Erysichthon III

[Fygment]

Hesitant fingertips caressed a slim silver laptop sat upon a rickety table. Connected by power cable, the embossments upon the device glowed and dimmed a dull purple like a heartbeat, coalescing into a large symbol: an inverted triangle bearing the letter F. The somewhat eerie purple light illuminated the small and darkened studio apartment where it, the table, and its new owner sat. The glow almost seemed to seep into things- the spent cigarette butts on the floor, the stained couch, the cheap faux-wood paneling covering the walls. The young woman peering at its source.

Long minutes crept by as the woman still hesitated. Answers lay within, she was promised. Isn't that what we all want? Answers to the mundane and existential? Well, here they lay, there upon the table. Why the hesitation? Maybe she didn't want the answers after all. Maybe the search was satisfying enough without the reward. Maybe everyone's memories were spotty and patchy. Maybe fear overwhelms curiosity...

Angry at herself, the young woman unceremoniously popped open the device. Her surroundings seemed to fall into complete blackness, the only light now a sickly green spilling from the screen, dripping from its top to its bottom like rivulets of rain composed of numbers and symbols. Soon words started to form amongst the chaos, first behind the lines but then forming superimposed over. Three words, to be exact. Three words swallowed the woman's consciousness, plopped it behind someone else's eyes.

You. Are. Fygment.

You stub out your cigarette underfoot as you walk along, flanked by two friends. You pay them little mind at the moment, enraptured by the voice on the other end of the cellphone you're currently holding to your ear. It was sultry and sinister, lightly vicious.

"You pull this off, Merv is gonna loosen that grip hes got on your leash. Told me himself.", the voice almost pleads.

"It's thanks to you I've even got one. You know Flood doesn't even return my calls anymore because of my hand in your little uprising.", you say, irritated at the prospect of doing yet another hare-brained favor for the Doberman mistress.

"That was kinda fun though, Fyg. Gotta admit.", smirked the man at your left. Dr9gon. One of the best coders you knew, and a Machinist.

"Yeah well that bit of fun also almost got the Acheron kicked out of Rubicon..", the woman at your right chided. This was SpinDoctor, your second in command onboard the hovercraft Acheron. The fleet you were a part of was named Rubicon. All craft within it took the names of mythological rivers.

"Yeah well you weren't tortured for days afterwards so cut me some slack.", the woman on the other end of the phone, Ookami, returned. "I'd figured me even vouching for the asshole would convince you this job was legit. This is big, Fygment. And serious."

You grumble into the cellphone as you walk into Dr9gon's club. He makes his way towards the back office, SpinDoctor hops behind the bar to rummage about, and you make your way to a booth in the back as you continue the conversation. "And why me? Merv's got a whole army at his beck and call."

"You're the best redpill Infiltrator he's got on payroll, Fygment. And you know that so don't play coy." That was possibly true, actually. Even at the very start of your redpill life you found it second nature to move about unseen, slipping in and out of places where you didn't belong. It's how you acquired your handle, after all. "And this job requires a redpill, not an Exile. A redpill that's known to be on the outs with their organization, better to sell the story."

You relent. Could be interesting and, well, you do enjoy the flattery and the kowtowing from an Exile as powerful as Ookami. "I dunno, we'll see. What've you got in the way of details?" Even though you would say yes, best not to show too much enthusiasm. Ruins the mystique.

"So you've seen these new people here and there, the ones with do-rags covering their mouths and sunglasses? Looking like wanna-be gangbangers?"

You nod, both to Ookami over the phone and SpinDoctor whom just arrived with a bottle of brandy and three glasses. "Yeah, some kinda new terrorist group so the story goes."

"Good, that's who you're gonna be getting close to. We don't know much, except one of the leaders is named Enmascarado and he'll be holding some kind of gathering at one of the churches in Mara."

"Actually I heard about the meeting part.", you say, pouring yourself a shot of liquor. "Though I heard the name 'Gemaskeerd' instead of the one you gave. Think I know the church too. Anyway, what's needed?"

"Merv just wants intel for now. You get buddy-buddy with these clowns, whatever it takes to gain their trust, and you pass on whatever info you get to ME alone.", she stresses the last words. "Me alone, you got that? Not Flood, not your fleet commander. Just me."

"Ooh, Ookie's gonna be my handler for this one, huh? Wanna see how it feels holding a leash for a change?", you jest.

"Don't fucking call me that!", Ookami snarled in your ear. "And this is fucking serious, you'd damn well take it seriously too if you know what's good for you." You took a swallow of brandy as the woman on the other end of the line paused to collect herself. "Really. I haven't seen the Merovingian this nervous in a long while. Anyways, I have to go. Pack's howling. What's it gonna be?"

"I was just kidding, hon. Sorry, sorry. But yeah, you got me. I'll contact you in a few days soon as I know whats what."

Without another word, the Exile hung up the phone on you. You grin at SpinDoctor and the recently arrived Dr9gon and lift up your glass. "Welp, looks like I'm gonna get in bed with terrorists, guys. Hooray?"