiter’s guys, operating at great risk.

  Cassie sighed. “I’ll ask around. Doubt my friends will know that much, but any lead is better than nothing.”

  Two days later we got another visit at the hideout. This time it was Cortador, pulling up in a van utterly laden with all manner of strange devices and pieces of supertech. Beatrix helped to carry most of it in, and we set it up in a room largely used for storing junk.

  Cortador was not what most would think of when they heard the term ‘mad scientist.’ He was a pudgy man in a dark brown costume speckled with a myriad of anomalous stains. His gloves and boots had been white once but turned to grey from lack of washing. The bearded man wore no mask to speak of, just a thick pair of goggles studded with lenses and strange dials.

  Once he was set up he was quick to start poking and prodding at Rover, who stayed calm and let Cortador work away so long as I was there to calm him. And soon enough his machines were whirring with blood samples and tissue samples, the attached screens flashing through an assortment of scans I couldn’t make heads or tails of.

  He said little as he worked, alternating between grunting and munching on a po boy he had brought in with him. Finally he turned to us, jerking a thumb at Rover. “He hasn’t got any trackers or the like in him. Flesh golems tend to get those implanted when they’re set for field testing, see? But that fella hasn’t been programmed at all. Explains why he’s as dumb as a rock.”

  “A rock would probably outperform him mentally,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” I grimaced as Cortador plucked a greasy chunk of bread from the dark briar of his beard. “He’ll grow smarter over time. Not to like, human levels. But he’ll be like an attack dog, see?”

  Cassie and I exchanged a brief look. “We can work with that,” she said.

  “Might as well. It’d be stupid not to make use of him.”

  “One more thing,” Cortador said, in between another thick mouthful of sandwich. “This guy doesn’t have too many powers, just the superhuman physique you get in these golems. But, see, STING coded him with something special. His body adapts in response to trauma. If you stab him, his skin will grow tougher. Break a bone, it’ll heal even tougher than it was before.”

  I thought back to our fight with Trailblazer, where the first burst of flame had hurt Rover far more than the second. Exactly what the limits of his adaptability was remained to be seen, but... well, anything like that was bound to be useful.

  “Hear that Rover?” I asked, smirking over at the creature. “Sounds like you might be immortal.”

  Rover, to my surprise, growled in what sounded like agreement.

  “You want my advice?” Cortador asked. He continued speaking before I could tell him to stow it, “Bring him on every mission you take. The more he fights, the more he learns, the more he adapts. In time he’ll be a damn tank. Only...”

  “Only...?” Cassie cocked her head.

  “Well, STING didn’t fit him with a restraining bolt neither. There’s not much that can really control him, other than him imprinting on Toymaker. So treat him well, or he might go fucking loco on you when he’s smart enough.”

  “Well...” I stared up at the looming creature. Then, with only a little bit of hesitation, I reached over and gave him a light pat on the shoulder. He felt scaly to the touch. “Good thing I’m nice to animals.”