Chum

I fight to keep my expression neutral, even as my stomach churns. His logic is twisted, but I can see how he's arrived at these conclusions. How he's rationalized his actions, both past and present.

"I heard some rumors recently," I say carefully, keeping my tone casual, like I'm just making small talk. "About some kind of military project. Project Titan, I think they called it. Ring any bells?" I want to spit after those words, like I'm cleansing my mouth of the filth that came out of his. But I don't.

He goes very still at that, his eyes flashing with something I can't quite read. For a second, I'm sure I've tipped my hand, that he's going to call me out on my bullshit and this whole thing is going to go sideways fast. But then he relaxes, just a fraction, and I know I've hit on something important.

"Where did you hear that name?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

I shrug, keeping my body language loose and easy. "Around. You know how people talk. Especially in our line of work."

He grunts, his eyes darting around like he's checking for eavesdroppers. "Project Titan was a long time ago. Ancient history. Nothing for you to concern yourself with."

"Sounds like it was pretty heavy stuff," I press, careful not to overplay my hand. "Using superhumans in black ops missions, trying to artificially induce powers… That's some serious shit."

His head snaps back around to face me, his eyes burning with a sudden intensity. "Watch what you say in public, girl." he hisses, his voice barely above a whisper.

I hold up my hands in a placating gesture, trying to keep my own breathing steady. Like trying to calm down an angry chimpanzee before it rips you in half. "Hey, like I said, just rumors. But it got me thinking… about what kind of person it would take to be a part of something like that. The kind of things they might have seen. Might have done. It's a heavy burden to carry, I imagine."

I'm not really expecting any grand revelations or sudden attacks of conscience at this point - I'm just fishing, trying to gauge his reactions. Trying to keep him off balance, steal control of the conversation even though he thinks he still holds it.

But to my surprise, I see something flicker in his eyes at my words. Something that looks almost like…guilt? Regret? It's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that cold, hard mask of self-righteous certainty. But for just a second, I glimpse the man beneath the mask. The man who's seen and done things that no one should have to see or do.

For a second, I almost - almost - feel sorry for him.

"Do you know what the most important quality is for a soldier, Bloodhound?" he asks, his voice suddenly quiet, almost contemplative. "It's not strength, or skill, or even courage. It's conviction. The unshakable belief that what you're doing is right, no matter how hard it gets. No matter what you have to sacrifice."

He looks away for a moment, his jaw working as he stares off into the distance. "I've made sacrifices for this country that you can't even begin to imagine. Things that would give most people nightmares for the rest of their lives. And for the most part I sleep soundly, because I know without a shadow of a doubt that I've been doing the right thing - on foreign soil and in the homeland. I was doing the right thing. I've always done the right thing, whether anyone else had the stomach to do it or not."

"And Egalitarian?" I put the name into the open air like I'm lighting a fuse. "Does she share that same conviction? She doesn't seem quite as sure of herself as she used to. Some might say her devotion has started to wobble a bit."

His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his face before he schools his expression back to neutrality. He glances quickly towards where Egalitarian stands, yards away, then back to me. "I don't know what you think you know about her," he says, his voice low and measured, "but her loyalty is beyond question. Beyond reproach. She is a true patriot, in every sense of the word."

There's a hint of tension in his voice, barely perceptible but there. It's not quite doubt, but definitely curiosity mixed with concern.

"So you're saying it doesn't bother you at all?" I press, keeping my voice low.

He frowns, confusion evident in his expression. "What doesn't bother me?"

I lean in slightly, ensuring my voice doesn't carry. "That she's been using Fly. That she's been juicing herself up with the same filthy poison that half your protesters are out here railing against."

Patriot stiffens, his jaw clenching momentarily before he forces himself to relax. His eyes dart around, taking in the crowd surrounding us. "That's a serious accusation," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "One that I can't just ignore. But this isn't the place to discuss it."

I nod, understanding his need for discretion. "I have proof," I say softly. "Her blood."

