Exelain could not help but notice the small chrome figurine on Chief Preis's desk. It was supposed to resemble a totem of some sort, consisting of several small human-like figures lifting a perfect sphere. He had never seen her there before and wondered where the Chief might have gotten something like that. She was outside talking to someone he had also never seen before.

"Thank you for waiting," she said, closing the door behind her. "There always seems to be something that requires my attention." She dropped into the tall wing-back chair and woke up the computer that was embedded in the table.

"Who was that?" Ex asked as the stranger disappeared down the hall. "Is there a problem?"

"Nobody you have to worry about. It's external." She dimmed the lights and turned on the wall projection, which showed a series of files, with a large watermark above them: "CLASSIFIED". "We have more pressing matters to attend to."

There were several faces in those files that he already knew well. They were all involved in one way or another in the many circles of the criminal underworld, and each was more dangerous than the last, as if they had been sorted that way on purpose.

One of the last ones listed had a red label that simply said "Fishead." It was accompanied by a series of photos that had one thing in common: a bold man in a dark suit.

"I thought he was out of our reach. Is there some new development I don’t know about?" Ex said, leaning toward the screen to make sure he was not mistaken.

"In a way," Preis returned. "We have his location and have already made an offer that will make him bite."

"Where did this come from? Why now?"

"From far above our level. That's why they want it done quickly and inconspicuously."

"I thought we were going after smaller… fish first. Fishead will not bite on just anything. He's smart and far too well-connected to spend a single night in the box."

"That's why we are offering 100 units of grade 1 Skald. All you have to do is negotiate a deal, get him to give up some of his contacts, and make you his sole supplier."

"It’s too soon chief. He'll see through it."

She sighed, and leaned back in her chair, before getting up to pour herself a glass of brandy, which she kept in a locked cabinet. "Would you like some?

It was clear that there was no way out of such a mission. It came from way up the food chain and carried with it a sizeable reward and twice the risk. It was a reminder that the games they played on the street had nothing to do with the games played in the great halls over expensive drinks and lavish entertainment. These games had their own rules and there was only one goal: to stay in the game.

"No, thank you. I am still on duty," Ex returned. "What time is this supposed to happen?"

"Tomorrow. It's very short notice, but that's the only time we have been offered. You will pose as a lawyer, Lancer Hullen," she leaned across the table and pulled out a new file. "He's supposed to be overseas, at a resort in the Olnahar. Lancer is a key link between several high-level players dealing in custom goods, including Skald."

"And the end objective? Detention or just harvesting info?" Ex became uneasy, feeling the outstretched hands of the oligarchs meddling and twisting all around. He knew very well that the line between law and justice existed and had existed for a long time. What he did not want was to be involved in dirty deals made legal only to serve the few.

"You already know that." She did not look at him, just at the wall and the face of a slick lawyer whose whole visage spoke volumes about the things he would do for money.

"Elimination?"

She nodded. "Do not let that leave this room. Your team is to receive orders for detaining, nothing else, and you will not make a mistake. Clear?"

"You want me to hide things from my team? I do not feel like-"

"That was an order. Do your job and keep your feelings for your therapist." She slammed the empty glass on the table. "We have no room for manoeuvring here."

"Yes, boss," he replied, already feeling the weight slowly pressing down on his shoulders, knowing it would only increase until the deed was done.

●

Above the entrance to the nightclub hung a large sign, pulsing rapidly in bright green. MALIX TORN was the name.

People were scattered around the door, waiting to be let in by two androids in white suits whose eyes scanned the area for threats. The loud bursts of electronic music shook the ground, following the same heartbeat of the city as the night before and the night to come.

"I actually like this place," Lore said, loading her electronic immobilizer with two standard charges and tucking it into her belt. "I have had some pretty good times there."

"For a north-sider, that's actually respectable," Mirey replied, smiling at the sight of the neighbourhood many feared to set foot in. "I bet your parents knew all about it."

"How do you think I ended up with this job in the first place?"

