Lucius woke to a hard knocking. It had rhythm, confidence and that federal patience that meant they were not leaving.
He lay still for two seconds, eyes open, listening. He exhaled through his nose and swung his legs off the bed. He pulled on some pyjama bottoms and walked to the door.
The daylight glared through the peephole and opened the door.
Two men in suits. Their eyes stayed flat and professional. Behind them, the street looked crowded quietly. A couple of dark sedans. A government SUV. Two cars that did not try to look official and failed successfully.
He opened the door.
FDA and FBI.
"Not again," he muttered, mostly to himself.
The FBI agent held his badge up without performing.
"Mr Noctis."
Lucius kept his face half asleep and fully annoyed.
"Yes," he replied, rasping a little. He had not earned that rasp. It still felt right.
The FDA official stepped forward, middle-aged, with a neat haircut, a folder clutched like it was a weapon.
"Mr Noctis, we would like you to come with us regarding claims that you distributed an unknown substance to patients in two different hospitals."
Lucius let his gaze drift to the FBI agent.
The agent did not look embarrassed. He looked tired.
"We would like you to come with us as well," the agent added. "It will not take more than an hour."
Lucius raised an eyebrow and leaned against the door frame.
"No warrant," he noted. "No shouting about on your knees this time, Agent Harper."
Harper's eyes tightened.
"We are quite sure there was a misunderstanding yesterday," he let out a small sigh as he hated himself for saying it out loud. "We would like to clear it up."
Lucius blinked slowly.
He let the silence sit on them for a moment, then asked the question that mattered.
"Do I have to go with any of you? Is it illegal if I refuse to entertain your requests?"
Harper's jaw flexed once.
The FDA man opened his mouth first.
"You are required to explain the substance," he replied. "We need to know what you administered."
Lucius stared at him. That was a cute attempt. He kept his voice calm.
"Required by what?" he asked.
The FDA official did not like that tone.
"Public health," he snapped.
Lucius nodded once.
"Lovely slogan," he replied. "Now, do you have a warrant, a subpoena, or anything with a judge's name on it?"
The folder stayed closed. The man's lips pressed thin.
Harper shifted his weight, which told Lucius everything. They were here fishing. They wanted him in a room where cameras sat in corners. They wanted him to talk.
Lucius smiled.
"Sir," he said to the FDA official, "I have not sold anything to any individual. I have not coerced anyone. I have not lied about the effects. I offered a choice, and they took it. That is all. I do not see why I should share anything with the FDA, the FBI, or any other organisation just because your day got interesting."
He held up one hand.
"If you want a sample, I can sell it for a symbolic amount. Other than that, I wish you a good morning and an uneventful day."
He nodded once, let the grin show, and closed the door.
He did not move.
He counted silently.
One.
Two.
Ten.
Twenty.
The knock came before twenty-one. He opened the door again. This time, he wore a smile that looked like cooperation. Harper stood in the same spot. The FDA official stood beside him, now looking like he had been forced to accept reality.
Harper spoke first.
"We are ready to talk about the symbolic amount."
The FDA official mirrored it with a stiff nod.
Lucius widened the door and looked toward the street.
Behind them, more cars had arrived. Not all government. A couple of limousines sat down the curb like someone had ordered a meeting.
Fox News had done him a favour. Not the most neutral, with their standing, but he respected the efficiency.
"Allow me to put on something," they stepped inside.
Harper's eyes scanned the entryway and the sitting room beyond. The FDA man looked at the bookshelf like he expected drugs to fall out.
Lucius pointed toward the sitting room.
"Make yourselves comfortable," he said. "It helps the mood."
Lucius went back to the bedroom, pulled on jeans and a sweater, then returned.
He walked to the kitchen.
"Coffee," he offered. Two confirmations came fast. He started the coffee maker, a drip machine on the counter that looked like it had never been appreciated. Water poured. The machine gurgled. The smell started spreading in a slow, comforting way.
