text: Request for monitoring detected. Checking authorization now. Recognizing Draconic-Level Imprint. Authorization granted for Wes Malcolm. Access granted to current monitoring log regarding Chris Rhodes.
  
  [ Chris' perspective ]
  
  I told myself I wasn't sweating. I wasn't nervous. I wasn't worried about being watched. Then I tried hard to think about something else.
  
  <The feed had been hacked>, I reminded myself. I could think about that. In fact, that was a positive thing.
  
  Dad found out four days ago. After he found out the team in Avalon had all died and come back with a nervous breakdown. He asked for the logs. We had linked a video system to Wes via the device we had implanted in his brain to cripple him. It let us monitor his emotional state and every now and then we got actual video feed. Somehow, they had formed a monitoring system out of that same feed that we were able to project onto all of his important people here on Earth. I snuck a glance at the records for that system, and since it didn't make a lick of scientific sense it was probably created from that curse-magic Dad's people had always wielded here on Earth. That's my best guess.
  
  At any rate, the feed had been hacked and Dad's people had lost access to it.
  
  Which meant no one was watching me as I drove up to the Malcolms' house. At least no one who was going to shoot me on the spot.
  
  Scratch that. Mrs. Malcolm just might feel like shooting me if she found out my connections to the people who murdered her husband and crippled her son.
  
  Maybe she didn't own a gun.
  
  One more left turn and I was in front of their house. I saw two cars in the driveway, and swore.
  
  Wes' sister wasn't supposed to be in. If all went well, they read the note and were heading to the address I left. If not, I might be able to go get them. I didn't know. It was a bad plan and I couldn't think of a better one.
  
  But the point was that the second car didn't belong to the Malcolms. It belonged to the Browns. Specifically Davelon's father, a senior investigator on the force. One of the only senior officers Dad didn't have completely under his thumb.
  
  I swore one more time, smacked the steering wheel of my own car, then inhaled deeply. It didn't matter. Davelon's mom and dad were people Wes would want me to save anyway. They'd be a resource for Dad to use against him. Holding them hostage would give Dad's people an advantage in the fight against Wes.
  
  And if Dad ever managed to put Wes down for good, he'd have more time to evaluate whether or not he still needed to keep his own son alive, since he was going to be immortal now and could make as many children as he wanted. Children he could better control, instead of his rebellious firstborn that balked at being his personal henchman.
  
  I still, to this day, didn't know what had happened to my biological mother. But seeing Dad smile smugly whenever I asked told me that if he could get rid of her and still sleep well, he could get rid of me just as casually.
  
  If I was ever going to kill my dad, I needed Wes Malcolm alive and on my side. And he already had plenty of reason to hate me so I couldn't let any more of his family die. And unfortunately the Browns were the only people that still stood by the Malcolms, so Wes would count them as family too. So I needed to start seeing this as a two birds, one stone thing.
  
  The only problem was that I still hadn't left the car yet. I swore again and finally opened the vehicle door. <Wonder if Wes over-thinks as much as this,> I wondered idly as I walked up their yard. <Bet it would be really aggravating to hear his thoughts all the time.>
  
  There was a large window to the right of their front door, giving a view of the house's kitchen table. I saw Davelon's mom sitting in her wheelchair next to Stephanie Malcolm with a mug in her hand. That explained it. She had wanted to come by and check on her friend who was now dealing with the loss of her only son, two years after her husband 'committing suicide'—the death and lie courtesy of my father—but since Mrs. Brown had been crippled ever since her own accident—also courtesy of my father—she had needed her husband to drive her over. And since he had a sneaking suspicion that John Malcolm's suicide and Wes' attack on his therapist were both bullshit, he was probably staying inside to try and protect the rest of the Malcolms from whoever was targeting them.
  
  Fuck. I was procrastinating again. I walked up to the door and gave it three hard raps.
  
  "Just a minute," I heard a voice call out. Then I heard the women whisper in confusion.
  
  "I'll get it," a deep voice said from the living room. That would be Davelon's dad.
  
  But that was okay. Because I wasn't really nervous.
  
  The door opened. A large, dark-skinned man wearing a suit with a gun in his belt answered it.
  
  "Chris Rhodes?" Thomas Brown's eyes were already narrowed. "What are you doing here?"
  
  It was that moment when the carefully rehearsed speech in my mind suddenly vanished into white nothingness.
  
  <Come with me if you want to live> popped up instead. And god help me, I almost went with it.
  
  "I found out what happened," I finally said. "I figured I'd come by."
  
  "That's nice," Davelon's dad replied. He was almost as big as his son, and his son was a giant. One of the only football players I met that was taller than me and Wes. "Did your dad send you?" the powerful, suspicious man asked. Because he was smart enough to suspect that my own dad was involved in some way with what was going on.
  
