James picked up the phone’s handset and put it to his ear. He was greeted by a familiar dignified, nasal voice.

“Hey, Salamander, it’s Thad Donnelly. An informer is selling Consolidated secrets to the government. There’s a cop car parked down at the station in Tophatten. Steal it, then pick up Shifty at the train station. Finally, drive the car to the Consolidated car crusher and get out.” The line went dead.

Bewildered, he stared at the handset for a moment, then hung up the phone. For the first time, it didn’t start ringing immediately. Shrugging, James returned to his stolen pickup truck. He realized there was only a gray arrow in his vision now, pointing away from the payphone; he followed it through the streets.

Before long, a police station loomed before him. Reluctantly, he pulled into its parking lot and got out. James walked among the cop cars, feeling nervous and foolish. Surely, this couldn’t work? He didn’t look like a cop; with his radical hair and stylish threads, he looked more like a disheveled model from the cover of a romance novel. Still, maybe he could pass for an undercover vice cop? He did feel quite a bit like Don Johnson from Miami Vice at the moment, but sadly, there was no Ferrari to be seen, not even one built on a Corvette platform. Would an undercover vehicle suffice for the mission? He had no way of knowing. Thad Donnelly had told him to get a cop car.

Suddenly, a police officer appeared before him. “Hey! What are you doing here? You’re not a cop!” James froze; how to deal with this?

He realized something new had appeared in his vision; it simply said “Reply (Y/N)”. Mentally, he chose “yes”, and was surprised to hear himself speak. “Of course I’m a cop. I’m undercover.” The text disappeared.

“Oh yeah?” the cop growled, putting his hand on his firearm. “Let’s see your badge!” The “Reply (Y/N)” text reappeared. James looked at the cop nervously; what now? If he said “yes”, he feared he’d have to present his nonexistent badge. He had no choice, really; he selected “no”, and the text disappeared.

“I’m not carrying my badge!” he heard himself snarl. “That would blow my cover! What happens if they search me?” He felt a lump in his throat; would that work?

“Oh, pardon me,” the cop replied quickly. “Choose any car you like.” He then walked away, a blank look washing over his face.

James’ heart thrilled; he had fooled the officer completely! He chose the nearest squad car, got in, and drove away. He was relieved to see no golden police badges appeared in his vision, and that the officer didn’t think it was strange that an undercover cop would drive a marked car.

The gray arrow now pointed elsewhere; he followed it until he found the nearby train station. He pulled into the parking lot and stopped. But how was he supposed to find his contact? He only knew Thad Donnelly had called him “Shifty”. Several people milled around the platform; some climbed up or descended down the stairs. James frowned; was he supposed to get out and ask people one by one? His eyes alighted upon a likely candidate; despite the pleasant weather, he was dressed in an oversize trench coat, tied closed with two belts. Plus, he was wearing sunglasses, a hat, and rubber boots, and smoked incessantly. He wondered what the most likely way to make contact would be, then it occurred to him.

He honked the horn. In a flash, the trench-coated man sprinted toward him and got in. “It’s about time,” he seethed. “I got places to be!”

James chuckled to himself as he pulled out of the parking lot; the gray arrow now pointed elsewhere. He threaded his way through the streets, toward the car-crushing lot.

“What is this, a parade?” Shifty growled. “Let’s get a move on!”

James, not wanting to attract attention to himself, continued to drive sedately. Shifty became visibly upset. “Pick up the pace already!” he boomed. “Otherwise, I’m gonna jump out and walk there myself!”

He knew he couldn’t let that happen; his job was to deliver Shifty. Reluctantly, he pressed harder on the gas pedal and began swerving between cars, scraping a few in the process. “That’s more like it!” Shifty cheered.

As luck would have it, one of the cars he collided with was the police; they immediately gave chase, and James noticed a glowing police badge in his vision. Sighing, he gunned the motor and plowed through the traffic, causing a lot more than bent fenders.

“Hey, what gives?” Shifty whined. “You’re not a cop!”

He reacted almost without thinking. Taking his eyes off the road only for a moment, he threw a mighty punch at Shifty’s head. His passenger slammed against the door, then went limp. James burst into a wide grin; that never would have been possible with his real body! That time he spent in the gym, pumping iron, was the most well-spent five minutes of his life.

He could see the car-crushing yard grow near; although the other cop car had fallen further behind, it still seemed uncomfortably close. James realized he had no other choice. With a few well-timed drifts, he sailed through the intersection, and then into the Consolidated Inc. yard. He saw the crane’s magnet was already lowering toward the car. James slammed on the brakes, opened the door, jumped out of the car, and deftly triggered the electronic door lock; his passenger stirred weakly as he slammed the door shut.

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He saw the police drift through the intersection; they were almost upon him! Glumly, he realized the chase had been joined by another squad car. There was no time left. The magnet smashed into his car’s roof; James ran toward the towering piles of crushed cars, looking for a place to hide.

He heard squealing tires as the cars screeched to a halt, then the sound of the cops jumping out. “Give yourself up!” he heard one shout. “We have you cornered!” James felt another rush of adrenaline as he wound his way through the towers of hulks, searching for cover. He couldn’t shoot them; that would undoubtedly give him a wanted rating he couldn’t hope to evade.

