Chapter 5: Detour

I don’t have to dress up, after all, we’re spending the night in a car. But what if I wore something nice anyway?

I figure that, since I don’t have to wear a uniform, I might as well put on some clothes that are equally cute and non-assuming. Thankfully, Marina’s got me covered. I think she spends half her salary on cute clothes because, damn, she has at least one of everything.

I’d be lying if I said that I know anything about style; I actually don’t, but I’m sure that whatever I pick, Marina’s body will rock. Browsing her many clothing items, I finally settle upon a pair of comfortable gray sweatpants, a tight tank top, and an oversized pink hoodie. It feels like something I would wear back home, just slightly more fashionable. Satisfied with the result, I go take a look at my handiwork.

When I step in front of the mirror, a sensation that I haven’t shaken ever since I landed in this world threatens to overcome me. Suddenly, I experience what I imagine body dysmorphia feels like, as Marina’s blue orbs stare back from the reflection. We’re both girls, but that’s about as much as we have in common. This isn’t my face. This isn’t how my body feels, it feels foreign, it feels…

Messed up.

My stomach groans, and a wave of heat washes over me. My head rings, palms sweaty, and I feel something rise from within me. I try to keep it together as I rush to the toilet, barely making it. In a few seconds, the contents of my stomach hurl into it unceremoniously. My body slumps next to the white bowl, the stress finally catching up to me. 

How am I keeping it together? How haven’t I snapped? 

Another text breaks me away from my painful thoughts.

5 mins. You should head down soon.

Shit. I don’t have time for this. I think to myself while I gather whatever strength remains in my body to stand up and wash my mouth. I hate the feeling of throwing up; the smell, the sheer rawness of it, the reminder that something’s wrong. But I don't have the luxury of sulking right now. I markedly avoid the mirror on my way to the desk, grabbing the guns and a bag. I search the kitchen for some snacks and water, bagging them quickly, and hurriedly run downstairs.

The warm colors of the sunset welcome me once I step outside, a gentle breeze brushing against my cheek. Silver City looks peaceful enough, its fashionable people looking a bit tired as they return home after a long day. Not a moment later, a familiar black car pulls up in front of the building. Safe.

Walking to the car, I notice Elliot’s new look: He’s dressed in a comfortable pair of black sweatpants, a white shirt, and a gray hoodie, his reading glasses gone. It’s just like in the game. I do a double-take and realize that I ended up picking clothes that resembled his. Subconsciously or not, that’s embarrassing.

“Ready for tonight?” His soft, melodic voice drifts from the driver’s seat to my ears as I enter the car.

“As can be. It’s gonna be a long night.” I say, making myself comfortable in the passenger seat, hoping he doesn’t notice how we dressed the same, just in different colors.

We drive off into the sunset. I notice a small hologram being projected from a small disk that sits on top of the dashboard. It looks like a GPS, and it’s showing where we are, as well as the way to the warehouse. I pull up the dossier, intending to read through the more intricate details of the assignment, when Elliot suddenly stops the car.

“Everything ok?” I say, worriedly.

“Yeah, it’s just-” He grips the wheel and his knuckles turn white, frustration clear in his features as he turns away from me. “Fuck…” It’s almost a whisper, the way he swears.

“Talk to me, Elliot.” I panic just a little bit. I don’t remember this scene being in the game. Are my actions already affecting the story?

“I forgot something back at my place,” He looks at me now, brows furrowed, “You think we've got enough time to make a quick stop?” His expression a complicated mix between guilt and a plea.

Checking out the dossier reveals that the meetup time is 7 pm. The time on my phone shows it’s currently 6:05 pm. Elliot must have wanted to be early, because the warehouse didn’t look one hour away.

“I think it’s ok, we got plenty of time,” I say, trying to reassure him. This small misstep seems to have thrown him off.

“Ok. Ok, yeah, it’ll be fine. Let’s go.” He says, focusing back on the road, slowly speeding up. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself that time is not an issue.

So we’re going to his place? We never see Elliot’s place in the game, and yet here we are, making a pit stop right before the event that triggers the rest of the game. I can’t help but be hopeful; this might mean that my actions, no matter how small, can affect the flow of the story. Was it me asking him to drive that brought on this change?

I do feel a little guilty about this turn of events, though. I never meant to stress him out by burdening him with taking care of the car, but there was no other way around it. My hometown is a walkable city; driving just isn’t a required skill.

Elliot speeds up, fast enough that I find myself grabbing the handle on top of the seat for support, both emotional and physical. His driving is fast yet methodical; he never gets too close to other cars and slows down appropriately on curves. I imagine he’s trying to avoid getting pulled over for speeding right before his big break. He looks preoccupied, but he’s totally locked in. I don’t dare speak the rest of the ride, worried it might break his focus.

We quickly arrive at his place, but when I try to get out of the car to go with him, he hovers his hand in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. “No, stay. Keep the engine running, I won’t be too long.” He rushes out of the car and disappears behind the doors of a red brick building.

I slump in my seat, disappointed. We never see Elliot’s place in-game; this would have been a perfect moment to snoop. I sigh, pulling out the phone again to read the mission documents while I wait for him to come back.

The file is big, and it definitely has important information that the game never discusses. It describes key details on the place we’ll be monitoring: a warehouse by the coast, large yet unassuming. It was used for storing fish, but has been abandoned since the company that handled it went bankrupt. Just imagining the smell makes me thankful I’m not planning on going in.

Other details of the task are addressed: a total of around 30 crates have been spotted going in, none going out. Security is tighter at night, with around 15 men guarding the place in shifts. The surrounding area is comprised of small apartment buildings where local fishermen live. 

The buildings look old, and I realize that the car assigned to us kind of fits the surroundings; the photo attached to the dossier shows a dilapidated, kind of retro-feeling neighborhood, at least by the setting's standards.

Minutes pass by while I try to take in everything I've just read, but Elliot hasn't come back. I thought he wanted to be on time... Is he really ok? I look at the time on the phone, and it’s 6:20 pm. If we want to make it, we should really be going soon. I search for his contact on Marina’s phone, and right as I’m about to call Elliot, I receive a call from him. 

My heart skips a beat, I’m surprised, and admittedly a bit delusional as my thoughts suggest that calling each other at almost the same time has some kind of deeper meaning. It clearly doesn’t, though, and I shake the stupid from my thoughts and take the call. 

“Hayes, come up, I need your help.” He says between breaths, his tone wavering.

“Elliot? Are you ok? I’m coming-” I move so fast I almost don't notice how he said 'Hayes' instead of 'Marina'. I rush to take the keys from the engine and hurriedly step out of the car and into the building. 

“I’m coming up, what’s your apartment number?” I’m low-key freaking out as I push the button to call the elevator. Why does he sound like that?

“405, hurry.” He hangs up, and I rush to the stairs. The 4th floor isn’t that high up, and the elevator is taking forever. Wait for me, Elliot, I’m coming.