Capsid 4.3
It was well past dark by the time Alex reached the Palanquin nightclub, its glow illuminating the fitful rainfall.
Unlike the well-hidden connection between Medhall and the Empire Eighty-Eight gang, the fact that Palanquin was run by parahuman mercenaries was the worst-kept open secret in Brockton Bay. The huge building was a dark gray aside from the tall, glowing neon-yellow 'Palanquin' sign in stylized cursive that arched over the front entrance. With a long line of gaudily-dressed Brocktonite partygoers huddled outside under the awning, Palanquin wasn't exactly the most subtle of supervillain lairs—but then again, most Case 53s and subtlety were mutually exclusive. Alex's ability to pass for human was very much an exception to the rule.
With secrecy not being a viable option, Palanquin had instead opted to be a statement. A gigantic, raised middle finger to the concept of subtlety. It was only two blocks from Lord Street, for Christ's sake. Faultline's crew was powerful, neutral, and successful enough to get away with operating so openly, and to their credit, it seemed to be working out for them so far. Though technically labeled supervillains, they kept their noses clean enough that the authorities generally turned a blind eye and respected the polite fiction that Palanquin was just a trendy nightclub.
Faultline had two Case 53s on her roster, Newter and Gregor the Snail, the only ones in the city besides Alex and one other independent villain, a Tinker named Trainwreck. Faultline's willingness to work with monster capes was what had piqued Alex's interest in the first place—an interest that was only magnified by the fact that all three of the capes he'd consumed so far considered Faultline's professionalism and reputation to be absolutely top-notch. Of course, Lung hated the competition near his turf, and the Nazis had disdained Faultline for working with mutants, but they'd all respected her to an extent.
On paper, Faultline's crew seemed like the ideal semi-legitimate underworld contacts for Alex to cultivate, but he was unsure whether they'd live up to expectations, and right now, he only wished the mercenaries had made their headquarters elsewhere. He hated the idea of being pressed in on all sides by a crowd of deeply annoying drunk people that he wasn't allowed to kill, so he'd opted to arrive in full Revenant costume, as brazen as the nightclub itself.
When in Rome, and all that.
Alex had already reverted his hearing and sense of smell to the human norm to avoid being overwhelmed by the nightclub, and he was eager to use Victor's partial simulacrum to help him navigate this encounter. There were times for charm, and there were times to project strength—and according to the simulacrum, this was the latter.
Alex marched right up to the door, skipping the line entirely. A few bravely stupid individuals waiting to get in loudly objected, despite the fact that he was obviously a cape. As he got closer, the thumping bass of the music resolved into the jazzy beat of a song that had been sampled and remixed into house music. Tilting his head, Alex recognized the sampled song as Nina Simone's Sinnerman. He couldn't help but smirk at the supervillains' on-the-nose taste in musical accompaniment.
Alex came right up to a heavyset Hispanic bouncer, who put on a very convincing show of not giving the slightest fuck about being approached by a cape in costume. Alex's respect for Faultline's hiring choices went up a notch.
"I'm here to meet with your boss. The name's Revenant, and I'm a rogue Case 53," Alex said to the impassive bouncer.
"You're not expected." the bouncer said flatly.
"I know," said Alex, pitching his voice with just the right tone of impatience and irritation to get things moving. "Which is why I'm being polite and telling you people that I'm here and I want to talk, instead of just forcing my way in to demand an audience in person."
The bouncer held up a hand. "One moment."
Alex waited as the bouncer pulled out a cell phone and tapped away at it. Seconds later, it buzzed with an incoming text.
The bouncer stepped aside and motioned Alex to go in. "Head upstairs to the mezzanine," he said.
Alex stepped inside, and the noise and smells instantly magnified tenfold. The club was awash in the odor of humans, smoke, and alcohol, and it took a moment to get his bearings.
