Sixty Seconds to Midnight

Before you can recover from the suddenness of your injuries, another group of guards rushes in, securing your hands and bundling you into a group. You're marched around to the other side of the middle and pushed through wide double doors. The guards remain on the outside, clearly not concerned with any escape you might attempt to make.

Before you, spread across the curve of a vaulted dome soaring 30 feet over your head, the fruits of Zane’s labor play out in a macabre abstract. Thick red lines slowly traverse a map of the world, projecting the paths and impact points of the twelve ICBMs. A thirteenth line, in yellow, sprouts from Akron, Ohio, the path of the final missile denied to Zane.

One by one, cities disappear in flowers of red, an incongruously beautiful representation of the horror to come. Moscow falls first, followed by eleven more cities spread throughout the former Soviet Union and Warsaw Pact nations. Beneath the map, a squat electronic device with a red digital display slowly counts down the final minutes before the launch.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" a deep, gentle voice intones from the other side of the room. You turn to see Zane himself, seated behind a great mahogany desk, admiring the end of the world. He's separated from you by a transparent, cylindrical, bulletproof barrier that surrounds him. A computer terminal sits at his right hand, and a beatific smile covers his face. "For decades, the Soviet Union has been a thorn in the side of the world's community, forcing things to be done their way or not at all. They've blocked progress at the United Nations, installed dictatorships sympathetic to themselves in every corner of the world... They even tried to threaten us from almost our very own shores. But now, they will be done. They'll never be able to find the location of this base to retaliate against me, and they won't dare fire on the US because the launches aren't coming from there. They'd risk retaliation and with it, destruction all over again."

He frowns briefly, but it's just a flicker as he says, "I told the agency about my plan, but they wouldn't listen, so... you know what they say. If you want something done right... It's typical that they'd try to stop what they didn't have the balls to do themselves. It's nothing personal, you understand. I don't bear you any ill will, but you're their tools, and I'm afraid they've left you out in the rain too long. You've gotten rusty. No matter. At midnight, we launch, and the greatest threat to world peace will finally be destroyed."

Despite your injuries, you've been trained for this. You'll need a little to get your breath back, but you're not out of the game yet. Fortunately, as you've seen in the past, guys like Zane love to monologue and that can give you an advantage. Vincent clamps onto the opportunity, deliberately not taking him seriously. The exchange might rattle him and give you a chance to do omething.

Zane snorts at Vincent. He's seen the attempt to get him to slip up for what it is, and he's having no part of it. The flight predictor restarts on the far wall. Zane smiles thinly, and sits back in his chair and straightens up a bit. He toys with the small keypad he has on his desk. It's not connected to his computer, but it apparently controls something important for it to occupy his thoughts even as he speaks. "Just because you're rusty doesn't mean I need to be stupid. My plan is not going to fail because I opened myself up to attack. Russia is going to die, and the US will be the only superpower left, just waiting to pick up the pieces. Any other questions before I have Rook deal with you?"

Vincent, you're free and no one's noticed yet. This is going to give you an advantage on what happens next - should you choose to use it.

With a shrug, Zane turns in his chair to press a button. It's an intercom, and his tone is very passé as he calls his lieutenant. "Rook, we've located our guests. Can you escort them outside and then dispose of them, please?"

He turns back to you. "One moment and I'll have someone to take care of you," he says, sounding for the world like a bored shop assistant.