Deception || PJM

•A Fresh Start•

Lay low. Act normal. Blend in. It shouldn't be that hard to maintain, it's what you've been trained to do, just trained for a different set of circumstances. Still, it can't be that hard.

That's what you remind yourself as you style your hair in a low ponytail and slip into your uniform; a black button-down blouse, skinny jeans and a small black apron that you wrapped around your waist to tie in the front. A new job, a new start, a new cover. A barista is what you call a 'middle of the pack' job. Nothing extraordinary, perfect for blending in with the crowd.

Glancing around your new room, or 'base' as you like to call it, you notice daylight slipping through the blinds on the far wall, making the particles of dust in the air glimmer and lined patterns sweep across the barren abode. You'd only been living in the apartment for two weeks, not long enough for you to even consider unpacking, you knew you may have to relocate at any moment. This is why you called the apartment your base, there was no point in pretending like you had a home, that was something you could never have, but you were at peace with running. There was little clarity on whether your current cover 'Lisa' was fool proof or not yet.

Pulling out your phone to check the time, a brief glimpse of your reflection stared back at you and you barely recognised yourself. The freshly died hair and minimal makeup was a drastic change from your last cover, but that was necessary. It was better to be safe than sorry. Better Safe than sorry, that reminded you.

"Damn, the tattoo." 

You scoff in annoyance to yourself. You refused to call it your tattoo as it wasn't yours, it was theirs, the Academy's. You didn't choose to get one and if you did it wouldn't have been what they chose. But it was mandatory for everyone who went through training to have one. That way you could identify each other in the field if need be, especially if your mission was unsuccessful. Frantically, you search for the body foundation in your dresser and quickly dab over the three interlinking circles with a black centre on your wrist so no one would see them. The last thing you wanted was to be recognised.

The tattoo was not one of meaning, more one of reminding. Reminding you what you had been through and who you belonged to, or used to belong to in your case. The first circle you received when you began your training at the age of 5, way too young to get a tattoo but the Academy worked by their own set of laws. The second circle you received when you completed levels 1- 9 of your training, simple things really, chemical warfare, physical combat, weapon training, mapping, the list goes on. The last circle was the hardest to achieve, trainees were only rewarded that when they completed stage 10 of the training programme, better known as the Pit. The Academy insisted it was a mandatory stage in the training programme as it simulated hard decisions spies would have to make in the field. Only it wasn't a simulation. Your decision in the pit had consequences. Consequences you did not want to remember. Every trainee had to complete the Pit twice, the first time in the pit itself, powerless and weak, and the second time looking into the Pit as the decision maker. Both times were equally painful to recall. Your breath catches in your throat as you attempt to block out your memories of the Pit and try to focus on the day ahead.

The phone reads 8:30. It's a 15-minute walk to the café and your shift starts at 9:00 but it would be good to get there a little early to make a good impression. No harm in making a few friends on your first day is there? You quickly walk around your apartment to check you have everything you need for the day, and check that all the windows are locked. There's not much to check in the first place as most of your possessions were still in cardboard boxes and you know it's best to travel light. It's more convenient if you need to run.

Your eyes travel to the corner of what was designed to be the living room and you start to walk over to the loose floorboard you found on your initial sweep of the apartment. It now conceals your favourite handgun, gas mask, syringes and chemicals. Just some precautions in case you get hijacked by them. It's unlikely, but it makes you feel better. You pause before you open it.