Palanquin was dim, with colorful fluorescent lights strobing and shining in different patterns of blue, indigo, yellow, and orange. A majority of the drinks being served were mixed with tonic water, and the quinine made them glow a bright electric blue under various UV blacklights. Many of the club-goers and dancers had glow-stick bracelets and necklaces to match their glowing drinks. Alex looked wildly out of place amongst the revelers, but he felt familiar memories rising up in his mind.
Alex could feel Victor's intent to dance radiating through his partial simulacrum like the possessing spirit of a poltergeist. Not alive, not conscious, but a sheer force of habit that was demanding to be indulged as the house music pounded out its beat, Nina Simone's inimitable voice crying out,
Oh, sinnerman, where you gonna run to?
Sinnerman, where you gonna run to?
Alex clamped down on the urge to show off. He could have dominated the dance floor, but that wasn't the kind of attention he wanted to attract here. He made his way across the teeming, overpopulated dance floor to a stairwell guarded by another bouncer, who simply stepped aside for him. Alex tromped up the wide blue stairs into the mezzanine level of the club.
In the more private, neon-colored space of the mezzanine, thick carpeting and luxuriant curtains dampened the noise from below impressively, and there were people limply sprawled all over the furniture, most of whom seemed drunk or high. It was like a scene out of a cyberpunk opium den. As soon as he stepped inside, Alex was greeted by the source of the partiers' lethargy—Newter, a teenaged Case 53 who was instantly recognizable by his orange skin and five-foot-long tail. He bolted up from where he'd been lounging belly-down on a couch facing the entrance, and came over to inspect Alex. The omega tattoo on Newter's chest became clearly visible, thanks to his low-cut, sleeveless purple shirt.
"Hey, so you're… uh…" said Newter, faltering a bit.
"Revenant," Alex introduced himself. "I'm here to talk with your boss about a matter of mutual interest."
"Cool. Name's Newter," the kid replied distractedly, leaning in closer and tilting his head to get a closer look at the side of Alex's face, past his mask. "So, you're a Case 53, huh? You seem pretty normal to me."
Alex smiled, knowing the expression would be visible in his eyes. "Nice tail. Mine's better."
Newter looked down and instantly sprang back in surprise like a startled cat, noticing that Alex had manifested his stinger from his lower back beneath his shirt while Newter was distracted from looking at Alex's face. The wickedly barbed stinger coiled around Alex's legs and feet like a gigantic snake, the braided tendrils moving with lazy, sinuous grace despite their brutal spines and blades. As Newter goggled at the stinger, Alex savored the feeling of transgressive pleasure at casting aside his veneer of humanity. After taking a moment to bask in that feeling, Alex held out his hands peaceably and withdrew his tail just as quickly as he'd formed it, the stinger vanishing back up into his leather coat.
Newter got over his shock quickly and smiled broadly, exposing white teeth that gleamed in the dim lighting. "Okay, I believe you now. Sorry, sometimes we get people who just pretend to be parahumans, which is never a good idea. Usually we just set them straight and kick 'em out, but you seem like the real deal. Gregor and Faultline are in the back room. Here, follow me."
Newter led Alex to the back of the mezzanine level where there was a semi-soundproofed door leading to a hallway. Alex tried not to stare at Newter's tail as he followed him, but it was twitching so hard it was practically wagging with his excitement. Newter had to lean far forward to compensate for his tail's activity, and the alien posture strangely made him seem more inhuman than his all-blue eyes and rectangular pupils did.
The kid probably thought his little adoptive family was going to get a new big brother. If that was the case, he was in for a disappointment.
Newter went to the door at the end of the hall and led Alex inside. He noticed that Newter didn't grab the door by the handle, instead pushing it open with his foot. The office inside was lit up normally, and the space was furnished with good taste. Faultline sat behind the oaken desk, out of costume save for her aesthetically cracked welding mask, revealing that she was a pale, thin woman with wavy black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Gregor the Snail stood to her left, the translucent obese man dressed in a concealing gray hoodie. The two seemed deep in conversation when Alex and Newter entered, but they cut the talk short immediately, turning to face Alex.
