Mark drove himself, Paul, and the Critic to the designated meeting spot a few miles from the outskirts of New Glasford, where the city limits met the wilderness. It was twilight by the time they arrived, the sunset bathing them in pale reds and oranges. Mark parked the car in the dirt, and the three of them stepped out, waiting for Vii to greet them. The Critic let out an impatient sigh and looked to Mark and Paul, shrugging her shoulders.

"They should have been here already," She said, folding her arms and tapping one finger on her bicep. 

Just as the Critic finished speaking, another car pulled up, a black Lincoln Corsair. It parked next to Mark's car, and two people stepped out from either side of the backrow. One was an average height person with colorful hair in a gradient from yellow to orange to red to purple to blue at the roots. They stood a little taller than Paul but shorter than Mark, and their eyes were two different colors; one was piercing blue and the other was a brilliant purple. They had a few tattoos of musical notes along their left arm, going from their wrist up to and under their jacket sleeve. The person gave a curt nod to the Critic, before raising an eyebrow at Mark and Paul's presence.

The other person was a woman, much shorter than the first. She had long, dark blonde hair and wore glasses that reflected light so Paul couldn't see her eyes. The black and white checkered scarf she wore partially obscured her face, but Paul could tell by looking at her cheeks that she was smiling. She wore a puffy black jacket and white jeans. She waved at the Critic and put her gloved hands in her pockets afterward, then she looked to the other person.

"Violet Cooper," The Critic said, addressing the person with the gradient hair. She was half introducing them to Mark and Paul, half addressing Violet themselves. Then, to the woman, the Critic said, "Aleara Winters."

Violet stepped forward first, extending her hand to the Critic. The Critic averted her gaze and took Violet's hand in her own, shaking it, "Are we ready to go over the plan?" The Critic asked.

Violet frowned, "Relax, I'm not going to use my Exploit on you."

"As much as I'd like to believe that, I know a liar when I see one," The Critic said.

"Got me there," Violet chuckled, putting her hands on her hips, "I see you brought extras?"

The Critic looked back at Mark and Paul, smiling. Then she turned her attention to Violet, "I see you did too."

Violet shrugged, "Nothing like a little insurance when dealing with criminals."

"Ain't that the truth, Violet Cooper." The Critic said, winking, "So, the job?"

Violet looked at Aleara and nodded. Aleara returned the gesture and went into the back seat of their car to retrieve something. What she brought out was a black briefcase with two locks on the top of it, sealing it closed. Aleara fiddled with the locks for a moment or two, inputting the correct combinations no doubt. When she was finished, the latches clicked and she held the briefcase from the bottom, showing Mark, Paul, and the Critic the contents. 

The Critic gasped as she was bathed in a faint glow of absolutely nothing. Just judging on her reaction, Paul thought she might have been presented with gold bars or some anomalous or Exploited object. But there was just nothing, no fanfare, no fireworks or anything of the sort. 

"This is everything?" The Critic said.

Violet nodded.

"Consider it done. Now," The Critic started to rub her hands together greedily, "As for our payment...?"

Aleara closed the briefcase, "We've agreed to give you an advance of ten percent, you'll get the rest when you finish."

"Okay," Mark chimed in, "So that's that them, just give us the rules."

Aleara glared at Mark, scrunching her eyes into narrow slits, "No killing. None."

Mark frowned, "Not even a little?"

"If you want your money, you'll do this clean. Or I'll come for you." Aleara said, her voice level and steady.

"Oh I'm so scared," Mark said, making an exaggerated motion with his hands.

Then, Violet stepped forward and stared Mark down, "Why don't you look me in the eye and say that again."

It wasn't an invitation, it was a direct challenge. Paul knew of the Ten, even though he didn't have quite an extensive grip on all of their Exploits. All he knew was that if you looked Violet in the eyes for even a second, something horrible happened to you. Hallucinations so vivid you'd swear you were in another reality, thousands of years of pain inflicted on you in seconds, agony so intense you'd beg for death even if Violet wasn't physically hurting you. He'd heard of the people that made that mistake before, they were never really right in the head afterward. Some were admitted to mental institutions that specialized in victims of Exploiters, where others succumbed to their own demons after a while. It wasn't a fate he nor Mark were interested in enduring. 

