--- SDA compound, Training grounds, 1 hour later---

Dimitri logged into a Simulation pod, and connected to training room 13. His vision was filled with wireframe objects for a moment, and then a wave of solidarity flowed down through his world, and everything looked real again. The transition, although it wasn’t part of any tests, had been known to induce vomiting and, in one rare case, insanity, in the inflexibly-minded user. Dimitri’s virtual body spawned inside a small sitting room.
“Huh, this is new.” Dimitri looked at the room. From the looks of things, the manual exit to the simulation was the door behind him, and there was only one other door in the room. The room was dark, and lit only by a single, archaic TV set. There were two high-backed armchairs facing the TV, which was showing random feeds from rooms unknown. Dimitri walked forward, to walk past the chairs and to the non-simulation-exit door on the wall behind the TV. He almost walked right past one, when he realized an important thing.
It’s a trap. This is part of a test.
Drawing his .45 handgun, Dimitri put three rounds into the high-back of one chair. He was rewarded by a scream of both pain and surprise; and a quickly dissolving holographic-green shape fall forwards out of the chair, gone before he even hit the ground. A slow clap sounded from behind him. He turned to see Silvertie, slowly clapping his hands.
“Bravo, Dimitri. You did better than I expected.”
“Wait, so wee’re already moving to a test?”
“More like a bet… which I won, thanks to you. A certain agent who disagreed with the results of your assessment a few days ago approached me. If you didn’t kill him first, he won the bet; and vice versa. I’m glad you did though, I don’t have 20,000 spare credits.”
“You don’t strike me as a gambler, Silvertie.” Dimitri frowned at being part of some other people’s sport.
“But I’m not. I was 95% sure you’d at least take the first shot or punch. From there, you should have had no worries.” Silvertie waved an arm, and the walls dissolved, revealing a much larger, brightly lit warehouse, filled with row upon row of weapons and equipment. “Now, to the real test. Please, have a seat.”
Dimitri did as he was told, and sat in the not-shot chair. Silvertie clicked his fingers, and the shot up chair shimmered, and became as it was before it had air holes punched through it. Silvertie sat, and pulled a table between them, placing a shit of paper on it. Dimitri picked it up. It was a mission brief.
“Your mission is to eliminate all the other Agents outside of this warehouse. You may take whatever equipment you need from this room, but once you leave, it will cease to exist for you.” Silvertie held up a hand with all fingers and thumb extended. “You have 5 Agents to defeat. It is likely they will be working together, so use that to your advantage. Good hunting.”
Silvertie clicked his fingers one last time, and was engulfed by a green stream of ones and zeros, and when it vanished, he was gone. Dimitri stood up, looked at the equipment around the room, and made a plan.

--- Elsewhere in the simulation ---

An Agent scratched the back of his head with one of his two SP-4 SMGs, and yawned. He was sitting in a swivel chair behind the reception desk of a dock-side shipping company; the warehouse door had opened, for him, at the main doors; true to the instructions’ words, the doorway no longer led back to the warehouse. He didn’t get why this was part of his course; he was majoring in Assault and Vehicular Combat, not guard duty. He pulled out his radio and clicked it on.
“Yo, it’s Derek. Anything going down on your ends?”
4 voices murmured things along the lines of “no, it’s boring as hell”.
“So, anybody know why wee’ve been picked for this one?”
“Eh, I heard Silvertie was the one who had us pulled from our regular training,” one voice replied.
“Silvertie? Sounds like he’s put together a bit of light exercise for himself,” speculated another.
“Bah, compared to Silvertie, wee’ve got no chance,” said the third, miserably.
“What are wee doing again?” asked the fourth voice.
“What did you do with your brief?” queried the second voice.
“Huh, James probably lost it already,” scoffed Derek.
“Shut up, I didn’t,” retorted James, “I just left it back in that warehouse.”
“Well, for those of us who were too pants-on-head retarded to hold onto their briefs,” voice one announced, and the sound of paper being unfolded crackled through the radio; “Our job is to defend against and defeat an Agent who will be attempting to defeat all five of us.”
“Just one; Are you sure you got the right instructions there Andrew?” Voice three asked, skeptically.
“Of course, I- Hey! Stop right- don’t com-“Andrew was cut off by the sound of someone being grabbed by the neck, and gunshots. The other agents listened.
“I spotted the target! He’s running between shipping crates out the back! I think I have him cornered in a dead end, but I want some backup,” Andrew shouted. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief, and throughout the company building, got up and made their way to the docks area.

Andrew waited, pointing his SP-16 at the gap where the enemy had escaped, until his allies showed up.
“Got the bugger in the leg,” Andrew explained, as they looked at the blood spatters in the area, and the trail of blood leading into the shipping containers; “should be an easy kill. You guys take point, I have to reload.”
The other agents grumbled about shared risk and unfairness, but did it anyway, stacking up at the gap, they filed in one by one, followed by Andrew who was busy reloading his SP-16.

Derek led the way, closely followed by James and the other two; Andrew was somewhere at the back, as usual, finding an excuse to sit out of direct combat and still take the credit. He followed the crates, and stopped at a corner, where he waited. Everyone stood behind him, and he almost jumped when Andrew poked him in the neck with his finger. He looked at Andrew, who quickly said in sign language, “What’s the holdup?”
“Just being careful, you reckless bastard,” Derek signed back. Readying his dual SMGs, he stepped around the corner, guns leveled, to find…
“What the hell is this?” James exclaimed loudly behind him. In the dead end of crates, there was a body with shot up kneecaps, and a gag in his mouth. It was Andrew, bloodied and in exquisite pain, but still alive.
“Wait, if this is Andrew, then, who’s-“ Derek turned around to see himself pointing a fully loaded SP-16 at their own heads.
“What are you doing, Derek?” One agent asked the SP-16 Derek.
“Yeah, dude,” said the other, “I realize that I might have given you poo poo in the past, but this isn’t the time to-“
*BRAT-AT-AT-AT*
The agent who had been talking was blown backwards, with 4 rifle rounds in his head, and he did the virtual disintegration thing as he hit the far container, which was spattered with his own gore and blood. The agents watched him ‘Shatter’ into ones and zeros, before turning back to the two Dereks.
“Wait, there are two of you?” James said, and even though he was pointing his SP-12 shotgun at the SP-16 wielding Derek, he hesitated; a bad choice, as he was cut in half by a spray of bullets from the team-killer Derek.
“Jesus Christ!” The real Derek began to duck back around into the dead end, as his remaining ally began shooting at a Derek. Unfortunately, it was the wrong Derek in the confusion, and Derek took a spray of 9mm hollow points to the lungs. He landed heavily against the far container as he looked back at his friend, who had the back of his head blown out by the imposter. He dissolved before he hit the ground.
“You bastard, what are you?” The real Derek brought up one SMG (his other arm was paralyzed) and fired at… nothing. Derek looked around, and sat up against the wall, holding his chest. Nowhere to be seen…
“Surprise, Derek.”
Derek looked up, and saw a horrifically burnt face with a gold eye looking at him over the edge of the container, as well as the business end of a .45 pistol.
“Ah, spoon.”
*BLAM*