As the two parahumans studied him, Alex did a quick threat assessment of the three capes in return. Faultline bucked parahuman traditions in that she didn't lead her little crew by being the strongest among them—in fact, by all indications, her power to cleave through inanimate objects with a touch was, in many ways, the weakest power among them. She had a clever trick or two, such as destroying the ground for a quick escape, but on the whole her power was extremely underwhelming. Rather than through strength, she led the crew by dint of her sheer merit for the position. Alex was not about to underestimate her leadership or intellect, and for all he knew, she might be sandbagging her powers just like he was.
The two Case 53s, Newter and Gregor, were the more salient physical threat. Newter might be able to incapacitate Alex with a touch using his hallucinogenic skin secretions, or Alex might be completely immune, there was no way to tell without testing it. Gregor might cause problems by producing acids, but otherwise wasn't nearly as threatening as Newter.
"Welcome, Revenant," Faultline said, spreading her arms expansively. "My name is Faultline, and I am the leader of our group. This is Gregor the Snail—"
Gregor gave Alex a courtly nod.
"—and you've met Newter. Please, sit. Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?" Faultline offered.
"No thanks," Alex said as he gingerly sat in the lounge chair in front of the desk. Despite its sturdy appearance, the chair gave a creak of protest as he sat down. "I'm here to trade for some information, and maybe a service or two."
Newter and Gregor took up positions standing behind Faultline, and she cocked her head. "I see. We'd certainly be willing to listen to what you have to offer, but if you don't mind, there is another matter I'd like to address. You mentioned you were a rogue and a Case 53?"
"I am," Alex said with perfect confidence. The words felt like a lie, though, despite the fact that they were technically true. He'd be considered a villain in an instant if his true crimes were known, but he was a rogue as far as everyone else was concerned, so he didn't officially carry that label.
"Your reputation precedes you. If it's not too impolitic to ask, why is a rogue in good standing with the heroes here to talk to our mercenary crew? After all, there are those that would call us villains. The Protectorate you seem so friendly with, for example." Faultline said with affected mildness.
"That hasn't stopped you from taking jobs from other heroes and heroic organizations from time to time," Alex pointed out. "My situation is the same, I just happen to be working with an independent hero as my first job. Regardless of official designations, I'm still a mercenary, but not a killer for hire, same as you."
Faultline drummed her fingers against the desk. "Is that so? I heard you were involved with Oni Lee's death."
"I fought him, yes," Alex allowed. "Bakuda was the one responsible for blowing him up, though. I was simply acting in self-defense, it wasn't like Arachne hired me to kill Oni Lee. After all, what kind of teenage superhero would go around putting out hits on gang lords?"
"To be honest, I wouldn't blame her even if she did, or you for accepting. I personally wouldn't have taken a kill contract on Oni Lee, but only for the sake of preserving my own reputation. That monster needed to die. As a gesture of gratitude, I'll dispense with the formalities." said Faultline, and to Alex's surprise, she removed her mask to reveal sharp features, more handsome than conventionally pretty. She seemed about Alex's age, perhaps a little younger. "Now, how can we do business?"
Alex was impressed by her gumption. Where before Faultline seemed a bit stilted, now that he'd convinced her of his standing, if nothing else, she seemed entirely forthright and genuine, meeting his eyes without flinching. He could easily see how a Case 53, desperate and alone, would be taken in by her gesture of trust and offer to do business, which would surely segue into a pitch to join them.
Deferring to his partial simulacrum, Alex took a calculated risk and reciprocated Faultline's unmasking, though in his case he simply used the tendrils behind his own face to break apart and swallow his mask. When his eyes reformed, he smiled slightly at seeing the shocked expressions of the others. Alex finished off by removing his hood and running his fingers through his wavy hair, combing it back and making it stay there with a minute exertion of his will.
