Miami City Hall.
Every major decision-maker in the city was packed into the conference room.
Luke and Holden had finished giving their full report. The mayor's secretary had typed it up into a neat paper packet and handed copies to everyone.
Luke stood in the corner, watching Holden put on a dramatic performance in front of Mayor West.
"Mayor West, my life's work—my entire career—just collapsed into a giant hole!"
Holden pounded his chest like he was at a funeral.
"Your budget this year has to give me more. My poor employees are counting on me to put food on their tables."
No matter how much Holden poured on the charm, Mayor West never even looked up. He stayed glued to the loss report his staff had prepared.
Luke actually felt a little relieved.
In the time he'd been in this world he'd seen more lunatics than sane people. At least one bureaucrat here seemed to have his head on straight.
Finally the mayor finished reading. He tossed the report onto the table and turned to his secretary.
"I understand the situation. What's the best way to handle this?"
Handle this?
Those two words echoed in Luke's head.
He thought about the big guy he'd crushed, the crazed inmates who'd clawed their way out.
To these people, the whole disaster was just another problem to manage.
The secretary immediately understood and slid a plan across the table.
"Mayor West, the prison collapse caused major fallout. Covering it up completely will be difficult. My best recommendation is to reach out to one of the more active terrorist groups and have them claim responsibility."
Mayor West nodded, impressed.
"Not bad. We could even apply for extra anti-terror funding. But it'll cost money. Any other options?"
The conference room door slammed open.
A big, square-jawed man with a face full of mean muscle stormed in.
It was Luke's boss—Police Chief Woody.
He slapped his palm on the mahogany table hard enough to rattle every glass.
"Fuck anti-terror bullshit. Give the money to my department and I'll personally lead a team to put every last escapee in the ground. Nobody's gonna say a goddamn word."
Luke couldn't take it anymore.
This place was full of absolute characters.
He grabbed a chair, closed his eyes, and tried to rest. He'd been running on fumes for days.
When the shouting finally died down, Luke walked straight up to Chief Woody.
"Chief, what exactly do you need me for? I haven't even finished my paperwork yet."
Woody looked smug after squeezing extra funding out of the politicians.
"Don't think this is over. The FBI just showed up. As the only actual government employee who was inside, you're required to assist their investigation."
So that was the catch.
The FBI.
One of America's biggest intelligence agencies.
Luke had seen them in every movie from his old life. They'd moved fast—too fast.
Something told him their interest wasn't just the prison collapse.
He followed Woody's directions and met the federal agent.
To his surprise, the agent was a woman—and she looked oddly familiar.
She was studying the reports. When she noticed Luke she stepped forward with a crisp, professional smile.
"Chief Woody, Officer Luke—good morning. I'm Special Agent Clarice."
She flashed her credentials with smooth, confident movements.
Clarice?
Luke's brain clicked instantly.
She was the lead from The Silence of the Lambs—Clarice Starling.
Was she here because of Hannibal?
He pushed the shock down and kept his voice polite.
"Agent, how can I help you?"
Clarice nodded and tapped a line in the report.
"You mentioned hearing singing coming from the walls. Is that correct?"
Luke confirmed it without hesitation.
She checked her watch.
"It's eleven o'clock now. I'm giving you three hours. Meet me back at the prison ruins at two. Get some rest—and change out of that bloody prison uniform."
She'd noticed.
Luke wanted to crawl into a hole. He'd been walking around in a blood-stained jumpsuit this whole time and nobody had said a word. He'd started thinking it was normal.
"You little bitch, my guy can wear whatever the hell he wants. Mind your own business!"
Chief Woody suddenly exploded, shouting at Clarice like she'd insulted his mother.
The outburst caught even the usually composed Clarice off guard. She stared at the loud chief, eyes wide.
"Chief, I should clarify—I don't have a thing for prison uniforms. I literally just got out of one."
Luke patted Woody's shoulder and explained calmly.
Woody yanked Luke close and whispered loud enough for the entire room to hear.
"Luke, listen up. Federal agents are all terrorists. If she tries any funny shit, you report it to me immediately."
He didn't bother lowering his voice at all.
Clarice's mouth twitched, but she kept her professional mask in place.
"Chief Woody, I believe there may be a misunderstanding here."
"Ha!" Woody barked a laugh. "Look at you, new girl still got some pride left."
He turned back to Luke, ignoring Clarice completely.
"Luke, go see Kelly in logistics. Tell her I sent you for a proper uniform."
Then he dove back into the politicians' argument.
Luke stayed where he was, watching the woman from The Silence of the Lambs, thoughts racing.
What did the FBI really want?
Hannibal? Or the singing in the walls?
He glanced at his panel.
He was finally free. Once this was over he needed to grind more specialties—fast.
The big guy's resurrection made it clear other horror elements were mixed in here. Ghosts? Demons? Maybe he should hit up a big church and stock up on holy water.
A sudden wave of stench hit him.
Where the hell was that smell coming from?
He sniffed, then looked down in horror.
It was him.
Luke sighed at his torn, blood-caked prison jumpsuit.
He really needed a shower.