"Half the work that is done in this world is to make things appear what they are not."

-Elias Root Beadle

When Ervin Sirko joined the DEA he had asked himself whether he could ever consciously kill another human being. At the time, he was fairly confident of the answer. After all, if it happened it would be some lowlife drug runner who wouldn't be missed by anyone other than a bunch of junkies. But things hadn't gone the way he had imagined, and working for the DEA had ended up the least of his worries.

Two years as an Aegis agent had destroyed everything he had believed about the world around him; what had once seemed so important had become trivial. He had lost his wife, his friends, and would probably have lost his job if Aegis wasn't so intent to keep him at his post. A psychologist would have diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder, but he wasn't allowed to take his problems to anyone outside the organization. What bothered him most wasn't the truth, it was the lie, and maintaining it was slowly killing him.

Six days ago his cell had been sent to make contact with a research scientist who had stumbled onto something big. The details weren't important; it was the same sort of mission received by Aegis cells on a regular basis. The procedure was to attempt to recruit the subject, and eliminate them if they offered any resistance. The subject couldn't actually be threatened to ensure that the choice to join Aegis was completely voluntary, because agents kept in line through fear presented a security risk. The blissful look on the man's face as they put his sedated body in the car moments before they plowed it into a tree, was burned into his memory along with all the other faces. His only crime had been knowledge; he had left behind a family, and some 40 years of his life.

Ervin called in sick the next two days, and dealt with the memories through alcohol. His cell-mates had tried to help him, speaking of the greater good and the need for security, but he saw the same demons in their eyes. He had driven past the New York Times building twice since the incident, and he was sure that one day he would actually get out and walk through the door. Those who made Aegis policy didn't see the consequences of their actions; they didn't carry out the executions, or turn against law enforcement agents who worked for the other side. So when he read the HERMES message from his parent cell on the sixth day, he was visibly displeased.

"For fuck's sake Jenn, that's the second one this week. Who the fuck do they think we are? CIA assassins or something?"
"Take it easy Ervin, we're professionals, and we've got a job to do."

That was the cell leader's answer, which meant it was good enough for him. He nodded his head without another word and went to help pack the gear. There wasn't any room for dissent here; if he showed signs of the thoughts running through his head he would leave the cell in individually wrapped pieces.

The assignment was vague, which probably meant that the parent cell knew dick-all about the subject. They were most likely too lazy to do the dirty work themselves, which meant the lucky job got thrown onto their "subordinates". His name was Nolan Getty, a journalist for the Star-Ledger who apparently got too close to the truth. Exactly what he knew and how he knew it seemed to be a mystery, since their orders were to interrogate him thoroughly before staging an "accident" that would cost him his life, or at least the ability to communicate. Ervin would have taken any mission to get his mind off of the last one, any mission but this.

They arrived at Getty's house at four in the morning, hoping to catch him in bed. He lived alone, and didn't even have an alarm system, which made things much easier. Ervin and Jose let themselves in through the back, while Jenn kept an eye out from the cell's van. Ervin liked to think that she didn't have the stomach for this sort of work, but he knew that wasn't true.

Jose was the medical expert from the city's health authority, and he brought along a kit full of chemicals perfect for loosening whatever resistance the subject presented. Ervin's job was simply to back him up, and provide whatever muscle might be needed. Both of them were armed, but they were supposed to use their weapons only as last resorts. Ervin however, was having second thoughts.

From the rear entrance they could hear the distinct sound of a television set in the basement. The thing was cranked up loud, louder than Ervin's grandparents had liked it, and definitely too loud to sleep with. The voice of a game show announcer rang out clearly; it sounded like Who Wants to be a Millionaire.

The noise masked their descent down the stairs nicely, and the room with the TV was the first along the corridor at the bottom. Ervin peered in first, his suppressed M1911 in hand but still pointed at the ground. The first thing that struck him was the odor. It was hard to identify but reminded him of a butcher shop, and there was little indication in the room as to what the source of the unpleasant smell was. In fact, there was little in the room at all besides a wooden chair positioned about four meters from a big-screen TV. Nolan Getty was in the chair, dressed in a denim shirt and khakis, watching the TV intently with his back to the door. Ervin could see his face in the reflection from the screen; it was caucasian, clean-shaven, middle-aged, and had a totally blank expression. It took Ervin a second to remember that a line of sight works both ways.

Nolan stood and turned towards them as they charged through the door, pointing their guns at him and trying to make themselves heard over the applause of the television audience. They were screaming at him to get down, but he just stood there looking dumb. Ervin could predict what would happen next; he would have to subdue the subject while Jose plugged the chemicals into his arm. Within an hour they would know everything they wanted to and would start the complicated job of faking the man's death. But Ervin didn't feel like following procedure today.

He turned his body to the left, placing his weapon within an inch of Jose's temple.

"Drop your fucking gun Jose!"

"What the hell you doing man?"

The voice of Regis was overpowering enough that they were shouting at the top of their lungs, despite being only a few feet from each other.

"...B: The Sistine Chapel, C: The Mona Lisa, or D: The Scream..."

"Do what I say you nerdy little fuck or I blow you away!"

Jose gave little resistance as Ervin pulled the gun from his grasp and tossed it at his feet. Next he grabbed Jose's collar, pulled him close and whispered, "play along" a second before driving his knee into the man's gut.

He hoped that would ease Jose's mind a bit and make whatever he decided to do next easier, but the blow he had delivered had been serious enough to evoke a genuine reaction.

Suddenly, Ervin spotted movement in his peripheral vision, and turned to see the reporter drawing a weapon from behind his back. His cop training took over, and he turned his gun on the new threat, screaming "freeze!" as he did so. He was working entirely on automatic now, without any time to think. Subconsciously he realized that the subject's pistol was still coming up to a shooting position, and he made the decision to neutralize the threat. Ervin tried to put two rounds into the center of mass, but he was out of his shooting stance, still gripping Jose's shoulder with one hand with while his weapon was extended in the other. Combined with the imbalance of the suppressor and the recoil, his aim would be off.
The first shot missed by inches, putting a subsonic hollow-point into one of the TV's speakers, cutting the sound. The second was off the mark too, about a foot high, which placed it squarely in the subject's face. With a puff of red the man went down as if hit in the head by a sledgehammer. The sight wasn't unfamiliar to Ervin, but he knew that this memory would stick

"What the fuck was that man?" Came the scream from the corner.

He was suddenly confronted with the reality of what he had done. Not killing the reporter, (that would take a few hours to fully sink in) but striking a fellow cell-member. He quickly considered finishing the job. After all, wasn't that what he would have been forced to do in the first place?

"Oh... Good cop-bad cop; that sort of thing, you know. I was hoping to get something out of him before you doped him up. Shit man, sorry."

"Well nice fucking going man."

Jose gave him a nasty look. He was still keeled over trying to catch his breath, but he seemed to accept Ervin's explanation.

"Just let me know before-hand next time, ok?"

"Sure thing guy, sorry about that."

He walked over to look at the body, and immediately realized that something was wrong. Along with all the blood and brain matter splattered against the screen of the TV were traces of a greenish substance. Ervin knew from the autopsy reports that it was what the Saurians used to coat their CNS during whatever procedure they had to assume human form. It was a neural conductor of some sort, and it meant he had just wasted an alien.

"Well I'll be..."

After an instant of realization he jumped back, just before the heat wave hit him as the corpse exploded into flames. At least the Saurians cleaned up their own mess.

Ervin wasn't sure what he was going to do next, but the feeling of killing a Saurian was the best he had had in a long time. At least there wouldn't be any nightmares about this incident.