"First things first, I want to offer you some information. Consider it a gesture of goodwill, and a down payment on the trade I'd like to conduct later. What do you know about Bakuda?" Alex asked with all the considerable gravitas his partial simulacrum could muster.
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence.
"That is Lung's new Tinker, yes?" Gregor spoke up. "I have heard things. Nothing good."
Alex was a bit surprised the PRT hadn't leaked the secret of Lung's demise yet, or that Bakuda hadn't disseminated that information herself. Usually rumors traveled at the speed of light within the cape community.
"I've heard a few things myself, kidnappings and the like, but she's still very new. One of her first acts as a parahuman was to take Cornell University hostage," Faultline said to Gregor. "She's unstable. Not the kind of person I prefer to do business with."
"You hit the nail on the head," said Alex. "There's no reasoning with her, or anyone else in the ABB, for that matter. Lung has been taken out of the game. In his absence, Bakuda has taken over."
"How do you know?" Faultline asked, her eyes lighting up with keen interest.
"Lung and I fought to a near-standstill Sunday night," Alex lied. "We were both weakened when he collapsed a building on us, and he hasn't been seen since. Either he died when the building came down, or Bakuda later took the opportunity to finish him off and take over the gang."
"No fuckin' way!" Newter exclaimed, though he didn't seem to be doubting Alex so much as expressing his own shock.
"It's true. My bet is that Bakuda offed him, but whatever the case, she's unquestionably the one in charge now." Alex said gravely.
Faultline only nodded as if she'd been expecting Alex's tale. "That was you on Sunday? I'd been wondering. The news reports were frustratingly vague, and no offense, but Lung's been on hiatus after fights before, and I wouldn't count him out permanently until I saw the body. If this information is so 'unquestionable,' do you mind my asking where you got it?"
"I talked with someone in the gang, and he tells me Bakuda's been the one kidnapping people all throughout the Docks. She's been implanting bombs in their heads to control them, and used that power base to plant exotic bombs all over Brockton Bay. The entire city is rigged to explode," said Alex.
Faultline and her crew exchanged grim looks.
"Is Palanquin one of the places she's after?" Newter asked, clenching his fists.
"I don't know. It seems likely, given what I know of her." Alex replied honestly.
Faultline rubbed at her mouth. "Bombs in people's heads... Fucking Tinkers," she said feelingly.
"Whatever official threat rating is assigned to Bakuda, I guarantee it isn't high enough," Alex continued. "She's lost some of her key parahuman assets, so she's increasingly getting backed into a corner, and that's where she'll be most dangerous. She doesn't care about restraint or collateral damage whatsoever."
Faultline lowered her hands and pressed them down on the table, as if to steady herself. "And what would you have us do about this, Revenant? You seem well-informed enough to know our policy. Hypothetically, we wouldn't turn Bakuda away if she agreed to pay our fee. Granted, that fee is likely to be much higher after what you've told us, but the fact remains we don't get involved in anything for free. We couldn't survive otherwise."
Alex shrugged. "I'm just informing you of the situation. If you decide it's in your best interests to help stop her, great. If you want to stay neutral or skip town for a bit, I'm not going to stop you. If you decide to work with her, well, don't come crying to me when you end up getting turned into a suicide bomber."
Newter shuddered, and Gregor folded his arms. Faultline didn't fail to notice the reactions of her people, and she nodded slowly. "I'll take that warning as the well-meant gesture it is, though I'm not willing to take anything off the table just yet until I learn more or can corroborate what your contact has claimed. So, what was the other business you wanted to discuss?"
"I want to hire your help in tracking down my former human identity," said Alex. "Failing that, I want you or whatever contacts you may have to forge me a new civilian identity."
The reaction wasn't encouraging. Gregor gave Alex a pitying look and Newter looked away, seemingly too ashamed to make eye contact.
Faultline stiffened and spoke very carefully, like she was afraid she was going to set him off. "You aren't alone in wanting that. We've been working on investigating Gregor and Newter's backgrounds, but we haven't turned up anything concrete so far. We have the contacts and resources to help you construct a new identity, for a price, but as for your original one, I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."
