After all you’ve gone through – sacrificing your family, your life, for this wild-goose chase – has Silva truly betrayed you?
You’re perfectly sure that was Nick, your brother, on the phone. You find it ironic that you have a chance to meet him again, yet as the skin of some nefarious... Guy? Girl?
You don’t know, and surely you don’t want. To you, whoever’s inside Nick is a cruel and careless stranger. A nobody, draped in the skin of living, breathing people as if clothes. And if Silva is working with them – if that is her real name, gender, ethnic race, or even species – she's just as much of a nobody as them.
But what if this is all a trap? You got this missive from Carlyle, who’s got something against Silva. How would he know you’re not her? And then you get this call, from the phone Silva gave you. How did they trace it? How do they know you’re you?
You could call her, but you’re unsure if they’ll track you. And if she’s in it, she’ll probably tell you something to distract you. Your best bet is to check if the call was right.
However, you can’t do it as her. You heard their words - “decommissioned” - which probably means not even her credit card works. You got only the resources on the safehouse – about 200 bucks in spare change, the pen, the clothes you came in back then, and after a little search, a spare Glock 17 Silva keeps hidden just in case.
There’s also a large backpack you can use to hide Silva’s skin, and as an afterthought you also put Ross inside. (She said you could keep him for the moment, after all.) That should give you two identities to play with; even if tainted, they should hide your face, and the black pen can fix that. You also keep the keys to the safehouse, as good as that’ll do. You’re not sure you’ll return, after all.
--
You’ve been to Tyneside a couple times, but you’re surprised how big it is. A coastal city surrounded by mountains and woods, it’s the largest settlement in several miles, having a vibrant commercial and industrial district.
Yet, even these places hold abandoned buildings, rotting because no one has reclaimed them. The one in the corner of Sanderson Street and 5th Avenue is located far away from the coast, in the original industrial district. Its original purpose – a textile facility for Sanderson Textiles – can still be seen from the painted logo on the half-ruined brick walls, exposing rusty steel beams and rotting wooden floors.
You’re on the guise of a young black man – a Dinghy Boy – for practical reasons. (He’s a fast runner, though he couldn’t escape the pen.) You lack the brown pen, but you hope the minutes of quick study help you blend in.
You jog your way to the ruined building, checking how the extra baggage would affect you – the weight barely hinders you, letting you sprint a couple minutes if necessary. With backpack in tow, you hug the shadows to find a way in.
Inside, you find a couple inside an old office. One is a blond girl, early twenties, her hair in a tight ponytail and wearing athletic clothes, sitting atop a young man with spiky auburn hair, muted olive eyes and a cocky grin.
And the man? To your shock, it is Nick. And he’s sucking on the girl’s lips hungrily. “Babe, we can keep it for when we’re at my dorm.”
First strike, you think to yourself. Nick doesn’t have a dorm.
“Can’t hold myself,” the girl says. “Been a while since I’ve been anything but a Fed.”
“Once this is over, you won’t have to. We’ll be able to live our own lives. Free from them.” The man wearing Nick’s skin kisses her neck, grunting with barely-contained passion. “Free from their tyranny.”
The girl steps back, staring at him intently. “They’re a big organization, though. What makes you think we’ll be able to beat them?”
“The enemy of our enemy is our ally. When they make their move, they’ll be forced to come out.”
“Who?” the girl asks. “The bosses?”
“Yeah. Whoever’s supposed to lead us, Epsilon.”
Epsilon? That definitely sounds like a codename, but you never heard anyone call Silva by that name. (That also pretty much confirms Silva isn’t who she appears to be – and that doesn’t surprise you.)
“I dunno,” she says. “It’s too risky.”
“You said you’d be with me, didn’t you?” The impostor grabs her chin, locking eyes. “We might not be able to recover our lives, but we'll have our second chance. Who cares if the world’s riddled with imposters – I bet some of them will deserve it.”
“But what if they get to us?”
“They won’t. And they won’t because I know why they can’t be turned.”
Turned? You’re intrigued by what he says – and so does she. “You mean--?”
“The pens don’t work on them. They never had. That’s how we can identify them. And once we know, we’ll be able to take them down.”
