Abner shook his head. “I’m a valuable piece of equipment. If your favorite gun misfired, you wouldn’t throw it away. You’d fix it. And...they did.” He tilted his head, exposing the fresh burns under the collar of his jacket. He’d spent most of the night in the training room—screens of nauseating colors and sounds he couldn’t remember afterwards. Subject 51 had taken the brunt of it, as usual. Abner wasn’t there.

“So if Van Cleef really can make more things like me, he shouldn’t be working for security, he should be in the lab. There’s a lot that goes into the training. It won’t be the same if an outsider does it. Whatever the mayor is doing, sir, he’s going to get more people killed.”

He abruptly stopped talking when he noticed the archivist. Connelly? He didn’t recognize her. There would’ve been no legitimate reason for the mayor to bring him to the basement, so it checked out.

“Oh, thank you. Just put it on that table over there, if you would.” The woman smiled up at Anderson, then glanced over to Abner. No sign of recognition, and her voice wasn’t at all familiar. He caught the lieutenant’s eye and shook his head.

“So what brings you gentlemen down here today?” Connelly continued. “Is it about Agent DePleur? Nasty business. I feel terrible for his wife.”