The shot cracked across the office like thunder.
Barnes's shoulder snapped back. His gun spun from his hand and skidded under the desk. He fell against the filing cabinet with a grunt, blood blooming through his shirt.
Chen's stance never wavered. Arms locked. Sights steady.
"Gun down! Hands where I can see them!" she barked, even though Barnes was already bleeding.
Argus didn't wait.
He kicked the chair back, dove for the pistol under the desk, and kicked it to the corner with his boot. Then he turned to Chen. "We've got seconds. Call it in."
She backed out into the hallway, shouting into her radio. "Shots fired, second floor! Officer down, officer down! We need medical now!"
Boots pounded the stairs. Shouts came from all sides.
Argus reached down and yanked Barnes upright by his collar, slamming him into the wall.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he growled.
Barnes coughed blood. Smirked. "Cleaning up my mess."
"Yeah?" Argus yanked open the top drawer, grabbed the hard drive he'd seen earlier. "Looks like you didn't clean enough."
Barnes laughed. Low. Wet. "You think that's the only copy?"
"No," Argus said, sliding the drive into his coat. "But it's the one I've got."
Officers burst through the doorway, guns drawn.
"Hands!" one shouted. "Everyone on the ground!"
Chen stepped in fast, waving them off. "Stand down! He's the one who disarmed Barnes."
"He just kicked the"
"I saw it," she snapped. "He saved my life."
Argus slowly raised his hands and stepped back. The air in the room buzzed with tension, thick as the sweat on Barnes's face.
"You good?" Chen asked, eyes still on him.
Argus gave a tight nod. "I need five minutes with the scene. Alone."
"No chance," the first officer said, stepping forward.
Chen blocked him. "Captain just tried to shoot a detective. You want that filed under internal or homicide?"
The officer hesitated.
"You've got medics coming," she added. "Let us contain the evidence until they get here."
That bought them a minute.
Argus turned back to the desk. Yanked the next drawer open. A manila folder stuck between stacks of old case files. On the tab: PROJECT PANDORA. Printed in block letters. Red ink. No department stamp.
He opened it.
Inside schematics. Surveillance schematics. Neuro-response reports. Terms like predictive behavior modeling, civilian thought index, compliance thresholds.
Every page had a watermark: Procyon Technologies – Restricted Access.
Argus flipped to the last page. A list of names. Most were redacted. Two weren't.
Lawson, Ethan.
Cutter, Argus.
His fingers curled around the edge of the folder.
Lawson had been marked.
So had he.
The pieces started clicking together in his head burning fast and too many at once.
Barnes wasn't trying to shut him up out of loyalty. He was the middleman. One of many. The project ran bigger. Deeper. And the names on that page? They weren't just people of interest. They were subjects.
Subjects of what?
Footsteps again. This time heavier. Slower.
Argus looked up.
A man in a black IA blazer walked in like he owned the building. Clean-shaven. Square jaw. Eyes like marble.
He flipped his badge.
"Detective Rourke, Internal Affairs."
Chen stiffened.
Rourke looked around. Saw Barnes on the ground, bleeding. Saw Argus holding the folder.
His voice was quiet. Too quiet.
"We'll take it from here."
Argus held up the folder. "This stays with me."
Rourke didn't blink. "That's evidence."
"So's my face. You want a copy, call my lawyer."
Chen stepped between them. "He's not wrong. That was a targeted attempt on a detective. We're talking attempted murder."
Rourke just smiled. Cold. Slow.
"We'll talk. Separately."
He pointed at Argus. "Interview Room B. Now."
Two uniforms flanked Argus, nudging him toward the hallway.
He went.
But as he passed Rourke, the man leaned in just enough to whisper
"You should've stayed dead, Cutter."
Argus didn't flinch.
Didn't speak.
Just walked down the hall with the folder tucked under one arm, the name "Cutter" burning in his ears.
Argus walked into the interview room without being told.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Four white walls. No clock. One chair. One table. A mounted camera in the top corner, red light on. Mirror across the far wall, clean enough to catch his reflection and the twitch in his jaw.