Dimitri shifted back to his original form, and dropped down into the dead end. The walls were splattered with gore, blood, and the floor was covered in bloodstained guns. It had been quite a gamble, but it had paid off. He even learnt a little about what he could do - assume any person’s identity at will, after just a brief second of skin-skin contact. He’d even managed to only shift some features; for the latter two shifts, he’d just kept the body of Derek, and changed faces.
“MFhmFF!” the tied up Andrew made noises.
“Oh, right.” Dimitri shot the tied up Andrew in the head, and he vanished. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the whole world shook, and all the containers dissolved, revealing an infinite expanse of flat concrete in all directions, and Silvertie, sitting in that same chair from before.
“Very nice work, Dimitri,” Silvertie said, “that’s some ability you got there. Even I would have had difficulty setting that sort of trap.” Silvertie stood, and pulled a door open out of thin air, revealing a pitch-black doorway.
“I’ll need some time to think up an assessment schedule for you, Dimitri. Your unique abilities would make a mockery of the infiltration qualification as it is now. Until then, though; the time is yours. Spend it wisely. Oh, and one other thing;” Silvertie turned around, “while I find it a note of honor that you assume my real features, I would appreciate it if you didn’t use it exclusively as a scare tactic.” And with that, he stepped through the doorway, vanishing into the darkness; after a brief moment’s pause, Dimitri followed suit.


--- Six months later, November 3, 2322 ---

Dimitri walked out of the training grounds, feeling like he’d been hit by a ton of bricks. While he hadn’t physically been hit with bricks, his simulation self had been in a situation leading to the collapse of a brick wall, on him; and anything experienced in the simulators had a memory of it sent to the real body, a prime source of people losing their sanity after one too many simulated deaths.
Rolling his shoulder to get a non-existent click out of it, he saw Jonathan walking the other way.
“Afternoon, Dad.”
“How’s your training coming along?”
“Very nice; you know that chip in my brain they found with a scan?”
“I remember it.” Jonathan nodded, thinking back to that day when he first looked at the report.
“Turns out it’s a super-capacity memory chip that somehow works with undetected BioSteel implants, to allow me to store the profiles of people that I touch.”
“So, what, you can still become Silvertie?”
“Yeah; I did it just before, actually.”
“He told me about what you kept using his face for.” Jonathan made a disapproving face.
“Oh, I only do that when he’s watching. I used it this time for his muscle structure; that guy is so much stronger and faster than he looks, and he’s got hardwired responses. You throw a punch, one twitch is all he needs to block it, it’s that deeply ingrained into his muscle memory.”
“That’s amazing, I never knew he was that into his work.” Jonathan genuinely looked surprised at the revelation.
“The doctor finally let you out of the medical bays?”
“Yup,” Jonathan replied cheerfully, “my arms are finally good to go.” Jonathan held up the afore-mentioned arms. The stump caps were now fully merged with Jonathan’s flesh stumps, and supported a smooth transition from flesh, to metallic flesh, and then to the hard steel of his two prosthetic arms. The two arms were different lengths; his left arm, which had been cut off at the forearm, had less prosthetic, mostly wrist and hand. The right arm was mechanical from bicep down. Both prosthetics were slightly thicker than their original counterparts, but that was because of the armor plating.
“Right beauties, aren’t they?”
“That they are, Dad. But judging from the expression on your face, I’d guess that there’s something secret in them.”
“Oho! You really are getting sharper!” Jonathan’s one eye crinkled with pride, “Doctor B chucked in some enhancements you wouldn’t normally find in a prosthetic; like so:” Jonathan lifted his left hand, and a small spike popped out of the index finger. “This hand is like a Swiss army knife. It’s got a Splicing Spike, lock-pick, and code buster inside it. This arm,” he lifted the right one, “is more combat-orientated, and can deliver a Tazer-grade electrical shock to targets that touch the hand. The hand is a grapple hook, and can be fired; very useful, and I can combine that with the Tazer to get people from far away. And lastly but not least…” Jonathan made a fist and concentrated, pointing his arm out to the side. The reason was evident when two blades on arms unfolded on the underside of the forearm and flicked forward; followed by a blade on the top of the forearm in the center. The three blades made a triangle shape, and if there had been a person’s neck in front of, or in the fist, the blades would have taken them in the shoulders, with the third one going through their forehead.
“Pretty basic, they’re limited to folding and unfolding; I’ll find a way to make them work.”
“Well, that’s cool; but you might want to remove shirts or roll up sleeves before you do that.”
“Eh?” Jonathan looked at his right sleeve, which was torn to shreds by the emerging blades. “Oh Christ, I didn’t think of that one! Thanks Dimitri, I think I’ll go get one of my spare shirts and jackets.” Jonathan turned and began jogging. “See you at dinner!”
“Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan.” Dimitri shook his head. Obviously, when it was said that wisdom came with age, Jonathan had missed the lecture, as it were.

Dimitri stood there for a moment. He felt an itching sensation on the back of his head. He turned to see Sasha Carnstrom standing by the steps to the training grounds, looking at him. She wasn’t moving, just standing there, arms crossed.
“Anything you want, Sasha?” Dimitri enquired, loudly. Sasha gave a start, and coughed, walking over to Dimitri.
“Sorry about that, I kind of… zoned out… there,” Sasha apologized, “bit too much work lately.”
“Really, just work you say? Huh.” Dimitri started walking to the tower, and Sasha followed. “You’ve seemed like you’ve had a lot of work since about 6 months ago, to be honest.”
Sasha gulped, barely on the edge of hearing. “Have I been that pre-occupied?”
“Yeah, you certainly looked like it.” Dimitri stroked his chin, he was starting to get some light stubble; a shave was in order soon. “You’ve certainly acting odd, definitely.”
“Me? Acting odd? As if,” Sasha dismissed, waving a hand; then she stopped mid gesture. “I just remembered; I had something to get from my quarters! I’ll have to chat later, Dimitri, bye!”
Sasha ran off. Dimitri scratched the side of his head. Even more curious; it seemed that Sasha was up to something… he continued to the tower.

Sasha sprinted back to her quarters, and shut the door. She quickly kicked off her shoes, and padded over to a desk on the wall. There was a Frankenstein device sitting on it, and a square communicator device. She hit a button on the Frankenstein, and it clicked, whirred, and beeped; creating a big blue sphere big enough to fit a short man, or a woman, inside it. Sasha grabbed the communicator, and stepped inside. Abruptly, the ambient noise one never really noticed cut out. She flipped open the communicator, and pressed a button. The other end picked up immediately.
“You’ve reached a number which is not connected to the network.  Please check your dialed number.”
“Epsilon, reporting in; I have an urgent sit-rep,” Sasha’s voice sounded much different now; not her usual self. It was the voice of a completely different person.
“Epsilon, your identity has been confirmed by voiceprint, patching you through now.” Sasha, or “Epsilon”, waited for the channel to connect, tapping a stocking-clad foot on her carpet in impatience. She started when the other end was picked up.
“Epsilon; your update isn’t due for another 3 months.”
“Not that. I think I’ve been found out.”
“Found out, you? That’s impossible, unless you’ve been ignoring cues from your assumed identity?”
“Well, sort of. If I listened to the cues, it would be worse; Sasha Carnstrom’s personality is being very un-co-operative with me; I’ve had to make do with ad-libbing, but it seemed that someone’s noticed. Nobody else seems to have noticed yet, but one leak is still serious.”
“You should stop dicking around, and kill him already.”
“As you say, Commander,” “Sasha”, or rather, Epsilon, disconnected the communication channel, and rubbed her temples, “This isn’t going to be easy.”