"Hate to kill the mood, but we have to go. Fishhead is waiting." Exelain said from the car, calibrating the morphing device on his wrist. "He'll be in the private area above the stage, so don't get tagged and don't attack unless I give you a signal. Do you understand?"

They nodded in agreement.

"Hey boss," Lore said as they approached the entrance. Did you get the

suit from the Imperial?"

"Yes, is there something wrong with it?" Ex asked, looking at his striped sleeves in confusion.

"You mean, besides the fact that it came from the Imperial?" She wanted to laugh, but the androids called them to the door.

The androids guarding the doors were a relatively new phenomenon in the nightlife. Some would argue they were easier to fool than regular bouncers, but even bouncers knew when it was time to retreat. They were known as BRs and programmed to report any potential threat right at the door, but one could only wonder which club owner was more paranoid than the other, resulting in many illegal upgrades being made to their system.

The androids let them in, finding nothing threatening about them or their scan-blocking devices. From there, they went their separate ways. Mirey sat at the bar directly across from the stage, keeping a watchful eye on the other side. The club was full of people from all persuasions, some nostalgic for the old days, others looking for simple fun.

He spotted Lore making her way to the center of the dance floor, fitting in much better than Ex ever could. In that suit, he stuck out like a sore thumb, Mirey thought as he watched him walk up the stairs to the VIP area.

"You must be Mr Hulen," said the bald man, sitting on an antique leather sofa. "Come sit with us." He pointed to the chair across from him and beckoned the bartender to make another drink. "I hope you'll like the old "Tronco", it's 60 years old, much older than me and looks smoother than my scalp."

Ex nodded politely and sat down without so much as a handshake. He took a brief glance over his shoulder, realizing how little he could see from that chair and how little of him could be seen from downstairs. He was surrounded by bodyguards, at least two of whom were upgraded. He could think of better places to be.

"I find you quite interesting, Mr Hulen," Fishead continued.

"Please call me Lancer," Ex interrupted, accepting the glass offered to him.

"Lancer," Fishead tapped his knee. "Look, I've been in this business a long time, and I don't think I've ever been offered what you're offering me here. I can't help but wonder if I should be honored or suspicious."

"I would be too," Ex said, smiling. "It's only natural." He took a small sip of the "Tronco" and found it more enjoyable than he’d expected.

"You offered me 100 blocks of Skald Grade 1, untouched, unbroken, pure as snow, and I figured either today is my lucky day, or someone is playing a dangerous game with their life. But I like to be an optimist, the world is much better when you see it through the eyes of an optimist. So I decided to believe that this was true, and I called you here to prove that I was right."

Ex reached into his jacket, deep into the lining, and pulled out a very thin black container. He placed it on the table and pushed the lid away, revealing dozens of small green circles on either side. Fishead's eyes shone brighter than the lights of the club, and Ex followed his gaze to his own eyes.

"I don't know whether to be offended or impressed. You snuck that past my androids?"

"You need better androids," Ex returned sarcastically. "Consider this a gesture of goodwill from my business to yours. That's what you get, and a thousandfold more, at a very decent price." He slid the box across the table, all the way to the other edge.

Fishhead took off his right glove, pressed his index finger to one of the rings, and placed it at the top of his mouth. Almost instantly his face contorted into a curious expression, his jaws clenched, and his nostrils flared until he shook his head like a wet dog. "Wonderful," he finally said with a wide grin, "this really is the best of its kind. But I hate to kill that feeling with an unpleasant string of words. What's the catch?

"Hold back from trading with your other partners for a while and leave your business to me and my company."

"Oh, that doesn't seem decent at all, betraying my friends."

"You'd gain a new one. Maybe even a better one," Ex said confidently.

"See, that's what bothers me about this narrative," Fishead smirked, interrupting his pleasant intoxication. "I find it very hard to trust someone who has no real conviction. If you do things just for money, then you're really just in it for the money. Who's to say you won't find another project for another day? Who's to say you have any roots at all?"

