Medical experiments.

He had always been a courageous man-mostly because he didn't particularly care whether he lived or died-but there was something about the sterile, impersonal cruelty of this place that reached in, grabbed him by the brain stem, and wouldn't let go. A primordial terror welled up inside him.

"Hey! If you're gonna torture me, then the least you can do is talk about it first."

A bizarre sound stopped him cold. It seemed to be emanating from around his head and sounded like a jackhammer as heard through thirty feet of rock. It was hammering impossibly fast. Then slow. Then it actually made chirping noises in stabs. Then all was silent.

A familiar face hove into view over him. The big guy. "Mr. Taylor."

"Give a brother a break, man. Just tell me what's goin' on. Warmonk sold me for medical experiments, didn't they?"

The big man shook his head. "Just wait."

"Goddamnit, I don't want to wait! Tell me what the fuck is going on!" He struggled again, primarily to emphasize his seriousness, not from any belief that he had a chance in hell of breaking free.

The big guy was checking something around Mosely's head. "You're about to find out. That too tight?"

"Yes!"

"Then it's perfect." He looked right in Mosely's eyes. "You were right about one thing, my friend. There is a white guy. At least he used to be white. He's probably sort of grayish by now." He laughed heartily and lowered a combination goggles/headset onto Mosely's face-blinding him.

"What the…You motherfucker!"

The big man's booming laugh receded.

Mosely tried, batlike, to divine the shape of the room and his position in it from the echoes of that laugh. But the headphones made it impossible. Everything was muffled now, and he was blinded by the goggles, which were as opaque as a blindfold.

The strange, muted jackhammer noises recommenced. Suddenly two large television screens appeared before his eyes. Combined, they filled his field of vision and gave the effect of twenty-foot-wide theater screens viewed from ten feet away. They were crystal clear. The left one showed an image of the human brain-all done in the colors of the rainbow. It was a Bob Marley brain, with hues advancing and receding across the temporal lobes to some unheard Rasta beat.

The right screen flickered for a moment and, true to the big guy's word, a white guy appeared in medium close-up on-screen. The jackhammer noises continued throughout, and the brain color map changed.

Mosely remembered this white guy's face from somewhere.

The man nodded and spoke-his voice came in over the headphones. "You recognize me. That's good."

Mosely shouted, "Who are you?"

The colors chased each other over Bob Marley's brain and settled in reddish hues toward the front.

The white dude was unrattled. "Before you start asking more complex questions, let me show you who I was…"

Suddenly his image was replaced by actual television news footage of reporters talking, headlines, and rotating graphics

"Matthew Sobol built a deadly trap for federal officers serving a search warrant on his Southern California estate…"

The video images chased each other over the screen. It was all coming back to Mosely. They had watched the news in amazement in the prison rec room more than half a year ago. They were sort of disappointed when it turned out to be a hoax.

The video clips continued as they finally settled on the photograph of Matthew Sobol-a close-up image with his name right beside it. The reporter was talking…

"The Daemon hoax was apparently intended to frame Matthew Sobol-who last week died of brain cancer."

The photograph was suddenly replaced by the live image of Matthew Sobol in perfect digital clarity.

The white guy.

"News of my death has not been exaggerated."

"Holy shit…"

The brain color map shifted, bluish waves lapping and rising all around.

"Now you truly understand. The Daemon was not a hoax."

"Why am I here?"

"Yes. Please keep your questions simple. I'm not much of a conversationalist anymore. But I anticipated your question." There was an almost imperceptible jump in Sobol's image. Then he continued. "Why are you here? You're here so I can determine whether your motivations are compatible with mine." Sobol gestured as if he were physically present. "The equipment around you is a powerful functional magnetic resonance imaging scanner. It is scanning the neural activity of your brain in real time. Neurons work like logic gates on a computer chip, firing electrical signals in specific sequences to accomplish certain tasks or to conceive certain generalized concepts." Sobol paused. "It is a controversial fact that technology has discovered a way to see not only truth or falsehood in a person, but their very thought processes in action. Even before they can act upon those thoughts. Dissembling or deliberate deceit is orchestrated by the frontal lobes…"

The frontal lobes were highlighted on the left-hand screen-over the image of what was presumably Mosely's brain. Other areas were highlighted in turn as Sobol continued, "Fear, aggression, empathy, and recognition all have their unique signatures in the human brain. Mental disorders, such as schizophrenia, also have their telltale patterns. So you see, you can hide nothing from me. I am about to know you better than anyone has ever known you. Perhaps even better than you know yourself."

Mosely was starting to tremble again. He saw the colors change in the brain diagram on the left-hand screen. He instinctively knew it was fear. He was seeing his own fear develop on-screen in real time. Feeding on itself.

"You are afraid."

It took all Mosely's restraint to keep from screaming in terror. He held it in, tightly closing his eyes. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Why not you? Society threw you away. Even you had given up on yourself. But I see the promise in you." A pause. "I brought you here because you were found to be above average in most ways. You are highly intelligent, and your personality profile shows you to be self-reliant and resourceful. These are traits I need in my soldiers." Another pause. "I don't care about your level of education-that can be remedied-or your background, which doesn't matter. Nor do I care about the things you've done. I only care about the things you're goingto do. My followers will wield incredible power. I am going to see whether my faith in you is justified."

Conflicting emotions swept over Mosely. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he watched the colors swirling over the image of his brain. He realized that try as he might, he could not biofeedback his way through this. He could not fathom-much less control-the sweeping patterns of color rippling over the folds of his brain.

Sobol's words percolated through the fear and confusion. "I will not lie to you; there is no escape from this place except to join with me. I tell you this because it's not something you decide. It is a fact about you that we will discover together. After this course I will simply know whether you have joined me. And you will know also. You can try to fight it, but the result will be no different."

Mosely felt the fear again, but then resolve rose in him, too. This was knowable. The rules of the game were laid out, and now he could face it head-on. Now he felt the rage building. His body tensed.

Sobol continued. "If at any point I find you unsuitable, I will kill you. Since I bear you no ill will, your death will be pleasant-an overdose of Demerol. So you see, your death will be far more agreeable than mine was. Perhaps this will be of some comfort to you."

"Fuck you, Sobol!"

Sobol paused. "I see you have no special fear of death. Instead, you feel rage at your helplessness. But you are not helpless. Far from it. Your defense lies within you. I will measure your character, and if you have merit, then you have nothing to fear from me. On the contrary, you will walk under my protection to the end of your days."