About 800 meters away, in the security room for the whole SDA compound, Silvertie sat back from his console; they’d picked up that barely detectible channel, again. If it was legit, nobody had told him, and he got told everything.
“Did wee get a trace on it this time?”
“Yes, Agent Silvertie.” A subordinate agent ran up, and passed him a datapad. It had a map of the entire SDC complex, and zoomed in on the source of the transmission. It closed in on the SDA compound, and then onto the residential area, and then stopped, looking at a radius of about 5 living quarters.
“What’s up with this?” Silvertie tapped the screen with the back of his gloved hand.
“Some local jamming, it seems to only show up when the transmission is being made. Wee know the source is somewhere in here; it’s the only area wee can’t track through. It doesn’t have to be the center; some jammers can project an off-center interference dome.”
“Alright, get a list of inhabitants in the area; wee have an illegal transmission to find.

--- SDA compound, 10:20pm, November 3, 2322 ---

Silvertie paced, just around the corner from Sasha Carnstrom’s quarters. It was an unhappy coincidence that the center of the interference dome was centered exactly on her quarters. He stood next to the wall, and peeked around it.
Or perhaps it’s no coincidence, Silvertie thought, as he watched Sasha leave, and begin to walk away from him. He checked the time. 10:30 at night. Hardly the time for working, and Sasha hadn’t exactly been the most social person of late. Something smelled, and he’d find out what it was.
You’ve got something to do with this, Sasha. I’d stake my reputation on it, he thought, as he quietly sneaked off after her.

Epsilon walked along the darkened walkways between buildings in the residential area. She was sweating; it was only her second attempt at assassination, and while she would probably have the element of surprise, she was also walking into what might just be an elaborate trap set by an incredibly paranoid person. As she walked, she felt the tools she’d be using. A SP-7 silenced pistol was one of them. She had to hand it to the Corporation, when they made a silenced gun, it was silenced. The loudest thing would be the sound of the mechanism working, and ejected casings hitting the ground; not counting any death noises a target might make. She had 14 9mm hollow-points, and one target; the odds of him surviving were low, to say the least. She stopped, and looked at the building in front of her. The Sride quarters, home to Jonathan and Dimitri Sride. She drew the second tool, a magnetically propelled, rubber-coated grapple-hook and launcher. She took aim at just above the edge, and turned a dial on the launcher, and fired.

Silvertie watched Sasha from an alleyway as she silently launched her grapple-hook, and it flew up, and over the edge of the square building… and too far. Silvertie watched the hook, as it flew 4 meters further than it had to. He gritted his teeth. Sasha was one of the best agents, and impatient with it; the last thing she’d do was waste time waiting for her launcher to retract un-necessary cable, and she was good enough that she could get the exact amount of cable needed within about 25 centimeters, on average. This… amateur, was clearly not that skilled, and therefore, not Agency-trained. He pulled out a communicator, and pressed a button.
“This is the SyntheDyne Agency Internal Security division. What’s up?”
“Hal, it’s Silvertie,” Silvertie whispered, “I want 30 agents to converge on the quarters of Dimitri and Jonathan Sride ASAP; the target is Sasha Carnstrom, she’s acting very oddly; shoot to kill protocol, she is armed and probably dangerous. Principals are the Srides.”
“Got it, boss.”
“Also; get people out looking for a body, that of Sasha Carnstrom. It’s somewhere on the compound, I feel.”
“Say what? You want us to kill Agent Carnstrom, and also find her body elsewhere?”
“Yes, just do it, please.”
“Whatever you say; Agent backup ETA is 9 minutes.”
“Thank you, Hal.” Silvertie disconnected the call, to see Sasha up on the roof, examining the skylights on the roof. If he didn’t do something, Dimitri wouldn’t have a chance. But if he acted too soon, Sasha could claim innocence, or other motives other than murder. He stepped back into the alleyway, and backed into a bottle some Agent drinking on the sly had left behind, and a trash mechanoid had not picked up. He winced as it fell over with a loud clinking, and took the only course of action he could think of; he stepped out into the open.

Epsilon started, as she heard a clinking back on the ground. She looked, to see Silvertie staggering out of an alleyway, walking more or less in a straight line. She watched as he lurched to a halt in the middle of the road.
Does Silvertie drink? she wondered, addressing the question to the personality storage module in her brain.
As if I’d tell you, bitch.
Epsilon sighed. While copying a person’s memories and personality had its merits in a near flawless disguise, the copy was also self-aware, and depending on how malicious the personality was, it would be more or less difficult to work with. There were few copies capable of putting up a fight, and to her knowledge, not many that would withstand metaphysical torture.
You WILL tell me, Carnstrom. Does; He; Drink? Epsilon imagined a blowtorch moving towards a naked woman strapped to a bench.
A- ngh- Fudge you- Ga- Sasha’s copy stuttered, as it was subjected to imagined torture; Silvertie drinks, sometimes. I caught him once, can’t remember when. Just stop!
Epsilon let up, and turned to watch Silvertie as he pulled out a communicator, and mashed a few buttons. He put it to his ear, and wobbled on the spot. Epsilon listened hard to catch the conversation in the cold night air.
“Dimitri, ol’ pal! What’s hap’nin?”
Epsilon drew her gun; he was calling her target at a bad time. She figured she could take the shot…
“No need to be lik’ that, bro’. Jus’ wanted to go out and have a good time… you got to be mor’ social.”
Epsilon paused, staying her hand. Perhaps it was just a huge coincidence, and Silvertie really was toasted.
“Wel’, anything’s better th’n taking shots alone at home.”
Epsilon frowned. Odd choice of words, that.
“Well, I’m getting some of the boys from int- int- security out for a bit of a party, you sure you don’t want to come with?”
Epsilon relaxed. Silvertie was obviously lonely when drunk; it made quite a change from his sober self.
“Wel, you know I’m jus’ a call away, you dig? Laters.”
Silvertie looked at his communicator for a while, and made a noise Epsilon thought was a snort, before hanging up and walking in a crooked line across the street and away. She dismissed the episode, and turned back to her work.