He takes a deep breath, clearly processing this information. His gaze flicks back to Egalitarian, then to the protesters around us. "We can't do this here," he says firmly. "Too many ears, too many eyes. We need somewhere private to discuss this further."

"I agree," I reply. "How about Penn Treaty Park? Midnight. There's an old abandoned warehouse by the Delaware that'll give us the privacy we need."

Patriot considers for a moment, his eyes still occasionally glancing towards Egalitarian. "Fine," he says finally. "But just us. No backup, no tricks. I want answers, and I want them straight."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," I assure him, sensing the tension in his voice.

He nods, then pauses, seemingly weighing his next words carefully. "These are serious allegations. You better have some serious proof. You understand that, right?"

I meet his gaze steadily. "I do. That's why I'm bringing this to you directly. It's not about taking anyone down. It's about the truth."

Patriot's expression hardens. "The truth," he repeats, almost to himself. "Sometimes I wonder if we're even capable of recognizing it anymore."

"What do you mean?" I ask, genuinely curious about his perspective.

He sighs, running a hand over his sweaty, bald head. "Look around us. Everyone's got their own version of the truth. Their own agenda. It's getting harder and harder to know who to trust."

"Even within your own ranks?" I probe gently.

His eyes snap back to mine, a flicker of anger crossing his face before he suppresses it. "My team is solid. Whatever you think you know about Egalitarian… well, we'll get to the bottom of it. But don't think for a second that this changes anything about our mission or our methods. Sometimes people waver from the path. But if I need to, I'll fix her."

I hold up my hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not here to judge or condemn. I just want to understand."

Patriot nods slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Understanding. That's a rare commodity these days. Most people are too busy shouting to listen."

"And you?" I ask. "Are you willing to listen? Even if what you hear might be uncomfortable?"

He's quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost introspective. "I've seen things, Bloodhound. Let's just say I'm no stranger to uncomfortable truths."

"Is that why you do this?" I gesture to the protest around us. "To protect people from those truths?"

He shakes his head. "No. I do this to protect them from the chaos that comes when those truths are ignored. When people forget what really matters."

"And what's that?" I challenge, quietly.

"Order," he says firmly. "Stability. The knowledge that when you wake up in the morning, the world will still be there, still make sense. That's what we're fighting for. That's what Egalitarian and I and the rest of us have dedicated our lives to preserving."

I nod, processing his words. "And if that stability comes at a cost? If it requires… compromises?"

His expression hardens again. "Everything has a cost. The question is whether you're willing to pay it. Whether you're strong enough to do what needs to be done, even when it's hard. Even when it hurts."

"Is that what you'll do if what I tell you tonight turns out to be true?" I ask softly. "Whatever needs to be done?"

Patriot's gaze is steely, unwavering. "I'll do what's necessary to protect this city, this country. Whatever that entails. You can count on that."

We stand there for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. Finally, I break the silence. "Midnight, then. Don't be late."

He nods curtly. "I won't be. And Bloodhound? I hope, for everyone's sake, that you're wrong about this. But if you're not…" He trails off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

"I understand," I say, and I do.

As I turn to leave, Patriot calls out one last time. "And Bloodhound? Come alone. No tricks, no ambushes. Just you and me, laying our cards on the table. Understood?"

He seems to think that I haven't made some sort of decision already. And I'm not sure - have I? I expected him to fly into a rage, to throttle me in public, to be unable to work out his anger. To an extent, I'm still expecting that. I'm not under any illusion that there's a high likelihood he's trying to drag me into a trap, to get rid of any evidence that I'm bringing.

I may be naive and idealistic, but I'm not stupid.

I give a curt nod, my lips pressed into a thin line. "Understood."

"Then midnight it is." He mirrors my nod, something flashing the faintest of glimmers of a smile dancing across his weighty, square features. Something angry and fearful. Something that triggers my primal fear state, something that hits me at the base of my brainstem and causes it to vibrate a little bit. "Don't be late. I don't like to be kept waiting."

"I don't plan on it," I reply, making my way back into the crowd, vanishing into the afternoon.