Lylee studied the short message that had just come through. Every Follower group was led by two overseers and only they knew how to contact the Core. It was the first time that someone had escaped a raid and though the chance was there to finally obtain valuable information about the Hunters' mode of operation, Lylee recognized the potential risk that the situation might not be as first perceived.

Working quickly, she typed a message instructing their investigations coordinator to send a retrieval team for the overseer. To this she attached the note and overseer profiles for group 688, running the whole document through an encryption routine before sending it via the Core's secure communications network.

Lylee leaned back into her chair and sighed. A month had passed since she had learned of the fate of her friends and group 502, and several reports had been streaming in of the loss of communication with several other Follower groups. ‘All of them probably attacked,’ she thought sadly. It had now become the most apparent reason for the loss of contact.

‘The raids are increasing and we still have no idea where they get their information. Lord, how are we supposed to fight against this?’ She closed her eyes briefly, praying that they would find some answers soon, before turning her attention back to her work.

-----

While Daniel Cadell always approached Extended Training as the opportunity to broaden his intellectual horizon, he always found it amusing to be on the other side of the school bench. The month’s preparation and training had given him enough time to think about his assignment and compare it to what he has faced before.

It was going to be different in almost every single aspect he could think of. His whole approach needed to change. As an infiltrator, he had always looked for the quickest way to go for the kill. The faster he could get out the better. Now he would stay undercover indefinitely. He’d have to slow his pace, work harder on building trust and try to soak in as much information as he can without seeming completely ignorant of what was going on around him.

The plan was nothing short of brilliant though. Cadell had to give credit to whoever cooked it up. Granted, it forced Cadell to stay undercover longer but that also brought greater rewards - which was something he definitely felt willing to take more risks for.

As training and final preparation drew to a close, Cadell found himself in Director Brosnan’s office listening to his superior’s explanation of what happens next.

“So a group leader is in custody right now?” he asked as Brosnan concluded.

“As far as the Follower knows, this is standard procedure and he just hasn’t seen anyone else yet,” Brosnan said as he tapped a few keys on his computer and turned the computer screen towards Cadell. “This is feed of him being questioned right now.”

The screen showed monochrome images of a man chained against a wall. The man wore no shirt and very visible bruises covered what was seen of his body. An agent paced menacingly around the room, asking questions and punching the Follower every time the agent wasn’t satisfied with the latter’s response. The agent seemed to find none of the responses satisfying and clearly took delight in making his victim bleed. ‘Probably a Striker,’ Cadell thought and grimaced as the agent landed another particularly painful blow.

Christopher Brosnan cut the video feed and turned the screen back to its original position. “Everything is set. The compound we’re keeping him in is about an hour’s drive out of town. Tomorrow we’ll put you in with the Follower and within a week set the rest of the plan in motion,” Brosnan paused for a moment to study the agent sitting before him. “At this stage, everything is running smoothly except for one problem.”

“And what’s that?” Cadell asked; grimacing inwardly at the way Brosnan was looking at him. ‘This cannot be good.’

“The problem is that you,” Brosnan paused again briefly before continuing. “You still look a little out of character…”

-----

He groaned landed hard on the cold cement floor as he was thrown into the room. ‘I should’ve seen this one coming,’ he thought as he spat blood and tried to get on his feet. He was sure there were a few teeth loose after that session. His ‘questioner’ had seemed to like punching him in the face more than anywhere else.

For a moment he wondered whether the attempt at getting up was more trouble than it was worth as his body trembled wearily. Then hands gripped his shoulders and with the extra support he found himself standing – albeit dangerously close to falling over again – in front of an equally bruised face.

“Let’s sit you down,” the stranger said and gently helped to lower him to one of the steel bunks.

He suppressed a moan as he felt his ribcage lurch at the movement. His vision was hazy and all he could make out were gentle blue eyes that were filled with a soft but otherwise unrecognizable expression. He felt his stomach float and bob unpleasantly against his diaphragm, his face going pale as he felt the hard, uncomfortable mattress underneath him.

“Maybe you should lie down completely,” the man’s voice filtered into his buzzing ears with a sense of uncertainty. He laid back as he felt gentle hands lifting his legs and moving them over the mattress. His eyes felt droopy as he let his head drop and gave in to the dark.

-----

“Welcome back,” a voice greeted him as he struggled to get his eyelids to respond to his command to open. “Food arrived while you were out.”

It took Cadell a moment to remember where he was and why he felt like a truck drove over him twice. Then he remembered and shot up only to groan as his ribs reminded him that he was still alive.

“Easy, easy,” his cellmate helped him sit up. “The name’s Llewellyn,” he said as he took a seat beside Cadell, a bowl of distasteful looking gruel in his left hand.

Llewellyn was not a tall man. His frame was small and skinny; his complexion was fair while his blonde hair was short and disheveled. A faint trace of stubble could be seen beneath a very ugly purple bruise that covered the right side of his jaw – which could imaginably make it painful to talk. They seemed to be near the same age, which was irregular for Follower leaders since they were generally older. Actually, nothing about him particularly gave the impression that he was a leader. He didn’t fit the profile, which made the hunter wonder whether the agency hadn’t made a mistake with this particular strike.

“Patrick,” Cadell answered hoarsely before taking the bowl from Llewellyn. “Thanks,” he said and closed his eyes briefly as if he were quietly saying grace before trying to pick through the meal. He knew it would be the small things that would most likely make the deepest impression on whether he was perceived as genuine or not.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Dunno, what day is it?”

“Thursday, I think,” he answered in between a bite. “I got taken yesterday.”