He saw his car, with its unwilling passenger, lift ever higher into the air. Was it the adrenaline, or was the crane operator taking his sweet time? Would the cops try to stop the impending crush? Or were they focused on him? “Stop hiding!” he heard one yell. “We’re closing in!”

James continued to zigzag from one pile of crushed hulks to another, peering around each corner to see if the cops were upon him. Finally, at one intersection, he saw a police offer stalking nearby, his service firearm drawn. James ducked back quickly; had he been spotted? His heart seemed to leap out of his chest.

He looked down, finding a loose metal part on the ground. Grabbing it, he flung it as hard as he could, watching it soar through the air. James looked over to see his former cop car nearing the crusher’s maw, but it wasn’t there yet. He cursed to himself; the crane operator was definitely taking his sweet time. But why?

The metal part struck an unseen hulk a fair distance from him. “There!” he heard a cop yell, followed by gunfire. His movements covered by the sudden loud noise, James ran deeper into the lot, winding his way around more piles of junk.

Finally, he had to stop and catch his breath. His new body may have had great endurance, but apparently there were limits. Perhaps he needed another five minutes on the treadmill, he smirked to himself. The echoes of the gunfire finally died down, followed by an eerie silence, filled only by the rumbling sound of the crane. It had nearly reached the crusher’s opening; presumably, its next step was to lower the car toward it. James readied his Uzi, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.

James heard the cops approaching. “We don’t want to hurt you!” one yelled. He heard another voice come from a different area; “we only want to talk!” This was followed by stifled laughter. James felt a lump in his throat; as if his situation wasn’t dire enough, he was dealing with smart-aleck police officers. He had no doubt they were the type to abuse their authority.

One suddenly appeared from behind a corner. Their eyes locked, exchanging expressions of mutual surprise. “Contact!” the cop shouted. James reacted instantly, putting three bullets into his hunter’s chest; he screamed as he fell to the ground. “Officer down!” he heard another cop yell. “Shoot to kill!” James noticed he now had two glowing police badges in his vision; his heart sank. His new life had barely begun, and was about to end abruptly.

His face curled into a sneer as he moved further into the lot, rounding another set of hulks before jolting to a stop. The tall iron fence stood before him, topped with barbed wire. He was at the edge of the yard! He heard at least three sets of footsteps approaching from different directions. He peered down one aisle, then the other. He put his back to the nearest pile of debris and shuddered. There was nowhere left to run! He steeled himself for the impending gunfight.

The silence was broken by the sound of rending metal; an anguished scream could barely be heard through the cacophony. The horrible, creaking din persisted for what seemed like far too long, then it went silent.

His ears picked up the sound of footsteps breaking into a jog; he was amazed that they seemed to be fading into the distance. Hardly daring to believe, he followed them slowly, peering nervously around each corner. The distinct sound of car doors opening and closing reached him, followed by the revving of powerful cop-car motors pulling away, then trailing off, their roar soon overwhelmed by the usual noise of the city.

He crept toward where he had cut down the police officer. His body was gone; in its place there lay a chalk outline. Baffled, James wondered how the coroner had already shown up to cart away the body. With a start, he noticed that all the glowing police badges had disappeared from his vision. Putting away his Uzi, he shook his head and continued walking down the aisle.

As he approached the crane, he saw a phone on the side of a small building; it was ringing. His lips formed a thin smile; he knew how the system worked. Walking up to it and removing the handset, he was immediately hit with a verbal barrage.

“Great work!” the now-familiar voice of Thad Donnelly told him. “We’ll consider you for higher-profile jobs in the future. In the meantime, here’s some walking-around money.” The line went dead; he hung up the phone.

He turned his eyes to the display in the upper-left corner of his vision; he was thrilled to see he had just earned twenty thousand dollars! Only moments earlier, he was satisfied with having a few hundred to his name; now, he felt like a rich man. That was several months worth of pay at his real-world day job, with no apparent deductions for taxes. And this was only his first mission? How much would later missions pay, especially the higher-profile ones? How much had his uncle earned in his time? Enough to buy several houses and businesses, he realized. He wondered if he would do as well as Alan.

Past the crane, he saw something moving in the corner of the lot, opposite the one where he had almost been trapped. Closing in on it, he realized it was a crowbar. He let out a small chuckle; this common wrecking-yard tool could certainly be used as a weapon! He grabbed it and touched his pant pocket; as expected, it disappeared. He touched his pant pocket again, and it reappeared in his hand. Satisfied, he put it away again.

What should he do, now that he was flush with money? He wistfully thought back to the luxury car he had to wreck; he wondered how much a new one would run. What did real estate cost here? James doubted he had enough to dabble in that field. For the time being, it seemed his best bet was to get another mission from Consolidated Inc.

He stood outside the gate to the car-crushing yard. How was he to get back to the payphone? Retrieving his stolen pickup truck from the cop-station parking lot seemed infeasible; it was probably already towed. He didn’t want to use a taxi; the driver would become a witness.

James’ reverie was interrupted by something unexpected. Behind him, a loud voice suddenly called out, clearly directed at him.

“Hello.”