You’re driving back home, but under a different guise. Silva has allowed you to be her for this exchange, and even to drive the black FBI sedan she owns. (It’s technically federal property, but Silva seems to have a lot of leverage with them.)
Your clone’s on the back seat, sporting a spiffy black tux courtesy of the taxpayers. You’re unsure about his thoughts (if he’s capable of thinking at all – he can react, sure, but he’s not very proactive), but he’s doing a good impression of a thoughtful face. Perhaps about how, after an adventure wearing the skins of women and taking down criminal overlords (overladies?), he’ll return to a very plain life.
But those are your thoughts. You’d have preferred experiencing what you’re doing now while at home, but your newfound knowledge would put everyone at risk. He’s the decoy that will keep you, your family, and probably the world, safe.
“Nervous?” your partner tells you, and while David nods, you know it’s to you. (Probably because she makes it explicit.) Silva’s there, but under a different skin – that of Clarice Beauregard, a white, blonde woman in her forties. She has a very calming voice, though, and a keen eye for newbies in distress. “Just remember what I told you.”
“Yeah,” you say, more to yourself than to her. “I know.”
Yesterday’s sex ended up with a very interesting chat. The brown pen, as Silva told you, let’s you tap into the skin’s consciousness, but not their subconscious. You know some intimate details (like the fact that she’s got a crush on a Mexican telenovela actor by the name of Eduardo Estrada), but not the feelings behind them. You can replicate some of her quirks, but not understand why she does them.
And because that means your own subconscious will fill in the blanks, that means you have to watch for your own quirks. You must immerse in her personality. You can’t be David Anderson passing off as Adrienne Silva – you must believe you are her, and that you were always her. Your father, your mother, your siblings – they're just the Andersons to her.
And to get acquainted with your new flesh, you begin thinking of her parents. Your namesake and inspiration is Adrián Silva, a Mexican federal intelligence agent moved to the US after a bad rush with the cartels. Your mother, Anaís da Silva (the irony isn’t lost on you), is a former Brazilian model marked by a brush with crime. You took your looks from her, and a little Brazilian Portuguese, though you’re closer to your Mexican siblings.
And – to your surprise – you're an only child. Which is why you joined the FBI, more than pushed by your desire to comply with your dad.
You repeat this to exhaustion. Your partner filled in those details, as while the Adrienne inside your mind can confirm it, it’s not something she tells you. That’s another limitation of the brown pen (the “neural link”, as Silva calls it); the details are rather simplistic, enough to fool people for a while but not fool family members.
The repetition lets you acquaint with her mental voice. You repeat it until your own mental voice no longer sounds like you. Your shoulders relax, and you breathe confidently.
You’re Adrienne Silva, and you’re leaving a good boy at his house. His parents must feel proud of him.
--
You touch the doorbell, flanking David, waiting for an answer. The young girl you pestered yesterday answers, and soon, she dashes away. “Mom! Davey’s back!”
“Can we come in?” She lets you in, and you can’t help but tease her. “And remember – I know what you did when you were four. How was that shortbread cookie, young lady?”
Seeing Claire scurry away is a little satisfaction you allow your old life, but as you see your mother greeting you, you notice how dangerous that can be. “Hello there. I failed to take your name, ma’am.”
“Special Agent Adrienne Silva,” you reintroduce yourself as you shake her hand, letting her take over. “You must be Marie, right?”
“You guys really know everything, do you?” She laughs nervously, but you must remain serene. Especially when she grabs your clone and hugs him. “You alright, David?”
“Yes, Mom.” You’re still unused to his robotic responses, and you carefully study your mother (Marie, Marie!) for any tells.
But that seems enough to please her. “Great! You must be tired.” She looks at his new clothes with more than a hint of pride. “Wow! You look handsome!”
“Go ahead, kid.” You send him away as you talk to your – his – mother. “I wanted to express our appreciation for the services David rendered to our country.”
“You make him look like he went to war or something. Anything to drink?”
You instinctively want to ask for some orange juice, but you deliberately choose something you know isn’t at your home. “I’d say ‘something stiff’, but I’m sure you don’t drink, so... Some cola might be fine?”
“Oh, I’ll have to apologize – Paul and I don’t buy soft drinks.”