Alex shook his head. "You don't understand. I know who I was. I just can't seem to find any record of my past life existing anywhere."
Stunned disbelief struck the others.
"You remember? How?!" Gregor demanded.
"No, I don't remember, but I woke up Sunday carrying my wallet with my driver's license and information in it," Alex explained. If anything, the shock this caused was even more pronounced.
Faultline leaned forward, her elbows on the table, staring down Alex with unmitigated, passionate greed. When she spoke, her voice was thick with a strained intensity, like she was trying very hard not to shout. "Can we see it? That would be an unprecedented piece of physical evidence!"
Alex shook his head, chagrined. "Afraid not. Like I said, just after waking up, Lung attacked me. He burned my wallet and most of the rest of me down to ashes."
The crushing disappointment was palpable. Newter cursed under his breath, and Gregor stiffened. Faultline hardly moved, but her bearing became more tense, her cheeks flushing red with anger. "If this is some kind of bait—" she began.
"I know it sounds crazy, and suspicious since I no longer have it, but I'm telling the truth," Alex interrupted. "My name is Alexander James Mercer. I'm 29 years old, I lived in Manhattan, I drove a 2008 Dodge Challenger. I didn't have any credit or debit cards, but I did have a health insurance card and some cash. I didn't actually remember any of these details at the time, and when I searched the Internet, absolutely nothing about me came up."
Faultline was silent for a moment, digesting the information. "I see. Yes, I think we can work with this, Mr. Mercer. This is going to sound strange, but it's important. I need you to remember something very specific, if you can. What faces were on the bills in your wallet, and in what denominations?"
Alex blinked in surprise. "Uh, the normal ones? It wasn't foreign money, I'd have noticed. Jackson on the twenties, Lincoln on the fives, and Washington on the ones."
"You're certain?" Faultline asked, her eyebrows lifting.
"Yeah. I counted it carefully, but I didn't check to see if any of the bills were counterfeit, or memorize the serial numbers, or anything like that. What are you getting at, exactly?" Alex asked, a formless trepidation starting to come over him.
"It'll be easier to explain later," said Faultline, lacing her fingers together. "For now, the important thing is that I'll agree to help you follow this lead, as it is in both of our best interests. We will definitely go further than a simple Internet search in trying to track your previous identity down, Mr. Mercer, and we will do so in payment for what you have already given us."
"Thanks," Alex said, inclining his head slightly.
"In the meantime, is there anything else notable about your memories? Anything at all?" Faultline pressed.
Alex was about to say no, but stopped himself. "Actually, yeah. When I did some research at the library, I found out I know a lot of biology and chemistry. I'm not talking high-school level, I've have a postgraduate-level understanding at minimum. That's about as far as I've gotten, though."
Faultline's eyes widened. "So you might have been a doctor or scientist, originally? That's potentially useful."
"Of course it is," Alex replied. "But how is it useful in regards to this situation, specifically?"
Faultline sat back in her chair, pulling out a file folder from her desk.
"If you've done your research, as we have, you might have come across the somewhat popular theory that Case 53s spontaneously generate as a result of powers entering the world. I'm sure you can see the problem with that theory, as someone who is science-literate." Faultline said, opening the folder.
"Our ability to speak right after waking up suggests that Case 53s originated as normal humans," Alex said, though a small feeling of doubt started to gnaw at him. His ability to absorb memories complicated that explanation in his own particular case, but what were the odds that all Case 53s had absorbed memories upon creation? Not high, probably.
"I agree," Faultline said, nodding. "Anecdotal evidence from Case 53s also supports this, fragmentary memories and dreams they had of being human, along with phantom sensations and body dysmorphia that suggest they were once human. One could argue that some aspect of powers grant Case 53s those memories and abilities from 'birth' as well, but that's just a wildly implausible stretch. For instance, why would some mystical power deign to create Gregor with the knowledge of fluent Icelandic when he was found in Providence? I suspect the theory of spontaneous generation of Case 53s is influenced by the ex nihilo appearance of Scion, and I would also guess that anthropocentric bias and bigotry factors into it. Case 53s do, after all, represent the vast majority of parahumans with an inhuman appearance, even as few in number as you are."
