The next morning, Jack's penthouse was the center of a silence that contrasted violently with the roar of the city. Outside, in Metroville, every radio station, every news channel, repeated fragments of the interview in an endless loop. In coffee shops, in offices, on bus stops, the question was the same: who was Jack? A savior with a dark past or a monster with a gift for public relations?
Jack watched the city from the panoramic window, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. On the sofa, Yuls was the personification of the city's anxiety. The remote control was an extension of her nervous hand, jumping from one channel to another, her face illuminated by the flickering screens.
"...a total lack of empathy, a classic indicator of a sociopathic personality," a psychologist with glasses was saying on CNN.
Yuls changed the channel.
"...the probability that the collapse of Vermont was an unintended consequence is, from a statistical standpoint, practically nil. This suggests meticulous planning," an expert analyzed on Fox News.
She changed it again.
"...what we're seeing is an individual who has appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner. This isn't justice, it's tyranny," a frowning senator declared.
Finally, she turned off the television, leaving the room in a sudden and total silence.
"They're tearing you to pieces," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "No, worse. They're turning you into the very villain you swore to destroy. Sociopath, tyrant, menace… They're using every word they can."
"Of course they are," Jack replied without turning around. His tone was so calm it was unsettling. "It's the logical response. People fear what they don't understand, and Thorne is making sure no one understands me."
"Thorne? You think he's behind all this?"
"I don't think so, I know so," Jack stated. He turned slowly, his eyes fixed on her. "It's not the media, Yuls. It's the leaks. Where do you think they get these 'experts'? These 'statistical analyses'? Thorne is feeding the wolves. He's losing control of the brute force narrative, so he's started a war of perception. He thinks if he shouts 'monster' enough times, people will forget that I saved their lives."
Yuls stood up and began to pace, a whirlwind of nervous energy. "Okay, I get it. It's a smear campaign. But what do we do? Put out a press release? Leak our own information? We can't just sit here while they crucify you."
"You're right," Jack conceded. A slow, almost predatory smile formed on his face. "We won't just sit here."
He walked to the sofa and sat across from her, leaning forward. The calm had been replaced by an intensity that filled the air.
"I'm going to let them catch me."
Yuls stopped in her tracks. She blinked, sure she had misheard. "What did you say?"
"I'm going to turn myself in."
The idea was so radical, so contrary to every survival instinct, that Yuls let out a short, joyless laugh. "No. No, you're kidding. You have to be. Are you insane? Jack, that's exactly what they want! They'll throw you in the deepest, darkest hole they can find and forget you ever existed."
"Yes," he said, his voice dangerously serene. "It's what they want. But there's a big difference between wanting something and knowing what to do with it once you have it. This isn't a surrender, Yuls. It's an attack."
"An attack? By turning yourself in? That makes no sense," she replied, frustration coloring her voice.
"Of course it does. Think about Thorne. How does he operate? From the shadows. He's a spy, a ghost. He pulls the strings, manipulates, applies pressure. His power lies in secrecy," Jack explained, his hands sketching the plan in the air. "We've never been able to attack him directly because we can't see him. We're always reacting to his moves, cleaning up the messes he leaves behind."
"And getting arrested changes that? How?"
"Completely," Jack assured her, his gaze locked on hers. "By turning myself in, I stop being a clandestine target and become a public case. I'm dragging him out of his comfort zone, out of the shadows, and putting him under the spotlight of public scrutiny. And believe me, people like Thorne don't like the sunlight."
Yuls sat down, her mind racing to keep up. "You're forcing him to play by rules…"
"Rules he can't break in secret," he finished. "His methods, his nameless agencies, his intimidation tactics… all of that becomes useless in a courtroom. The world will be watching. Every move will be analyzed. He won't be able to make evidence disappear or silence witnesses. Suddenly, the great and powerful Thorne becomes just another bureaucrat who has to file reports and follow procedure."
The logic was flawless, and that's what scared her the most. It was a plan that was equal parts brilliant and suicidal. "His failure to capture you will become a public humiliation," Yuls murmured, grasping the final piece. "If you turn yourself in, you steal his victory. His superiors will see he couldn't handle the situation and they'll push him aside."
"Exactly," Jack said with a satisfied smile. "I sacrifice one piece—my temporary freedom—to take their king off the board. It's the king's gambit."
Yuls stared at him, the magnitude of the risk settling in her chest like a lead weight. "But… if you do this, you'll go to trial. A real trial. With a jury, a judge… You'll need a lawyer. The best in the country."
