Archenemies (Renegades #2)(21)

A murmur of approval swept through the audience, but her words left Nova cold. This was the first anyone was hearing about Agent N, and yet, seven inmates had already been neutralized? By whose order? Under whose approval? Had there been trials set up? Were the inmates given any choice in the matter?

Or had those seven victims been treated as nothing more than lab rats as the researchers perfected this new weapon? Had there been more inmates who had not been successfully neutralized and, if so, what had become of them?

It had to be a violation of human rights, but … who cared about the rights of villains?

Beside her, Adrian muttered something about Cragmoor beneath his breath. Nova cast him a curious look.

Leaning toward her, he whispered, “I saw a transport truck outside earlier. I think they brought one of the prisoners here.”

Nova had only vague memories of Anarchists who had been captured and put in Cragmoor before the Battle for Gatlon, and she assumed they were still there. The other Anarchists never talked about their lost allies and she had paid them little thought over the years.

“I will now be giving a demonstration of Agent N. I think you’ll be pleased to see how simple and efficient it is. Please bring the subject to the stage.” Dr. Hogan gestured at the door the Captain had gone through. Blacklight stepped forward and pulled it open. Those in the front row craned their heads to see who would come through.

“Our subject has been convicted and found guilty of numerous attacks on our citizens. He has used his abilities to brainwash innocent children, which has resulted in injuries sustained by countless individuals over the years.”

Nova inhaled a sharp breath.

She’d been wrong before. She did know someone who was being held at Cragmoor Penitentiary, after all.

“He is a criminal who once served beside Ace Anarchy himself,” said Dr. Hogan, as Captain Chromium returned, hauling a prisoner at his side. “I introduce Winston Pratt … the Puppeteer.”





CHAPTER EIGHT

NOVA SLID LOWER into her seat as Winston was led onto the stage. He wore a black-and-white-striped prison jumper instead of his usual purple velvet suit, and there were chromium chains binding his ankles and wrists, but he was not fighting against his captor. His orange hair was matted and unbrushed, but his makeup remained—thick black liner around his eyes, rosy circles on the apples of his cheeks, and sharp lines drawn from the corners of his mouth down the sides of his jaw, reminiscent of a wooden marionette. It confirmed that, despite what Nova had assumed for all the years she’d known him, Winston did not wear makeup at all, but rather, his power had transformed his face into that of a puppet.

Or, a puppet master.

Nova tried to position herself so she would be hidden behind the Renegade in the next row while still being able to peer over his shoulder. The last thing she needed was for Winston to spot her in the crowd. She thought she could trust him, but she couldn’t be sure, and she hadn’t seen him since his interrogation months ago. He had not given her away then and had kept her secret since. Still, he might decide this was the perfect opportunity to give up her identity, perhaps in exchange for a pardon.

It would be no worse than what she had done to him. At the parade, Nova had tossed him out of his own hot-air balloon, landing him in the hands of their enemies. She wouldn’t blame him if he decided to incriminate her now in order to save his own skin.

Her knee started to bounce with mounting energy. Adrenaline surged through her system, preparing her to run at the first sign of Winston’s betrayal.

But Winston did not look vengeful. He seemed delighted to be the center of attention in a room full of Renegades, with everyone gawking at him like curious attendees at a superhero convention.

“What’s wrong?” Danna whispered.

Nova started. “What?”

Danna slid down in her chair until she and Nova were shoulder to shoulder. Danna was so much taller than her that the effect was comical. “Are we hiding from something?”

Lips pursing, Nova scooted up again. “No,” she said—too defensively, she knew. “My uncle is always saying I need to work on my posture.”

On the stage, Simon Westwood had removed the briefcase of Agent N and brought the stool front and center. Hugh Everhart clapped a hand on Winston’s shoulder and nudged him down onto the seat. Winston ignored them both, along with Dr. Hogan, who had recoiled when he passed by her. He was busy taking in the room with twinkling, merry eyes.

“Oh, my Captain,” he said, in his squeaky, gleeful voice, “is this a party? For me?” He jingled his chains. “Is it my birthday?”

Casting the prisoner a withering look, the Captain didn’t respond.

Nova swallowed.

To the side of the stage, Thunderbird whispered something into Blacklight’s ear, and the hint of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Something about that look made Nova’s blood run cold.

Did they even see Winston as a human being? Or had he become nothing more than a science experiment to them? Just like Max, and how many others?

Despite his easy prattle, Nova knew Winston well enough to tell that he was frightened. He was hiding it as well as he could, but buried deep behind his eyes was a bewildered, silent plea. For mercy. For rescue. For a way out of here.

He must have known it was useless. Surrounded by Renegades, trapped in their headquarters, without a single ally …