Alex frowned. "Wait. If spontaneous generation is false, then shouldn't my name have cropped up at least as a missing person by now?"
"Not necessarily," Faultline said as she leafed through her folder and withdrew a photograph of a mass of machinery that looked like a gigantic, glowing robotic limpet. "This is the only known portal between our reality, Earth Bet, and the alternate universe called Earth Aleph. Currently, only data is sent back and forth between Bet and Aleph, but most scientists agree that there could be any number of alternate Earths, each with different conditions. As you can personally attest, there is a lack of missing persons that correspond with the natural trigger of a Case 53, which has led me and others to believe in the possibility that Case 53s may not even come from Earth Bet at all."
Alex put the pieces together, a sick feeling rising in his gut. "So, when you asked me about the faces on my money, you were trying to catch any discrepancies."
Faultline nodded, and she broke her calm composure to allow a victorious smile. "And there was a discrepancy. Earth Aleph has one-dollar bills and, more uncommonly, one-dollar coins, but since 1985, Earth Bet switched over to only using one-dollar coins. The one-dollar bill is almost entirely out of circulation by now, since small bills are constantly changing hands and worth too little to really care about preserving. So, as far as I'm concerned, the contents of your wallet are—or were—conclusive proof of this theory I'd had kicking around in the back of my head for the last three years."
Alex was floored. At first he wanted to deny it, but like any accurate theory, this explained and linked too many things that had previously made no sense, such as the fact that he initially had no idea parahumans even existed, or that some countries had names he didn't expect.
How could he miss such a thing? He'd sifted through countless different memories, but not once had he noticed the discrepancy on his own. To him, dollar bills were perfectly mundane, and to his stolen memories, dollar coins were perfectly mundane, but he'd never noticed the cognitive dissonance between the two before. It was like a glitch or loophole in how his memories had integrated.
"Shit. I can't believe I didn't catch that," Alex said under his breath.
Faultline leaned forward eagerly. "And who is the President of the United States?"
"John McCain," Alex said automatically. Even as he said it, he instantly knew it was wrong. President Thomas Gillen was in office, according to every memory he had—all except for his original, vague semantic memory.
Newter and Gregor shared a shocked look. "That's... I've never heard of him," Newter said wonderingly.
"And there you have it," Faultline said, spreading her arms grandly. "It's the perfect way to cover up a kidnapping. Just take a person from another Earth, and you'll never have to worry about them being traced back to you."
"So... before… we really did come from alternate Earths?" Newter asked, sounding completely poleaxed.
"I already suspected, but to know for sure..." Gregor trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.
Alex wasn't coping with the revelation any better than they were. The notion that he had been displaced not just in memory and space, but in dimension—it made chills break out over every inch of his body. The implications were literally unfathomable. Stars and galaxies and impossible distances of space whirled in his head until the sheer staggering scale of it all made him feel dizzy. It was like the feeling he'd had when he first encountered Arachne and her ability to control bugs, a terrible, surreal break from his accepted reality. Did he really have no hope of getting back? At this point, he couldn't even pretend to know what was possible anymore.
"There's more to it than that. Much more," Faultline said, laying out three photos in front of Alex. The first depicted a parahuman that resembled a giant beetle, the second had a publicity shot of a burly teenage boy who seemed to be made completely out of metal, and the third showed what looked like a completely normal, redheaded girl changing clothes in a parking garage. There was an omega tattoo on her exposed shoulder.
Alex, still feeling shaken enough to eagerly accept the distraction, examined the picture of the girl. "I'm guessing that she's special, somehow?"
