| Godspeed, Colonel | |||||
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| What: A cutscene. | |||||
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Green, shade 44. Finely pressed and tailored to fit his frame with perfection. A jacket with four buttons. Two sets of insignia bearing the letters "US" on each collar. A shoulder patch denoting membership in the Special Logistics and Advanced Defenses Unit. Proficiency badges, ribbons and medals for commendations that never really existed. A name tag reading "CISSE". Unit awards and regimental insignia, special duty badges. Rank insignia bearing the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.
"They call it the Pickle Suit," says a voice behind him.
Adjusting the sleeves and checking the knot of his tie, Kwabena is quite a sight as he looks upon himself in the mirror, wearing the US Army Green service uniform. His fingers run across the name tag and rows upon rows of medals, considering the task he's about to be set out on.
"They're phasing the Greens out by next year, so I almost thought about getting you the Blue ASU, but I figure, this guy's been around a few years. Young, bright mind and all that. Probably holding onto the classic look, given his military record and particular line of service."
Turning around, Kwabena eyes the mutant behind him. The fellow is his age, though his eyes are black and his hands bear two additional fingers. The mutant sits at a computer terminal with two monitors, his eyes and fingers dancing back and forth at speeds twice that of the typical computer user.
Leaving the mirror, he steps around behind the workstation, looking over the mutant's shoulder as he completes his work. The mutant was good... he'd hacked the NSA database at fourteen. Accessing top secret Army personnel records wasn't giving him any trouble.
Still, Kwabena was uncomfortable. What other secrets did the US Army have hidden up their sleeves?
"You sure my identity will be secure?" asks Kwabena. "We can't afford dere to be any mistakes with this."
"Oh, it's secure," answers the mutant, before turning around and handing a thumb drive to Kwabena. "Everything you need to know is right here. Memorize that until you can read off Cisse's history while you're jerking it to the National Anthem, and you ought to be good."
Accepting the thumb drive, Kwabena tucks it away in one of the uniform's pockets, before crossing the room to open a door. Behind that door is a small, walk-in pantry. Bundled up on the floor is the body of an African Army officer, with a gaping bullet hole in his skull that stopped leaking blood and brain tissue some hours ago.
"Dissolve the body," answers Kwabena, before turning around and heading for the apartment door. "Good work, DarkNet."
With two fingers, the mutant salutes Kwabena mockingly. "Godspeed, Colonel."