Just around the corner, Silvertie dropped the drunkenness act, and thought. He’d called Dimitri, and Dimitri had picked up; thanks to the mask, Sasha didn’t know that he was actually watching her. That meant that either Sasha had really gone rogue, or…
“There’s a second prototype?” He redialed Internal Security, and was patched through to Hal again.
“Wow, I’m popular tonight,” Hal said, by way of greeting, “What’s the 411, boss?”
“Hal, tell the agents to be wearing combat hazmat suits.”
“Hazmat suits; why on earth would they need those?”
“They cannot come into skin-skin contact with anyone here. If they do…”
“Say no more boss; it’s done.”
Silvertie hung up, and for the first time in years, worried that the outcome would be more than he could deal with.

Dimitri was sitting in an armchair, wearing a thermal undershirt and Flannel pants; and reading. Others of his age would go out and party; even Agents would team up and go to a bar; not him. He preferred a good book, today the novel of choice was a rather old one, Lord of the Rings. Lore had it that it was quite a popular book back in the day, with movies and everything. He jumped as his phone went off, and fished the phone out of his pocket. The caller ID said “Silvertie”.
“Dimitri speaking, what’s up?”
“Dimitri, ol’ pal! What’s hap’nin?”
“Just sitting in my chair, reading a book. You sound… drunk?”
“No need to be lik’ that, bro’. Jus’ wanted to go out and have a good time… you got to be mor’ social.”
“What? Be like what? What are you talking about, Silvertie?”
“Wel’, anything’s better th’n taking shots alone at home.”
This was getting to be a very disjointed conversation. But Dimitri pondered the choice of words. It had to be a hidden message, and to his knowledge, he’d never, ever heard of Silvertie drinking.
That’s right, Dimitri. I don’t drink. Never have, never will.
That was Silvertie’s personality… again. Ever since he’d copied Silvertie so thoroughly, he’d been unable to rid himself of the Agent’s presence; the man was now more like a conscience, listening in and offering advice whenever Dimitri had a choice to make. Sometimes it was a blessing, but Silvertie’s Copy had a knack for speaking up at inopportune times. Needless to say, Dimitri had been careful to not copy anyone else so hard since then.
“Something’s happening, isn’t there? Are you in trouble?”
“Well, I’m getting some of the boys from int- int- security out for a bit of a party, you sure you don’t want to come with?”
“So, you’re not in trouble; am I in trouble?”
“Wel, you know I’m jus’ a call away, you dig? Laters.”
The line cut off, and Dimitri put his book down, worried. Silvertie wasn’t in trouble, but someone was watching him, so he couldn’t just out-and-out warn him. Jonathan was at the medical department for observation for the night, so that meant he was all alone for this night; apart from Silvertie, of course, who was getting backup from Internal Security together. Dimitri got up, and looked for his shoulder rig and some proper pants.

Epsilon pulled the grating off the air vent, and pulled off her shoes. It was sadly cliché of her to use an air vent for infiltration, but then, it was big enough; and easier than a break and entry through the window; and shoes with heels would only make this difficult. Moving with no sound except for that of her clothes rubbing against the walls of the shaft, she moved to the first vent, to see an armchair, with a dark shape in it, facing a roof-to-floor window and backlit by an angle poise lamp. She quietly levered the grille from its fittings, and spotting a convenient couch, threw the metal cover to land without a sound on the cushions. Displaying extreme flexibility, she folded herself out of the vent, to hang from the edge by her hands, stocking-clad feet but a meter from the ground. She drew a breath, and landed with a soft ‘whamp’. Moving carefully, she carefully crouched and aimed at the back of the chair, and fired three shots, which punched through the chair with three ‘thwunk’ noises, and left spider-web-like cracks and fractures across the glass window, which, as predicted, was bulletproof. She moved around the chair, preparing to deliver a final kill shot to Dimitri Sride’s head, only to find…
“A proxy droid?” Sitting in the chair was a hastily dressed mannequin, with a black wig, look of surprise on its face, book clasped in its hands, the pages spattered with the green lubricant/electrolyte that flowed through their veins. The job of a Proxy Droid was to take the place of a real person in events where the original needed, well, a proxy, to take their place. Their use was rather limited, as the green blood, and the odd unforeseen circumstance gave them away. But in this case, it had worked very well; she’d killed Dimitri’s body double, which meant-
“Sloppy work, ‘Sasha’,” commented a voice as a hand closed around her neck.

--- SDA compound, Sride Quarters, 10:30pm ---

Dimitri continued to hold the intruder by the neck, holding his gun not quite touching her head, but about a few centimeters away. No need to let her know he had a gun.
“You are definitely not Sasha. Sasha wouldn’t have made such a rookie mistake; not checking all around you when you enter a room… one day, it’ll turn you from the killer to the killed.”
“Don’t patronize me, ‘Dimitri’,” replied the woman, “I’m older than you by hours.”
Dimitri’s jaw dropped as the neck he was holding rippled, and suddenly, it belonged to a woman with short black hair and a much younger physique. About that of an 18-20 year old, this matched her story. Out of curiosity, he began to copy her DNA, to see what made her tick; he received a second surprise and made a small noise as a red message flashed across his vision:
-Copy Failed; Subject DNA copy protected-
“What the hell? What are you?”
“Surprise, Dimitri,” said the woman, and she span around, drawing a knife, and she plunged the 10-centimetre blade into Dimitri’s stomach. He grunted, and coughed up blood, and he fell backwards, landing on the ground.
“You should know my name. I am Epsilon; Biologic Metals BioSteel DNA Recombinant number 5.”
Epsilon stepped forwards, and ripped the reverse-serrated blade out of Dimitri, who cried out in pain, and coughed up more blood.
“You don’t have long to live, Dimitri. Tell me; did you tell anyone else about your suspicion of me as a spy?”
Dimitri coughed, and looked at Epsilon, who was now standing directly over him, one foot on either side of his waist, leaning down to look at him. Her face was rather odd. It felt like it was missing something, and the eyes… Dimitri’s own mismatched eyes opened up wide as he saw the connection. Her eyes were similar to his; the left one was grey like his, and the other eye had remained Sasha’s green color. That meant a contact lens was in place; and a contact lens would only be in place if, say, the wearer was unable to change the color of that iris…
Dimitri opened his mouth to speak, but coughed up a serious quantity of blood instead.
“I told no-one, Epsilon.” He tried to feel for his pistol without Epsilon noticing; he figured, through his blood-loss induced haze, that it must be somewhere near his right hand. Unfortunately, Epsilon did notice, and stomped on his wrist.
“You think I’m stupid, Dimitri? I might be new at this, but I don’t miss a be-“
*BLA-BOOM*
“Augh!” Epsilon dived to her left, away from the shot which had passed to the right of her. Luckily for her, the shot had narrowly missed her hand, and merely destroyed the gun. However, the momentum that was transferred in that brief moment was sufficient to break her fingers as what was left of the handle and trigger was ripped from her hand. Dimitri lifted his head, to see Silvertie through the remains of the window; on an opposing building, with a very large sniper rifle in his hands. The glass window, which was bulletproof, did what it said on the box where bullets were concerned. But when the bullet was more like a small tank shell… well; let’s just say the manufacturer’s degree ended there.