"Perhaps I do have them, but not all roots are the ones we are proud of. You must understand this yourself, the hardships of fighting your way from the gutters of Hoverven to the towers of Opelin. I believe this particular path leads directly through the 13th district."

He saw a slight tremor on Fishead's lips. He had not expected those words, but they were enough to give him solid ground in the middle of a river that led to the abyss.

"I agree," replied Fishead, clutching the armrest of the sofa so tightly that it almost squeaked. "It's a challenging path full of unforeseen dangers. You have to keep your head above water and your feet in your shoes."

"So do you agree with my offer then? Or should I look elsewhere?" Ex felt the pressure growing inside and out, refusing the urge to look at his wrist as each moment in the chair dragged on into eternity. He could almost feel it ticking, pulsing in the tiny veins of his face. The pain was to follow.

"Lancer, my friend, have another drink, have no haste in these matters. Nothing good comes from haste."

"I am afraid I can not stay long," Ex replied, looking for the easiest way out of what was inevitably a bad situation. His calibration was wrong, and he did not count on the cleverness of criminals.

"But you must, I am dying to know who’s hiding behind the modifier." Fishead leaned forward, and in his eyes reflected a hint of malice. "It's a wonder, this new technology. I have never tried it myself, but I'd like to see it in action. Say, do you actually know that you are wearing the face of a dead man?"

Ex froze, revealing another major flaw in his plan big enough to tear him to shreds. Lancer Hullen was a businessman and former lawyer for several crime bosses. Neither well-known nor completely unknown, he had the perfect mix of someone who could open enough doors and walk through them without catching a tail. More than anything, he should have been on the other side of the world.

"Dead, how come?"

"Because I killed him right after he betrayed me. He died in this very chair you are sitting in. Ironic, is it not?"

Ex knew it was a matter of life and death by that point. The options left to him were minimal, one of which was an immediate reaction, but since he had no weapon at hand and was heavily outnumbered, that was a disadvantage for him. There would be a bloodbath, and blood made him sick.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

He decided on a different plan, one that carried a different risk and consequences that could affect his life for a long time. He pulled up his sleeve and deactivated the modifier. The thin layer of modifiable mass turned white and he slid it off his face in one swift motion.

"Ah, there you are at last," Fishead announced, pointing his finger at the new face. "I see you. What should we call you now?"

"Marino. Rorin."

"Rorin Marino. Now, now, what a name. Sounds exotic," he said and laughed hysterically. "And you do not look exotic. I am getting tired of this game."

"So am I." Ex raised his voice "Lancer was my way in. I was told that new people were not to be trusted, so I put on the skin of an old one. I came here with a business proposition because I was told you were a smart man, a businessman who takes well-calculated risks, and I needed one. But I see now that you are easily blinded by prejudice."

"Would you like to know how Lancer died?"

"Is it of interest to me?" Ex replied, playing the game as coldly as he could.

"He made me an offer, not as good as yours, to be honest, to sell him this club for peanuts and rice in exchange for him getting me a ticket out of the box, because apparently, the box is imminent to me. The whole time he was working for me, he was nibbling away bit by bit of information and apparently making a case against me. Can you imagine? That slick bastard got it into his head that Fishead was a fool."

"Is that supposed to intimidate me?"

"It's to let you know I do not play games."

"Neither do you make the rules. But I do. You have a choice: accept my offer, test it, make sure I am not a fraud, and then we'll talk trade. I have no name and no prospects, but you can stretch your hand out to any corner of the city. You can make a profit that I could never imagine. All I ask for is a few names. On the other hand, you can kill me right here and flush away untold wealth. But I do not think that's the way to do business."

"You make it sound so easy, Mr Marino. I have to ask first, where did you get this?" He reached for another green ring and played around with it in the air.

"I'd like to keep my sources secret. They are a treasure to me," Ex felt the time slipping away again. He could not predict what could come next.