"No," Jack said, and for the first time, his gaze softened, losing its calculating edge. "I don't need the most famous or the most expensive lawyer. I need the smartest. I need someone who understands the law, but who also understands physics, power, the truth behind what I am. I need someone I can trust with my life without a single doubt."
The silence that followed was more eloquent than any words. Yuls felt the color drain from her face as the implication dawned on her.
"Jack… no. Absolutely not. I can't," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "I'm a physicist. A scientist. I haven't set foot in a courtroom since my law school graduation ceremony."
"You practiced for a year in Arizona," he replied instantly, proving he remembered every detail of their conversations. "At one of the most prestigious firms in the city, before you decided you preferred the stars to statutes. And you graduated first in your class. With honors."
"That was years ago! I was filing patents and reviewing contracts! Not defending superhumans accused of domestic terrorism!" she exclaimed, her voice rising an octave. "I'm not qualified, Jack! They'll destroy us!"
"You're the only one who's qualified!" he insisted, his voice dropping to a persuasive but firm whisper. He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. "Yuls, listen to me. This isn't going to be a trial about facts and evidence. Not really. It's going to be theater. It's going to be a battle for public opinion, for perception. And you are the only person on this planet who knows both sides of the story. The man's and the 'monster's.' You're the only one who can truly tell it."
He looked into her eyes, pleading. "I've spent years hiding, fighting from the shadows. Now I have to step into the light, and I don't know how. But you do. You know how to speak their language. Trust yourself the way I trust you."
He stood and held out a hand to her. Yuls looked at it, then at his face. Panic warred with the undeniable logic of his plan. Every time she had trusted him, she had discovered a strength in herself she never knew she possessed. She had left her monotonous life behind and found a purpose. Could she trust him one more time? With so much at stake?
With a tremor that ran through her entire body, a sigh that was half surrender and half terror, she took his hand.
Two hours later, the world had been turned upside down. A single anonymous call from Jack to reporter Sarah Vance's office had been enough to unleash pandemonium. The street in front of the apartment building, normally quiet, was now a sea of news vans, their antennas stretched toward the sky. A perimeter of police cars held back the curious onlookers, their lights flashing silently. Above them, news helicopters buzzed like angry, metallic insects.
Then, the main door of the building opened.
Jack came out first. He wore a perfectly tailored, charcoal-colored business suit with a white shirt and no tie. He looked like a CEO about to announce a merger, not a fugitive about to surrender. At his side, in a navy blue sheath dress that screamed professionalism and an expression of forcibly forged steel, walked Yuls.
Chaos erupted. The click of camera shutters was a constant roar and the flashes flooded everything. Reporters, held back behind barriers, shouted questions at the top of their lungs, a cacophony of urgency.
"Jack! Is it true you're turning yourself in?"
"Why now, after all this time?"
"Who's the woman, Jack? Is she your accomplice?"
Jack raised a hand, a simple, unarrogant gesture. Surprisingly, a near-total silence fell over the crowd. He had that natural authority, a presence that demanded to be heard.
"Thank you all for coming," he said, his voice calm and resonant, amplified by the dozen microphones pointed at him. "For the past few weeks, this city has lived in fear. Fear of criminals like Fractal, and a new kind of fear—one fueled by speculation, rumors, and anonymous leaks from agencies operating in the shadows."
His gaze met the lens of a nearby camera, as if he were speaking directly to every person watching from home.
"I am not a politician. I am a man who believes in direct action. But I understand that my actions, while necessary, have created uncertainty. And for that reason, I have decided to cooperate fully with the authorities. I will surrender voluntarily to answer any questions, to dispel any rumors, and most importantly, to help this city move past fear."
A murmur of astonishment swept through the press. No one had expected this.
"I trust the justice system," Jack continued, his tone firm. "But in a process of this magnitude, trust needs a solid foundation. That is why my only condition for this voluntary surrender is this: I will be represented by only one person. A lawyer whose intelligence and integrity are beyond question." He paused, turning slightly toward the woman at his side. "I present to you Miss Yuls Sinclair."
In unison, as if obeying an invisible command, every camera and every eye swiveled sharply to Yuls. She felt the physical weight of hundreds of lenses focusing on her, the invisible weight of millions of people watching her. The urge to step back, to hide behind Jack, was almost overwhelming. But then she felt Jack's gaze on her, a look of absolute confidence. She fought back the panic, lifted her chin, and faced the crowd with a coolness that was a complete lie, but a convincing one.
At that precise moment, as if they had been waiting for the signal, a team of federal agents pushed through the local police. They were dressed in identical dark suits with tactical vests over their shirts. They moved with a cold, trained efficiency. The man leading them was not Thorne. It was someone new, with a stern face and a tight jaw, someone who was clearly not enjoying the spectacle.