Dimitri lay there, struggling to breathe, and Epsilon was out of line of sight of the window.
“God… damn… it…” he gasped, still fumbling around. He couldn’t get up.
“Are you looking for this, Dimitri?” Epsilon held up his gun; she had picked it up as she rolled to her left. “Well, I’m sorry, but you can’t have it.”
“You’re… so… dead… Epsilon…” Dimitri coughed up more blood. Gut wounds were a pain.
“On the contrary; I think you’re about to be very dead; not even SyntheDyne medical science can save you now.” Epsilon began carefully moving towards another air vent, not bothering to make no noise this time, as she used her blade to lever the grille out. “Perhaps when you reincarnate, you can have another go,” and with that, Epsilon wiggled into the vent, and disappeared. Dimitri, for his part, could only sit there, watch, and think.
“Reincarnate…? Worth… a shot…”

Epsilon slowly poked her head out of the roof vent hole. No Silvertie; good. She didn’t fancy having her head and shoulders blown off today. She crawled over to the edge, and peeked over the top, slowly. Silvertie was still watching the room, although it looked like he was getting ready to stop sniping, and get in there; did that mean he was almost certain she wasn’t there anymore? She turned, and crawled the other way. On the other side of the apartment from Silvertie, she saw unmanned rooftops; ideal for an escape, but judging by the way Agents on the ground in biohazard suits were moving, they wouldn’t be unmanned for long.  But the point was moot; she didn’t have any way of clearing the gap without a ladder, and she wasn’t high up enough to do it with the grapple-hook. She’d have to travel along the ground as well.
Checking as far as she could, she made sure that nobody was approaching, and, reassuming Sasha Carnstrom’s form, attached the grapple hook to the edge, and abseiled down to the ground.

Silvertie put the gun down. He’d seen that woman peeking over the edge, but it didn’t matter. What did was luring her into a false sense of superiority. Abseiling down from the roof, he met up with a group of 6 Agents, all fully kitted out in matt-black combat biohazard gear.
“Sir, ready to secure the premises,” said the leader, an agent in gear with a gold band around his arm.
“Alright, go in. There is a high chance that the suspect wee want is not on the premises, but stay sharp.” Silvertie drew his 9mm pistol, and chambered a round. Bringing up the rear, he followed the rest of the team into the apartment. When he got in, he found everyone pointing guns at various corners as they searched them, and a large bloodstain on the carpet.
“Where’s Dimitri Sride?” he asked the leader.
“No idea. Wee’ve got one person’s blood here, and enough of it that they shouldn’t be alive. DNA profile matches to Dimitri Sride.”
Silvertie spun around. He saw bloody footprints walking towards the bathroom. Breaking into a run, he shouldered the door open, to find nothing but an open window. He checked the frame; it had a bloody handprint on it, as if the owner were climbing out in a hurry. He looked out the window, and saw a considerable drop onto hard, steel walkway. Anyone who landed was looking at broken leg-parts, at best. He turned to see the agents, huddled in the doorway. They knew something just got complicated. Behind them, he could see a mantelpiece, with an empty rack that looked like it would hold a handgun…
“Tell everyone to check their fire, Dimitri’s out there somewhere.”

Epsilon climbed onto the roof, and looked behind her. She saw nobody giving chase; did they all think she was still in the apartment? Wary of Agents on the street, she continued to run, and came to a gap. She looked at it. It wasn’t that big, but she wasn’t sure if she could make the jump. On the other hand, it would be a huge waste of time to do the whole abseil-climb routine, so she backed up, and leapt.
Athletic Sasha’s body might have been, it was still human, and human bodies aren’t generally designed to jump 5 meters. However, care of Sasha’s boosted muscle; Epsilon made it within ledge-grabbing distance, and did so. Silently screaming in pain at her sprained wrists, she slowly pulled herself up, and rolled over the edge, panting and rubbing her wrists.
Killing people was easy; the hard part was getting away with it. She carefully got up, and began jogging across the roof, as she heard a loud thumping. She turned to see a rooftop access door jolt as someone on the other side hit it again. Agents! She began sprinting and not bothering to judge distance, leapt across the next roof-roof gap which turned out to be about 3.5 meters this time. She landed, just as she heard the door fly open under the force of some impact- presumably a foot.

Epsilon kept running, the agent would no doubt be armed with a firearm, and range would be her friend here. She was good, but not agency-trained; However…
“Hold it right there, Epsilon.”
It was a voice she shouldn’t have been able to hear ever again. She turned, dreading what she’d see. Standing next to the door, which was now hanging loose by one hinge, was a man. He was not wearing an Agent’s suit, but he carried an impractically shiny gun, and had a large dark stain on his gut area.
“How are you still alive, let alone moving, Dimitri?”
Dimitri raised his graduation .45, and pointed it at Epsilon.
“Between you and me, it was you that gave me the idea. Other than that, I’m afraid you’re never going to find out.” Epsilon watched the man, and saw in the half-light cast by two moons that he was not joking around; but then, who would?
“You’re a fool, Dimitri – You’d never hit me at this range, especially with a .45,” Epsilon scoffed. “All you’ll do is waste bullets, and perhaps agitate that stomach wound of yours.”
“I will do neither. My stomach is fine, and I won’t waste ammo.” Dimitri said, levelly.
“Big words, Dimitri; how about this – I stand here, and let you take one shot. You miss, I go free; deal or no deal?”
“You’re on, bitch.” Dimitri adjusted his aim, and fired.

The world stood still for them. The .45 bullet sailed through the air, its shallow parabola trajectory bringing it further away from horizontal with every moment. Epsilon reached for her 'borrowed' .45, gripping the butt of the gun as the bullet cleared half the distance between her and Dimitri. She managed to clear synthetic leather holster as the bullet got 3 meters away. She began to bring the gun up and as she did, the bullet hit her.
“Ah! Fuck!” Epsilon lost control, and the gun went flying out of her hands as she let go. She collapsed, falling over on her right side, and Dimitri lowered his gun, watching her clutch her leg and scream in pain.
That’s a nice shot, Dimitri. You managed to hit her kneecap from what, 20 meters away? Silvertie’s copy congratulated Dimitri dryly. It could access Dimitri’s thoughts, and it knew full well that Dimitri had been aiming for her head; but it would let Dimitri have his glory day, because fluke or no, it really was a nice shot, and nobody need know otherwise. Dimitri, for his part, broke into a sprint to clear the gap separating him and Epsilon. Panting a little, he stood over Epsilon, who was still clutching what was left of her knee. Say what you will about long-range pistol combat, a .45 hollow-point bullet’s going to blow holes in stuff, no matter how far it is away.
“You… bastard…. How are you still alive? Tell me before you kill me!” Epsilon begged, the tears streaming down her face a testament to just how green she was in combat.
“Epsilon,” Dimitri crouched, as Agent grapple-hooks flew up onto various buildings, and Agents took up covering positions, “My dear woman; look at me.” Epsilon obliged, studying her former target’s face. And then she saw it, and her jaw dropped, shattered kneecap temporarily forgotten.
“That’s right, Epsilon. It’s not just chance wee look similar. You’re a recombinant-” Dimitri’s face rippled, and changed hue; when he finished, a black man stood over Epsilon. He changed back. “Just like me.”
“B-b- Beta?” Epsilon stammered, tears now freely flowing. “It’s you, isn’t it, Beta?” She sat up, and her expression changed from one of fear, agony and hate to one of fanatical love or affection.
Dimitri almost dropped his gun. Epsilon was now starting to weird him out, quite thoroughly. She’d reverted to her original form, and was grabbing at his shin, trying to get to his arm. He gave in to instinct, and kicked her off his leg, and stepped back. She collapsed, and looked at him; it was a terrible expression of betrayal from a loved one. She raised a hand, and-
“Fire!”
The sound of dozens of darts flying everywhere filled the air, and on the rooftop, a woman in ill-fitting clothes collapsed in a small pool of blood; as did a man in Agent suit pants, undershirt and a holster, carrying a very shiny pistol.

