Ray stood frozen, watching the empty corridor where Mark had vanished. His mind reeled, struggling to reconcile the car wash employee with the suited professional who had just walked by, seemingly without a flicker of recognition. Was it possible he was mistaken? Could there be two Marks with the same burly build and slightly crooked grin? The odds seemed impossibly slim.
He turned, a question burning on his tongue, but Ms. Vance was already several steps away, her back to him. He considered calling out, demanding an explanation, but the sheer professionalism of the Citadel, the cold, efficient atmosphere, stifled the impulse. He was a new recruit, a tool. Questions about his past life's acquaintances were likely not on the agenda.
Ray reluctantly moved towards the workstation Ms. Vance had indicated. The chair was incredibly comfortable, conforming to his posture as he sat. The multiple screens flickered to life, displaying an array of complex data visualizations and command prompts. This was light-years beyond his old, slow laptop, a testament to the organization's immense resources.
He started familiarizing himself with the interface, trying to push the unsettling encounter with Mark to the back of his mind. He pulled up the crude oil futures data, the same charts he'd been analyzing in the car. The phantom trades were still there, like digital ghosts haunting the market, subtly distorting its flow. He began to input the parameters for his counter-strategy, preparing to launch his own series of precisely timed, nearly invisible trades designed to disrupt the unknown adversary's algorithms.
Just as he was about to confirm a series of test transactions, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the control room.
"Mr. Carter."
Ray tensed, his hand hovering over the keyboard. He knew that voice. He turned slowly, dread coiling in his stomach. Standing a few feet away, holding a different stack of reports, was Mark.
This time, Mark didn't just walk past. He stopped. His eyes, no longer cold and professional, narrowed ever so slightly as they scrutinized Ray's face. There was a flicker of something in them – confusion, then a dawning recognition.
"Ray?" Mark said, his voice a low rumble, betraying a hint of genuine surprise. "What are you doing here? I thought... I mean, last I heard, you were still at the car wash." A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips, the one Ray remembered from discussions about the "Thompson twins." But behind it, a deeper, more serious question lingered in his gaze.
Ray felt a profound sense of disorientation. One moment, Mark didn't know him; the next, he did. Was this some kind of test? Or was the organization employing people without their full knowledge of each other's "civilian" lives?
"Mark," Ray responded, keeping his voice neutral, mirroring Mark's own cautious surprise. "Good to see you. Yeah, I... moved on. New opportunity." He gestured vaguely at the screens, trying to appear nonchalant. "What about you? Didn't peg you for the corporate type."
Mark let out a short, dry chuckle, completely unlike his previous silence. "Yeah, well. Some opportunities are too good to pass up, right?" He glanced around the high-tech room, then back at Ray, a knowing glint returning to his eyes. "So, you're the new 'asset' Ms. Vance was talking about, huh? The one with the... special insights?" There was an undercurrent of skepticism, perhaps even mild resentment, in his tone.
Ray suddenly understood. Mark wasn't just a former colleague. He was an established part of this organization, perhaps even one who knew about Ray's previous life, or at least his extraordinary new circumstances. The "weird smiles" at the car wash, the "legendary" double date – it wasn't just Ray's past self that had been a mystery. Mark, too, had been living a double life. The Citadel was full of secrets, and it seemed his reunion with Mark was just the first layer peeling back from a much larger, more complex truth.