Chapter 2: THE INTERROGATION
Interrogation Room 3 smelled like coffee and old fear.
They'd removed the cuffs before sitting me at the metal table. A kindness, or maybe just procedure. The one-way mirror dominated the far wall, a dark rectangle I'd seen a hundred times in movies but never from this angle.
[ENVIRONMENT SCAN COMPLETE]
[RECORDING: ACTIVE (AUDIO AND VIDEO)]
[ROOM OCCUPANTS: HOST ONLY]
[ESTIMATED WAIT TIME: 12-15 MINUTES]
I used the time. My reflection in the mirror showed a face I was starting to accept—sharp features, shadows under the eyes, the kind of bone structure that photographed well but looked hungry in person. Marcus Webb had been living on vending machine dinners and desperation.
The door opened.
A man walked in carrying a manila folder. Late thirties, maybe early forties. Suit that cost money but didn't show it off. Wedding ring. Watch that told time and nothing else.
[MARK ANALYSIS ACTIVE]
[SUBJECT: PETER BURKE, SPECIAL AGENT, FBI WHITE COLLAR DIVISION]
[EMOTIONAL STATE: SKEPTICAL | CURIOUS]
[PRIMARY WEAKNESS: PRIDE IN PROFESSIONAL JUDGMENT]
[SECONDARY WEAKNESS: PROTECTIVE OF TEAM]
Peter Burke. The name landed like a stone in still water, rippling outward through memories that didn't belong to either life I'd lived.
"I know that name," I thought. "How do I know that name?"
The system offered nothing. Just data points and assessments.
Burke sat across from me, folder flat on the table between us.
"Marcus Webb."
He said it like a statement, not a question.
"That's the name on the apartment lease."
Burke's eyebrow rose half an inch.
"First-time offender. Identity theft ring, small-time operation. Should be pretty straightforward."
He opened the folder. I couldn't see the contents from my angle.
"Except you gave my agents a story about being undercover. About building a case."
"I said freelance."
"You said a lot of things."
He looked at me then. Really looked. The kind of gaze that stripped away pretense and looked for the person underneath.
[WARNING: HIGH-PERCEPTION TARGET]
[DECEPTION DIFFICULTY: ELEVATED]
I met his eyes without flinching.
"David Keene. Dutch. Runs an identity mill out of Greenpoint. Thirty-plus victims a month, maybe more. He uses a printing shop on Norman Avenue as a front."
Burke's expression didn't change.
"Keep talking."
"Operations run Tuesday through Thursday, evening hours. He's got a guy at the DMV feeding him blank forms. Another contact at a credit union processing fake accounts."
The words flowed like water. Marcus's memories mixed with pattern recognition from my old life. Twenty years of tracking fraud gave me the vocabulary, the cadence, the specific details that made intelligence sound real.
"Webb was a processor. Low-level. He touched the data but never met the buyers. Dutch kept him compartmentalized."
"And you know all this because...?"
"Because I'm not Marcus Webb."
Burke leaned back in his chair.
"The prints say otherwise."
"The prints say this body belongs to Marcus Webb." I let the words hang. "I'm telling you that Webb was a patsy. Set up to take the fall when this operation got too hot."
[SILVER TONGUE: PARTIAL TRUTH DETECTED]
[BELIEVABILITY: 67%]
Not good enough. Burke wasn't buying the package.
I changed tactics.
"You've got a choice, Agent Burke. You can book me on the identity theft charges. Small-time bust, probably plea down to eighteen months with good behavior."
"Or?"
"Or you verify what I'm telling you about Dutch, and you get the whole network. Thirty arrests minimum. Headlines. Commendations."
Burke's jaw tightened. Pride. The system had flagged it for a reason.
"The laptop's already with forensics." He stood. "Sit tight."
The door closed behind him.
[NEGOTIATION: PHASE 1 COMPLETE]
[AWAIT VERIFICATION]
Two hours. Maybe more. The room had no clock, and the system's internal timer felt unreliable. I catalogued everything I could remember about Dutch's operation, building a mental file of details that would hold up under scrutiny.
Most of it came from Marcus's fractured memories. Some of it I invented, filling gaps with plausible fiction.
The door opened again.
Burke entered carrying two cups of coffee. He set one in front of me.
"Everything checked out."
I wrapped my hands around the cup. Warmth bled through to fingers I was still learning to control.
"The raid?"
"Tomorrow morning." He sat. Different energy now. Less interrogation, more conversation. "Dutch has no idea we're coming. His whole network is going to fold."
[QUEST UPDATE: INTEL VERIFIED]
[SUSPICION LEVEL: DECREASING]
"So what happens to me?"
Burke pulled a document from inside his jacket. Three pages, dense legal text.
"Immunity agreement. Full cooperation for complete immunity on all charges related to the Webb identity."
I read it. The words blurred together—legalese designed to confuse—but the core terms were clear. I cooperate, I walk.
"Who the hell are you really, Webb?"
The question came quiet. Almost gentle. Burke was good at this. The shift from adversary to ally, designed to make suspects feel safe enough to tell the truth.
"Someone who died three thousand miles from here and woke up in a stranger's body with a video game interface in my skull."
"Someone who'd rather not go to prison for someone else's operation."
I signed the document.
Burke studied my signature, then met my eyes again.
"You're different. Most guys in your position, they're scared. Shaky. You've been calm since my agents brought you in."
"Being scared doesn't help."
"No." He collected the signed papers. "It doesn't."
The door opened. A woman entered—tall, professional, eyes that missed nothing.
[MARK ANALYSIS ACTIVE]
[SUBJECT: DIANA BERRIGAN, SPECIAL AGENT, WHITE COLLAR DIVISION]
[EMOTIONAL STATE: NEUTRAL | ASSESSING]
"Diana, this is our cooperating witness. He'll need processing."
Diana's gaze swept over me once. Quick. Thorough.
"Follow me."
The next hour dissolved into paperwork and photographs. Forms signed, fingerprints confirmed, temporary ID issued. When it was over, they left me in a waiting area with plastic chairs and a television playing muted news.
A vending machine hummed in the corner.
I bought a sandwich. Stale bread, questionable turkey, processed cheese that tasted like nothing. I ate every bite. Marcus's body hadn't had real food in at least twenty-four hours, and the hunger felt like fire in my gut.
[QUEST COMPLETE: SURVIVE INTERROGATION]
[REWARD: +500 GC, +100 EXP]
[CURRENT STATUS: LEVEL 1 | EXP: 100/1000 | GC: 500]
Burke appeared as I finished.
"You're free to go. Stay in the city. Check in with this office every seventy-two hours until we close the Keene case."
He handed me a business card. Thick stock, embossed FBI seal.
"If your information's as good as it seems, there might be more work."
I pocketed the card.
Work. That word carried weight now. In my old life, work meant spreadsheets and depositions. Evidence trails and courtroom testimony.
This new life needed something different.
Burke walked me to the elevator. The doors opened onto a lobby full of agents, civilians, the controlled chaos of federal law enforcement doing its job.
"One more thing."
I turned.
"That apartment in Brooklyn." Burke's expression gave away nothing. "It's a crime scene now. You're going to need somewhere else to stay."
The elevator doors closed between us.
[NEW OBJECTIVE: SECURE HOUSING]
[STATUS: URGENT]
Manhattan stretched beyond the glass doors. March sunlight, traffic noise, millions of people who had no idea what just happened in their city's federal building.
I stepped outside.
No money. No home. No identity worth keeping.
But I had 500 GC in a system nobody could see, and a brain full of twenty years' experience catching criminals.
Time to start building something new.
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