"Right," Fishead put the drug back on the table and moved away from it. "But what guarantees do I have you are not selling me fog? That might as well be all you have."

"I'll show you."

"You'll show me?" He laughed at the idea.

"Tomorrow," Ex pulled a business card from the outside pocket, pure black with silver letters, with nothing but coordinates on it, and slid it across the table. It was his last resort. "You can bring your bodyguards, but no one else, I do not want attention where there should not be any."

"You are a fascinating man, Mr Marino. I am really tempted to accept this invitation. But I will have to think about it first."

Ex nodded and finished his glass in one gulp. It was over, his head still resting on his shoulders, but at a high price.

Miray and Lore were already on their way to the lounge. They approached the small staircase, careful not to be seen, and clutched the immobilizers tightly as they pushed through the crowd. The connection with their leader was broken the moment he entered the lounge, and for a while there was no sound from him.

They backed away when they saw a man in a striped suit coming down the stairs. He wore a strange face.

They got lost in the crowd again and minutes later found their way out. When they got back to their vehicle, they found Ex nervously trudging in circles.

"What happened up there?" Miray asked pointing back.

"And why did you change your face?" Lore added. "Whose face was that, anyway?"

"I had to improvise. I gave him the card I took from the Fanger case last year. It had to look real, so I don’t think he’ll suspect anything."

"Wait, you wore two modifiers?" Lore grinned. "Are you insane?"

●

They were waiting for the guests to arrive. They parked their cars in the middle of the open road, surrounded only by wheat and corn fields. The night was cold and they were quickly loosing patience.

"I do not remember the last time I was this far away from the city," Miray said squinting his eyes at the distant lights. He combed his hair back the way they did in the old movies when real gangsters ruled the streets. "It doesn’t look safe to me. What if there’s some crazy old farmer waiting to shoot at us just for fun?"

"Like that ever happened," Lore smirked. "And what happens if they never show up? Ex?"

"Well, the boss is already breathing down my neck. It can only go downhill from there."

"Oh, here we go," Miray said, slamming the door.

Three black cars came down the street and parked on the opposite side. They let their engines run for a few seconds before a man from the first of them got out and opened the door behind him.

A bald man in a velvet suit appeared, neatly blending with the surroundings so that only his head reflected the light.

"Good evening Mr Marino," he said keeping his hands in his pockets.

Both sides kept their distance, only the lights of the cars illuminated the night.

"If you would follow us," said Ex, "we would like to take you to our factory."

Fishead looked at his bodyguards, and they removed their hands from their weapons. There were seven of them that Ex could see, and probably more still in the cars.

"I would like you to ride with me, Mr Marino. I don’t imagine there’s much more to go."

"Careful," Lore whispered. "Do not lose your footing."

"Gladly," returned Ex and crossed the invisible line between them.

They continued for a few more minutes, straight ahead, until they made a sharp turn and followed a narrow path through the cornfields. There, at the very end, was a small house with a yard that looked like any other house in the country.

Ex tried to remain calm as the elevator took him and Fishead three levels below the house. The rest were told to remain on the surface.

He remembered the last time he was there when the government agents took over their investigation the moment they entered the basement. He wondered what could have been so important. Luckily for him, the building had been abandoned ever since and was scheduled for demolition, but since the demolition crews went on strike, the laboratory remained untouched.

"Beautiful," Fishhead said, tapping Ex on the shoulder. "You were not lying, Mr Marino." He exited the elevator and walked between the rows of a once-thriving factory for the most potent drug ever made. "Real potential."

"So, do we have a deal?" Ex asked impatiently. "I have a clear intention to turn this place into a thriving little beehive. There is not much in the world that could stop me from achieving that."

"Remind me again what the deal was?" Fishead touched nothing at all but kept making close observations of long metal tables and dusty glass containers.

"Share in our production line, of course, for your information about the buyers."

"I could not have said it better myself. Or could I?"

Fishead tapped his head lightly as if he were just remembering something crucial. He smiled, half crookedly. Things were about to get out of hand.