He dropped the manila folder on the table and sat.
Didn't lean back.
Didn't breathe too deep.
He wasn't here to rest.
Footsteps outside. A pause. Then the door opened.
Rourke stepped in. No coat. No file. Just that polished, straight-backed calm of someone who already decided how this would end.
He closed the door and walked to the far corner, turned off the wall camera with one click. The red light died.
Argus didn't move.
Rourke sat across from him, folded his hands.
"I'll make this short," he said. "We both know what happened up there."
"Do we?"
Rourke smiled. Not warm. Not even polite.
"You pushed Barnes. He hit the desk. His gun went off. You got lucky."
Argus kept his face still. "That your report?"
"No," Rourke said. "That's the one I'll write if you play along."
Argus raised one eyebrow. Just slightly.
"What do you want?"
"Simple." Rourke leaned in a little. "You take a leave. Medical. Say the shooting rattled something loose. Go off-grid. I'll handle the paperwork."
"And Barnes?"
Rourke didn't blink. "He retires. Quietly. With a full pension. No scandal, no fallout."
Argus tapped the folder once. "This?"
Rourke's eyes flicked down. Just for a second. "That's not yours."
"Neither is my name. But here we are."
Silence tightened the room.
Then Rourke exhaled. Almost a laugh.
"You really are him."
Argus didn't answer.
"I had my doubts," Rourke went on. "But Cutter never stayed buried. Not when there was blood left to spill."
Argus leaned forward now, voice low.
"If you knew who I was, and you let me walk into this building... you're either cocky, or stupid."
"Neither," Rourke said. "I'm careful. And I'm offering you a door."
"To what?"
"Survival."
The word hung there, like smoke after a shot.
Argus looked down at the folder.
Then up at the mirror. Someone was watching. He could feel it.
Not IA.
Someone else.
He reached into his coat, pulled out the flash drive from Barnes's desk, and slid it across the table.
Rourke didn't touch it.
"Here's my offer," Argus said. "You walk out of this room, forget you saw me. I keep digging. Quietly. No headlines. No internal bloodbath. I won't burn the department, but I will burn whoever built that."
He nodded toward the folder.
Rourke stared at the drive. Still didn't touch it.
His fingers drummed once on the table, then stopped.
"You've got nerve."
"Got more than that," Argus said. "Got names. Got leverage."
Rourke stood.
"You think this is leverage?" He tapped the folder. "This is a drop in the ocean. Pandora's bigger than you. Bigger than Barnes. Hell, bigger than the syndicate you ran with."
"Good," Argus said. "Then there's more to burn."
The door opened behind Rourke.
Chen stepped in.
Her expression was tight. Her eyes locked on Argus. Something in her hand.
A black keycard.
She tossed it onto the table. "He dropped it before the medics came. Found it under the chair."
Rourke's jaw clenched just slightly.
Argus picked it up.
LEVEL 3 ACCESS – MANTIS DIVISION
A faint winged insignia pressed into the corner.
Not NYPD. Not federal.
Private.
Procyon Tech.
Argus flipped it between his fingers.
"This yours?" he asked Rourke.
Rourke's voice dropped. "You don't want to touch that door."
"I already opened it."
Chen stepped closer. "Where does it go?"
Rourke didn't answer.
Argus stood and pocketed the card. His coat fell heavy against his side flash drive still there. Evidence sealed, for now.
He brushed past Rourke.
Chen followed him out into the hallway. Empty.
"You're going?" she asked.
He nodded. "Alone."
"You shouldn't."
"I have to."
She grabbed his sleeve. "Then answer me straight." Her voice lowered. "Did Cutter deserve what he got?"
Argus looked at her. Rain bled against the window at the end of the hall. Sirens buzzed somewhere downtown.
"Not like that," he said.
He left.
Out into the parking lot.
Across the asphalt, a black sedan was already waiting at the curb. Engine running. Windows tinted.
The back door popped open.
Empty.
Waiting.