Nemo Wilkins found himself suddenly plagued by a fleeting sense of disorientation, almost as if an unseen power had lightly grazed across the landscape of his mind. It felt akin to being jolted awake from a surreal, barely-there slumber. Caught off guard, he jerked his head upwards, his eyes reflecting an air of anxiety and caution towards the benign-looking old man who seemed, on the surface, to pose no threat.
In response to the man acting as their informant, Morris flashed him a warm, courteous smile.
A chill ran down Nemo’s spine as he was struck with a startling realization. Ever since he had stepped foot into the concealed passage, he had been under the unrelenting scrutiny of the elderly man, who seemed to be examining his thoughts and dissecting his memories with an almost supernatural intensity. To his horror, he found that he had been subconsciously answering every inquiry made by these unexpected visitors. His inadvertent candidness almost gave away the intricate details about other secret contacts within the city-state!
Despite these unanticipated guests possessing Captain Tyrian’s seal and knowing the classified code, Nemo chided himself for his careless openness. Given their sudden appearance that day, he ought to have exercised more caution and skepticism as per protocol!
His quickly changing facial expressions didn’t go unnoticed by Vanna. She advanced towards him, her grave demeanor belying her earnest reassurance, “Mr. Wilkins, please remain calm. We mean you no harm. The tokens and secret code we possess are indeed from Mr. Tyrian. We just needed to validate your allegiance for essential security purposes.”
“Validate…what do you mean by validation?” Nemo responded, looking suspiciously at the figures before him. “What… who are you people?”
“In essence, we believe that a large-scale cognitive contamination event has begun infiltrating the city-state. This contamination results in people unconsciously fabricating false memories, misjudging reality, and even becoming inadvertent accomplices to heretical actions. We had to confirm whether Mr. Tyrian’s informants in the city could still be trusted, hence the test,” Vanna explained with utmost seriousness before quickly changing the topic, “As for who we are… didn’t you receive a message from Mr. Tyrian?”
“The captain wasn’t explicit. He merely stated that you were reliable individuals,” Nemo replied with guarded wariness, “Please forgive my skepticism, but he has never made such unusual arrangements before.”
Morris pondered over this, and then, understanding dawned on him. He turned to Duncan, “Ah, could it be because he didn’t have your explicit consent, and therefore, he didn’t feel comfortable revealing our identities haphazardly?”
Consent? Captain Tyrian needed consent to reveal their identities?
At Morris’s words, Nemo’s expression morphed into one of perplexity. He instinctively glanced towards the man swathed in bandages and clad in black attire, obviously wanting to ask a question but seemingly at a loss as to how to phrase it.
Duncan didn’t read too much into it. He simply nodded, “Now that we’ve established that this gentleman informant poses no threat, there’s no reason to keep our identities a secret any longer.”
With that, Duncan directed his gaze towards Nemo, indicating himself as he declared, “I am Tyrian’s father.”
Nemo Wilkins, known by his code name as the Mist Infiltrator, was stunned into a brief silence. Following some unknown internal deliberation, his eyes suddenly widened in shock, “Don’t you dare disrespect the captain!”
Duncan merely looked at him in silence.
The atmosphere became palpably uncomfortable for a moment. Vanna and Morris found themselves pinching the bridge of their noses in mild exasperation. Only Alice appeared unbothered, her gaze bouncing between the others, seemingly oblivious to the tension. She earnestly assured the informant, “He’s telling the truth.”
Nemo seemed on the verge of a retort, but Morris took a step forward before he could articulate it, lightly patting his shoulder. “Young man, think before you speak. Even the formidable ‘Iron Admiral’ Tyrian has a father.”
It was at this point that Nemo noticed the undercurrents in the atmosphere, the nuances of the conversation he had previously missed. He recalled the ancient lore surrounding the Abnomar lineage, Captain Tyrian’s familial history, tales of the Vanished, and the myth of a soul wandering subspace. When his gaze returned to Duncan, it was marked by a distinctive shift.
“I returned from subspace,” Duncan declared, maintaining eye contact. “I am here to assist Tyrian in handling some complications.”
Considering this revelation, Nemo paused before his eyes rolled back into his head and began to faint.
Vanna, however, seemed to anticipate his reaction. She swiftly reached out to support him before he could fully collapse, withdrawing a bottle of invigorating essential oil from her pocket and administering it directly into his nostrils.
The sharp smell jolted the informant back to consciousness.
