[2023]

Nyx holds out a gun to 5275 and a box of ammunition. The cold metal no longer affects her hands. She grabs the gun, completely detached, checking the chamber, receiver, and magazine for ammunition. 5275 puts her attention into looking over the gun as Nyx gives her the rundown. 

"Your job is pretty simple. You’re going to meet this man and give him this pill. Don’t worry, 5275, it won’t be immediate."

Nyx throws the picture onto the wooden table. In the photo is a man in a suit, late 30's, peppered gray hair. Nyx places a small tube with one white pill on the table beside the photo.

5275 picks up the photo for a closer look.

I'm not sure, but it looks like he dyes his hair to look older. His suitcase is worn but high quality. Suit is tailored but ill-fitting. A little to form-fitting, but not high fashion.  Maybe it wasn't made for him? He looks educated but not well off. Not gang affiliated either. His face though tells a very obvious story - he's exhausted and worried.

"When you meet him, pay attention. Where is he going next? What relationships matter most to him? Which can be used to our advantage? What are his weaknesses both physically and mentally?"

"Who is he?"

"Doesn’t matter. Not your job."

"How will I distinguish what is important and not if I don’t know what is normal and not normal for him?" I say confused. 

Nyx is being particularly discreet about this person. I wonder what is so special about this worn-out man. 

"He is a potential political candidate." Nyx says matter-of-factly letting me know that no follow-up questions are allowed. "We are going to assassinate him before he even becomes a threat."

"Will I talk to him at all? Should I interact with him?"

"Not if you don’t have to. It’s best not to get caught in a lie. However, if that's what you need to do get close to him, do what you need to do. You're always good at that."

"Then how close do you want me to get to him?"

"Close enough to feel that you know him. The key for this trace is for you to pretend to be who you used to be. To start, I want you to be a regular person in a regular bar. No fatal attraction type lady tonight. Be a normal woman in one of the last normal bars in this godforsaken country. Keep your tits in and your hair up. The less attention you bring, the better. He seems to surround himself with nobody-type people."

He puts his hand on my shoulder before he leaves. "And don't enjoy being normal too much, 5275. You're far from it now."

I keep his words in my head as I tie my hair back into a messy ponytail and pull on a plain white t-shirt and Jeans. This is the first time in a long time I haven't needed to wear makeup and style my hair. How has being normal become a disguise for me? Can I even remember how to be normal?