--- Far away ---

A group of 3 people, seemingly just out of their teens or in early 20’s if anything, watched a small beacon on a map turn from yellow to blue.
“Epsilon’s been tranked good,” Remarked one, a man with a wild hairstyle and sunglasses.
“Delta, you’re a retard. Wee can all see that. You think wee don’t know what that blue dot means?” Another person, a woman, berated Delta. Her expression implied that she was in a near-perpetual state of being pissed off.
“Gamma, take a chill pill. Jeez, you need to loosen up or something.” Delta adjusted his hair which was starting to lose its shape. After a few futile attempts without hair product, he concentrated, and his hair rippled, reforming into the previous shape, but much more solid. “So, Boss-man;  Epsilon’s been capped, what do?”
The last remaining person, a rather burly looking man, stroked a chin, and looked at the map with grey eyes. “Unfortunately, Epsilon was not able to confirm the presence of the lost prototype-“
“Alpha; his name’s Beta, use it. He’s not a thing.” Delta straightened up.
“Fine; Beta has not been confirmed as being on the compound, so wee must go in and do that before wee can move on.”
Gamma raised a hand. “What about that captain guy? Captain Marcus Fronz?”
“That… human?” Alpha waved a hand dismissively, “he gave us a 80% chance that Beta was there six months ago; Six months! That man’s a disgrace to the Biologic Metals Millitia; he lost the prototype, the plasma field blade, and had his arm destroyed. Fronz didn’t even see Beta do any of his tricks! He’s beyond useless.” Alpha punched his hand.
“Tomorrow, wee infiltrate, find Beta, and either recruit him or destroy him.”

Dimitri opened one bleary eye. It felt like the morning after a huge party, where everyone had been mixing drugs. He sat up, thumped his head on a low roof for his trouble, and fell back down again, holding his head. It was not doing his headache any favors. Taking more care, he tried again, this time avoiding the sloped roof above his head. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around. A Medical APC – That meant he was still on the scene of the crime, and judging from the way sunlight shone in through the windows, it was early morning. He stood, and winced. He looked down to see his feet were somewhat raw from sprinting across and jumping from and to rooftops. Usually he wore shoes when he did that sort of thing. Casting his gaze around, he espied a roll of gauze; still the number 1 wound binding substance after 3 centuries of use. After a bit of crude bandage-work, he stood on now heavily bound feet. His feet looked like they were made of snow, but at least it didn’t hurt to walk on his tenderized feet.

As he began to walk, he noticed a large glass tube with fluid in it. Looking closer at the glass, he saw through the glare, and saw Epsilon, wearing a basic skintight bodysuit that covered the thighs, neck, biceps, and the torso; floating in the middle of the tank.
“Suspension tank, Dimitri,” said a voice. Dimitri turned to see Silvertie, leaning against the frame of the APC.
“So, what’s going on in the world, Silver?”
“Oh god, don’t get me started.” Silvertie ran a hand down the metal mask of his face, which made it a self-defeating action. “I’ve been up all night running a search, but here’s what wee have so far; first, your incapacitating shot allowed our snipers time to change to knockout darts and take aim. Unfortunately, due to the shape-shifting nature of their targets, they had to shoot everyone on the roof to be safe; including you. As you can see, wee’ve kept the spy under since then.
Secondly, wee searched Sasha Carnstrom’s quarters, and wee found an EM-wave scrambler and encrypted communicator. The scrambler looks like it was built a lot of other electronics; the impostor must have assembled it on-site. And lastly, the real Sasha Carnstrom; so far, none of my Agents scouring the compound have managed to find her. Wee must guess-“ Silvertie stopped, as the sound of running footsteps could be heard, and they were only getting louder. Dimitri and Silvertie looked at the door, as Jonathan showed up, panting hard.
“Silvertie, I found Sasha; her body was stuffed inside a supercomputer on the Databank Level.” The databank level was one of a few areas that only authorized personnel were allowed into, and so Silvertie had asked Jonathan to search it himself.
“That’s quite unfortunate.” Silvertie’s dismissive comment belied how upset he was. He turned to Dimitri, “Well, I suppose that takes care of thing number three then. Do wee have any idea of how our imposter did this?”
“Epsilon is like me,” said Dimitri, waving a hand, “she can copy people. But she’s obviously not very good at it, she kept making behavioral errors. Add that to her incompetence at attempting to assassinate me, and wee have a very green person.”
“That’s another point raised, Dimitri;” stated Silvertie, “How on earth are you still alive? I saw her stab you, and as green as she is, she did it quite thoroughly. You should be dead, and yet, you are perfectly healthy in that regard.”
“I healed myself.”
Jonathan leant on the wall of the APC, “You want to elaborate on that, Dimitri?”
“She gave me the idea by mentioning reincarnation. I figured, couldn’t I just transform my torso into a healthy one? So I tried it; it took longer than a regular transformation, but it got there, and my stomach was just a little sore, but not cut or internally damaged.” Dimitri prodded his stomach through the hole in the undershirt he was still wearing. “And I suppose you know how well I was after that.”
“Quite. Well, I-“ Silvertie was interrupted once more, but this time by his communicator. He pressed the “receive call” button, and waited.

“Boss!” It was Hal, and he sounded panicked. “Wee have a huuuuge problem! Like, really huge!”
“Calm down, Hal. What’s happening? Silvertie stood quickly, and began to walk out of the APC, Jonathan standing aside to let him pass, and Dimitri throwing on a Suit Jacket over his bloodstained rags.
“Wee got a lot of reports of violated space-time inside the confines of the complex! It must be Biologic Metals!”
“Wait, what?” Jonathan boggled; he could hear Hal as Silvertie didn’t have it pressed to his ear completely on purpose.
“Space-time is being interfered with on a really big scale, but only on our compound! Wee’re shutting down crucial systems and trying to get defensive systems up but it’s useless! The violations are being induced by an off-site system!”
“Hal, do wee have any intel regarding the problems wee might face with this?”
“No, it’s right out of the blue, this! None of our taps have picked any of this up before!” Hal was steadily getting more and more hysterical, clearly out of his league.
“Does Doctor B have any ideas about this?”
“Haven’t been able to get him on the line; Every other division must be calling him too!”
“Force a connection; you’re Int-Sec. You can override everything.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a-“ Hal’s voice was lost to static, and Silvertie held the phone away from his head, looking at it in disbelief… or what passed for that with Silvertie and his immobile metal mask.