“Ah… ah… ah-choo! Ah-choo!” Nemo came back around, his nostrils assaulted by the potent aroma of the oil. He sneezed multiple times, his face wet with tears and nasal discharge as he stuttered, “I… I…”
“My apologies—I forgot that average people possess a less resilient constitution than the guardians,” Vanna responded, an apologetic tone in her voice as she put away the glass vial. “Don’t worry, this substance is harmless to the body.”
Nemo withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face, trying to regain his composure. With a mix of fear and trepidation in his eyes, he looked at Duncan, “Is it… really you? Then… what can I do for you…?”
“You’re already helping me,” Duncan dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand, “Don’t fret. Just fill me in more on Frost.”
“Okay… okay,” Nemo agreed, nodding his head vigorously, sneezing a few more times before steadying himself. “What else would you like to know?”
“Do you presently have contact with other informants in the city?” Duncan queried. “How is communication usually handled? Do you meet up in this sewer system, or do you use more concealed methods?”
“We hardly ever meet in person,” Nemo began, his fingers lightly rubbing his nose. “Mostly for safety reasons; many of our group have deep-rooted ties to the city’s upper strata and require more covert operations. We typically exchange information through various clandestine channels. For instance, encoded messages hidden in newspapers, designated contact points, or single-line contacts relayed through ‘couriers’.
“Indeed, even we don’t have a clear understanding of how many ‘insiders’ there are in the city. Most informants only know those directly above or below them in the chain of command, or perhaps a few ‘colleagues’ from their local area. The complete list of operatives is held solely by Captain Tyrian and Mr. Aiden. At my level, being a ‘contact person’, I manage a slightly larger list of names, yet still, it doesn’t exceed ten individuals…”
Vanna couldn’t help but offer a slight nod of approval as she listened to Nemo’s account. “This is an impressively cautious and effective infiltration method, far more professional than what most cultists dealing with the guardians would manage.”
“It’s the result of Tyrian’s management over half a century,” Duncan remarked casually, before turning his attention back to Nemo. “Is this particular contact point regularly manned by only you?”
“There are two others,” Nemo confirmed with a nod. “One goes by the nickname ‘Crow’; he should be conducting patrols in the nearby tunnels as we speak. The other is an old man who spends the majority of his time in the disused pipe room. His real name is unknown to us; we all refer to him as ‘Old Ghost.'”
Upon hearing this, Duncan, Vanna, and Morris exchanged meaningful glances.
Nemo Wilkins appeared to be unaffected by cognitive interference, but the same could not be guaranteed for his fellow informants.
“Let’s go and make their acquaintance,” Duncan decided with a nod. “Where can we find this pipe room?”
“It’s over this way,” Nemo directed, pointing to the right at an upcoming fork in the tunnel. “It used to serve as a makeshift resting spot for maintenance staff of the Second Waterway. I’ll lead you there.”
As the informant started to move, he began sharing details about “Old Ghost” with Duncan and the others.
“…He’s in his seventies now, nearly the eldest amongst us. My own grandfather worked alongside him back during the Queen’s reign…”
“Old Ghost’s memory isn’t always reliable, but when it comes to the gas pipelines and the layout of the secondary waterway, his knowledge is flawless. The gas line we installed here was a project of his. His team clandestinely tapped a branch from the above main line, ensuring it was safe and undetectable—a task not just anyone could accomplish…”
“Old Ghost rarely ventures topside, preferring to spend his time in these tunnels. Sometimes, after a few drinks, he’ll boast about his past, claiming that he was an engineer on the Second Waterway project decades ago, and that the Queen herself awarded him a medal. But, truth be told, not all of his stories are reliable. I’ve seen that supposed medal; it’s just a piece of unadorned iron, obviously scavenged from somewhere…”
“Ah, he likely inhaled a significant amount of poisonous gas when he took refuge in the secondary waterway all those years ago. Have I mentioned this before? When the last of the Queen’s Guard pulled back fifty years prior, they sealed off the Second Waterway. The vertical shafts crumbled at the time, and some noxious gas seeped down from above. A group of craftsmen, loyal to the Queen, endeavored to plug these leaks, and Old Ghost was among their number. It’s said his mental clarity has wavered ever since.”
“If he should suddenly bring up matters relating to the Queen in your presence later on, do not take it to heart… he means no ill.”
Guided by Nemo Wilkins’ constant narrative, Duncan and the others swiftly navigated the branching tunnel and arrived at a dilapidated iron door close to the sewer junction.
Nemo rapped on the door and announced their arrival before pushing it ajar, “Old Ghost, we’ve brought visitors.”
No sooner had he finished his sentence than a raspy yet boisterous voice emanated from behind the door.
“Ah, the Queen has arrived for an inspection!?”
