Double-Blind CH154

I went to the local library for a change of scenery.

As it turned out, Buzzcut was a little of column A, little of column B. The dossier covered his career extensively—He was hired by the Austin City Police Department right out of college. Climbed through the ranks with many accolades and no black marks except a few excessive force complaints that went nowhere. Eventually, he hit lieutenant, at which point he submitted an application to the FBI. The interview went well. All signs pointed to him getting in.

Then, out of nowhere, he was slapped with an Internal Affairs investigation for murder-racketeering, and fled to Morocco before he could be brought up on charges.

It was easy enough to read between the lines.

Say whatever you want about the FBI, background vetting is one area where they do not fuck around. They will comb through social media accounts, they will knock on doors and talk to that one friend who passed you a joint freshman year. If you, “anonymously,” put an edgy manifesto on the internet in middle-school, they’ll track it and connect it to you. And if you happen to be a corrupt local asshole who’s grown complacent, operating with minimal oversight while playing god, or taking kickbacks, or fist-fucking the civil forfeiture cookie jar, they won’t just tell you to jog on.

They’ll happily kick everything they uncover to someone who won’t hesitate to act on it.

I was guessing, but it was a solid leap. Cameron was dirty as hell, the FBI uncovered the skeletons in his closet, and passed the smoking gun to Internal Affairs.

The question was, what was he doing back here when the dome came down?

There was nothing in the dossier to explain the sudden reappearance stateside. Maybe he ran out of money, but I doubted it. Guys like Cameron always find ways to line their pockets, with or without a badge.

Even the concept of a direct confrontation already seemed like a bad idea before I got to the class information. Then it went from bad to suicidal.

Because Cameron wasn’t a recon specialist, as my encounters in the alley and coffee place had led me to believe. He was a Level 19 <Frenzy Tank,> with all the capabilities that implied and more. Health regeneration, armored skin, increased damage as the fight went on. From the stats, he could easily out damage me to begin with, and the longer a fight went on, the more dangerous he grew. He had a few odd feat choices geared toward reconnaissance—that would help me if it came down to a fight, making the biggest gulf between us a question of stats, but it also meant if I ended up having to retreat, he had a decent chance of tracking me down.

I dropped the documents in disgust, rubbing my eyes. No matter how I decided to go about it, this wasn’t going to be easy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I clocked two people approaching me.

No, two people and a child. I flipped one of the pages I was taking notes on and waited. The woman cleared her throat.

I glanced up, as if I’d just noticed them.

“Are you Matt?” She asked, smiling a little too wide.

“That’s me.” I leaned back and stretched, keeping my body-language open and unguarded.

They introduced themselves as residents of region 14, and thanked me for my intervention. I gave them the humble variation of the aw-shucks-don’t-worry-I’m-not-a-tyrant response I’d thoroughly mastered after the first ten times I had this conversation. Subtly alluded to the fact that I was just in the right place at the right time, and that there was a group of people who lived in the region helping me with the decision-making.

I was getting better at it. I’d expected the regional populace to resent me as a carpet bagger. That might still happen once the warm fuzzies faded, but for now, they seemed to consider me as more of a novelty than anything else.

They chattered on about the previous white-collar jobs for a while. The wife was in talent-acquisition, the husband was in real-estate. I pretended to listen. In truth, parents were forgettable.

Their kid, on the other hand, was interesting. At first, I thought he was hiding behind his mother. Typical kid-stuff. But while he was holding her hand, his body was turned away from her, and his head panned from the northeast to the northwest sides of the library.

The same reason I sat here. He’s watching the exits.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“Oh!” The mother said, as if she’d forgotten he was there at all. “This is our little warlock, Parker.”

“Mom.” Parker said. He didn’t draw it out, just stated it flatly. Then he looked at me. “Hey.”

“How’s it going?” I asked him.

“Fine.” Parker said. He wasn’t being rude, just low energy.

I pried gently into the family’s circumstances. It was more or less what I’d guessed. The parents had been trapped inside the region, while Parker was stuck outside. The fact that he’d survived the transposition alone implied that he’d seen some shit, even if he hadn’t strayed far. It was a hard situation, and I had to imagine that the power dynamic in the family had turned upside-down overnight.

Still, they hadn’t forced him to introduce himself, or corrected him for being short. They didn’t seem afraid of him, either. All good signs.

In a somewhat awkward transition, I steered the parents towards the topic of vocations, leaving myself an opening to introduce mine. When I offered to give their son a reading, they gladly accepted.

I shot Parker a direct message:

<Matt: Do you like fighting?>

The kid’s eyes widened.

<Parker: Huh?>

<Matt: I can steer this in whatever direction you like. If the combat stuff appealed to you, that’s fine. If not, I can find another way for you to advance.>

The kid bit his lip.

