This choice: Surrender the pen and find out more • Go Back...Chapter #14Surrender by: Unknown Logic would say this is where you shoot and run. But logic says people don't deflate in front of your eyes, that you can't swap your identity like you do your clothes. Logic struggles to overcome fear, too, or a master manipulator both offering and threatening at the same time. Lucy's face frowns, and you hand over the pen.
"Smart choice," Elena says, taking it from you. "The brown one, too."
You reach into Lucy's pockets to retrieve it, but you never make it. Something tells you to look up, and as you do, Elena has the pen pointing directly at you. "Actually, don't worry," she shrugs. "I'll get it myself."
With that the world turns black.
*****
You wake to cotton sheets, warm sunlight, and a gentle breeze. At first, you think the whole, crazy pen thing was just a strange dream. But as you wake you feel different somehow, as if your body isn't quite... yours. As you come around, you realize the room isn't your own: it's white, unadorned, sterile. The cotton sheet is actually a basic wool throw. The sunlight is actually a series of spots fixed to the ceiling, blaring down. The breeze is a gust from the open metal door. This is a cell. A windowless, basic cell, like for monks, prisoners, or test subjects.
"I thought you'd want to wake up under some sheets, at least." The voice is a mans, low and booming. "Welcome back, David. In fact, welcome in general."
You cough, rubbing your head, feeling a mess of short, stylish hair: Lucy's. Shit! It was all real. You look down, under the cover of the sheets, and see Lucy's breasts and flabby stomach.
"Where am I?" your feminine voice asks, turning to look at your visitor. The man is a giant: dark, muscular and grinning with friendly warmth. He looks as if he could be a cage fighter.
"Safe house. Relax. It takes a few moments to recover from being returned. All recruits go through it; you have to know what it feels like, after all."
"Are you who zapped me?" You ask. The man laughs in response.
"No. You were mailed here for training. Sounds like you got the jump on her in the field though, huh? Not bad! I think that's a first for a recruit. Most times they swallow the story whole."
"It seemed too good to be true."
"Maybe you're right. But then, sometimes things are as good as people say, no? You might not feel like it right now, but you made the right choice. Why don't you get out of that skin? We've got to mail it back."
"Wait...mail? You said mail earlier. You mailed me?"
"Nah, it's just a term we use when someone is transported as a skin - we don't stick you in a parcel and call a courier. You've lost less than a day, and we'll get whoever that is to her life by Tuesday morning. Oh, and don't take offense about being, what did you call it? Zapped? Think of it as travel without the hassle. Anyway, we can't separate host and skin once 'zapped': even we have limits. And we don't want whoever's body you're wearing to be posted as missing. So get out of the skin so I can arrange for her return."
You slip out of the skin, under the watchful eye of your new mentor. It's uncomfortable, standing nude in front of him, only to pull down someone else's head, chest, arms, legs... and be nude all over again. The mentor takes the skin, and murmurs something about clothes in a locker against the wall. He vanishes, returning as you finish putting on white underwear, white socks, and a white jumpsuit: the clothes in the locker are all identical. You look around the rest of the cell. There's a box, with spaces for five different pens inside, resting on a barren desk. There's a jug of water and a glass too; your simple bed, a small sink, toiletries, and a mirror. That's about it.
Your mentor returns, opening the door. "There you go! Better, right?"
"I guess," you say. "Look, I've got..."
"Questions. I know. Of course you do. So take a seat. I'm Harry, by the way. Not my real name, before you ask: nothing about this place is real. I'm probably the last person who's going to call you David, too. You'll be given another name to use, depending on the work you'll be doing."
"Work?" You're still trying to get your head around being *mailed* somewhere.
"We'll get to that later. Some people are fluid in their identity, changing as needed to respond to incidents. Some are more...let's say deep cover. Some have other roles entirely. Each class of agent has a different type of name. We cover a wide range of projects. Sometimes we spy. Sometimes we just replace and affect a key decision. Sometimes we have to take more drastic steps. But, as strange as this may sound, I promise you: we're doing the right thing. We are helping the world. It's an honor to be selected."
"Uh huh." There's not much more to say. It sounds like he's describing the Illuminati.
"So, questions. Fire away. I'll give you...say...five."
"Five?"
"That's right. Four now. Think sharp, David." You curse your own stupidity as Harry grins. He's treating this like a game.
"Uh... what is this organization?"
"That question gets answered later in training. I'm not the best person to explain it, but I promise you, you'll get an answer to it later. Still got four."
"Are my friends and family OK?"
"Perfectly fine. It's usual for two agents to replace key individuals in the recruit's life to make sure the recruitment goes...smoothly. In your case, your friend Jimmy was our active agent, and there was a sleeper too: I won't say who, it might freak you out. Rest assured, your friends and family have all been restored to their previous selves."
"Can I see them again?"
"No, you can't. It's policy, David. Sorry. They won't miss you, though, if you get my meaning."
"You mean you're going to...replace me?"
"Temporarily, yes. Already have, in fact. You won't remember this, but you've already been replaced twice, a few weeks back, while we were assessing whether to recruit you. We can't waste an agent forever though, so we're going to tidy that end up. Don't worry - your family will be fine. We're very good at what we do. They'll be OK without you."
You are about to blurt out something, but pause. Instead, you decide to ask the most important question of all. You ask it slowly and deliberately.
"Why did you pick me?"
"Ah. That's a very good question indeed, David. When you can be someone else, a lot of skillsets become irrelevant. Age, physicality. We aren't looking for great intelligence, and charisma isn't always required either. We picked you because... well, you fit our criteria. I'm not the one who made the decision, but obviously you fit into a pretty narrow band of people optimal for what we do. Kudos."
"Uh... thanks?"
Harry rises, and flicks his head toward the door. "You're welcome. Now, enough questions. Come, let's get started. We've got a lot of ground to cover."
You shake your head at this whirlwind of barely-revealed information. You had five questions, but you're nowhere nearer to the truth. And you have no idea where you are heading.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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