“But they can be anyone.”
“They won't be powerful people; that’ll discard them. We only need to follow the trail when their scam inevitably falls down – see which bums or housewives start getting their knickers in a rush.”
Second strike. Nick would never say that.
“And if I wanted to be Adrienne?” the girl asks, further proving her identity.
The impostor sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We’ll see how that works. But we need to push those pens everywhere. Tyneside’s too small, and so does Edgefield.”
“There should be like 500 C-Sets total. Maybe 10 of them unaccounted for. That should be enough to fuck with the East Coast, but not the whole country.”
“Your data will help us restart the operation, Epsilon. We’ve got the blueprints for all of those, and we know they work. All we need is to move somewhere else, while everyone’s distracted. Then, we start again – and take all other cleaners.”
“Is it gonna be just the two of us?”
The impostor chuckles. “You’ll see when you meet them. Let’s just say Omega will be missing some of their best when this shit blows.”
Another codename. They’re using the Greek alphabet for names (how creative...), which means they’re limited. They should probably total about 20, with two of them going rogue and one of them being arguably loyal.
And, from what the impostor’s claiming, they’re the best of the organization. That tells you that you’re probably outmatched.
But why would Silva join them? Her words seem hesitant – like an interrogation, rather than self-convincing. Is she trying to lure this guy into a trap of her own? Are you the backup, or the executor?
You’re given little time to figure it out, as the two step from the barely-standing office chair they were sitting, holding each other by the waist. “You think they followed us?”
“I’m pretty sure they did. I haven’t given them clues of my betrayal, but they probably suspect.”
“Then we shouldn’t be seen together.”
The impostor gives the girl a burner phone, smiling. “This one can’t be tracked by them. Watch.” From his pocket, he draws something like a pen – or a wand, since it’s long and phallic but with a round tip – and touches the phone.
You notice your own’s starting to vibrate – to your fortune, since you muted it off. You take the phone Silva gave you and flick it towards the street, as strong as you can. That, however, isn’t enough to distract them, as the wand gives an ominous grumble. “Like I said. They were watching us.”
You see them approach at your direction, but you hide near a hole in the wooden floor. He points at the street, where you threw the phone – the chance you take to escape. “They must be here. Stay close and watch my back – we're gonna sniff ‘em out."
Time to see if your plan works. Your jog showed you a couple places to hide, but you want to keep close. You make a leap, your fall halted by loose bricks from the ruined wall. Hearing the noise of the bricks, you draw your gun, and as you move away, you make one blind shot at the gaping void splitting the floors.
BLAM! You sprint like in the Olympics, hoping the other Dinghies hear the shot and grow alert. You make a corner at the first intersection, then inside an alley and into one of their groups.
“Yo,” another black man stops you. “What’s wrong, man?”
“Two fuckers on the old textile,” you improvise. “They look like a couple, but they stink like feds. I was checkin’ out why they were gettin’ in, but then I saw some other guy meeting ‘em - I dunno, might be a gal – and they were talkin’ about some stuff they found down there.” You start setting some space between you as you finish taking your breather. “They’re armed, man. Fuckin’ bail out; if I hear anything, I’ll tell you.”
“Chill out, Joey.” (Wait – isn't the kid’s name Bartholomew?) “They won’t get past us.”
“Bail out, Marlon. Bail out, man.”
The guy looks at you warily. “What’s up with you, Joey? Who’s Marlon?”
“I dunno,” you say, drawing your gun. “Since you’re changing names and all. You know I’m not Joey.”
“Get him.” You see two of them trying to get you. You draw your gun, improvising.
“Shit! He’s gotta be a Fed!” You jerk your chin at one of them whose name you recognize, recalling the tale they were laughing at moments ago. “Scottie, you know me! I bailed you out when Ramirez ruined your spot!”
“Yeah...” The other Dinghy nods and tackles the first. “Don’t worry, Bartie! We’ll split once we deal with this pig!”
Darting away, you think about your next move. You know where Silva is, but you got little time before she switches skins. Tailing her may be dangerous, but your only choice to face her.
But... what if you went straight for the head? Why not go after “Nick” yourself?
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