Mark stopped waving his hands around and shoved them into his pockets. His shoulders slumped a little, and Paul could almost see the energy around him fade into nothing. 

"Geeze, Vii, learn to take a joke, will ya?" Mark said. 

"This is business. Since when does anyone joke about business?" Violet asked, eyebrow raised.

Mark shrugged, "My bad."

"You sure you can trust these guys?" Aleara asked the Critic.

The Critic nodded firmly, "They're good at what they do."

"And what is that, exactly?" Aleara asked.

"Whatever you pay them to do." The Critic said with a wry smile.

Aleara closed the briefcase and handed it to the Critic. She took it in both hands, cradling it gently like a baby. Paul found the whole thing strange, seeing her act like that. He could only assume that the briefcase held the money, because there wasn't really anything else he could think of that the Critic would care so much about. She stood there silently for a moment, just hugging the briefcase, sniffing it, cradling it. Then, after a long and awkward silence, she turned and handed the briefcase to Mark. 

"Hold onto this for me, 'kay?" She said.

Mark begrudgingly took the briefcase from the Critic and held it by the handles almost like a normal person. He looked at Paul shrugged.

"What you want to get is the source code for Zhuriel's syntax bomb," Violet explained, "According to our inside information, it's likely being guarded by Driver or even the Jaw, so you'll have to deal with them first before you can snag it."

"I'm sorry, what exactly is this syntax bomb? I thought you said there'd be no killing involved. A bomb seems... counter intuitive." Paul asked.

"There won't be, but something that powerful belongs in the right hands. And Zhuriel is really particular about who has access to his tech. If it helps, it's less stealing and more of a reacquisition." Aleara offered, "The GSA stole it from us, after all."

"That doesn't really answer my question, Aleara." Paul stated, the syntax bomb still on his mind.

"You'll know what it is when you get there. All you have to really worry about is getting passed Driver and the Jaw." Aleara continued, putting her hands on her hips, "If you're getting cold feet, we can always find someone else."

The Critic interjected, "No, it's not that. Paul Montijo is just a curious Calliope. How confident is your insider info?"

"I wouldn't be asking for your help if I had any doubts," Violet said plainly.

"Alrighty then!" The Critic exclaimed, clasping her hands together and doing a small bow, "I think we have everything we need now. Consider it done, 'kay?"

Aleara rolled her eyes, "Honestly if you screw up and get yourselves killed it's no skin off my nose."

The Critic flashed a smile, "Of course."

Mark led the way back to the car, followed by the Critic, who hopped in front of Paul and sat in the passenger's seat. Mark turned the ignition and drove off, heading back to New Glasford proper. While they were driving, the Critic kept staring at the briefcase with the same eyes she usually regarded Mark with; those wanting, lustful eyes. Paul could only imagine what she was thinking, could only dream of what she was going to do with the money.

The ride back into the city was quick and relatively painless. The Critic didn't even flirt with Mark a single time, instead choosing to focus on her briefcase filled with money. They arrived a few blocks away from the Global Security Alliance headquarters, the primary building the GSA operated out of in this part of the country. The building was a skyscraper, sixty or seventy floors tall, gilded in white and gold that sparkled in the sunlight and reflected moonlight at night. It was always on, always alive, and always watching. 

The structure was built in the sixties, after the progenitor Exploiters manifested their powers. The GSA didn't predate the progenitors by long, in fact the time between the first Exploiters and the establishment of the organization was so short that there were conspiracies that the GSA knew that Exploiters were going to become a thing before they actually started popping up all over the world. Those were just theories, of course, nothing concrete about it. The GSA had their own secrets to keep, after all. 