"You'd guess right," Faultline said. "The both of you are the culmination of a… let's call it an anthropomorphic trend in Case 53s. These photos are in chronological order. The powers of Case 53s have been getting more stable, and as you can see, their appearance has been growing relatively more human over time. This girl, Shamrock, appeared shortly before you did, and both of you can at least pass for human."
"A rare privilege," Gregor muttered.
"So what does that trend imply, exactly?" Alex asked, ignoring Gregor's remark.
"To put it simply, refinement," Faultline answered. "We believe—and have evidence to support—the theory that not only are Case 53s not naturally triggered, but that their existence is the result of a single person or group."
"Of course it's not natural. The tattoos don't make sense." Alex said, mostly to himself.
Faultline nodded. "Yes, if this were a natural phenomenon, you wouldn't expect there to be a consistent marking that—"
"No," Alex sharply cut her off. "I never bought that this is a natural phenomenon for a second. There's definitely some group or something that's doing this, but that's not the problem. Try and follow the logic, here. If you're looking at this from the perspective of someone who doesn't know what the hell is going on with these Case 53s, Occam's Razor would suggest that the inhumanity and the amnesia are related. One causes the other, or they share a root cause. You'd think that these people were natural triggers, but that natural triggers which cause major transformations are also highly comorbid with major brain trauma that erases the parahuman's memory. And that'd be just what a secret, shadowy organization doing this would want you to think. So why would anyone want to ruin an entirely plausible default explanation they could spread by doing literally nothing, and instead leave behind my wallet and fucking tattoo evidence of the conspiracy onto their victims' bodies? That's no accident or oversight, it's a deliberate message! They want people to know someone is behind it, and by following that trail of bread crumbs they left behind, you're only playing right into their hands!"
Alex had gone from being annoyed to barely restraining himself from shouting over the course of his rant, and he had to force himself to back off and calm down. Gregor and Newter looked ready to intercede if he got violent, but they slowly ratcheted down the tension along with Alex. He felt a little angry at himself for nearly losing his grip—apparently, all those skills of manipulation and charisma he'd picked up from Victor didn't mean a damn thing if he didn't bother to actually use them when he got upset.
Alex settled back in his seat, raising his hands and tapping into his simulacrum again. "Pardon my outburst. It's nothing to do with you, this situation is just... well, I'm kind of amazed at how personal it feels. You'd think since I don't have any memories, I wouldn't care about how I got this way, but... it's the opposite."
Faultline bought his line, giving him a sympathetic look. "I also found this… frustrating… when I first learned of it. I can see why you might be intimidated by the scale of this conspiracy, but you've raised no points I haven't already considered from a dozen different angles. It was admittedly a judgement call of mine, but I have decided that of the few options we have available, our best course of action is to follow the limited evidence wherever it might lead. Lies, cover-ups, and fabrications are not reality, and therefore there is always evidence left behind."
Faultline became so passionately animated that she stood from her desk, pacing back and forth between her two subordinates as she spoke. "It doesn't matter how many layers of deception there are, if you keep going you will find something. Some mistake, or detail that doesn't line up properly. Say, for example, they leave a piece of evidence for the public to find, a death certificate or something, but it is fabricated. So you follow up, you call the medical examiner, you visit the funeral director, you go to the grave. Maybe they faked all of those too, so you keep investigating. You DNA test the body in the ground. You follow the money in the funeral director's financial statements. You call the medical examiner's best friend from their high school yearbook to see if they're really the same person. You see what I'm getting at? The problem with cover-ups is that their scope expands exponentially the deeper you dig, and in most cases, it's quicker and easier to dig than it is to fabricate evidence."
Alex nodded thoughtfully. The parallels to his own situation were rather profound, and more than a little unsettling. "You have a point there, but I'd feel better if that kind of approach was predicated on some kind of theory I could understand. I don't get why they'd leave me my wallet, or why the tattoos exist at all, and that lack of context bothers me."
