Rigel’s dangerous game as a double agent was over, finished.

Colonel Rigel Beta had just been unmasked, and who had done it was none other than one of the highest figures among his superiors. He wasn’t sure how he would continue with his life from then on; actually, he didn’t even know if he’d still be alive in the next few hours.

All that he had fought for over the past few years, all the effort his companions had made to cover the holes during his brief absences when he met with the Rowdy Ones to provide them with information; all of that was gone.

And yet, at that moment, as he walked away from Benetnash’s office and destroyed the phone the general had given him, the only thing on his mind was Malin Marie.

He had told her Broga had crossed the dimensional Geyser in the company of two criminals and an Eddanic woman; and he had told her what he had concealed in other opportunities, that he missed her, that he needed her, that he loved her.

“There you are!” A voice sounded in the corridor; a low exclamation that tried to pass unnoticed.

Rigel heard it, though he didn’t bother to raise his head. His thoughts were on Malin Marie and only on her.

“Rigel!” the voice insisted, and he reacted. It was Henderson, one of his trusted men from the System Department.

Henderson got close to him, trying so hard to look calm in front of the other officers that were passing through in the corridor, to notice how pale Detective Colonel Beta was.

“They found your task force,” he informed; “the one you arranged to go after the haywire Cyclops. They were unconscious near a cliff in the Canyon, with signs of having suffered epistaxis.”

Rigel wasn’t surprised by the revelation. Now that he knew a Code Red Eddanic was involved in the matter, nosebleeds were no surprise.

“Okay; you knew that already,” that was all Henderson said after seeing his lack of reaction.

Rigel thought about telling him that Benetnash had busted him, but he didn’t. First, because he was still dazed by so many conflicting sensations, and second, because Henderson’s and the others’ movements were likely to continue to be unknown to the General, and he didn’t want to freak him out for no reason.

“I have other news to give you, though,” Henderson continued. “I found that the same night the students were killed, one of our satellites detected a brief outbreak of Lavra-type radiation in the Canyon.”

This time, Rigel did seem puzzled.

“Lavra radiation?” he said. “How is that possible? There’re no Geysers in the Canyon that could have emitted it.”

“I know!” Henderson acknowledged it. “And yet, that night one appeared there, only to disappear instantly. As if it had been a passing Lavra Geyser.”

Rigel nodded again. Finding traces of a Lavra radiation burst without a Geyser nearby was an interesting mystery, but at that moment there was an entire world crumbling above him, and he needed at least five minutes of silence to think about his next move.

“Fine; keep me informed,” he said.

“I’m not done yet,” Henderson stopped him, and tapping him on the arm, asked Rigel to follow him, and they both darted down the corridor. “Patrick from the Lab Area sent me the results of the tests done on the remains you found in those tubs. It’s confirmed. They belonged to the babies who were experimented on.”

“Right,” Rigel said. “That’s what we assumed.”

“I know. What we didn’t assume was that those remains shared an identical genetic base. All of them.”

Rigel felt as if someone had just hit his chest, so hard it knocked the air out of him. That changed the landscape of the project completely.

Henderson nodded, corroborating the surprise.

“The nine pairs of twins that were experimented on,” he said, “weren’t different pairs. They were cloned pairs.”

That Friday night, Uri was at B-Crush where everything should have been fun and partying all night long; where he should be having a good time with his friends, drinking, laughing, and flirting with every woman he came across with. However, he was alone and away from the VIP area of the disco, dived into a universe of people dancing between darkness and multicolored flashes, in search of his doppelgänger, of someone he wasn’t even sure existed.

Uri was looking here and there, back and forth. There were so many people around him. Too many. And it was too dark to identify their faces.

I must have seen wrong, he thought, assuming what he had seen in the restroom—or rather, what he believed he had seen—would remain in his memory as a simple funny anecdote. Whoever the guy who opened the door while he was peeing was, it must have been someone who looked just like him; that’s all.

Those dim lights can confuse anyone, he argued, and let loose a smile. Did you really think you have a twin brother?

Unbeknownst to Uri, an exotic, dark-skinned, gray-haired woman got close to him from behind; while the person he was seeking after was hiding in the crowd, watching him from afar.

That man had slipped through Uri’s fingers just by having gotten behind a column, upon coming down the stairs from the VIP area, and waited for Uri to pass him by, to move again. In a place like that, it was quite easy to slip through anyone.

He was identical to Uri, but with a somber countenance. His eyes were green, cold, and surrounded by dark circles; his face covered by a thick beard; his hair was slightly longer than Uri’s—although well tied back, and he wore black trousers with the left leg ripped, and an eroded purple trench coat.

In a shadowy area of the nightclub, after having finished her task, the woman approached the purple trench coat man, brushing her silky gray hair out of her face. The sensuality coming out of her as she walked through the crowd was unique, almost magical.

Then, diving into the crowd, they both watched Uri walk away from them.

“Your scene in the bathroom worked,” she said, her voice coming through clearly despite the volume of the music. “The poor guy was so vulnerable to my touch I was able to create the link without problems.”

“I still think it would be best to take O22 with us right now,” he said.

The woman looked at him suspiciously, her eyes darting into the darkness.

“Broga,” she called him; “if the Binary-R were to suspect we have O22, upon seeing himself cornered he could flee or… make a more extreme decision, and we cannot allow that. Remember, he has the Totem’s treasure. Let the brothers meet; even if they find out it’s a trap, it’ll be too late. The fruit will not fall far from the tree.”

Broga looked down at his robotic hands and opened and closed them, testing if they were working properly now. Although he’d already sealed the leaks in the plastic veins of his arms and they no longer dripped oil, he could still see metal filaments exposed on his wrists and other broken circuits. The Grenadiers’ Great Fotia in the dome, plus the fight against that damn girl with black boots, and then against Romita, hadn’t left him in the best conditions.

He took one last glance at O22, who was visible far away in the crowd, turned and walked into the darkness. What they had come to do was already done, it was time to get out of there; all the fuss and flashes of light were driving him crazy.

He pushed the people away from him while coming through, pressed a small device he’d attached to the back of his neck, hidden behind the hair, and the chrome helmet was rebuilt like pieces of a puzzle around his head until it was completely covered. His face, conflicted and full of shadows, was once again hidden under the empty expression of an android, although the red light of his immense eye was turned off to go unnoticed. With so much celebration around him, no one seemed to notice the change; that a Cyclops was in a nightclub wasn’t something that was seen every day, but it was not unheard of either; he might as well have been fixing something.

“You’ve pretty much blown your cover by now,” she questioned him. “It’s ridiculous you’re still in disguise.”

“My face will remain in here,” Broga said, tapping his mask; “until I’m sure I’m not in danger out here,” he added, pointing to his surroundings.

The woman laughed.

“You’re overreacting,” she said. “As long as O22 breathes, you are not in danger.”

Broga ignored her.

“I’m gonna meet the brothers,” he said. “If Romita thinks like me, now that he knows the truth about the project, he’ll find a way to be alone with his twin.” Broga clenched his teeth. “You see that bitch friend of his doesn’t interfere.”