Chapter #25(Skin-)Deep Interrogation by: Nostrum   You wake up in a daze, grabbed by Smith. But something’s horribly off.
You recall once seeing how some augmented reality glasses would work, and you check your own glasses to see if they were replaced. It’s almost like if you saw a movie on those glasses from two different perspectives, suddenly shifting into one.
You recall being on an apartment, being fooled by that kid into taking her off. (Yeah, that’s Ross.) But then, you remember seeing them, and how your youngest grabbed the middle one and threatened her, and then Trevor--
“Ugh...” You grab your forehead, covering the light in your eyes. “What happened?”
“I noticed you were getting pale, Clarice.” The dizziness of having minds linked to yours dissipates as you recognize Smith. “Then you fainted.”
“Did I?” You rely on your own confusion to fool everyone. “Must’ve been my sugar acting up. I knew I should’ve eaten something, but I wouldn’t be here on time if I did.”
“Next time,” your superior says, “eat at least a granola bar. I don’t want you out of your game just because you want to be here early.”
As the paramedics help you sit, you grab his hand, smiling weakly. “Thank you. For the help.”
“You’re a good employee,” he says, though you suspect a hidden message in his words. “Can’t have you falling down on me.”
And you know because, while Smith’s a caring person, you haven’t seen him speak that way. Unless he really does that when Clarice or someone else faints on the job, you’re pretty sure that jolt was a sign that you had backup.
--
And if that was the case, it’s obvious why you weren’t a suspect. Clarice Beauregard has worked for the FBI for over 25 years; to have her be suspect of theft, when she had no evidence to the contrary and when she actually pointed out what happened, would look odd to everyone.
(After all – if they had you strip off your skins, that meant someone had to know about them. You could accuse them of being your accomplice, since why else would they know?)
Between that and a medical excuse, you left to Clarice’s house, where Silva was expecting you. It turns out that Clarice’s “house” is another safehouse, meant to deviate attention from the original. You’re in awe of how stupidly prepared Silva is that her answer baffles you. “Did you do it?”
“I thought you backed me off there.”
“That was Clark. He’s off today, so I had him switch with Smith. I worked digital interference with the guys at DF while he kept an eye on you.”
“Tell him I’m thankful.” You begin undressing, ready to get rid of the multiple new inhabitants in your mind – Clarice, Ross, and one former judge that insists on being called Tessa. “You say you can’t trust anyone but me, though. Why trust him?”
She chuckles, and you see a chink in her carefully constructed emotional wall. “I feel he’s trustworthy.”
“I’m the new one,” you say as you pull off Clarice’s face, revealing Ross’s. “I could backstab you – the only reason I don’t is because I’m literally new at this. But Clark?”
“I’m letting him in slowly, but I trust you’ll be there to check him. I’m not a fool.”
“Not like you’re trusting me fully either.” You pull off Ross’s face, showing her your real catch. “You didn’t tell me you had me in custody,” you say, trying to sound like the elegant criminal mastermind Marvin tries to project as Tessa.
“We only knew of the black and brown pens,” she retorts. “If I told them about the white pens, they’d suspect.”
“Yeah. Figures. But that means--”
“Barbara and Cassie believe their mother has been taken as an informant. Ashley doesn’t know Marvin’s inside.” Silva looks at you, grasping her elbows tightly. “That was gutsy of you. Stupid, but gutsy.”
“I feel she – well, Marvin – might hold more pieces to the puzzle. I also noticed five cases, and some of them missing. What’s with that?”
“Those are all the cases we found. And the pens you probably saw were already missing.”
“So, Carlyle was trying to set you up or something?”
“No. I actually took them.” Silva grabs a small box, from which you see what seems to be crystals and circuitry. “These are the working parts – useless without the cases. Had to take them out before anyone could use and take them. If they do, they’ll get a nasty surprise, and I can pin the blame on them.”
“Right...” (Again, she seems crazy prepared.) “You stole them all at once?”
“Three-day job. Move, take out, replace. Fitzgerald noticed on day two, when I was working to take them away. Day three, Clarice did the replacement.”
“By which you mean you did.”
“That’s inconsequential. What matters is what we can extract from...” She looks at you – the face of an elegant woman sprouting from the neck of a black man, sprouting from the body of a middle-aged woman – and sighs. “Them. Maybe even work something to pin the blame on Marvin, reveal he’s alive and well, and free Tessa.”
“And here I wondered why you had her there.” You take a deep breath, stripping off Clarice’s skin. “Now what?”
