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”
    With a harsh cough, the
firearm spits a ball of red gunk at Mark's face, and he tries to scream as the
putty expands like insulating foam, jamming his eyes shut and clogging his
nostrils. His open mouth is suddenly filled with expanding clay that tastes
like surgical rubber. His scream dies in his throat as his hands pull at the
plastic to no effect. It hardens and traps his clawing fingers within it, until
his only thought is to breathe -
    Breathe.
    He fights it, feeling
the fire ignite inside him, but it is too late.
    His vision fades to
black.
     
     
    The helicopter hovers
above the soldier, who stands over Mark's limp form like a proud hunter. It
raises a finger to its helmet:
    “ This
is Trespasser One. Target Four is down, send immediate retrieval squad and
hurry up that medical team; this one was bleeding too. I'll need to neutralise
the foam before lasting damage occurs."
    "Good work,
Trespasser One. Are we clear to move Zulu to another location?"
    "Yeah, we're all
good here," says the Trespasser, motioning a thumbs up to the attack
helicopter's pilot, who pulls the beast away from the building and off to
wherever else he may be needed, leaving them in silence with only the faint
whisper of the misty rain.
    “ One
more thing, Command,” says the Trespasser, looking down at his target as the
pride in his eyes turns to concern. “I've seen men beg for their lives – I've
seen men lie to get out of a bullet to the skull. I know when it's genuine, and
this guy? He's terrified for his mother. Maybe we should look into this King
character, that's three times today that I've heard his name in this kind of
context."
    "Negative,
Trespasser One. You are going far beyond your clearance levels."
    The Trespasser takes a
small vial of a thick, red syrup from a pouch on his belt and kneels over the
plastic-bubble face of his target. He empties the vial onto the foaming plastic
and it begins to hiss and steam away, melting onto the gravel like roofing tar.
    "The guy just
sounds like a criminal, Command," he says, “and that's our area of
expertise right there. I could depose a crime lord with one hand, I don't mind
staying behind after the operation is done to -"
    "I said negative,
Trespasser," comes the response, and Command's calm
and level voice is tinged with unusual anger. "Cease this line of
inquiry and await the transport vessel."
    Trespasser One looks
down at Mark's unconscious form as the red gunk froths away, clearing his
airways and leaving his face red and bruised. The tattered janitor takes his
first, struggling breath. Placing a hand under Mark's stubbled neck, the
Trespasser counts his pulse with his eyes closed, tensed in case his target
wakes up.
    He brings his hand up
to his communication module, a tiny USB piece plugged into a socket on his
helmet, and his fingers grip it for a second.
    Trespasser One almost
pulls it out, but before he can the roar of the transport chopper cuts through
the mess of thoughts plaguing his brain. Sighing, he depresses his comms button
and replies,
    "Roger that,
Command. Preparing for evac."
    He looks at the
unconscious janitor, then up at the approaching helicopter, and waves it in as
the rain whips itself into a frenzy beneath the churning wind of the blades.
     

 
    Episode
4
     
    The
King's Castle
     

Jamie
stares down the jagged sights of the pistol, trying to focus despite his
trembling hand. Chloe is pressed against his chest, staring down the same
corridor. To their back is a solid steel slab.
    A cold, strained voice
comes down the stairwell, into their little hallway. The unmistakable voice of
the King, slurring in pain.
    “ There's
nowhere to go, Jamie.”
    “ It's
him,” whispers Chloe.
    “ I
shot him in the bloody knee,” says Jamie. “How is he here?”
    The same voice drifts
into their hallway-stronghold.
    “ Caught
in a trap, Jamie,” they hear a strained breath. “Let's talk about this, hm?”
    “ The
next person down those steps is dead, King,”