The dead drop was empty.
William stood in the alley behind a Hamburg bakery, staring at a brick that should have contained instructions and instead contained nothing but old mortar and spider webs. Three days of checking. Three days of buying stale pretzels from the shop across the street to justify his presence. Three days of waiting for a paranoid ex-Stasi forger to decide whether a stranger wearing a dead man's face was worth the risk.
[DEAD DROP STATUS: INACTIVE]
[SUGGESTED: Alternative contact method.]
"Thanks for nothing."
The system had been doing that more often—offering advice that amounted to restating the obvious. William was starting to suspect it enjoyed watching him struggle.
He bought another pretzel. The woman behind the counter gave him the look reserved for people who bought the same thing every day and never said more than "danke." Tomorrow she'd probably start asking questions. The day after, she'd remember his face well enough to describe it to anyone who came asking.
Time to change tactics.
The print shop closed at six. William watched from a café across the street as the last customer left and Dietrich Voss began the methodical process of locking up—checking the register, securing the back room, activating what looked like a surprisingly sophisticated alarm system for a small-business owner.
"Ex-Stasi. Of course he has security."
Voss walked three blocks to the U-Bahn station. William followed at a distance, tracking the old man's reflection in shop windows, counting steps, noting the moments when Voss checked over his shoulder with the casual paranoia of someone who'd spent decades assuming surveillance.
The train to Altona. Transfer at Landungsbrücken. Another twelve minutes to a residential neighborhood where the buildings were older and the streetlights fewer.
Voss's apartment occupied the third floor of a converted warehouse. The mailbox read WEBER—a cover name, or maybe a wife's maiden name. William filed that away and kept walking.
[SURVEILLANCE COMPLETE]
[TARGET RESIDENCE: IDENTIFIED]
[SUGGESTED: Leverage acquisition.]
The system wanted him to find leverage. The system always wanted leverage.
William found a hotel room that accepted cash and spent the night mapping Engström's files on the laptop he'd bought from a pawn shop. The informant's network had been thorough—names, addresses, operational details that would have been worth a fortune to the right buyer.
Dietrich Voss appeared on page forty-three. Former Ministry for State Security, Documentation Division. Retired 1990 with full pension and a reputation for discretion. Current status: married, two adult children, three grandchildren who visited on Sundays.
The wife's name was Helga. She ran a flower shop in the Schanzenviertel. According to Engström's notes, she had no idea what her husband did between 1971 and 1989.
"And she definitely doesn't know what he's doing now."
William stared at the screen. The cursor blinked.
"This is blackmail. You're going to blackmail an old man with his wife."
[MORAL ASSESSMENT: Tier 2 — Extortion]
[ESTIMATED SP: 15-25]
[RECOMMENDATION: Proceed. Asset value exceeds moral cost.]
The system didn't ask if he was comfortable. The system calculated returns.
William closed the laptop and tried to sleep. The hotel bed was harder than the hostel, and the ceiling had a water stain that looked like a face if he squinted.
He didn't squint.
Morning brought rain and a decision that felt like stepping off another cliff.
The print shop opened at nine. William arrived at nine-fifteen, carrying a folder that contained nothing but blank paper and the weight of what he was about to do.
Voss looked up from the counter. Recognition flickered behind those thick glasses—recognition, and something that might have been hope.
"You're back."
"You didn't leave instructions."
"I was considering whether to leave them at all."
The shop was empty except for the two of them. Morning light filtered through windows that needed cleaning, illuminating dust motes and the faded concert posters that served as décor. Voss had built a good cover. Decades of legitimate business layered over decades of forgery.
"I found your apartment," William said. "Altona. Third floor. The mailbox says Weber."
Voss's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes went very still.
"I also found Helga's flower shop. Schanzenviertel. Nice location. Good reviews online."
"What do you want?"
"The same thing I wanted before. Papers. Clean identity. British passport, German license, consultant documentation."
"And if I refuse?"
William set the folder on the counter. Opened it to reveal the blank pages inside.
"Then I'll have a conversation with Helga about what her husband did for the Stasi. And what he's been doing since."
The silence stretched. Voss's hands—steady hands, forger's hands—gripped the edge of the counter until the knuckles went white.
"You're not Engström's associate."
"No."
"Engström would never have found my address. He didn't have the resources."