"Please do," Ex held his hands behind his back, close to the gun. Elimination. It rang in his head. It was a word they no longer used.

"Look, all this, you know what it reminds me of? Of a stage. Like I am in the theatre. Except the play started yesterday and it's only now ending. You are offering me something I want in exchange for something you want, and it all seems reasonable, does it not? Except that neither I nor you can offer those things."

"What exactly are you trying to say? If you knew you couldn’t make a deal, why did you agree to come then?"

Fishead waved his hand in the air, graciously. His shoulders hang lower and his walk had less confidence. He suddenly appeared like a different man, certainly not the same one who Ex had met in the club. It was as though one was pretence and the other was the truth. Ex could not tell which one was more believable.

"Curiosity," returned Fishead. "I admire you, Exelain. You are loyal."

"Excuse me?" a cold shiver ran down his spine. The game was coming to an end.

"Oh, please, stop it, I knew who you were the minute you walked into my club. You believe are one of the good guys. You follow orders, you do the right thing. Yes? Well, call me curious but I wanted to see how you handled this little task that Preis gave you. And I must say, you did well."

Ex did not know what to say. The noose had finally tightened around his neck.

"Of course I knew," Fishhead continued. You and I are a lot alike. The 13th District. Remember? You, me and a hundred other kids nobody cared about. Well, look at us now. You, a puppet of the state and I, the king in the castle.

Finally, he understood what was different. A memory from a life he chose to forget came rushing back. Ex clenched his gun and was ready to fire, to kill the apparition that reminded him of where he came from. But he stopped once he remembered who it was.

"Katon? Ex said quietly. "No. No, it can not be. The fire?"

"Yes, well, I survived. They gave me a new face. Not my hair though," he laughed. "But we are not here to talk about me, little Exelain. I am here to offer you a deal as well. A real deal. I want you to help me run this town. It’s only fair."

"No," Ex mumbled stepping back toward the elevator.

"Skald, my friend. This is your reason. They lied to you. That's what they do. The city is a mechanism of harmony. There are the oligarchs who own everything, there are those who run things, and there are all the others who have to listen to them or lose their everything. You know what I’m talking about."

"Is that why you’re here? What is your connection to Preis?"

"She sent you to eliminate me quietly so I could not overrule her and spill her secrets. Do you realize how deep that goes? Stop being a puppet and look around. This is not the factory. This is not how Skald is made. It's not made in a lab." He beckoned Ex to come closer, and he resisted at first. But then he could resist no longer.

Fishead led him to a concrete wall splattered with white paint that stood just behind the curtain of glass and small neon symbols. It did not appear to be of any interest but when he looked closer, Ex noticed that the paint that ran off the wall outlined a square in the floor.

"Down," Katon pointed. "Below."

●

The room was small and lit by long streaks of green light that hurt their eyes. First, it smelled of bleach, then of iron, and finally of blood. Hundreds of chains hung in circles from the wall, and from them a substance ran down the walls and onto the floor, where it pooled together in a clogged drain.

Ex felt the sudden urge to run. The sudden terror ripped him in half, and he was reminded that had he taken a single wrong turn as a child, he could have become one of the victims. Everything he’d ever known till that moment became trivial. He closed his eyes and Katon pulled him back up, before nausea took over.

"All of them from the 13th," Katon said as they walked towards the elevator, "every single one was used to make this precious substance that finances everything in our beloved city. And you, my friend, can help me burn it all down. Remember what you must do now. Pay attention t-"

It flashed through Katon's head and he buried itself in the wall behind him. It was silent and powerful enough to make confetti out of his brain.

Ex faltered back and reached for his gun once again, but when he looked up at the attacker, he paused, unsure what the right decision would be.

"Elimination," Lore said in a serious tone Ex had never heard her use. "You should have been able to do that at least, Exelain. The boss has a message for you. You are no longer useful."

Another bullet was fired and made just another splatter on the wall.