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The Tinkerer's expression of shock was so perfectly convincing that Agent James couldn't help but grin, satisfied.
Even his two goons began whistling, clearly enjoying the power trip of watching another man's fear.
James spread his arms like a preacher about to reveal divine truth.
"Haha, you know what my job's been? I know the Bureau's procedures, every trick in the book. Ever since that operation went south, I haven't said a word about you to anyone. No one even suspects I'm still after you.
"That tip about you showing up at Cedars–Sinai? Someone else's intel — not mine. And these two?" He jerked his chin toward his companions. "They only know there's a pile of dirty money to be found. They don't know it's your pile. So even if they talk, they've got nothing useful to say.
"I'm telling you this so you stop dreaming. I've covered every angle. As for the Continental Hotel — sure, they've got influence. But tell me, how much do you really think you're worth to them? You think they'll burn bridges and risk exposure for a nobody like you?
"No, my friend. They'll stay in their shadows, pretend you never existed. You were dumb enough to hold onto money you couldn't protect. That was your mistake."
Henry sighed inwardly.
Great. Everyone else can do dirty work cleanly, and the one time I let it slide, I get saddled with a lunatic like this. Note to self: next time, erase the evidence properly.
Still feigning weakness, the Tinkerer slowly got to his feet and dusted off his knees.
The movement immediately set James's men on edge. One of them stepped forward, jabbing him in the ribs with a pistol.
"Stay down!" he barked — and slammed the gun's butt down onto Henry's shoulder.
This time, the Tinkerer didn't play along. The blow landed — and nothing happened. Not a flinch. Not a bruise. It was like striking a slab of steel.
He turned his head and smiled at the man.
That smile — calm, knowing, amused — froze the thug's breath.
"Quit smiling! On your knees!" the man yelled and smashed down another blow. Same result. Henry didn't budge an inch.
That was when the other two started to sense it — the wrongness. The quiet dread that spread when prey stopped pretending to be prey. They raised their guns.
James shouted, "I'm warning you! Cooperate, or we open fire!"
But before he could finish the threat, the nervous one behind Henry panicked and squeezed the trigger.
A single gunshot split the silence.
Only, it didn't hit.
Henry had already moved. In the blink of an eye, he tilted his head — and the bullet whizzed past, grazing James's cheek.
Before it could hit the tree behind him, a hand reached out and caught it midair.
The Tinkerer straightened, holding the deformed slug between two fingers.
Not a single person moved. Their minds couldn't even process what they were seeing.
Then one of the goons whispered, almost reverently, "You're a muta—"
He never finished.
In a flash of motion, Henry blurred — a streak of air and dust — and all three men were suddenly inside their car again, tossed through the open doors like rag dolls.
Before they could comprehend what had happened, he fired twin beams of heat vision from his eyes, welding the car doors shut in molten lines of steel.
The metal sizzled and sealed with a hiss.
Henry brushed his hands. "Come on, gentlemen. Federal agents, really? This is disappointing. Makes a law-abiding alien like me look bad."
He crouched down, slipped his hands beneath the car's frame, and lifted. The entire vehicle rose off the ground as if it weighed nothing.
Then he floated upward — higher, faster, leaving the forest behind.
They had been kind enough to explain how "no body" meant "no case."
Well. He was just returning the favor.
Acid and cremation took too long. Dumping the car in a forest or the ocean risked discovery. This? This was permanent.
The Tinkerer shot skyward like a missile, breaking the sound barrier in seconds. The G-forces inside the car slammed the three men unconscious, their bodies straining under the crushing acceleration.
He didn't bother cushioning them. By the time he breached the upper atmosphere, their hearts were already bursting from the pressure.
The vacuum of space did the rest.
In an instant, their bodies bloated, blood boiling beneath expanding skin, faces turning crimson as the last traces of oxygen fled their lungs.
It was over before they could even understand what was happening.
Hovering above the Earth, Henry squinted against the sunlight. The warmth of the yellow star washed through him, replenishing every cell. The lingering strain vanished, replaced by a pleasant surge of power.
The car, now weightless, floated beside him.
He spun once, gripped the bumper, and hurled it toward the distant blaze of the sun.
At that velocity, he calculated, it would reach the solar pull in a few months — and when it did, the star would consume it completely.
No body. No trace. No problem.
He hovered there for a while, basking in the sunlight, musing.
Do souls vaporize too? Or do they drift home? Maybe Mephisto's the only one who'd know. Would he even dare fish them out of the sun?
He chuckled quietly.
Down below, at a U.S. West Coast early-warning radar base, an operator frowned at his console.
"Sir, I've got an unidentified object—"
The duty officer leaned in. "Where?"
"Right here, sir. Over California airspace. Wait—no, it's gone."
"Gone?"
"It just… vanished."
The officer scowled at the screen. All commercial flights were accounted for, all trajectories normal. Nothing appeared off.
"Where did it come from?"
"Within U.S. territory. Ground origin."
"Ground?"
"Yes, sir. And… it didn't move horizontally. It was climbing. Fast. Too fast. I think it went beyond our tracking range."
"ICBM? NASA launch? Why didn't the nuke alert trigger?"
"No, sir. No missile site in that region. No launch clearance. And the target was tiny — far smaller than a rocket."
"So what was it?"
"I… don't know, sir."
The officer rubbed his temples. "Fine. File it as an anomaly. Heightened altitude, brief contact, unknown signature. Let Command handle it."
"Yes, sir."
The radar technician exchanged uneasy looks with his partner, then started typing up the incident report.
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