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Simon splashed water on his face and stared into the mirror. 

Maybe this will do it… 

He patted his face dry with the towel. Pulled the black sweater on. He looked tired. He needed to look fresh, look hungry, for the men and women he was about to lead. It was his third tactical operation in his time with the agency. 

Maybe this time. 

He imagined the moment. Apprehending the criminal. Seeing his team surround them, weapons poised like cobras, shouting. This time it would be Fujimoria. Seeing her taken down, swallowed in a controlled whirlwind of body armor and restraints and orders, the spirits of law and justice descending upon her, a 21st century ritual sacrifice. 

And I will feel it. 

This time, maybe, the hole in him will close. The open, aching part of him. The micro-void in his heart, like the black hole at the center of the galaxy. All his achievements and successes swirling about, a shining and triumphant spiral of commendations, awards, congratulations. He had stopped so many bad people. Prevented so many bad things from happening… 

And it will finally be over. 

Maybe this time everything won’t turn into ghosts. Maybe this time the arrest will hold onto him, will convince him. Maybe this time it will make everything different. He will know, without a doubt. He will have made things right. Made them better. 

Maybe I will leave then. Travel. Date. Go to school again. 

LEGACY had transmitted the coordinates. Protocols had been agreed upon for the hostage. The tac-team had been assembled and were awaiting briefing. Suki Fujimoria was to be apprehended and used as a means to get to Max Cube. The files Logollos had passed on about Cube were suspiciously brief: corporate espionage, terrorism, anti-government activism. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Who is Max Cube? 

Simon adjusted the sweater. A final look into the mirror. 

Who is Simon Light?