Bang.
Jack dropped the soldier onto a table across the room from Laurie, then turned and walked out without a word.
Laurie stared after him. She rose slowly, meaning to check on the unconscious woman—but the instant she stood, a sound from above made her flinch back down.
Like a bird that had learned to fear every shadow.
The door opened again. Jack walked in carrying the Lasso of Truth. He glanced at Laurie, searched the soldier methodically from head to toe, then bound her with the lasso and dropped her onto the floor. The military uniform had been carefully prepared—no identification, no documents, nothing to trace.
"Mmnh—" The impact woke her. Her eyes fluttered open, landed on Laurie's disheveled form, and widened. "You're Silk Spectre? Laurie? Don't worry—I'm here to rescue you."
Laurie said nothing.
Rescue me? Looking like that?
"Speaking of which," Jack said, addressing Laurie, "why didn't you try to escape? The door wasn't locked."
Silence.
Even if she made it out of this place, back to America—then what? How could she face her mother? How could she face the Comedian? What he'd done to Sally had made Laurie want to kill him, but he was her biological father. The contradiction paralyzed her. She couldn't choose, so she chose nothing.
She stayed.
Jack had only been asking casually. His attention had already shifted to the soldier.
The woman was trying to transform, to break free—her body shifted fine, cycling through states, but the bonds held. The Lasso of Truth wasn't something you wriggled out of.
Come to think of it, Jack mused, Diana's the God of War now. The Lasso's compulsion probably doesn't affect her much anymore. He shook his head. His earlier concerns seemed overblown—otherwise he wouldn't have gone this long without thinking of her at all.
"What's your name?" he asked, smiling.
"Emily—" Fear twisted her face, resistance pulling against compulsion, but the words came anyway. "Emily Sung."
"Identity."
"Codename Element Woman. Central Intelligence Agency."
"Element Woman." Jack's interest sharpened. "Do they know about your abilities? How did you get them?"
Emily spoke haltingly, each answer dragged out of her.
She'd been an ordinary CIA operative before volunteering for a government program called Project M. The experiments gave her powers. Afterward, she'd continued running high-risk missions for the Agency. Government super-soldier programs were common enough—what caught Jack's attention was that this one traced back to the Justice Society.
The Society had formed during World War II: Hourman, Commander Steel, Obsidian, Stargirl, Doctor Mid-Nite, Vixen. In 1956, most members died on a mission, and the team officially dissolved. The truth was more complicated—Vixen had joined the Legends, the others scattered across time to guard fragments of the Spear of Destiny—but the official story was simply that they were gone.
In their absence, the research had begun. How to manufacture superpowers in ordinary people.
The success rate was abysmal, according to Emily, but it worked often enough.
"You—?"
Emily stared as Jack untied the lasso. She couldn't process what was happening.
"You came to rescue her, right?" He gestured toward Laurie. "Take her and go."
Emily's eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Just like that?
But his expression seemed genuine. She turned. "Let's go."
Laurie didn't move.
Emily assumed she was injured, too weak to stand. She reached out to help.
Laurie pulled away.
"What are you—" Emily stared at her.
"Thank you for risking yourself." Laurie's voice came out quiet but steady. "But I'm not ready to leave."
"Are you insane? You want to stay here and let him—"
"I need to understand some things." Laurie cut her off. "Figure some things out."
"You're really not coming?"
Laurie shook her head.
"Fine." Emily turned back to Jack. "She's staying. I can still leave?"
"Of course." He pointed at the door.
She didn't hesitate.
Emily emerged from the basement, tensed for pursuit that never came, then slipped out of the villa and fled the Soviet Union at top speed. She crossed back into the States and delivered her report in person.
The response wasn't urgent mobilization.
They threw her in a cell.
The charge: suspected fabrication of intelligence, possible defection.
Her superiors didn't believe a kidnapping victim would refuse rescue. They didn't believe someone could copy abilities instantly and become stronger than the original user—if such a person existed, there would have been prior intelligence. And then there was the glowing artifact, the rope that forced truth-telling.
It sounded like fantasy.
Most damning: Emily couldn't explain why Jack Kadere had simply let her go. During the Cold War, operational security demanded either permanent silence or permanent custody. Releasing a captured enemy operative made no sense.
Since her story couldn't be verified, detention was the logical outcome.
Emily felt the bitter injustice of it. Under normal circumstances, someone in Jack's position would have killed her or locked her away. The fact that he'd ignored every convention was exactly why no one believed her.
Jack hadn't been trying to frame her.
He simply didn't care about confidentiality.
What if people found out?
At worst, he'd copy a few more abilities.