From what Paul knew about the GSA and this building, which wasn't much, was that it was largely just offices. There were some entire floors dedicated to tracking a single Exploiter who was exceptionally dangerous, areas that kept tabs on all thirteen Wonders, surveillance rooms that monitored the city for criminal activity, Exploiter or otherwise. They had patrols that did what they could to keep the city in order, but they were largely made up of mundane people without powers, which left Exploiter affairs to those that were more capable of dealing with them like the Legion or the Meteorologists. Of course the heroes went on patrol as well, but Paul knew how to avoid them. They were significantly easier to spot from a mile away.

When Mark, Paul, and the Critic stepped out of the car, the Critic ordered Mark to open the trunk. He did so, and she stored the briefcase inside and slammed the trunk afterward, content smile on her face.

"Okay bestie," She said to Mark, "Do your thing."

Mark nodded, waving his hand over himself first. In an instant, his clothes changed and now he was sporting a grey hoodie and black sweatpants instead of his black trench coat and jeans. Mark made circular motions with his hands in front of his face, and Paul watched as the features morphed and changed until they didn't resemble Mark's face at all. His beard was smooshed and reformed into a thick mustache, and his eyebrows were noticeably thicker than before. Mark's usual smug grin was replaced with the scowl of a man in his mid-forties. Even his brown eyes were changed, now a bright green. 

"I'm going to miss that handsome face. Let's make this quick, 'kay?"

"As long as I never have to see you again." Mark said, his voice gruff and gravely.

He walked toward the Critic and opened his palm to her, but before he could start the process she grabbed his wrists and pulled him in close.

"You know," She winked, "You don't have to be gentle with me."

Mark shuddered and took an involuntary step back as he waved his hand, using his Exploit to transform the Critic's appearance. She was now a slightly shorter woman with short brown hair, freckles, and tan skin. She still wore that same twisted smile though, only now her teeth were a bit crooked. She wore a purple and black skirt, as well as a plain black t-shirt with some band logo on it that Paul didn't recognize.

"How do I look, Mark Lambert?" She asked, spinning on her heels slowly.

"What about me?" Paul asked.

Mark stared at him blankly for a few seconds before replying, "You don't need a glamor, Pauly. The owner of your body was Vaporized, remember?"

"Oh, so you're certain they won't recognize me?"

"Pauly, I don't even recognize you. You were some kinda Shine fiend or something, or at least, the person who last had your body was. Nobody was missing you anyway."

Paul regarded himself and nodded, "Alright, Marky, I'm trusting you on this."

"When have I ever let you down?" He said.

"Plenty of times, in fact, you letting me down is the whole reason we have to do this job in the first place." Paul said with a stern look on his face.

Mark shrugged, "It was rhetorical."

"I'm gonna kill you one of these days." Paul said, jabbing Mark in the shoulder.

"Noted," He said, then to the Critic Mark inclined his head toward the GSA building and said, "Shall we?"

"I never thought you'd ask." The Critic said. Then she started walking, with Mark and Paul in tow.

When they got to the GSA building proper, Paul took in the sights. It was the first time he'd ever actually been to the headquarters in person. He'd seen pictures of it dozens of times, seen it on the news, heard about what the GSA was up to over the Internet. But being there in person, based in the shadows of the towering affront to the heavens that was the building was a different experience entirely. Looking up, Paul could feel a tiny bit of vertigo manifesting in his head, making him dizzy and unwell. The building was entirely too tall.

There were people buzzing in and out of the building like drones, each holding suitcases or some other kind of personal affect. There were a few civilians among them, dressed in casual clothes just like Mark, Paul, and the Critic. People filing complaints most likely, against Exploiters and the mundane alike. Either that or the GSA was allowing visiting hours, Paul thought.

The trio blended into the crowd of people, melting into the river of faces. The Critic was still leading the way with confidence, she must have been here before. When they got inside, there was a small line leading up to a the front desk, as well as a metal detector and a synaptic dampener, for those who had exceptionally powerful or dangerous Exploits no doubts. Paul's heart skipped a beat when he saw it. Would they be able to detect the glamor?