<Parker: Mom and dad don’t have a way to make money right now. Whatever pays the most.>

<Matt: That’s not what I asked.>

<Parker: It was awful.>

<Matt: Okay. Let me look.>

I did Parker’s reading as his parents stood by. Now that I’d managed it several times, I could keep a straight face even as my equilibrium did backflips.

“So, at level five, you’re going to get access to a feat called Flauros Resonance. Dungeon, Trials, anything that lets us slip over to the other side is considered a “Realm of Flauros.”” I made air quotes. “Flauros Resonance will highlight those realms within fifty yards. Obviously, you don’t want to go in solo. Or at all. They’re extremely dangerous. But if you’re part of a guild—”

“We’re not,” the mother said quickly.

I continued on, pretending not to notice the social blunder, “—it’s the sort of information Users would compensate you well for. And they’d help with the scouting process, so you’d be safe in the meantime.”

“Do you know any Guilds that would be interested?” The father asked.

“Mind giving me a minute to check?” I asked. The family nodded and stepped a polite distance away.

<Matt: Got another one.>

<Kinsley: I’ve had exactly three bites of my macaroni and cheese since the last interruption. Three.>

<Matt: And I’ve learned that I can’t study in a public library anymore unless I want to play small-town celebrity. Just keep eating while we talk.>

<Kinsley: Fine. Give me the details.>

<Matt: Real-estate Developer, HR, and a Warlock who can detect dungeons.>

<Kinsley: Jesus. I was about to tell you to fuck off before I read the last one. Any chance we can lose the other two?>

<Matt: Not unless you want to forcefully separate a kid from his parents—>

I deleted the message and rephrased.

<Matt: No. Warlock’s a kid. Probably a package deal.>

<Kinsley: Maaaaaaaatt.>

<Matt: idk what to tell you. I can kick them to the Adventurer’s Guild if you don’t want to deal with it.>

<Kinsley: I want the kid. And a real-estate developer wouldn’t be a bad idea, considering our circumstances. But HR? Estrada’s already up my ass about swearing.>

I motioned for the woman, struggling to remember her name. “Um, Siobhan?”

She left her husband and son behind and leaned over the cubicle. “Yes?”

When you said talent acquisition, my mind automatically went to HR.

Siobhan smiled. There was something in the expression that was slightly predatory. “Oh no. My job was a bit more… aggressive than that.”

“Aggressive how?”

Siobhan looked up the ceiling, innocently. “Some might call it poaching.”

“Okay, thanks.”

As Siobhan walked away, I replayed the entire encounter in my mind. She’d been exceedingly polite. Almost milquetoast, to the point I hadn’t bothered learning her name. The kid seemed to be putting up with holding his mother’s hand, rather than initiating it. She’d been clever to not hold him in front of her. And while I’d found something of value from the reading, there were plenty of other useful feats he had visibility on that mom probably would have name-dropped if I hadn’t taken an interest in the kid.

Jesus, I had to pay more attention. These people were sharks.

<Matt: It’s not HR. More like aggressive recruiting. She's scary motherfucker and value add.>

<Kinsley: Nice. But you didn’t tell her that, did you? You wouldn’t believe some of the numbers people from the region are asking for in terms of salary. Like I’m a walking bag of selve or something.>

<Matt: That sounds like asshole CEO talk.>

<Kinsley: I pay well, dickhead. A helluva a lot better than most guilds. They’re getting boat money, just not yacht money.>

<Matt: Uhuh.>

<Kinsley: My macaroni is cold, Matt. Cold and sad.>

<Matt: Shame you don’t have a microwave. I’ll send them over.>

Kinsley was taking the age-old approach of expanding while the iron was hot, and figuring out the logistics later. The merchant’s guild still didn’t have a building yet.

I waved the family over and gave them instructions to contact Kinsley, then sent them to the hotel lobby. Dad got foggy eyed. Mom was appreciative, but I could tell she was gloating.

Finally. I reached down towards the upside-down note sheet covering the dossier.

“Why are you looking up non-extradition countries?” Miles asked, leaning over the other side of my cubicle and staring at one of the open books with a quizzical look on his face. “It’s not like we can leave.”

I jumped. Then gave him a death glare. “Research.”

“On?”

I rolled my eyes, keeping my lie as close to the truth as possible. “Background on a new hire for Kinsley. Guy claimed to have spent a few years abroad in Morocco. He was evasive about why he’d left in the first place. Seemed shady.”

“Well.” Miles popped a mint into his mouth. “Morocco is non-extradition. But it also happens to be a favorite for undercovers who need to establish an overseas history on the fly. Something to do with the double-benefit of their documents being relatively easy to doctor, and their government being notoriously difficult when it comes to information inquests.” Miles shrugged. “Guy’s probably shady regardless. Better to steer clear. ”

I grimaced, as Miles once again unknowingly pulled the rug out from under me. “Thanks for the tip. Did you want something?”

“Yeah. Got the band together.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Figured you’d want to meet them.”