The T'N'T: A Story of the Scars

Next Day

Martin's Villa

It was early morning, Mary and Frank packing their bags to leave for Tom's hostel by evening. They weren't expecting anyone when the doorbell rang.

Frank spoke on the intercom, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Frank, your Friend and Protector."

"All right, give me a minute."

Frank informed Mary of the visitor and walked toward their sleek villa door with its classy matte finish.

"I wasn't expecting you. I never pictured you as an early bird. I always think you sleep until noon, have lunch before digesting yesterday's meals." Frank chuckled—he was in a light, goofy mood today, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

The visitor let out a laugh that sounded nearly fake.

"I might be late to a crime scene, but I'm calculated and always win."

"Well, a Russian with a fake identity still living under our noses says otherwise."

"We're working on it. Since it's the hot topic now, you and Mary need to come with me to the U.I.S.I.A."

"Sorry, but Mary and I have to leave and celebrate at least one birthday with Tom, unless you're going to drop us off in one of those cool, invisible jets of yours."

"I would love to, but they're all preoccupied, and I doubt there's any landing area around St. Augustus."

"Then sorry, we can't come."

"That's not an option—you might be in danger."

"Oh, don't worry. Mary and I are the danger."

"I know you're not the type, but are you high right now?"

"No, why?"

"Haven't seen you like this in ages!"

"Well, I'm quite happy—going to meet my son after nearly a decade." Frank's goofy smile couldn't entirely hide the fear lurking beneath.

"I advise you shouldn't. You'll risk his life too."

"Get in and explain. It better be worth my time."

Mid-2006

U.I.S.I.A. Chamber U-89

Simpson sat on the bed in the all-white room, held here while Johnson rebuilt the framework. He was giving facial details to the artist to draw and later feed to their AI facial software for tracking.

"Pressurize your brain to give us even the most minute detail. It can help with faster, more accurate recognition."

"Uh, yes—his round cleft chin wasn't symmetric. One part was slightly larger than the other, like... balls." Simpson grinned at his own comparison. "And his eyes were greenish-blue. His left ear had a cut on the upper side. Clean face otherwise—no scars, at least from what I remember. That's all."

"Okay, so this first one is Evan," the artist said, placing the facial sketch on the table. "And this is your successor with the unknown name." She placed the latest sketch beside it. "Is this final? Give it a thorough look and confirm if anything can be added."

"Oh yeah, Evan Roczek. He was in his late teens, had that Genghis Khan vibe going on—typical Muslim look with his undeveloped beard and mustache. For a second, I thought he might be one of those old-world Muslims, before I remembered they vanished with Osama Bin Laden post-9/11. Always found it hilarious—centuries of shouting 'Allahu Akbar' only to get Uno-reversed by history." He chuckled loudly. "World's been hell of a lot more peaceful since then, though I miss the chaos."