"Engström is dead."
Another silence. Longer this time.
"The ICA?"
"Someone else. But the ICA is cleaning up his network, and everyone who dealt with him is a loose end. Including you."
Voss absorbed that. The fear in his eyes shifted to calculation—the same calculation William had seen in every survivor he'd ever met. The math of who to trust and what to trade.
"What do you really want?"
"I told you. Papers. A new identity. Something that will hold up to professional scrutiny."
"And in exchange?"
"I disappear. I never mention your name to anyone. I never come back to Hamburg. And if anyone asks about Engström's network, I tell them the forger was in Munich, not here."
The old man studied him. Those magnified eyes searching for the lie, the angle, the hidden knife.
"The ICA will find you eventually. They always do."
"Maybe. But they won't find me through you."
Voss's hands relaxed. The decision had been made—William could see it in the way the tension left his shoulders, the way his breathing steadied.
"British passport. Consultant cover. What name?"
William had been thinking about this for three days. The system had suggested options—bland, forgettable, algorithmically optimized for anonymity. He ignored all of them.
"Green. William Green."
[IDENTITY SELECTION: CONFIRMED]
[NOTE: Surname matches maternal family name from previous life.]
[PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSESSMENT: Attachment residue detected.]
He hadn't noticed until the system pointed it out. His mother's maiden name. Carrying something from the life he'd lost into the life he was building.
"Sentimental. Dangerous. Keep it anyway."
"Green," Voss repeated. "British?"
"British enough. Security consultant. Freelance. The kind of person who travels a lot and asks uncomfortable questions for money."
The old forger almost smiled.
"I can work with that. Two days. Come back at closing time. And bring two thousand euros."
"I don't have two thousand euros."
"Then find them. Or find someone else."
William met his eyes.
"Or I could not pay, and you could owe me a favor instead. Something unspecified. Something I'll collect when I need it."
Voss's almost-smile vanished.
"You're asking me to write you a blank check."
"I'm asking you to invest in a mutually beneficial relationship. You do good work—I'll need more work in the future. This arrangement means repeat business and my silence. The alternative means Helga finding out, the ICA finding out, and neither of us getting what we want."
The calculation happened again. William watched it play out behind those thick glasses.
"One favor. One job. And you never threaten my family again."
"Agreed."
They didn't shake hands. The transaction didn't require ceremony.
[SIN REGISTERED: EXTORTION (TIER 2)]
[BASE SP: 18]
[CREATIVITY BONUS: x1.5 (Network leverage + family threat + favor extraction)]
[TOTAL SP EARNED: 27]
[CURRENT SP: 133]
[HUMANITY: 93 → 92 (-1)]
The system chimed its approval. Creativity bonus—the system rewarded him for being clever about his cruelty.
"It has preferences. It wants me to innovate."
William filed that away with everything else he was learning about the thing living in his head.
Two days later, he returned.
The passport was beautiful. German craftsmanship applied to British documentation—the paper weight, the holographic seal, the microprinting that required a jeweler's loupe to verify. William Green stared out from the photo page with the same face Carl Engström had worn, now belonging to someone who had never existed.
The driver's license matched. So did the consultant credentials—business cards, a letter of reference from a fictional firm, even a CV that documented fifteen years of security work across Europe.
"The reference number routes to an answering service in London," Voss explained. "Anyone who calls will get a professional voicemail and a callback within 24 hours. The callback comes from me, playing the role of your former supervisor. It will hold up to casual verification. Deep background checks will find gaps, but those take time."
"How much time?"
"Weeks. Maybe months. Long enough for you to be somewhere else."
William examined the documents. The weight of them in his hands felt like possibility.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Pay me—with the favor, eventually. And don't come back unless you absolutely have to."
"Understood."
He left the print shop with a new identity and a debt he'd eventually have to pay. The Hamburg rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and shining under grey skies.
[QUEST COMPLETE: ESTABLISH IDENTITY]
[REWARD: +50 SP]
[CURRENT SP: 183]
William Green walked toward the train station. Behind him, Dietrich Voss was probably already planning how to leverage this new relationship. Ahead, Amsterdam waited—and the data broker who could tell him where the ICA was looking.
The passport photo caught the light as he tucked it into his jacket. Same face. New name. The first layer of the mask.
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