Interlude: Man in the Long Black Coat (Reprise)

The people of the Unincorporated Territories have traded the clean order of the Coalition for starvation and squalor. Independence and freedom are separate, unequal concepts.

63 flashes the screen of his scanner at the three even lines of passengers. He studies each ugly, vacuous face.

"Where is he.” He speaks carefully. The skin on his cheek and jaw is tight.

No one answers. If he picks this place up and shakes it, how many flags will fall out, stars and stripes carefully maintained? Not enough to raise the Union Cities from their ashes.

He lifts a hand and his men take aim. People scream, weep. Parents shield children.

63 feels his mouth twitch. "Where is he?”

“He left a girl back on the dock." The ferry captain has skin like dark leather, battered by years. His voice is heavy with defeat; his livelihood sits at the bottom of the river.

74 is nothing if not predictable.

This is a new sensation, something like a sneeze. Perhaps amusement; he has observed the Regulars laughing.

"Up," he commands. “Walk."

The captain's knees pop as he stands. The workings of his brain are almost audible through his thick skull. Finally, he turns and hobbles toward the town.

63 drops him at ten paces with a perfect shot to the back of the head. He shoots five more at random as they flee, screaming. He’s slower now. He needs the practice.

Maybe they’ll flush the quarry from hiding for him. Maybe he’ll burn the city. It hardly matters; he’ll win in the end. He always does.

Methodically, he reloads his pistol.