Evann hailed for a bus as it drove near, hailing with his briefcase in one hand while he held an umbrella in the other. The rain had come on suddenly, sweeping the city in sheets. It was bitter cold, penetrating deep between the fibers of his suit and chilling him to the bone. He sniffed as the bus come by, and as the doors opened, he saw a portly man with a thick mustache and a furled brow.

  “Evening,” the man said without looking at him. Evann hesitated when he saw a scar under the man’s ear. “Well? Are you getting in or not?”

  “Yeah.” Evann brushed his feet on the sidewalk and stepped into the bus, shaking off some of the rainwater he’d collected on his suit. He took a seat at the back of the vehicle, grateful that he had the bus to himself. The bus shook momentarily, then began to drive away from the sidewalk. Evann leaned his chin upon his palm and watched the numerous neon signs of nearby shops and restaurants pass them by. Occasionally, he glanced back at the driver, though he never made any indication of turning his head. After what he’d seen earlier, he’d become paranoid that anyone could be listening or watching.

  “I understand that the driver could be listening,” Avina said, “but your heartrate is erratic. Please try to steady your breathing.”

  “Mm.”

  To Evann’s fortune, his apartment was less than ten minutes away. When the bus came to Windstorm St., he brushed the back of his knuckle against the reader to his side. Normally, one would use their thumb or pointer finger, but paranoia had gripped him tightly, and the last thing he wanted was for his fingerprint to give him away. Moments later, the driver pulled up to a stop specifically made for those who worked at Sorts of Ports, then pulled on a lever to open the door.

  “Here’s your stop,” the man said as he adjusted the cap on his head.

  Evann reached into his pocket for his apartment keycard, pulling it out halfway to glance at the number. “Four twenty-five.” He put the key back and got up with his briefcase and umbrella, stopping on the last step on his way out and glancing at the man over his shoulder. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Have a good evening.”

  Evann stepped out and the door hissed shut behind him.

  Before him lay Windstorm Apartments—a complex spanning ten stories high. It was a higher-end building, outfitted similarly to how Sorts of Ports was. Alleyways separated box-shaped buildings constructed from cement and stone, though without the gaudy chrome finish he’d come to expect from these corporations. A few men wearing suits similar to his own and carrying umbrellas were strolling around the complex, seemingly unaffected by the rain.

  Evann’s nerves at last fully calmed. Sorts of Ports may have had a large influence around the area, but the apartments were still by and large operated by smaller companies looking to provide a luxury experience for the salaryman. Making his way over to the brightly lit map by the lobby, he leaned close with his umbrella to shield him from the rain. As the electricity hummed at his approach, he found his apartment located past the park area behind the swimming pool.

  Evann’s shoes clicked as he walked across the cement pathway toward the park. At the center was the swimming pool, and when he looked up, he gaped at the web of interconnected hallways. They didn’t reach from one building to the other the same way a traditional path would but instead elevated at the halfway point and forked at the center where a spiral staircase lay, allowing anyone easy access to any floor they wished without the need for an elevator.

  Impressive stuff, Evann thought.

  Seeing an opportunity to better acquaint himself with the complex, he took a path to his left that led to a staircase up to the second floor. When he reached the next floor, he folded his umbrella and continued on the passage to his right, which led into the web of hallways above the park.

  “The design is sound,” Avina said.

  “It is,” Evann whispered. “Can’t imagine how much money it must’ve cost to build this thing.”

  “Unfortunately, my data banks are not up to date with current market values.”

  Evann chuckled. “It’s all right. I wasn’t asking for them.”

  “Ah. Rhetoric.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Evann’s shoes echoed with each step he took. Despite the exterior appearance, he could feel the strength and stability of steel beneath his feet. He strode up to the central spiral staircase and worked his way up until he arrived at the fourth floor. To his right were the apartments labeled 401-420. To his left, 421-440.

  He hung to his left, stopping at the door labeled 425. Setting his briefcase on the floor, he procured the keycard from his pocket and brushed it past the reader. The lock clicked, and a bright green light lit up above the handle. Breathing a sigh of relief, he slipped the card back into his pocket and pushed the door open halfway, stopping it with his foot to pick up his briefcase.

  As he entered, the door shut behind and the lock clicked. He flipped on the light switch after a moment of searching the wall. His memory failed him as he tried to recall a time he felt such relief upon seeing the basic amenities.

