A Degree In Espionage

The hum of the van’s engine thrummed in sync with the pounding in my head. Outside the rain-spattered windows, the industrial district sprawled in shadows, a labyrinth of steel and grime. It was the perfect backdrop for the plan Mindy and I had cooked up—the kind of scheme that made me question whether I was brave or just stupid.

“Clarke, you’re hesitating,” said M, the AI nestled in my brain. Her tone was dry, with a touch of annoyance. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I’m not hesitating,” I muttered, adjusting the makeshift lab setup in the back of the van. My hands moved with practiced efficiency, manipulating the energy that pooled in my palms, my power as a Bastion of Genesis bending to my will.

“Not hesitating? Then why have we been parked here for six minutes and thirty-seven seconds? Shall I fetch a dictionary to clarify the definition?”

“M,” I said, keeping my tone even, “you’re not helping.”

“She’s not wrong,” Mindy chimed in from the driver’s seat. She twisted around, her dark curls bouncing as she shot me a wry look. “You’ve been tinkering with that mask forever. Either it’s ready, or you’re stalling.”

“I’m perfecting it,” I corrected. The mask was more than just a disguise—it was a second skin, an identity I had to wear if I was going to infiltrate Stiff’s mercenary group. It had been provided to me by my Power of Manifestation.

The former colonel’s paranoia was legendary, and his trust harder to earn than a straight flush with a loaded deck. I needed the mask and my powers came through for me.

Mindy rolled her eyes. “Perfection Is Overrated, Clarke. Especially when we’re on a clock.”

She wasn’t wrong. Stiff’s crew wasn’t exactly known for their patience, and the longer we waited, the slimmer my chances of getting inside undetected. With a sigh, I held up the finished product: a sleek, futuristic mask that shimmered faintly in the dim light, its contours alien yet familiar.

“Looks like something out of a sci-fi movie,” Mindy said, leaning closer to inspect it. “Creepy, but it’ll do.”

“I aim to impress,” I said, slipping the mask onto my face. The material molded to my skin, seamlessly integrating with my features. A moment later, the van’s rearview mirror reflected someone I didn’t recognize—a stranger with angular cheekbones, dark eyes, and a faint scar tracing the edge of his jaw.

M’s voice hummed in my mind. “Facial recognition algorithms updated. Voice modulation initialized. Congratulations, Clarke—you’re now someone else entirely. Try not to blow it.”

The plan was straightforward in theory: pose as a rogue operative looking for work, impress Stiff’s inner circle, and earn my way into the colonel’s trust. But theory and practice were two very different things, and I wasn’t about to underestimate the man who had framed me for treason.

“Remember,” Mindy said as we approached the drop point, “you screw this up, you’re on your own. I can’t exactly waltz into Stiff’s camp to bail you out.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, though my grip on the mask tightened.

“Confidence detected,” M quipped. “Probability of success adjusted to thirty-one percent.”

“Not helping, M.”

The drop point was a dingy warehouse on the edge of town, its windows boarded up and its exterior tagged with graffiti. Inside, a group of men and women waited, their postures tense and their hands never far from their weapons.

I strode in like I belonged there, every step calculated to exude confidence. The mask’s neural interface fed me real-time data, analyzing the room and highlighting potential threats.

The leader, a wiry man with a military haircut and a scar bisecting his eyebrow, stepped forward. “Name?”

“David,” I said, the mask modulating my voice into a deep, gravelly tone. “Heard you’re looking for talent. Figured I’d offer mine.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Talent, huh? What kind?”

I gestured toward the crates stacked against the far wall. “The clandestine kind. It’s the word on the streets.” I dropped a flashdrive on the table. “All you need to know about my skills is there.”

His skepticism was palpable, but he nodded. “Fine. Let’s see.”

I watched as picked up the flashdrive and plugged it into his computer. The videos there were drone videos of me raiding some gangs in New York and videos of my intense daily workout. A moment later, the videos finished playing and I smiled at the reception.

The room went silent, and then the leader smirked. “Not bad. You’ve got my attention.”

*

Earning their trust wasn’t going to be a one-time thing. Over the next week, I found myself dragged into a series of tests designed to weed out the weak from the capable. They were crude, violent, and utterly devoid of mercy—exactly what I’d expected from Stiff’s men.

Through it all, M was my constant companion, her voice a steady stream of commentary and advice.

“Watch your left,” she’d warn during a sparring match, or, “That’s not how you dismantle a grenade.”

By the time I finally earned a meeting with Stiff, I was bruised, battered, and more than ready to confront the man who had turned my life upside down.

Stiff’s office was everything I’d imagined—sterile and utilitarian, with a desk that looked more like a command console and walls lined with tactical maps. The man himself sat behind the desk, his presence as commanding as ever.

“David,” he said, his tone unreadable. “You’ve made quite an impression.”

“Glad to hear it,” I replied, keeping my voice steady.

“But I don’t trust you,” he continued. “Not yet.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

His lips curved into a thin smile. “Good answer. Let’s see if you’re as good as they say. There’s a job tomorrow—a high-risk operation. If you pull it off, we’ll talk about a permanent place in my crew. If not…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to.

As I left the office, M’s voice broke the silence. “Congratulations, Clarke. You’ve officially entered the lion’s den. Now, let’s see if you can survive it.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I murmured, my thoughts already on the mission ahead.

“Survival probability updated to forty-three percent,” M said dryly.

I couldn’t help but smile. For once, the odds were looking up.