“Oh lawdy; Look at that.” Dimitri looked at the skyline, pointing. Silvertie and Jonathan followed suit. The skyline was shimmering as if the whole sky were covered by a force-field, and then it… solidified, for want of a better word, and it was if the sky was made of glass… incredibly flawed, cracked glass.
“Reality is bending. If wee don’t end this soon, who knows what would happen,” said Silvertie, stating the obvious.
As the trio looked out at the environment, they saw smaller distortions, rents in thin air that briefly revealed glimpses of unreal landscapes and sometimes darkness, and then collapsed on themselves, vanishing completely.
“I think wee’d better move; this location doesn’t seem too safe,” suggested Jonathan, picking up a biohazard combat suit.
“Excellent plan; wee should also try and get to Doctor B. If anyone knows how to stop this, it’s him.” Silvertie quickly threw on as much of the hermetically sealed suit as he could over his existing one. Dimitri, for his part, also pulled a spare on, but had no issues with too many layers of clothing. When they were done, Silvertie adjusted his helmet, and then placed his hat on top; earning him odd looks from the Srides.
“It’s my hat.”

5 Minutes later, they were jogging quickly through the outskirts of the residential area, with a small retinue of Agents following them. The Agents, who had been combing various sites for Sasha, now known to be a corpse; and when the distortions and rifts showed up, they had hunkered down in plain sight, and waited for help. They quickly got courage back when they realized that they’d be running behind three of the best agents in the whole complex.
Some of them were having a good time of it; interesting things to look at, and people to chat to them about, and nobody actively trying to kill them. Others, namely the people carrying large, awkward pieces of forensic equipment, or those who had to listen, were now running through a micro-hell.
“Where are wee headed, anyway?” asked one sufferer, of Dimitri.
“The R&D department; Doctor B’s got so much causality-violating equipment experiments on record, they made the area more stable than usual, wee hope!”
“What, wee’re going to R&D to be safe? You’re nuts, you know that?”
“Possibly… but my dad and Silvertie say it’s the best plan wee’ve got so far.”
The Agent adjusted a tripod, his designated cargo, and made a noise like a snort. “What a load of bullchocolate, you’re telling me that the two best Agents on this planet decided to – ohchocolate” The Agent’s accusation was cut very short as a large rift opened quite fast directly in front of the running group. Displaying incredible reflexes, the two leading Agents stopped just short of jogging through the portal, and had the strength to withstand the inevitable people-stacking that occurred behind them.
Jonathan watched as the portal a bare 10 centimeters away from his face closed, leaving no trace.
“That was a close one,” he said in a voice which indicated he’d been holding his breath, cautiously waving a hand through the space in front of him.

The trip to the R&D department passed without incident to the party, although they were witness to how dangerous the rifts were. An APC driving along not too far from them failed to stop in time to avoid a rift not dissimilar to the one that the party did avoid. The APC skidded into the rift, and then… broke. As it passed through, the APC jerked, shuddered, appeared to be a lot of different objects at once; and then when it cleared the rift, apparently receiving no damage, everyone was proven wrong and surprised when it flashed, and turned into an equal mass of what appeared to be wood. With what seemed like its job done, the rift closed.
The Agents and their retinue looked at the smoking pile of wood now sitting in the middle of a city, on a planet which never even had wood-analogues before.
“What. The. Fuck.” Stated an Agent carrying a large gun which was like a SMG, but manlier. He walked over to the pile, and prodded it with the barrel of his gun, eliciting a dense *thunk* *thunk* noise as he did so. Another Agent with a device that looked like a hand-held camera walked over, and looked at the wood through it. After a moment’s decision, they announced their findings.
“It’s redwood, from earth.” Silence greeted the statement.
“What.” Jonathan broke the silence, “I’m fairly sure nobody got Redwood to grow on some other planet, and earth’s gone.”
“Well, if that’s really Redwood… wee’re now looking at the last 12 tons of Redwood left in the galaxy,” said the analyst. Everyone thought about the wood; more specifically, how rich they would be if they found a buyer for one ton of it; right up until Silvertie cleared his throat loudly.
“In case you daydreamers forgot, wee’ve got places to be, and rifts to avoid.” To punctuate his statement, a whole building rippled, and was eaten by a rift at its center. Everyone got the message, and began running.

The party gathered in the R&D Foyer, which, even though it was a foyer, bore marks that said “something went wrong here”. With all the random Agents they’d picked up deciding to make themselves comfortable in the foyer and other administrative areas, Silvertie, Dimitri and Jonathan made their way into the labs. Carefully entering in case the recent spatial turmoil set some experiment off, they found Doctor B sitting next to a post-like machine radiating a pleasant green glow, and working on one that looked similar. He looked up as the trio entered, and relief etched itself all over his face.
“Oh thank god, you’re alive. I was worrying I’d have no pieces to play in stopping this thing.” He stood up, and shut the hatch on the device.
“Wee’re alive; what’s going down?” Dimitri asked, removing his helmet.
“Going down? Everything! Look.” Doctor B bustled over to a large angle-poise monitor, and swiveled it to face them. It looked like a live feed from a camera, which was pointing at the Agency Tower. He picked up a microphone, and spoke into it. “Johannes, you read me?”
“Yes doctor,” responded Johannes in a near flat monotone through a desktop speaker.
“No system malfunctions?”
“No doctor.”
“Could you please look at the anomaly?”
“Yes doctor.” The camera’s view shifted, bobbed back and forth a bit, and then looked up. About 400 meters above the camera was one of the biggest distortions, and while no rift was forming, it was certainly a huge distortion, and looked like a giant globe of ripple-covered water.
“Is that the source of all this spoon?” asked Jonathan.
“Mhmm,” responded the Doctor. “Johannes, please activate the distortion filter.”
“Filter activating.” The view flickered, a click was heard through the speaker, and the view suddenly turned into a rainbow-hued one, not unlike a view through a thermal filter. Doctor B turned to the three Agents.
“This is the distortion filter. It measures how heavily an object or anomaly impinges on space. I’m sure you’ve all heard of the rubber-shit and ball weight metaphor.”
A few grunts and ‘Mhruhm’ greeted this statement.
“Oh, alright,” exclaimed Doctor B, “I’ll be brief. Space is the rubber shit, and its corners are pinned down to time; and objects sit on it. The weight of the ball sitting on the ‘shit’ depends on how much it messes with space. Most objects are nothing more than polystyrene balls. But this anomaly-” he pointed at the screen “-Is like a massive 20-Kilogram weight on the surface of reality. Just being here’s going to fudge with stuff. Things will move to it; it produces gravity; it is like a little brother to a black hole.”
“Okay… I think wee get the idea, what’s that thing for?” Silvertie pointed at the green-glowing post thing. On closer inspection, it was probably more like a spear, only the tip was no more than a glass-walled, rounded-edge cylinder chamber from which the glow was emitting.
“That’s the anti-distortion scepter.” Doctor B picked up the non-functional one, and threw it to Silvertie. “That thing is like an anti-weight on the shit of reality, rather than press down, it presses up, and can counter the effects of a weight. Just leave it in an area, and everything inside its effect range will be subjected to a negative weight on the rubber shit, as it were.”
“And the idea is to put this next to that source?”
“Quite, although I warn you; while it sounds simple, it no doubt has defenses against this sort of thing, and that scepter has a maximum output. If the distortion power surpasses the stabilizing power of the scepter, you’ll be hit with whatever’s left over from the distortion after it’s been stabilized; and I trust you’ve seen examples of what happens to things that get hit by rifts.”
“Yeah; APC into 12 tons of Redwood.”
“Redwood, huh? I saw an Agent running around outside get hit; he turned into slices of watermelon.”
“That sounds pretty brutal,” chipped in Dimitri.
“No, I mean he literally got turned into a platter of watermelon slices. I have no idea why or how, but I retrieved it, and put him over th-” Doctor B pointed over at a desk, and faltered as he saw Jonathan standing there, munching on a piece of watermelon, the plate next to him covered with rinds and seeds.
“What?” Jonathan asked, as they stared at him.
“Well,” Doctor B said, abandoning the train of thought, “he WAS over there. Anyway, that scepter will only cancel the distortions, it won’t actually stop or destroy the source; and its battery powered for about 3 minutes.”
“So, can’t wee just shoot the distortion?” asked Jonathan, after spitting out a bunch of seeds onto the plate.
“No, Jonathan. Anything that gets close tends to get polymorphed, that’s what wee call it when something hits a rift and is transformed.”
“Hmm. What if the scepter was near the distortion when wee shot at it?”
“Then it might hit, assuming you can hit a target from that far away, and you have a way of keeping the scepter next to it long enough.”
“What if wee put the scepter on an aero-drone or something, have it hover next to the distortion?” Jonathan persisted, doggedly pursuing the destructive options.
“Johannes; play video file 3, if you please.”
“Yes doctor.” The camera’s view was changed to that of a pre-recorded segment.