  “At last,” Evann said, his voice breaking from whispering so much throughout the day. “God damn. I need a glass of water.” He dropped his umbrella and set his briefcase down, peaking into the room to his right. As luck would have it, he stumbled upon the kitchen. He briskly walked over to the cupboards, opening each one until he found the glasses, then made his way over to the sink where he turned the knob. A fresh stream of water poured out into the glass, and he was quick to drink it down halfway. “Damn, that hit the spot.”

  “Forgive me for ruining your moment of respite,” Avina said, “but I believe it would be prudent to search the room for surveillance equipment.”

  “Yeah,” Evann said, setting the glass on the counter. “You’re right.” He pulled his sleeves back and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s get to work.”

  Combing the room for any bug he could find proved to be a much simpler task than he was expecting. Being a part of Centurion had its benefits, and despite his expertise lying within the realm of combat, all SPECTREs were required to have a certain level of understanding of technology and commonly used surveillance tools. Worse yet, those very same tools were getting updated on the daily, and receiving notifications about them getting upgrades or how a type of visual cue was no longer effective for long-term security proved to be tiring.

  “All part of the job,” Evann mumbled.

  “Do you always speak to yourself?” Avina asked.

  “Not always,” he said as he slid the AC unit’s cover back over the hole and locked it back into place. “Sometimes to helps to fill the silence with something, but it’s more of a habit I adopted after you popped into my head.”

  “Once again, I must express that I am—”

  “Not located in my brain. Yeah, I got it. And once again,” he said, rising to his feet, “I must express that it’s just a figure of speech. It’s not literal.”

  “Hm. Very well.”

  The room had been stripped bare. Well, about as bare as he could manage without causing potential issue with the apartment complex. Centurion had power, but they, like many of the other corporations, had a reputation to live up to, and did what they could to avoid public scrutiny. This meant purchasing products, leaving reviews, hiding bugs, or any other task they might need done was a job for the most secretive of agents. The ones Centurion knew would never besmirch their good name.

  “You are quite thorough. Exceptional for a human,” Avina said.

  Evann stretched his arms above his head. He’d taken off the restricting suit but left the white button T-shirt on. “Thanks.”

  “You do not bask in the compliment?”

  “In my line of work, you learn very quickly that hubris kills not only you, but the others around you. I’m as human as anyone else out there.” He walked over to the window pushed away a portion of the blinds to look outside. The rain hadn’t stopped. “All it would take is a stray bullet to put me down. I have to be careful, always keep my wits about me.”

  “You have my admiration.”

  Evann allowed himself to smile. “Thanks.”

  Once he was comfortable enough, sure enough that no one was listening in on him, Evann plugged the earpiece in and contacted Centurion. It was late, but his commander was always at headquarters. Part of him wondered if she ever went home or had any hobbies.

  A click followed moments later, and Lara’s familiar voice came online. “Name, rank, and code.”

  “Andvari. SPECTRE. Code A-M414679.”

  Lara breathed a sigh. “Status report, SPECTRE.”

  This part was going to be difficult to explain. “I scoped out the interior of Sorts of Ports to familiarize myself with the layout.” An idea occurred to him. “Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I had to cut the line earlier. It was highly probable that someone was listening to our conversation or at least trying to.”

  “Understood.”

  Evann didn’t know Lara very well. Not personally, anyway. But the woman was made of steel, hard as nails. To hear her voice shake—albeit barely—was unusual. He half-wondered if he imagined it.

  “Permission to speak freely, ma’am,” Evann said.

  “Permission granted,” Lara said.

  “I’m concerned about whether or not I may be able to pull off this mission.”

  “Evann?” Avina asked. “What do you mean?”

  Evann ignored her. “Every other person in the building is rocking surveillance implants. Considering the level of security in the structure, I worry that it may only be a matter of time until they catch on.”

  A brief silence. “Negative,” Lara said, “we will continue as planned. For the rest of this evening, I will detail as much information as possible so that no one is any the wiser.”

  Evann swallowed the building lump in his throat. His disguise as a software programmer worked fine, so long as Lara was able to provide information, but there wasn’t going to be any way to learn everything there was to programming in an evening. It simply wasn’t possible.

  “With all due respect, ma’am, my disguise as a software programmer is only as effective as the one guiding my hand. I don’t know a lick of programming beyond the basics.”

  “Then”—Lara paused and sighed—“we’d best get started.”

  It’s going to be a long night.