He carried three mugs into the sitting room and set them on the coffee table.
He sat down in an armchair, relaxed like he owned the world.
"I am listening," he said, then took a sip.
Harper leaned forward.
"The Bureau would like to receive a vial of what you gave to patients," he said. "We are ready to pay. Name the price, please."
Lucius did not hesitate.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand."
Both men reacted at the same time. Coffee in throats. Sudden coughs. A near choke. The FDA official spluttered into his mug.
Lucius watched them with patient amusement.
Harper cleared his throat, face tight.
"Mr Noctis, that is not symbolic."
He tapped the table once.
"You distributed twenty vials for free yesterday," Harper added, and he put weight on the free like it was a moral crime.
Lucius shrugged.
"Yesterday I was marketing," he replied. "Today I am pricing."
The FDA official stopped coughing and reached for his phone. Lucius watched him dial and turn away slightly. Harper stared at Lucius.
"You understand this creates problems," Harper said.
Lucius took another sip.
"Everything does," he replied. "At least this one is profitable for me."
The FDA official ended his call and turned back. His voice came out more controlled.
The FDA is requesting two vials. Harper, after some communication, went for the same amount.
Lucius waited and enjoyed the fact that they were the ones sweating.
The exchange was completed after the notification of the bank.
One million deposited. He felt the small satisfaction of it settle into his chest.
"Pleasure doing business," he said.
He went inside and returned with four vials of LHP, setting them on the coffee table one by one.
Harper watched the act, eyes sharp.
The FDA official stared at the vials as they had crawled out of hell.
They did not want answers. They wanted control. They sealed the vials into a cooler bag and stood. Harper paused at the door.
"You are still a person of interest," he reminded Lucius.
Lucius gave him a grin.
"And you are still a man with a bad camera," he replied. "Have a nice day."
They left.
Lucius stepped onto the porch and waited.
The neighbourhood had woken up. A kid rode a bike down the street. A woman walked a dog. Someone shovelled slush off a driveway like it was a war.
Then the other visitors approached.
Six representatives, three of them pretending they were not government, and none of them fooling anyone.
Lucius invited them in. They chose to enter one by one. Giving each other the privacy.
He declined invitations to meet in offices or mansions. Did the same for invitations that were disguised threats.
He kept it simple.
By the time he returned to his armchair, another four million sat in his account.
He also had an address for a private investigator, endorsed with the casual confidence of someone who had paid for illegal miracles before.
He grabbed his keys, left the house, and started the Tahoe.
He drove to Alias Investigations.
The office sat above street level, the kind of place you found only if you already knew it existed. Old building. Dirty stairs. A door with chipped paint. A buzz that sounded tired.
He parked and stayed in the car for a moment.
His target sat in his mind, a name pulled from old comic memory.
Vanisher.
A criminal mutant. He personally liked the term Homo Superior, returning to the Vanisher, he was a mutant with a teleportation skill.
If Lucius remembered right, bald, inked head to toe with tribal tattoos like a man who had lost a bet.
In normal circumstances, catching a teleporter was nearly impossible. You did not catch someone who could vanish from a locked room.
But Vanisher's memory had been manipulated to forget about his powers. A power like that, left to rot, would be an insult. Lucius needed mobility, and he needed it badly. He stepped out of the Tahoe, locked it, then paused.
Three cars had been tailing him since he left home.
Not subtle, they were not even trying.
One of them was a black sedan that had the same patient distance the FBI SUV had used yesterday. Another was a plain grey car with two men inside who looked like they had never smiled. The third kept switching lanes like it thought it was clever.
Lucius watched them in the reflection of a storefront window. He felt the corner of his mouth lift. It seems the eye-patched baldy was already sniffing.
He wondered how long it would take before Fury sent Natasha to his door with that polite smile. He also wondered how many microphones were already in his walls. He would find them later.
For now, he walked toward the Alias door and pressed the buzzer.