This choice: Rob a guest at a luxury resort • Go Back...Chapter #18Lap of Luxury by: Unknown "So, you are probably wondering what your test will be. It's simple, really – a field exercise, under supervision of an agent already in situ. You're going to the social event of the year. And you're going to rob it.”
You concentrate as a series of images flash up on screen. Cedar Pines, a large, expansive five-star luxury resort, somewhere secluded. It looks like a showreel for the place: function rooms, a golf course... and blueprints of the entire complex, complete with cameras and alarm specs.
“Don't try and take in the intel. Plenty of time for that later, after you report to Gunther. As you're flying solo for the first time – in the field, with no support, but with the same level of control as any operative – you're getting Blanked. That will help.”
"I'm getting what?" you've never heard that term before.
“Head to Gunther, he'll clarify what you do. Now, listen carefully. This luxury country club is hosting the wedding of Holden Parry to his blushing bride, Alexandra Vincent. Two rich kids from old money." Images flash on the screen of a wedding invitation, with a picture of the two twentysomethings. Holden is good looking, with a few flecks of grey in his hair making him look distinguished. As for the bride, Alexandra is by no means a small woman when it comes to frame: she reminds you of Lucy, the girl you were almost a lifetime ago. While Lucy was average-looking, however, Alexandra has a remarkable face: perfect cupid-bow lips and an aquiline nose, with gleaming hazel eyes. Part of your training is facial structure, and you know that if Alexandra did lose any weight, she could easily lose some of her natural beauty.
"All right," you say, taking it in.
"Now, the wedding reception is being held at Cedar Pines. Security is going to be heavy. Not only is half the local high society scene going to be there, but so is the Scarlet Bloom."
"The what?" The image of a necklace appears on screen, ornate silver with a large, red teardrop sparkling at the centre. It looks like a ruby, but the caption states 'The Scarlet Bloom diamond'. You didn't even know diamonds came in red.
"A very large diamond, to be worn by the bride at the reception. It's been in the Vincent family since they made their money off the slave trade 200 years ago. It rarely comes out of the family secure vault, and will be put back and left for another few decades after the reception. It's your job to switch the real Scarlet Bloom for our duplicate. The wedding and reception is the perfect opportunity - there's an almost endless range of people you could use to obtain an 'in'; we've got a complete guest list and staff list."
You keep your thoughts to yourself. The Scarlet Bloom isn't the real objective, here; if they wanted it, the Organization could have taken it from the vault years ago: personalized security means nothing when you can be any person you want. This test is how you navigate an elaborate social scene, and what angle you take.
"Understood," you respond.
"Great. Now, head to Gunther. He'll sit you down, and you can study your intel on the way to your drop-off."
*****
You're still confused, reeling from the sudden announcement and new information, as you enter the lab again. Gunther beckons you over, flicking switches, looking concerned, twisting dials that give readouts that make little sense to the untrained. Eventually he points to something that looks like a Van Der Graff generator: a smooth chrome orb suspended by a column.
“Hands out, place on top” he says, indicating the machine. You step closer.
“What does it do?” Gunther barely looks up from his contraption, instead focusing his attention on several computer monitors simultaneously.
“What is the worst thing that can happen to you?” he asks. This is a common Organization question: they want this hardwired in. The answer is not dying. If you die in another's skin, or your own, that can be covered up.
“Exposure. Letting someone find out about us. Getting caught.”
“Correct. Now, we don't want that to happen, but...” the old man shrugs nonchalantly, as always his movements far too rapid for his supposed age, “accidents happen, don't they? Field work is unpredictable, ya? So we use Blanking. Now hold.”
You're uncomfortable with this, but you have little option. Your hands clasp on to the cold, slippery orb surface. Gunther flips a switch.
You shudder violently, as an electric bolt fires through you: it feels as if every muscle in your body spasms before relaxing again. “Fucking hell!”
Gunther doesn't laugh at your reaction: he betrays virtually no emotion about it. “Now, tell me how do you feel?”
You look at your hands and body. Everything seems normal, and you begin to shake off the soreness of the electric shock. Then you spot your reflection in the polished dome surface. You lean in, staring hard at it.
Your face. It isn't yours anymore. It's almost yours – there are traces you recognize. But every single prominent feature you had has been erased. You look... average. The only word for it. As if someone took the image of everyone in your age group and ethnicity, fed them into a computer, and asked them to produce an average face. You stare deep at your image. It reminds you of a video game character's face sliders being set to the mid-point.
“Why didn't you just use the red pen? I could have done that easily enough.” It's true: it's you, just with heavy plastic surgery. Enough that, should you be caught, you doubt anyone could trace you back to your old life.
“Because the red pen affects the body, but not the mind. You now have a safety net; a neural block that prevents anyone from finding out too much if you get caught.”
“I don't feel a block.” You feel like some mad scientist has just electrocuted you.
“You shouldn't; what would be the point in that? It would just prevent you from remembering your training. Think of it like a firewall, only open to zose with user access: you, and us, ya? Now, how do you feel? Emesis is a common side effect.”
"Groggy," you complain. "Like I'm going to throw up." You resist the urge, forcing down the discomfort, compartmentalizing it.
"Perfectly normal." Gunther smiles. Go back to your cell, rest, compose yourself. "It takes time for the sensations to settle down. Now, what face shall you wear to begin with..." he walks to the vats, musing over your mission...   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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