"Mr. Jack," the agent said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You are under arrest on charges of domestic terrorism, operation of unauthorized technology, and multiple counts of homicide."
"I was expecting that," Jack replied with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.
They read him his rights, the familiar text recited in a monotone. Jack listened patiently, without interrupting. Then, they cuffed him. The metallic click echoed in the air. It was a purely symbolic act; both the agent and Jack knew he could melt the metal with a single thought. But Jack held out his wrists and allowed the gesture. It was part of the theater.
As they led him toward a black armored vehicle, he stopped for a second and looked over his shoulder at Yuls. Amid the chaos of flashes and shouts, he gave her a look that was a mixture of trust, encouragement, and a silent promise. It's all going to be okay.
Miles away, in the cold gloom of an underground command center, Agent Thorne watched the scene on a wall-sized screen. Every cell in his body vibrated with a helpless, icy fury. This wasn't a capture. It was an orchestrated surrender. A public relations ambush, and he hadn't even seen it coming. Jack hadn't fought with strength; he had fought with intelligence. He had changed the rules, moved the battlefield from dark alleys to courtrooms, and in the process, had turned Thorne into an irrelevant spectator.
The control room door hissed open. Director Shaw entered, her heels clicking on the polished floor. Her face was a mask of frigid disapproval. She didn't look at Thorne, but at the screen, at the image of Jack being led away with defiant calm.
"You've turned a top-secret national security operation into a media circus," Shaw said, her voice sharp and icy. "You've allowed the target to dictate the terms of his own capture. You have lost control of the situation in the most public and humiliating way possible, Agent Thorne."
"Director, it's a trick," Thorne retorted, his voice tight, not taking his eyes off the screen. "He's trying to neutralize this investigation, to take us out of the game—"
"The only thing that has been neutralized, Agent Thorne, is you," she cut him off, finally turning to face him. "This is no longer a clandestine containment case. It's a public trial. This requires lawyers now, not spies. It requires admissible evidence, not intelligence reports. Your particular set of skills is no longer required."
She walked closer, her presence filling the room. "You are officially off the Gamma Jack case. The Department of Justice is taking over from this point forward. Surrender your credentials and your security clearance."
It was as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. With stiff, mechanical movements, like an automaton, he removed the ID badge from around his neck and placed it on the console. The plastic made a small clattering sound against the metal.
"This is a mistake, Director," he said quietly. "You don't know what you're dealing with."
"The only mistake here was underestimating him, Agent. A mistake you made repeatedly," she stated. "Now, remove yourself from the command center."
Thorne walked through the sterile, white hallways that, until a moment ago, had been his domain. He felt like a ghost in his own kingdom. Every agent he passed averted their eyes, pretending to be busy with a tablet or a conversation. The news had already spread through the internal network. He had lost his authority.
He reached his austere office to collect his few belongings. A couple of books on military strategy and a single framed photo from a past that no longer existed. As he placed the items in a cardboard box, his personal communicator, an encrypted device not part of the agency's official network, vibrated in his pocket. A number he recognized instantly. Dr. Aris's.
"What do you want, Aris?" Thorne asked, his voice hollow and distant.
"Marcus, we have a problem. A very big problem," Aris's voice on the other end of the line was high-pitched, strained to the breaking point. The panic was obvious.
"I'm not in charge anymore. Call Shaw."
"Shaw isn't cleared for this protocol! Nobody is! Only you!" Aris nearly shouted. "It's the Asset! Ours!"
Thorne froze, the half-filled cardboard box on his desk. "What about him?"
"His mission parameters were clear: track and engage the primary target. The primary target is now in federal custody. We gave him the order to return to base, to stand down."
"And?" Thorne asked, a knot of ice forming in his stomach.
There was a pause, filled with a sound of static and palpable fear. "He's not responding, Marcus. Exactly one hour ago, his biometric tracker went offline. Telemetry indicates it didn't fail. He crushed it. He's cut all communications. He's completely off the grid. We don't know where he is. We don't know what he's doing."
Thorne closed his eyes. The irony of the situation was so cruel, so bitter, it almost made him laugh. "So he's free," he whispered, the word sounding like a profanity in the silent office.
"He's not free, Marcus. He's loose," Aris corrected, his voice trembling. "That asset is loose. And we have no way to control him anymore."
Thorne hung up the communicator. He stood in the middle of his empty office, stripped of his power, his mission, his purpose. He had spent every minute of the last few weeks obsessed with caging one monster, and in his spectacular failure, he had just unleashed another upon an unprepared world. And he, the only man who knew the true danger of both, could now do absolutely nothing to stop them.