“Now, we have to interrogate Ross. Figure out how he found the pens.”
--
“Ready?”
You open your eyes, taking a deep breath. Silva stands before you, and you can’t help focusing on her body. You lick your lips, rubbing your hands as you feel that massive cock awaken.
“Yeah. You seem ready.” If it’s “ready to fuck a hot Latina”, then Ross Marquand certainly is. It’s odd to wear the skin of a man after wearing women for so long (because, even with Quentin, you still wore Cassie over his), let alone one as well-equipped as his.
That’s probably his best asset, because Ross looks shady as fuck. You definitely peg it to his hard stare, because he’s not built out – he's not thin, having a lot of lean muscle, but the kind you’d expect from someone used to run a lot. The overall lack of hair on his skin might help as well, since it forms a lot of shadows on his face and head.
Yeah, it’s probably his stare, with his dead eyes and droopy eyelids, trying to hide where you look at. The kind of dropped look that would just as easily sell you drugs than would shank you with a crude knife. You’re pretty surprised how Silva isn’t intimidated by him.
But you’re not aiming for either of these things. Seeing Clarice’s and Tessa’s skins deflated on the bed unnerves him at first, then amuses him. Particularly Tessa’s skin – for she was the one that gave Ross his new identity as Barbara Elizabeth Wright, from which he pushed up drugs to high-paying customers – not the lowlifes he pushed before, but executives that wouldn’t even dare to look at you otherwise.
“What can you tell me about the lab on #310 in the corner of Sanderson and 5th?”
You close your eyes and listen. And then, relay. “That’s Dinghy Boys territory, but even they didn’t use it a lot. Mostly an exchange spot.” (And when you ask who are the Dinghy Boys, they’re a gang on the coastal side of Tyneside, known for using small boats to transport merchandise. Ross pushed their merchandise but he preferred working independent.)
“What was under that building? What did you find?”
“Rubble.” You’re trying to extract more, but he’s oddly evasive. “Look, that’s what I’m getting from him. Lots of rubble. When I ask him about the pens, he says he found them by accident.”
“When? How? Why?”
You refocus, repurposing Silva’s questions to extract as much information as possible. “The ‘when’ was over a year ago. The ‘how’ is by accident – he was pushing some drugs, some of the rubble fell, created a hole, and some of the Dinghies went and explored. I--” You take a deep breath, seeking to own that claim. “I went with the boys, noticing these weird machines. It was like a factory, pushing up pens.”
“When did you learn they could turn people into skins?”
“Playing around. Jeffrey from the Dinghies played he was using them as a gun, shot a fool and ran away scared. Then Lamarr, another indie pusher, said he’d wear Jeff and scare the shit out of him."
“Where’s Jeffrey? Where’s Lamarr?”
“Gone.” You look at Tessa’s deflated skin, snorting. “Boss’s orders.”
“And the pens?”
“I took a set, and knowing what they could be worth, asked the guys to get as many sets out as possible. One for each one there, we’d keep the secret.”
“How many are alive?”
The response is confusing. “I dunno. Maybe two or three. I know of the guys I killed, caught their pens back. I know Marlon was turned into skin, and I didn’t find his set, but of everyone there... I’d say three out of the thirteen – four if you count me.”
“And what happened with the sets?”
You groan, since Silva won’t like the answer. “Boss kept a couple crates. They’re on a safe only she knows. There were five, though, and I know Tyler from the Dinghies moved one outta Tyneside.” Then, an even bigger surprise. “There’s one we can get, though.”
“Which?”
“A crate I learned was pushed by someone in Edgefield. Some...” You blink. “Mayor Chen?”
“Who’s she?”
“Elaine Chen. Mayor of Edgefield. But why would she be involved in these? Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“You said whoever was making these wanted to destabilize things, right? How about someone who’s in contact with everyone in a small town?”
“Like a mayor.”
“Exactly! So, replace her, start pushing the pens to people you want them to have, ask for favors.” You look at Tessa, snorting. “That’d be her idea, but I’m not even sure if she planned it.”
Silva nods, standing up. “That’s enough. Wish it was clearer, but leads us to another suspect.”
You stand up, still drunk in Ross’s swagger. “Now what?”
“You can keep him. Have fun with his thing.”
“And you?”
“Gotta see how I deal with Ms. Chen. In the meanwhile...” She hands you a black pen, then grins. “Wake up my clone if you want. You deserve it.” You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author