  "Dad doesn't know I'm here and if he ever learns that I came by I'm going to disappear too," I said in my best "fuck it" voice. "I didn't say that I heard about what happened, Mr. Brown. I said I found out. Please don't reach for your gun yet."
  
  That may have been the wrong thing to say, judging by the way the man tensed.
  
  "Men are coming," I pressed on, reminding myself that my time off Earth had made me stronger and faster and that I could probably subdue this man if I had to. Probably. "I don't know when. Maybe not even today. But they know you're tired of being threatened and that they can't really control you, so they're going to tie up the loose end that is your family. And probably Wes' family too. I need to get you all somewhere safe."
  
  To his credit, the detective in front of me didn't even flinch.
  
  "This is a trick," he growled. "You expect me to believe that Warren would let you come over here in broad daylight and spill all his secrets."
  
  "No," I answered. <I'm not nervous>, I repeated to myself. "But Wes is alive, and I need to get you all at least close to him."
  
  From the doorway view to the kitchen, I saw Stephanie Malcolm's head swivel and lock onto my own.
  
  "You're lying," Thomas Brown growled again. "Why would you care about any of us? I know what kind of man you are, son. You can't fool me like everyone else."
  
  "No I can't," I retorted. "This is a stupid, desperate plan and I don't have anything better. But Malcolm will hunt me down if I let anyone else of his get taken. You know the three girls are missing too, right?"
  
  "What?" The detective's nostrils flared at that. He didn't know. That was something kept even more under wraps.
  
  "So's that Gabby girl. Dad's people took them. I can get you to them or close to them. But you're the next loose end, and our safest bet is to leave in broad daylight when they're not able to act as easily."
  
  I heard a car drive down a nearby street. It sounded like it might have been a large van. A moment later, I could tell Davelon's dad heard the vehicle too.
  
  "Shit," I swore. "We need to leave now, or we're all fucked. You can arrest me for providing false information, but you know that even if you contact the department instead, none of them will stand by you. They'll turn you in to Dad, because he has a better handle on them than you. So come on. You either stay here and get captured or escape and help Mrs. Malcolm find her lost son. What'll it be?"
  
  Detective Brown gave me an angry glare, and I felt defeated. He still didn't believe me and I didn't blame him.
  
  But a moment later the phone in his pocket beeped. So did the phone in Mrs. Malcolm's purse.
  
  I saw Mr. Brown's eyes widen as he read the text, and Wes' mom started shouting her son's name after reading her own message.
  
  "Only Wes and John knew that about me," the tall man mumbled in surprise.
  
  "Alive!" Stephanie Malcolm suddenly stammered. "My son is alive."
  
  The detective locked eyes with me again. I had no idea who had just sent that text but I knew it had brought him around.
  
  "Fine. Let me get my wife. I swear if this is a trick I will make you regret it, Rhodes."
  
  "Fair enough," I replied, dashing inside.
  
  They grabbed a handful of items and headed for my car. Fortunately I had just gotten an SUV from one of the football team's boosters, so the vehicle was both roomy enough and probably not bugged. <Fucking probably.>
  
  Everyone had just gotten into the car when the large gray van pulled up. So much for broad daylight being a difference maker.
  
  I started the car, but I wasn't fast enough. A large man in a plumber's uniform that bulged in a suspicious number of places stepped out of the van. I heard Thomas Brown hiss and shuffle. He was probably going for his own gun.
  
  As more large men exited the van, the plumber with all the gun bulges in his uniform looked directly at my window. I saw his eyes widen in recognition, tinted glass be damned, and his lips mouthed my name as his head cocked in confusion. The other hitmen apparently saw their targets through the other windows in my car, and began to reach for their own weapons.
  
  <Unauthorized contact persisting,> a mechanical voice said in my ear. <Terminate now?>
  
  <Affirmative,> Wes Malcolm's voice sounded in my ear, and I nearly leaped out of the car in surprise. <Terminate the offending unit. Ensure the safety of monitored subjects and allow them to evacuate.>
  
  I couldn't help it. I panicked.
  
  "Malcolm?" I shouted. "The fuck?"
  
  A powerful *crack* sounded out, and the lead fake plumber suddenly slumped against the car, eyes still wide, forehead suddenly very red.
  
  <Sup, Chris,> Cock-Blocker said to me directly. <We're probably gonna have to talk later, unfortunately, but right now? GTFO. Please.>
  
  The man that had just been shot in the forehead with a high-powered rifle growled and wiped his sleeve across his face. He pulled himself off of the car, and more loud *cracks* sounded. His chest spasmed multiple times and he slumped back against the van door.
  
  More gunshots began to sound out at and from the van's team, but I was done gawking stupidly. I slammed my SUV into the proper gear and barreled out of the neighborhood as fast as I could, ignoring the screams and angry shouts from the passenger side of the car.
  
  I had no idea how Wes could talk directly to me and I didn't have time to figure it out. I kept my foot on the accelerator and barreled to the rendezvous point I had given all his friends.