I have a gun.

A gun with the fingerprints of the most wanted criminal in the world.

I can do whatever I want with it. It's mine.

I could turn it in, for example. It would connect Mint with the recently emerged mercenary lord. Not in the police investigation, obviously, because none of the regular registries contain his fingerprints, but the Agency would know.

Pro: They would double the armed forces guarding the vaccine the very moment they learn about who wants to take it from them. Contra: Duke would be found in a black bag at the docks the day after.

I should have asked him why he let Mint leave the Agency. I'm almost positive that something terrible happened during a mission, and Mint wasn't able to get over it. Or, rather, they were forced to do something terrible, resulting in civilian casualties. I remember how hard Mint has taken that. Until he turned into a mercenary lord, that is. He's probably less sensitive now.

Well, Duke in a black bag is not something I go for, so I'm afraid I have to ditch plan A. I could tell Duke to run before it happens, but I know where he would run to.

Love never ends, as St. Paul thought. It's a rare truth, with a 99.3% accuracy.

Here's the thing. There are very few rare truths in the world. I usually accept a fact with a 99+ percent accuracy to be a rare truth. A few years ago, I ran a full analysis of the Bible, and while most of the statements didn't rank over 50%, there were a few quite impressive thoughts in there.

Anyway. I know very well where Duke would run to, should the Agency turn against him. And while I find it very entertaining to imagine how he and Mint would take over the entire world in a year or two, should they collaborate, it's not something I go for, either.

Which raises the question: what am I going for?

I sigh. It's a calculation I can't avoid any longer. I find my dilemma scientifically interesting, too: the process of quantifying the distance between the things I want and the things I have to do.

My endgame goal is clear. I don't want any of my lambs to die. And, as much as I hate to admit, it shows a 92% correlation to the endgame goal of the world's population, in total. They don't want to die either, what a surprise.

Maybe there was an element of truth in Duke's words. I can't avoid taking matters into my own hands.

Not the way he imagined it, obviously. That wouldn't work. Neutralizing Mint would only lead to someone taking his position. There would be another Mint emerging very soon, someone I don't even know.

Which leads me to plan B.

I can keep it. The gun, I mean.

Mint's gun.

Because, honestly, why throw a good weapon away? A weapon I know perfectly well how to use. A weapon that can't surprise me with a sudden malfunction because I know everything about it. Its strengths. Its weaknesses. Its dreams. Its deepest fears.

A weapon that is stronger than any other weapon. A weapon that feels comfortable in my hand.

I sigh again. I wipe the fingerprints with the sleeve of my shirt, and I put Mint's gun in my bag.

Just in time. A minute later, Miss Nicole, the kindergarten manager, stalks in the room.

She seems agitated. Even her perfectly plucked eyebrows look a bit asymmetrical, which must be the sign of extreme emotional distress on her doll-like face.

Someone probably told her about my visitors. I should've checked what those two idiots broke in the gym while beating each other up. Well, they would have told me if it was something valuable. Their concept and the kindergarten's concept about something being valuable may differ significantly, though.

"I saw your two friends leaving," she says, with her chest heaving.

Okay, so it's not the furniture I should be worried about. It's her hormones.

"I need to inform you, Edie," she goes on, "that you're not allowed to accept visitors at work."

I nod. It can mean anything she wants to hear. That I'm aware of that, or that I'm not going to let them visit me again here. Not that I asked for them to come, in the first place.

"If they were relatives of a child, then maybe..." she trails off, sounding positively hopeful.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but all I can do is shake my head.

"All right," she says. "Then bear in mind that they can't—or, rather, report to me if you see them again around here, okay? For safety reasons, you know."

I nod again. I refuse to roll my eyes.

"You know why I tell you all these things, right?" she asks, with an uncomfortable little grin.

It's something I feel obliged to answer. She's my boss, after all.

"Of course. You want me to give you the phone number of the elegant one, but you're afraid that I'm going to judge you if you ask."

She gasps for air.

"How do you know that?" she asks. "You can't know that!"

I should keep a record of how many times I've heard these words and celebrate every hundredth occasion. By allowing myself to roll my eyes at my leisure, for example.

"I wouldn't be any good if I couldn't," I inform her.

She avoids my gaze. I hate it when other people do this to me. It means that I'm making them uncomfortable, which is the opposite of what I want. People usually have enough problems without me being one of them.

"The good news is," I go on, "I'd never judge you for anything. The bad news is, I don't have his number."

Nicole looks disheartened. Like a lemming who was denied the right to jump off of a cliff. Now, I roll my eyes a little. I feel it justifiable.

I don't understand her motive, and it annoys me. I know practically everything about her. I can follow her trail of thoughts without difficulties, and I can even tell that there is an 86% chance that the menace she subconsciously feels emanating from these men turns her on. I also know why Duke is her first choice, not Mint.

But I couldn't tell, for the life of me, why would she want a relationship with any of these two, in the first place. How can she think that dating a man like Duke would do her any good? How could she willingly give him a chance to break her, which would happen in a few weeks with a 96% chance? Hey, that's almost a rare truth! And yet, she would do it. Why? Why would she do that?

Maybe I could ask her.

The thought seems too revolutionary for a second. But my brain tells me that there is a 75% chance that it's a plausible idea to talk with fellow humans sometimes, and there is only a 19% chance that Nicole will get severe mental scars as a result. So a conversation it is. For science.

"I think I can get you his number, though," I say. "But you have to tell me first why you want it so badly."

Nicole gulps visibly. She seems to struggle with telling me the truth.

"I won't judge you," I remind her.

"Then what?" she asks. "Do you want to make fun of me with the other teachers?"

"Of course not," I assure her. "I'm just collecting data on what it's like to be a woman. So. Tell me."

"What's to tell?" she bursts out. "Your friend looks like sex on two legs! Not just him, the other one too, he's intense, like he could tear you apart, but honestly, I have no idea where and how you met men like these! It's so unfair, I've been looking high and low to find someone whom I can take seriously, after—"

"Okay," I interrupt her ramblings. "But you know that men like these are not fit for a relationship, right? They have multiple girlfriends, they tell you what you want to hear and then disappear. You noticed that when you looked at him, didn't you?"

She stares at me as if I grew two heads.

Evidence number one turned out to be revealing enough to give me the answer. She simply doesn't see it. It's incredible. She can't predict an event that has a 96% chance to happen. I can't help but admire her. How the hell has she survived each and every day in the past thirty years? It's a miracle.

"There are always exceptions," she disputes.

"Very good." I smile at her before she misunderstands my silence. "It's so much fun to talk, isn't it? Now tell me about those so-called exceptions, Nicole."

And how you calculated them, I add mentally. I want to know everything about her method.

About how to be totally clueless. How to survive shit without thinking.

It's the most exciting thing I've heard about since quantum field theory.