The wait in line took less time than expected, given that there were about ten or fifteen people in front of them. When they arrived, they were greeted by the receptionist.

It was the Critic who did the talking.

"Hai," The Critic said, putting as much forced cuteness into her voice as she could. It was about as effective as an elephant trying to crochet.

"Name and reason for visit?" The receptionist said.

"Emily Deloris, accompanied by Gordon Osbourne and Modesty Raegan, they're my," She paused, searching for the right word, "They're my entourage."

The receptionist typed something into his computer. The Critic looked back at Mark and Paul, giving them a silent cheer with a subtle thumbs up. Mark just shook his head in response and Paul stuffed his hands into the lining of his skirt. When the receptionist was finished, he looked up from his computer and took out a small webcam.

"Stand still for your photo." He said.

"Oh, we're doing photos now? I'm honored. You know, it's not often I meet fans in the wild like this, I formally apologize for my—"

"Look lady, I don't know who you are and I don't care to know either. Just let me do my job."

"Oh," The Critic said, "Well fuck me I guess."

The Critic stood still as the receptionist took her photo, and then it was Mark and Paul's turn. When they were all done, the receptionist asked again, "Purpose for visitation today?"

"We wanted to lodge a complaint with the Global Security Alliance about a specific Exploited object," The Critic explained.

"I see, do you know the whereabouts of this 'object'?"

"No, sir, I do not. It's mobile, and maybe possibly in the hands of the Organization."

"Maybe possibly? What does that even mean, lady?"

The Critic clicked her tongue, "It means we need to see who's on security detail because this object is highly dangerous and it needs to be reclaimed immediately."

The receptionist shook his head, typed something into the monitor, then responded, "The Jaw and Knives from Legion are here. The rest of the team is out on patrol. Can you provide any sort of—"

The Critic scoffed, "So you're telling me there's something capable of leveling the city in the hands of the people who hunt Exploiters and you only have two people on your security detail?"

"Well, ma'am, no there's also the Meteorologists, Steel Reserve, the Junior League..."

"Well, at least the GSA has some sense to not leave this place unguarded. Could you direct me to the nearest ladies room?"

The receptionist pointed to his right, the Critic's left, and said, "Down that way, just passed the elevator."

"Excellent, thank you so much for your time." She said.

The Critic looked back at Mark and Paul and gestured for them to follow her. Together the trio made their way through the first floor of the GSA building toward the elevator. The bathrooms were right near the elevators, just as the receptionist said. The Critic entered the woman's room and motioned for Paul to follow. Mark, however, leaned against a wall nearby and took out his phone.

Inside the bathroom, the Critic and Paul took up residence in two separate stalls. They were alone, the silence of the bathroom almost overwhelming.

"What are we doing here," Paul asked, taking a seat on the toilet.

"I needed some alone time from Mark Lambert," The Critic said.

Paul could hear her fidgeting around with her clothes before she sat down. He didn't want to risk touching the toilet with his bare body, so Paul put down some toilet paper first before taking a seat as well.

"I'm going to tell you a secret, Paul Montijo, a secret not many people get to hear. It's something Mark Lambert knows too, and I know you're going to want to tell him after we're done. For the sake of the job, I feel you need to know this."

Paul's eyes widened and he furrowed his brow, "What is it?"

"I have two Exploits," She whispered through the stall, "I always know when people are dishonest with me, and I can see the future. One Exploit confirms the other, so I know when I'm lying to myself too."

"So you're what, some kind of pseudo-Wonder? A Thinker and a Seer?"

The Critic laughed once, "I wish. No, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm not nearly that powerful. The handiest thing I can do is see through illusions. You, me, and Mark Lambert all look exactly like we're supposed to. That's how I knew who you were when you came to me earlier."

"I thought this disguise was pretty good, ya know?" Paul said, "From a non-Exploiter perspective."

"It's about as effective as Groucho glasses are, as far as I'm concerned."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I need you to believe me when I say this next part." She paused, sighing, "Violet Cooper lied to us."