| Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1 |
Quidel tears through the sac and crawls out like a monotreme. He’s all
alone, but he’s been through this many times before, and will be able to
acclimate to his new body just fine. Of course, in most of those instances,
he has had an institution to fall back on if he needed it, but it’s better
than the alternative. A few months ago, he saved the “world” from a
terrorist attack, almost single-handedly. As reward for his heroism, he was
given an egg-shaped crystal trophy. In-universe, this was only symbolic;
something to place upon his mantel, and lie about when in the presence of
someone who didn’t know that he was a spy. In reality, it was an extra life.
Spydome has a bunch of these little rewards scattered throughout the
environment. You can’t just find them, though. You have to earn them, and
most of the people operating inside of the storyline don’t understand their
value. It just looks like a tchotchke.
After solving the secret puzzle by refracting light through the trophy in
just the right way, a holographic message appeared on the base, telling him
what he now had in his arsenal. It also gave him instructions for how to use
it. He emptied the organic starter nanites into a sterile pee sample cup,
and mixed it with the other ingredients, which included his own blood. What
formed was an actual egg. A human egg. Of course, as a spy, he had
safehouses and storage lockers all over the dome, so he chose a remote one
to store his egg in a freezer, where it grew on its own from there. It has
been sitting here ever since, preserved in its own self-contained stasis
field, and kept cool by the freezer, which gathered dust in his absence.
Quidel flicks the interior safety mechanism, and climbs out. “Ugh, gross. I
should have stored a shower in here too. This is basically amniotic fluid.”
This locker isn’t heated, because that would just make it easier to find,
and it wouldn’t help preserve the clone sac. It’s freezing outside, and
probably windy. The device. The device is giving off waste heat as the RTG
transmits power. He punches in the code to the cabinet, takes out the case,
and starts hugging it. It would be better if he had the code unlock the case
as well, but that’s probably not super safe anyway. Okay, he’s gathered a
little bit of warmth. He only has two sets of clothes here. One of them is a
tuxedo, and the other is jeans and a t-shirt. It’s unfortunate, but he’s got
to clean himself off, so he uses the tux like a rag. Then he puts on the
regular clothes, and hugs the case for a little bit longer.
Okay, he has to leave now. He didn’t store a phone, not because it wasn’t
safe, but because he didn’t think he could trust anyone with this location,
especially not given its rare contents. And when he came here to stash the
device yesterday, he just didn’t think about it. He went into this
experience with plans to be a lone wolf, and so far, that has played out as
expected. He opens the door, and sticks his head through. The coast is
clear. The storage lot is closed right now, because consciousness
transference takes so long due to all the safeguards, so they’re not
expecting anyone to be in here right now. He didn’t check in, with his
alias, or anything. He’s going to have to sneak out, avoiding the cameras,
and any guards who might be lurking about. This is what he trained for,
though. This kind of thing is precisely why he signed up for Spydome in the
first place. It was only his second choice.
He came here in the year 2500, which was when the planet opened up for
non-beta exploration. Before this, he spent nearly twenty years in Empty
Planet, and then another few months just relaxing in Polar Tropica. He likes
adventure, and he likes to relax. After this is done, he still isn’t sure if
he wants to switch to Underbelly or the Nordome Network. Maybe Baumrealm.
That’s so many years away, though, unless this latest mission ends up
cutting his spy life short. Not only does he have no more extra lives, but
all of this has become super meta, which the Custodians may not like. This
little ragtag team might be making huge problems for the entire system. They
might shut them down at any moment.
Holding out hope, he calls upon his lessons, and sneaks over the fence,
sticking to the shadows, and making no sound. He’s clutching the device
case, still for the warmth, but also because it’s clearly quite valuable.
While Quidel didn’t have the foresight to store a burner phone in his
locker, he is aware of his surroundings, which means he knows that there is
a no-tell motel just down this hill. He walks inside and slaps a hundred
dollar bill on the counter. “I need your phone...and your discretion.”
The night manager lifts up the receiver of the corded phone, and punches in
a code; one that Quidel recognizes from his training. “Carrier call log has
been switched off, but you only have five minutes.”
“I only need one,” Quidel says back in a gravelly voice. God, that’s so
cheesy, but back in the 1990s, that’s exactly the kind of thing the hero
would say in a spy movie. As the manager is putting on his noise-cancelling
headphones, Quidel dials, using his own code to prevent any local tapping.
It adds an extremely annoying background screech to the call, but the voice
will come through well enough, and it’s better than risking an eavesdropper.
When the human Marshal answers, Quidel says, “I’m alive. Meet me at the
northern border.” The country in this dome is called Usona, but it’s
an analog of more than just the 21st century United States. There are four
distinct regions, which also include a series of dome layers that are more
like Canada, one series like Australia, and one like New Zealand, which is a
bunch of islands. To get to one of these other regions, it doesn’t matter if
you take a plane, train, or automobile. You’re gonna end up in an elevator.
He really is standing by a border. He doesn’t actually need to get to the
Canada-analog, though. Right next to the elevator is a maintenance tunnel
that will lead them to Osman, which is this mythology’s analog for Pakistan.
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