Page 3 of Not With the Eyes

"I see," Oberon said. Fuck. She would have to figure out where her picture was fast. Surely that wouldn't be so hard, though.Could just ask Byron and Dixie for help, the back of hermind whispered. No. Hell no. She would bedamnedif anyone knew she had no idea what she really looked like anymore. If anyone knew that the only appearance in the world she couldn't take on was her own. "That should be entertaining. How are we doing it?"

Byron flicked her a look. "You're going to be arrested—as Taser."

Oberon inhaled sharply through her nostrils. "Damn, Byron."

Scones's brow furrowed. "Taser. The 5-level lightning bug? Won't he have something to say about this?"

"I doubt it," Oberon said. "Taser died by suicide three years ago. Byron has made certain the Dogs don't know that, for his own cold-blooded purposes that I guess are finally coming up."

Scones flinched. "I see. That really sucks. No one should ever go out that way."

Oberon hated the way her chest ached then. She didn't give a single flying fuck about Scones and whatever precious friend or lover had clearly offed themselves. Putting her attention back on Byron, she said, "Do you have the stuff I need? Only knew Taser in passing. Going to need time to perfect his German; it isn't a dialect I've done before."

"I mean, you'll be a prisoner, so I doubt you'll be inclined to do much speaking," Byron said with a smile, "but yes, the packet has already been sent."

"What about Taser's family or friends?" Scones asked. "Surely it's going to be a nasty shock to them to see their loved one is suddenly alive again."

Oberon rolled her shoulders, stretched her neck from side to side, mind already turning to everything she knew, little though it was, about Taser. "He didn't have anyone; that was part of the problem. The Dogs cracked down hard one day,wiped out his whole apartment building, killed his pet birds. The Anti-Heroes got him out of there, but… well, he didn't wake up the next day. I guess we all reach that point of 'enough' eventually. Myself, I hope to retire, but who knows how I'll feel tomorrow."

Scones leveled her with a look that Oberon didn't like remotely, too somber and knowing for her taste. Fuck him. What could Scones, of all people, fucking know or understand abouther.So mommy had beaten him. Mommy hadn't murdered his husband and children and burned his life to the ground, laughing the whole fucking time.

Looking away, she asked, "So when does all this go down?"

"The archives will be vulnerable for three days. We act on the second. You're getting arrested the week before, so that you'll arrive in time without it all being so sudden and convenient we draw attention."

"Why in the world would they take me to the archives, of all places? They don't even have holding facilities there. It's a glorified library and storage locker," Oberon replied.

"Me," Scones said. "You'll be going because I'll be taking you there. I see how this is playing. Byron, you're a crafty little fuck."

"There's a reason I call him a dark faerie," Dixie said in his molasses drawl.

Oberon wanted to smack all of them. "So tell me this plan everyone else seems to know."

"Sorry," Byron said. "Not being evasive or mysterious on purpose. The plan is this: Scones, as himself, will 'capture' Taser after chancing upon him while out and about. The Dogs will naturally find it suspicious that a long-missing traitor crops upnowafter all this time. The rest of their facilities are in shambles and vulnerable to attack. They'll have Scones take you to thearchives for identity verification and holding until their meeting is over and they can secure a better facility. The archive does, in fact, have holding cells in the basement. As of today, there are two other figures in holding, but I don't know who because that information hasn't been uploaded anywhere I can access. Your secondary mission will be to assess those prisoners and, if warranted and possible, free them. Your primary objective is to install and activate an access point for Dixie and place the explosives that will bring the building down."

Scones frowned as he looked over all the information flashing on the screen. "Sounds like there's going to be a whole lot of collateral damage in terms of people."

"Hopefully not," Byron said. "The archives are almost entirely digital, and a minimal staff to maintain the system and the physical records. Nearly everything is automated. There's a full staff of fifty, but rarely more than twenty on site, and the first wave of detonations should provide time for emergency exits. That being said, no plan is perfect, so people will probably die. I wish it was otherwise, but let's not be coy: we're at war now. Casualties can't be avoided, though certainly we'll do our best."

"Wasn't a criticism, just an observation. Only one person in this room has made a career out of murder, after all," Scones replied. "I'm so good at killing, they gave me medals. Six of them." He looked about to say something else, but in the end, stayed silent, mouth flat and eyes dark.

Ruthlessly squashing all the emotions and questions that tried to rise up, because she absolutely did not care about Scones, Oberon turned away from the screen and headed for the door as she heard it unlock. "Guess I'd better start studying."

Back in her room, she called up the files Byron had sent her. Taser's face stared back at her, somber and sad. Oberon tapped the image, and it separated into several files: young Taser, Taser before the explosion and subsequent fire, Taserimmediately afterward, and detailed projections for how he'd likely look now, scars and all.

Oberon didn't generally waste time on things like being sad. What the hell was the point? But she couldn't deny the sorrow at such a pointlessly wasted life. Like so many other felled Anti-Heroes, all of whom would have worn that title with pride, Taser had deserved better. Deserved so much more than he'd ever get now. Even if there was a legacy of him someday… so what? That didn't make him less dead. It didn't make any of them less dead.

Sighing, Oberon stripped off her clothes, put them away, and cast the images across the room, enlarging the most crucial ones to nearly life-size, arranging all the angles to ensure she captured every little detail, every mole and scar and smatter of freckles. It took a bit of effort to get the scars exactly right, and she incorporated some changes of her own to the digital recreations of a Taser who would never exist, but after a couple of hours of fussing, she was satisfied with the results.

Now to stay like this for a bit in order to get accustomed to the look, be able to shift into quickly and correctly. Contrary to what most people thought in all their breathless gossip about what shifting must be like, there was in fact a great deal of work involved—at least when first copying someone. When he was simply making up a look, a good deal less effort was required.

Pulling out new clothes, simple jeans and a different long-sleeved t-shirt in heather gray, Oberon sat down to pull on sturdy boots that were more in Taser's style, then brushed his hair and headed back out.

In the hallway, Greg did a double take. "Leaving aside you're a security nightmare, imitating people who've been dead for years now is a new low."

"You want to take issue with my new assignment, talk to Byron. What does it matter if they're recent dead or long dead?"

"Guess it doesn't." Greg shrugged. "Still kinda creepy. You really pinned it down, though. Not that I've ever known you to fail, of course, but… whatever. I'm going now."

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