--- 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.”