Leo "Zip" Calzone was not a valuable person. In the ranking of the Current, he was a courier, basically a delivery boy who used his small kinetic power to jump turnstiles and charge his vape pen with his thumb.
But tonight, Leo felt like a king.
He was tapping his heel at the counter of "The Third Rail," an underground arcade located beneath the Belmont Red Line station. The air smelled like burnt sugar and hot electronics. The new "Accord" was in effect, and the atmosphere in the station felt smooth and clean. Leo could sense the static in the air like a warm bath.
"Gimme a cherry slush," Leo told the girl at the counter. He snapped his fingers, and a tiny blue spark jumped from his nail to the cash register, popping the drawer open. "Keep the change."
The girl rolled her eyes. "You keep doing that, you're gonna fry the motherboard, Leo."
"Relax. The grid is steady. The Boss fixed it." Leo grinned and grabbed his slush.
He turned to leave, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. He was halfway to the exit when the air pressure dropped.
It wasn't the eerie drop of the Hollows. It was the opposite. The air became thin and sterile. The buzzing neon sign in the window didn't flicker; it just hummed a flat, monotonous note. The static in the carpet vanished.
Leo frowned. He tried to snap his fingers again to create a spark, just to check the vibe.
Nothing happened. Just the dry sound of skin on skin.
"Excuse me," a voice said. It had a grey quality, the only way to describe it.
Leo turned. Two men in beige trench coats stood by the door. They hadn't opened it; they were just there. One was older and looked tired (Thorne). The younger one (Sonder) held a black box the size of a toaster.
"We are conducting a random compliance check," Thorne said, flashing a badge that didn't say 'Police' or 'FBI.' It had a geometric symbol: a square inside a circle, perfectly centered. "Citizen, please remain still."
"Compliance check?" Leo laughed, though his stomach flipped nervously. "I paid my fare. I got a pass."
"Not for the train," Sonder said, adjusting a dial on the black box. "For the laws of thermodynamics."
Leo's eyes darted to the exit. "Yeah, look, I gotta run."
He bolted.
Usually, when Leo ran, he pushed. He would shove kinetic energy into his soles, reducing friction and accelerating instantly to thirty miles per hour. He expected to blur past these suits and reach the stairs in no time.
Instead, he tripped.
He took three steps, his heavy sneakers catching on the sticky floor, and sprawled face-first onto the dirty tiles. His slushie exploded across the floor.
"Ow," Leo groaned, scrambling up. "What the hell? My legs..."
"Your legs are working fine," Thorne said, stepping closer. "You tried to access a coefficient of friction that doesn't exist here. The Nullifier corrected the issue."
Leo scrambled back, his back hitting a pinball machine. "Who are you guys? The Foundry? I didn't cross into the industrial zone! I'm allowed to be here!"
"We aren't the Foundry," Sonder said, his voice dripping with disdain. "We are the Bureau. And you are violating Statute 41: Unauthorized manipulation of electron flow."
Thorne pulled up a chair and sat down backward, resting his arms on the backrest. He looked like a disappointed guidance counselor.
"Leo," Thorne said gently. "We know you aren't the source. You're just... leakage. A symptom. But we need to map the infection."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Leo stammered. He tried to call back the static, straining his mind, reaching for the hum of the subway tracks above.
It was there—he could hear the train—but he couldn't touch it. It felt like there was a pane of glass between him and the magic. The black box in Sonder's hand was draining the room dry.
"The train incident," Thorne said. "The one that defied inertia. Who authorized the change of the chassis? Who provided the biological fuel?"
"I don't know!" Leo yelled. "Jax just said to clear the tracks! I'm just a courier!"
"Jax," Thorne repeated, nodding to Sonder. Sonder typed the name into a tablet. "Jax Miller. The Kinetic insurgent. And who is he working with? Who fixed the train?"
Leo kept silent. He knew the rules. You don't rat on the Council. Especially not to guys who smell like bleach and paperwork.
Thorne sighed. He looked genuinely sad.
"Sonder, start the audit."
"Yes, sir."
Sonder walked over to Leo. He produced a device that looked like a tuning fork made of rubber.
"No," Leo whimpered, pressing himself against the pinball machine. "Don't touch me."
"It's not a weapon," Sonder explained calmly. "It's a grounding rod. We're just going to discharge your excess variance. It returns you to factory settings."
Sonder pressed the fork against Leo's chest.
It didn't burn. It didn't shock him. It felt like being emptied.
Leo screamed, but it was a silent scream. He felt the connection to the Ley Lines—the warm, buzzing hum that had been in his head his whole life—being ripped out by the roots. The color drained from the world. The sounds of the arcade became flat and tinny. The joy of movement, the thrill of the spark... it was all erased.
When Sonder pulled the rod away, Leo slumped to the floor, panting. He looked at his hands. They looked like just hands. Meat and bone. Nothing else.
"Jax Miller," Leo whispered, tears streaming down his face. "He worked with the Alchemist. Silas Vane. And the Widow. Isobel."
"The Alchemist, the Necromancer, and the Kinetic," Thorne mused, standing up. "A trio. How efficient."
Thorne buttoned his coat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blank business card, except for a phone number.
"You are compliant now, Leo. You are normal. If you feel the symptoms returning—the static, the sparks—call this number. We offer free treatments."
Thorne and Sonder turned and walked out of the arcade, stepping over the spilled cherry slushie.
Leo lay on the floor, surrounded by flashing pinball machines, feeling colder and heavier than ever. He tried to snap his fingers.
Click.
Nothing.