"I need something more, something that doesn't have a monetary value."

Matthew took a moment to consider Sophie. He could sense that she was playing a subtle game, evident by the playful smile on her face.

"And what would that be?"

Sophie's smile widened, anticipation clear in her eyes. "A story," she said. "I want to know why you need an identity, why you're so eager to... 'exist.'"

"And why are you so eager to know my story?" Matthew shot back.

"Do you know why I am intrigued to help you, Matthew?" Sophie asked, revealingly and Matthew looked at her with curiosity, eager to listen. "It's because I find you interesting," she said.

'WTF!!' Matthew thought, though he didn't show it on his face. "Sorry. You are not my type," he said straightforwardly.

Sophie was taken aback a bit, she chuckled. "You misunderstand me, Mr. Matthew. I didn't mean interesting in a romantic or sexual way. And for the record, you are not my type either. In fact, even if you were a thousand times more attractive, you wouldn't be my type," she added playfully.

Matthew felt a bit insulted. "Oh! Something wrong with me?"

"Yes, wrong gender," she muttered under her breath, but Matthew heard it.

Matthew's eyes widened a bit. No wonder he was not her type. There was an awkward silence for a moment as the topic had strayed too much.

*ahem* *ahem* Sophie cleared her throat. "As I was saying," she continued, "You are interesting. I deal with a lot of people—fugitives, the underworld, whistleblowers, spies, debtors on the run, you name it. And your story is the one I find the most intriguing, and I am very curious about you." She was also very honest about her intentions, apparently.

Matthew had no problem with telling her his story. The thing was HE DIDN'T HAVE ONE.

"Look, I can't give you my story. It's too personal," Matthew said, adding in his mind, 'and it doesn't even exist.' "Don't you want something else? I told you already I will double the cost."

Sophie leaned back, disappointed by Matthew's reluctance to share his story. "Money alone won't cut it, Matthew. I deal in more than just weaving identities. I want something extra, something that piques my interest."

Matthew sighed, realizing he had to sweeten the deal. "Fine, Sophie. What else do you want?"

Sophie leaned back, contemplating his proposal. 'Hmm, you're a tricky one, aren't you?' she thought. "Well, how about this: you tell me what you are willing to part with, and I'll decide if it's worth my while," she said, smiling deviously.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

'Fuck! She is a demon! It's as if she attended the Jedi Academy of Negotiation – my tactics are no match for her Force!' Matthew thought as he was coming up with an 'offer.'

He thought for a while and then said reluctantly, "How about this: I owe you a favor, a blank check. You can cash it in at your discretion."

Sophie's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, as if she had just won a game. "A favor, you say? Interesting. Deal. We'll see when and how I decide to cash in on that, Mr. Matthew."

Suddenly, Matthew had a bad premonition. He couldn't shake off the feeling that he might have just made a 'deal with the devil.'

"Now that we have finalized the price of our 'exchange,'" Sophie said with a sly smile playing on her lips, "let's get to the 'finer details.'"

"Finer details?" Matthew questioned.

"Yeah, well, first of all, creating a whole identity from scratch is virtually impossible," Sophie stated, as if laying all her cards on the table.

"I'm guessing there's more to this, because you just said you can help," Matthew remarked.

Sophie nodded knowingly. "Well, yes. You see, someone's identity is defined by two main things." She raised her index finger, counting off, "One: A person's interactions—from friends and family, neighbors and colleagues to service providers, authorities, and even enemies. These interactions leave traces and memories."

"And two," she extended her middle finger, counting again, "life milestones—establishing a new identity involves creating a life story with milestones such as educational achievements, job history, and personal experiences."

Matthew absorbed the information. He nodded thoughtfully like a good student.

"Fabricating these aspects convincingly and consistently over time would be a complex task. And it would be impossible for you, who, as you said, don't have any previous interactions or milestones."

"So, what do we do?" Matthew asked curiously.

Sophie grinned mischievously. "What does a person do when they don't have something?" she asked rhetorically.

Matthew pondered for a bit, "They either buy it or steal it," his eyes widened with realizations as the words left his mouth.

"Bingo!" Sophie exclaimed. "We just have to steal a kind of 'semi-conspicuous' identity for you. And believe me, there are plenty of such identities—missing people, unregistered survivors, refugees, victims of human trafficking, among others. Trust me, I'm a professional."

"So, you have done this kind of thing before?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, flawlessly," Sophie replied, proud and bragging. "They don't call me 'The Weaver' for nothing."

"So, how do we find such an 'identity'?" Matthew inquired.

"You mean how am 'I' going to find an identity," Sophie corrected him. "Weaving identities is my job. And your job is to be a good and patient customer for me to get back to you."

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Patient customer? You act as if stealing an identity is like ordering a meal."

Sophie chuckled. "In a way, it's a delicate process, much like preparing a complex dish. It requires finesse, attention to detail, and the right ingredients."

"Ingredients? You mean information," Matthew clarified.

"Exactly," Sophie affirmed. "I know where to get this information. But it will take some time."

Matthew sighed, realizing the gravity of the situation. "I suppose I'll have to trust your skills, 'Weaver.'"

Sophie's eyes sparkled with confidence. "You won't be disappointed, Matthew. Now, let's talk about advanced payment."

Matthew sighed defeatedly. 'Another deal. And I bet I am not on the winning end this time either.'

When Matthew exited the club, it was already past midnight.

The 'demon' weaver managed to negotiate an advance payment of a whopping 5000 Alpenas, 5000 FUCKING ALPENAS!! Matthew left, with a sense of financial loss and a touch of regret.

Matthew started walking home, again humming to a familiar tune. He once again heard a familiar chime in his head.