In the video, Johannes (or his camera, anyway) watched an aero-drone fly up to investigate the anomaly. Audio was set to the radio channels at the time.
“Watch where you’re flying that! If it touches the anomaly…”
“Shut up, I got it. I’ll fly it under the anomaly, that way I can’t crash into it unless I fly too high.”
The drone wobbled and jerked as if under heavy turbulence, and flew under the anomaly, where it hovered.
“See, perfectly fine.”
The second voice was proven wrong very quickly; the drone bucked and shuddered as if it were travelling through a very violent storm, and the camera panned to watch the drone plummet to earth burning, bits of propeller following it.
“What the spoon!? How in the name of hell did that happen?”

The video stopped, and the trio turned back to the Doctor, seeking explanation.
“It seems that the anomaly can use it’s distortions to mangle the air currents around and in it. As you saw, it can also wield some particularly violent currents; that drone had its propellers and main engine obliterated by a Mach-2 current of air, not generally something wee find on this planet, if any.”
“Ouch. Well, I suppose wee will work something out on our way there,” Silvertie said, drawing his gun, and giving it a quick field clean.
“You’re not serious about this, are you? How are wee going to find an air vehicle which can take that kind of poo poo?” Jonathan waved his hands around in emphasis.
“Well, now that you mention it…” Doctor B held his chin, deep in thought.
“You’re kidding me. You have a flying vehicle capable of withstanding such punishment?”
“If I remember correctly…” Doctor B closed his eyes, retracing his memories, “In the storage warehouses on the south side of the complex, there’s a R&D Vault for everything too big to fit in the one here; mostly vehicles. If you poke around in there, you should find something that looks like a giant hollow glass prism... I never tested it against Mach-2 wind spears, but it’s got basic hover tech, and I’ve shot it with a solid tank shell, it didn’t falter; No weapons, but sturdy as heck; Never mass-produced because it was so expensive to make and had limited applications.”
“That sounds like the business. I think wee should get going while the going’s good.” Silvertie put his gun away.
“Hold it; you’ll need access codes, and someone to find the vehicle for you.”
“You’re not coming with us, surely?”
“Of course not!” Doctor B ‘harumph’ed and affected an air of disdain, “I’m over 60! I’m far too old for such gallivanting around! But I know someone who would fit this job perfectly…” The doctor walked over to a giant locker built into the wall, and punched in a quick 7-digit number. The metal-slatted door rolled up, to reveal what looked like a big, 6’5” tall robot.

“It looks like a big, 6’5” tall robot,” observed Dimitri.
“That’s because he is. Everyone, meet your new guide, Duncan.”
“…Hello Duncan?” Jonathan volunteered.
“GREETINGS TO YOU, AGENT,” boomed the big robot, stepping out of the darkish room, and revealing his build. The robot looked like a man wearing a combat biohazard suit and helmet, although clearly the helmet was not supposed to be removed, and he sported a larger-than-normal power pack, presumably to power him, too. “HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU?”
“Duncan’s a little enthusiastic, I missed a decimal point when inputting his parameters, and once an AI is initialized, the parameters cannot be altered, unfortunately;” Doctor B turned to the robot. “Duncan, listen to me.”
“DADDY!” The robot turned, recognized his creator, and quick as a blink, grabbed Doctor B in a hug which, while it meant to convey love and affection (which it did in spades, to be honest) it also conveyed clicked vertebrae and similar back problems. “I LOVE DADDY!”
“Daddy feels your love Duncan let go of me please” Doctor B quickly commanded, all in what was left of his breath after having it squashed out of him by the robotic-love.
“Are you sure you only missed ONE decimal point there, Doc?” Jonathan chuckled.
“Okay, maybe I missed a few,” admitted the doctor, clicking his back once Duncan let go, and checking for broken ribs. “Duncan; I have a job for you-”
“ANYTHING FOR DADDY!”
“-yes, yes, I can see that- NO I DON’T NEED A HUG THANK YOU –Look, Duncan. Take these three men to the experiment warehouse on the south side; help them find the Incredible Flying Prism. It’s very important.”
“YES DADDY ANYTHING FOR YOU!” The robot danced in what can only be described as pure joy at being given an important job by ‘Daddy’. “WHAT IS EVERYONE WAITING FOR, LET’S GO!” The robot began to skip its way out of the lab, not noticing that nobody was following his lead. The Agents watched it go, dumbstruck.
“And wee don’t have robots because of things like…” began Dimitri,
“…like that, yes.” Doctor B finished, an embarrassed expression on his face.
“Can I kill that thing when wee’re done?” Jonathan whined, dreading having to put up with that aggressively cheerful monstrosity.
“You can’t just kill stuff… make it an ‘accident’, Jonathan.” Silvertie’s posture was slack, as he was dumbstruck by just how bizarrely enthusiastic the robot was. They flinched collectively when it poked its head back around the corner rapidly, and its visor stared at them.
“COME ON THEN, AGENTS! WEE HAVE A JOB TO DO FOR DADDY!”