“Speaking of Mr. Anderson,” you ask. “Where is he?”
“Here,” he says as he appears from the stairs. He sees your clone and grins with satisfaction. “I see you’re a woman of your word.”
“Your son has been of great aid,” you say, though it feels odd to talk about yourself that way. “I would like to speak to you about additional remuneration. Has he already chosen a college to study?”
“Well... He’s on the school newspaper – MTSU has a great school of journalism.” (You’re aiming towards that, though you’re not exactly certain if that’s what you really want.)
“Journalism, eh?” You rub your clone’s back, trying to act friendly. “What’s your goal? TV? Print?”
He shrugs, moving away. “Yeah. That.”
“You’ll have to excuse him,” your mother (or rather, his mother) says, coming to his defense – though her look of worry is plastered on her face. “He must be tired. David, wanna come?”
“Yes.” As your clone leaves with her, you wonder if he’ll be able to fool them. And whether that distraction will avoid further scrutiny on your side.
--
“Well done,” says the real Silva once you’re finally away. “You’re very good at this, David.”
That praise does little to quell your frustration. You’re not one to express a lot of emotion towards your family – certainly, more than what robo-Dave has expressed so far – but it’s frustrating to know that you were there, and they didn’t even know it was you.
It’s even more frustrating to know this might be the last time you see them. A handshake isn’t a replacement for a warm hug from your dad, and your mom’s absence pierces your heart. Tina wasn’t even there (much less Nick); you’ll miss her bossy attitude. And how stupid it was that your last moment with Claire were spent pranking her?
“I know it must be hard for you,” she says, “but it’s for their own good.”
“I know,” you grumble. “It’s just that... I wish it didn’t have to be that way.”
“It’s always hard to deal with people you really care for. Makes you think of what you’re giving up, right?”
“What about you?” you ask, calling her attempt at a heartfelt cheer. “You miss your parents?”
She chuckles and nods. “I won’t say yes, but I won’t say no.”
“Why so elusive with me?”
“It’s not being elusive, David. Did you plan to live on your house for the rest of your days, or did you plan to move out and have your own home?”
Though it sounds cruel, Silva has a point. “I guess the second, but that doesn’t mean I’ll cut all contact with them.”
“Good to know – it would’ve made the Classroom a pain in the ass.” You study her face in silence until she laughs. “That’s the Organization’s training facility. Basically a private school, the kind that you live in 24/7.”
“A school?”
“Midpoint between high school and undergraduate, but specialized in the kind of job the Organization’s expected to do. You graduate, you become one of us.”
“Why not send me there?”
“Like I said, I don’t trust a lot of people right now. The Classroom is an attempt to train agents in bulk, but there’s been cases of apprenticeship.”
You cling to that last word, because it feels way too familiar. “You’re apprenticing me.”
“In the strictest sense of the word, yes. But in the official sense...” She grows very serious, her tone dimming and hardening. “This job isn’t exactly sanctioned by my superiors. This breach has caused a lot of chaos and division, and I must be careful who I deal with.”
“Or else, you’ll end up with another Renner.”
“Exactly. If I’m being evasive, it’s for your own good, for mine, for the mission, for the Organization, for our families and for everything as a whole. Once it’s plugged, things should run smoothly. But while it’s not...” She sighs, staring straight at the road. “I’m basically the only one I can trust that follows the Organization’s principles.”
“What does the Organization do anyways?”
She gives you a dark glare, but breaks into a snort. “You know about Rule One.”
“You said it’s that nobody knows about the Organization. Doesn’t mean you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“To be fair, it’s not far from the truth.”
You almost brake mid-road, but you collect yourself. “What do you mean by that?”
“What I mean is, you’re not paid to question them. When they send you on a mission, you usually go blind. Can be a theft, an assassination, a kidnapping – one objective, very few details. But when you see the results, you realize you’re doing the right thing.”
“Doesn’t sound very convincing.”
“Trust me – when you get that mission, you’ll understand everything.” She stops glaring at you, giving one last bit of praise. “The instructors would love you, though.”
“Why?”
“This kind of test can be hard for many. You aced it, with flying colors. Keep your eyes open, though – from now on, you’ll learn the trade when you least expect it.”
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