"First, I should mention that the following portion of the narrative was constructed from The Agent's own memories and corroborated with our accounts." Silence.

"After several minutes without incident or perceived threat, the Agent emerges from the service area into an alley and subsequently enters a nearby parking garage. Finding a poorly lit staircase, he lies down on the concrete floor beneath the concrete stairs. It is dark, damp, and as shielded a place as any to be found, so he gives himself a full, five-minute respite to calm down and figure out a plan.

Sixty-five minutes later, the Agent snaps back to reality with the sound of a door slamming. He springs up to a sitting position, all senses immediately attuned to his surroundings and scans for danger. A car drives off, and he relaxes. Then he pulls out his netbook to scan for directions. Ten minutes later he is ready to move on."

"So, your agents were foiled by a concrete wall?" Natake asked calmly. Sometimes it was difficult to tell when he was being sarcastic though.

"Not quite, sir. It assumed that the Agent effectively shut down his brain to minimize activity while sleeping. It makes him effectively dead, and whether planned or fortuitous, the concrete building probably did create just enough static to mask his presence completely."

"Can your agents, do that?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Operatives, sir, and no, they cannot." 

"Well, maybe they should learn?"

"Yes, sir. I'll see to it." Mendelev felt the worst was over and was now sure that this proceeding was being observed. He expected criticism from Natake, but the performative nature of his comments was clearly directed elsewhere.

"Continue." Natake leaned back in his chair, his demeanor relaxed. Mendelev continued.

“Taking the service alley behind the garage, The Agent quickly covers the five blocks to the train station, where the only other people he encounters are the occasional restaurant worker on break. Still off the grid, he stops less than a hundred yards away from the station entrance on the other side of a busy six-lane boulevard, then steps back into an alcove to consider his options. Operatives are nearby; he can sense them poking around.

He closes his eyes to see and to listen carefully while establishing a baseline ambience for his current location. He then cautiously steps out onto the sidewalk, takes several paces, then turns around and steps back into the alcove. Once again, he closes his eyes, but he can sense no additional noise. After several minutes, he repeats the maneuver, this time lingering for a few moments near the curb. With his goal so close, he is tempted to make a run for it, but instead, sides with continued caution and returns once again to his alcove.

On his third attempt, he reaches the intersection and crosses over to the median, maintaining the same steady pace while thinking about foliage and traffic lights. There he stops to sit on a bench and monitor his surroundings before crossing again.

At this moment, the Agent is more visible than he realizes. It has been less than two hours since the last attack, and he needs eighty percent of his attention focused on himself, because he cannot afford an ambush. The highly elevated alpha-beta activity of any agent is like a flashing beacon and he’s losing the strength to hide his, so he blanks his mind and stares at the station, the most common image flashing through the mind of everyone in the area. He stands and walks to the curb, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. The light turns, and he proceeds to cross the street, but he is barely halfway across when he is hit with a mind-wrenching blast that knocks him to his knees." He paused to take a sip of water as Natake raised his hand.

"I presume this is where we connected with him again? Are we still hearing his account or are we now back to yours?" 

He puts his glass down. "The rest of my presentation is based on operatives' reports, yes." Natake waves him on. 

“A pedestrian stops to help him but is quickly waved off. The Agent looks up to see an operative approaching, their face distorted. Outmatched but not helpless, The Agent surprises them by opening his mind up completely when the next blast hits. The tsunami of information pours in, diverted directly into his subconscious, which buys him just enough time to concentrate his own power and throw it right back, knocking the operative off balance and causing him to stumble backward into the street, where one car, and then another swerve to avoid him before a third does not. The body lands with a thud, causing at least two different accidents and several faintings, as the body was subsequently dragged fifty feet along the pavement by another car. It is assumed that--.”