“Four days then,” Llewellyn sighed wearily. “It feels longer.” He sat quietly for a long while seeming in deep reflection as Cadell finished the meal and carefully reached to put it on the floor – dropping it when he couldn’t reach further.

Llewellyn’s eyes were moist when the sound startled him out of his reverie. He seemed older than he had before. “I just can’t,” he swallowed thickly. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t get their screaming out of my head.” He rested his face in his hands and wept. His lips trembled as he murmured words somewhere between a prayer and grief.

Cadell felt a new sense of discomfort. In all the preparation, all the careful rehearsing for the role he needed to take on, they had not taken into account the aspect of grief. He reached out his hand and rested it on the other man’s shoulder. It was all he could think of to do.

Being an infiltrator always kept him from the aftermath. Certainly, he knew how it would turn out, but it was a thought he always pushed to the back of his mind. The Vision had to be first in all things. These people were the enemy. Empty and mindless puppets guided by a so-called ‘just’ god; robots that could only be reprogrammed and brought to life if saved at a young age. Otherwise there was nothing that could be done but wipe them out – a mercy certainly.

But what would it be in the mind of a Follower? Cadell couldn’t imagine them not feeling empty and deserted by their ‘father’. Also, the logic behind the Hunters’ quest wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly match up. Weren’t they people too, instead of the drones they were commonly thought to be?

He felt his heart grow soft for a moment before a layer of logic blessedly came to save him. ‘Choice. They choose to be what they are. They aren’t innocent. None of them are.’

-----

Several days later would find Lylee and Arthur in the communications room staring at an incoming transmission from the retrieval team she had sent out. Following standard procedure, the team had taken the Follower – a man by the name of John Lewis – to a nearby safe house, recorded his account and sent the encrypted file to headquarters.

“… Everything was so precise…” John paused as he glanced around the room nervously as if expecting hunters to barge in at any second. His face was pale and taut; his cracked lips were stretched thin. “It couldn’t have taken longer than ten minutes before they were done.”

“And you say they took prisoners?” the team leader prompted off screen.

“Not many. Two or three, I think. It was too dark to see who they were. But the others…” his trailed off and his eyes moistened. “They left no one alive,” he choked out as he began to weep.

Lylee swallowed thickly as the transmission ended. It was the first time they had an eyewitness to a strike and it had confirmed most of their fears. She turned to the doorway where an aide stood ready for any instructions she might give.

“Get me what we have on John Lewis,” she said and turned to Arthur. He had not moved an inch and was still staring at the now blank screen. She decided to wait him out. It was so much to take in, she knew. She wished they could find out where the prisoners were taken to and why they were taken in the first place. ‘Could the Neilsons have been taken prisoner?’ She still had a tough time believing they were gone. A frail hope had jumped inside her before she squashed it down again. There was no saying that to be taken prisoner was a better fate than to be killed. Who knew what the hunters would do to those taken?

“Here’s the information you asked for, Miss.” The aide handed her a tablet – the file on Lewis visible on the tablet’s screen. Lylee thanked her and scanned the information briefly, taking a moment to inspect a picture of Lewis before laying her hand gently on his arm, “Arthur?”

Arthur finally turned to her. His sad eyes seemed glazed as he looked at her – empty and tired. She handed him the tablet and watched as he studied it.

“We must see what we can do to have him moved to a different city,” his gaze never left the screen. His voice seemed far off. “Depending on whether he wants to leave or not. It may be possible that the hunters don’t know of him.”

“What if they do?” Lylee asked.

“He’ll have to decide whether he wants to take the risk.’ He looked up at her – this time his eyes seemed more focused. “We certainly can’t force him.”

-----

There was no pattern to the arrival of their captors. They never knew which of them would be taken to be interrogated. Cadell knew he was supposed to wait around a week before he was to escape, but, as the Follower had noted when they first met, it had become hard to keep track of the time.

They didn’t speak much, but he did manage to learn a few things about Llewellan. Still too traumatized by the strike, he spoke little of the group he came from; only mentioning that he had recently become an overseer. They prayed together from time to time and the interaction seemed to make the Follower warm up to him more.

Following the orders given to them, his captors didn’t give him as hard a beating as he had received at first. Instead they focused more on keeping his bruising fresh. This courtesy was not given to Llewellyn, however, and the rapidly decreasing physical state of his cellmate urged him to act sooner.

He had studied the pair that regularly came to fetch them. One was an ugly bulk of a man that didn’t seem to be used for anything beside grunt work – which included pulling the chosen prisoner to his feet and forcefully leading him to the interrogation room. The other was clearly an officer. While neither really said much, the latter was the more vocal of the two; his long face often caught in a look of disdain that clearly showed he felt this task was beneath his abilities. Both were armed only with a baton, which hung loosely from their belts.

As he heard the door open, he knew his moment to act had come. Judging by the direction of their gaze, it was again Llewellyn’s turn to be questioned. It meant that the two’s attention wouldn’t be on Cadell as they believed neither prisoner was able to put up much of a fight. He had to marvel at their incompetence.

He slowly sat up from his bed, careful not to attract attention to himself, watching calmly as the two approached. He waited until the larger man came to stand in front of Llewellyn – his back turned towards Caddell – before he jumped into action.

The grunt barely had time to react before Cadell had pulled the baton roughly from the guard’s belt and swung it towards the man’s face in a single move. Not even waiting for the guard to fall, he pounced on the officer before the latter had a chance to cry out.

He moved towards the door, quickly glancing outside to find the hallway empty, then closing the door softly. He studied the officer as he quickly removed his shirt and pants, then set to work undressing the officer. ‘Let’s hope the agency got their measurements right,’ he thought as he slipped on the officer’s pants.