Faultline shrugged expansively, settling back down into her own seat. "My personal theory? I'd say these brands are intended to be a message, but not one that's intended for us. Whoever is making Case 53s—I think that people like you are just a byproduct of their real aim, no offense. By branding their cast-offs, the conspiracy can use you as proof of their capabilities. But regardless of what the real reason is, there is one other crucial piece of evidence that helps complete this puzzle."
"And that would be?" Alex prompted, barely hiding his inner impatience.
"Before we get into that, I have to inform you that we have personally sacrificed many resources obtaining this information, which just came to us very recently. I will not give this information out for free, and even if you were to pay for this information like Gregor did, you may regret the danger it puts you in. It has already resulted in at least one death, and probably many more." Faultline warned.
"I still want to hear what this is about, but it depends on what you want in return," Alex said smoothly.
"I'm afraid, in lieu of you being able to provide your original identification to us for study, I'm going to ask for either a large sum of cash or services of equivalent value," Faultline said, managing to sound genuinely apologetic.
Alex tried a different tactic, growing offended. "Oh, so you are mercenaries, after all. I was starting to wonder if this was a charity for Case 53s. So, how much do you want? Five thousand? Ten? If this is just a trick, and you've faked the evidence to con me into paying—"
"No," Faultline said sharply, her mild tone falling away instantly. She pounded her hands flat on the table for emphasis, making both Newter and Gregor startle. "Look me in the eyes, Alexander—I would never do that to my own people. We don't have anyone else. Nobody is investigating this conspiracy like we are. Nobody, Mr. Mercer. I understand your skepticism, but I don't really want your money. I want you to join us."
Apparently taking Alex's poker face for indecision, Newter leaned in closer. "I was living in the sewers before I joined," he said, his inhuman, bright blue eyes earnest. "But now I have friends, I have more money than I know what to do with, I get to kick some ass, and I have a home. You can be a part of that, too, if you wanted."
Gregor nodded and added his own opinion in a very measured tone. "We are a good group. We are the enviable combination of being profitable and low-profile. And we do not stoop to murder or involve ourselves in the local gangs' petty battles over race or ideology."
"You don't have to decide right this instant, we—" Faultline said carefully. Alex simply held up a hand, and she silenced.
Alex stared at Faultline. He couldn't deny that he saw a certain appeal. Joining a group like this, family mafia overtones or no, could increase his personal safety margin enormously. It might allow him to access more resources, operate more freely in certain ways. But on the other hand, he'd be tied down by obligations to these people. They could track his movements, prevent him from feeding when he needed to. And while Newter, Gregor, and Faultline didn't get on his nerves too much, they were still villains. They'd hardly approve of his diet of their peers and clientele.
Alex came to a decision. "I want to take a third option," he said, and all three of them looked like they had been caught off-guard.
"What do you propose?" Gregor asked.
"No offense, but I have no interest in being labeled a villain. I do want to get to the bottom of this Case 53 bullshit, though. So, if I offer to collaborate only on that, would you accept?" Alex asked.
Faultline leaned forward on her desk. "Hmm. It's not what I'd been hoping for, but... if you accept the condition that you won't be entitled to any of our profits, and we would still require payment to construct you a new identity, then we can work with that."
Alex nodded. "That's fine by me. Wasn't expecting to get paid anyway, except in information."
Faultline stood from behind her desk and offered her hand, which Alex likewise stood to shake. "We have a deal, then."
A/N
Irony of ironies—if only Alex knew that Faultline's crew would go on to accept Matryoshka with very few compunctions, he might have changed his tune about joining them. After all, Matryoshka's power works in a very similar way to his own, at least in some respects. This is one of the very, very few times where Alex is actually overestimating how badly people would react to his more eclectic activities.
In other news, once the roundup of bonus snippets and omakes is posted on this site, which should only take a few days at most, you can head on over to this story's mirror over on Archive of Our Own to check out the artwork! Unfortunately, I can't find a way to post fan-made artworks on FFN, but AO3 is able to accommodate the images.