Illusion Report

It was only after hanging up the phone that Huangli thought of the crucial problem: Chaisi was still tearing through Blackmoor City with suicidal recklessness, as if nothing could stand in his way.

You couldn’t blame Huangli for her slow reaction. The only people who could calmly collect their thoughts after watching a truck barrel down on them existed solely in fiction.

"Wait, you gave them the entire area," she said, jolting upright. "When we get to our destination, won’t we be walking right into a police cordon?"

The area Chaisi had given them was large, intended to disperse the police and keep them guessing about his true direction. But on the whole, Huangli’s assessment was spot-on.

"Watch what you say," he said, making a sharp turn and wrenching the car from the main road into a dim, narrow alley. "You sound like a criminal."

Huangli quickly steadied herself, coming back to her senses. "Oh, right. I was ’kidnapped’ by you..."

"That’s right. Remember that. In a little while, it’ll be the only truth."

The other side-view mirror didn’t survive either, shearing off against the alley wall. The already-dented Mercedes paid no mind to the trash cans blocking its path and plowed straight through them. With a CLANG, a can tumbled over the windshield, momentarily plunging the car into darkness.

A garbage bag burst, and the car sped through a shower of flying trash, getting covered in filth. The wipers batted away a banana peel, only to smear a sticky, grimy streak across the glass.

’This car is a total loss anyway.’

"So, what’s the plan?" Huangli asked.

"Open the glove box," Chaisi ordered. "There are zip ties inside. Get them and tie your hands."

Huangli raised her eyes, staring hopelessly at the car’s ceiling for a few seconds before finally resigning herself to her fate.

She fished out a zip tie, held it in her teeth, and managed to wrap it halfway around her wrists, but she couldn’t cinch it shut. She had to ask for his help. Chaisi reached over with one hand, still driving, and pulled the zip tie tight.

As he pulled his hand back, he frowned. The zip tie was slick with her saliva. Chaisi shot her a cold look before wiping his hand hard on the shoulder of her denim jacket.

Huangli let out a little chuckle.

"This goes against all my survival instincts," she grumbled, holding her bound hands up in front of her face like a bouquet.

"You won’t have to survive," he said. ’This isn’t a Nest.’

"Fine. So what do I do? You surrender without a fight, and I get gloriously rescued?"

"Don’t be an idiot."

Chaisi steered the car back onto a side street. There were no pursuing police cars in sight, but he knew it was only temporary. The area was certain to be crawling with patrol cars, any one of which could pop up in his rearview mirror and latch onto his tail again.

"We’re almost there," he said, his eyes scanning the road. "I’m going to slow down, but I won’t stop. It’s almost time. Get ready to detect the Illusion—you want minor injuries or major ones?"

Huangli stared at him. "I want to be uninjured."

"If you think you can talk your way out of this with the police without a single scratch on you, be my guest. If you don’t want to get hurt, it’ll depend on how fast your reflexes are."

"What does that mean?"

The next moment, Huangli understood exactly what Chaisi meant.

The moment the sign for the Brooklyn Community College Station came into view, Chaisi slowed down. He unbuckled his seatbelt, threw open the door, and leaped out. He hit the pavement in a roll, sprang to his feet, and sprinted for the subway entrance. The driverless car immediately veered off course, drifting toward the center of the road.

"You just wait, I’m demanding we renegotiate the contract when I get back!" Huangli swore, shouting from inside the car.

After a pause, her voice rang out again. "It’s here! It’s really here!"

The Illusion had entered her detection range, just as she’d predicted. It was on the next train pulling into the station.

Chaisi didn’t look back, but as he bounded down the subway stairs two at a time, he faintly heard the muffled thud of a collision from the street above.

The impact didn’t sound too bad—much better than he’d expected. It seemed Huangli had managed to get the car under control in time, even with her hands bound.

Chaisi vaulted over the turnstile, placing one hand on the machine and sailing over the barrier. He landed like a jaguar, his six-foot-six frame making only the faintest sound as his feet touched the ground.

A few loitering youths who had been whispering and passing something among themselves looked over, captivated by the display. They laughed and cheered. "Dude, nice moves! What, the suit can’t afford a ticket?"

Chaisi ignored them. A few breaths later, he was down on the platform. He immediately slowed his pace, scanned the area, and blended into the crowd of waiting passengers as if nothing had happened.

He checked the time: 10:33.

His suicidal driving had actually gotten him here three minutes before the train.

Leaping from the car and dashing into the station—that scene must have had plenty of witnesses. Once the police arrived, they’d realize their suspect had gone into the subway. Their next move would be to seal the exits and send officers down to search. Now, he just had to wait and see which would arrive first: the train or the cops.

He took a deep breath, meticulously running through every step of his plan in his mind.

’One tiny mistake,’ he thought, ’and I’m a sitting duck.’

’First thing’s first...’

Chaisi looked up at the security camera mounted in the corner of the platform.

The Blackmoor City subway system had been built and put into service around 1905. Most of the platforms still retained their early-twentieth-century look, which made the recently installed surveillance equipment seem jarringly out of place.

’If I’m recorded, it’ll be a problem later, even if I escape today.’

He pulled a remote control, no longer than his index finger, from his pocket.

A small plastic screen on the remote was lit up with a single line of text: [Countdown: 127 days 21 hours 36 minutes].

Below the screen were two buttons, one labeled "replace" and the other "cancel." Aside from looking cheaply made, its purpose was a complete mystery.

Chaisi lifted the remote, aimed it at his own throat, and gently pressed "replace" before slipping it back into his pants pocket.

No one waiting on the platform glanced up at him. Most eyes were glued to phone screens. Others wore earbuds, staring blankly at the tracks ahead and the platform on the opposite side—which was completely deserted.

Even if someone had been staring right at Chaisi, they wouldn’t have understood what he had just done.

When Chaisi first received this little remote from a Household Hunter, he hadn’t thought much of it.

It was strange, but Illusions from the Nest, no matter how bizarre their appearance, seemed to follow a rule similar to that of the real world: the more exquisite, valuable, or substantial something looked, the greater its power. If an Illusion felt like it was made of flimsy plastic, its function was bound to be limited.

But that Hunter had given him a confident smile and said, "Try it and you’ll see. Its function is limited, but very practical."

She had taken out her phone, switched it to video mode, and handed it to Chaisi before standing in front of the camera.

Chaisi had watched the screen as the Hunter slowly raised the remote, aimed it at her own throat, and pressed the "replace" button.

The next instant, on the screen, her entire head was replaced by that of a giant, white goat. The goat-headed figure wore a floor-length black robe, looking like a demonic creature straight out of a medieval horror legend.

But when he looked up from the screen, the Hunter herself was unchanged: her wavy-but-not-quite-curly hair was tied back, and she wore outdated skinny jeans and a pair of sneakers. She looked for all the world like a junior high student’s mother.

The most amazing part was that the effect was retroactive. Even the first few seconds of footage, recorded before she pressed "replace," now showed her with the goat’s head.

"Impressive, isn’t it?" the goat head on the screen had said. "Press the button, and your real face won’t be recorded. On any device, you’ll just look like a giant goat’s head. And the effect is retroactive for one minute before you press it—so if you forget, you have a minute to fix it! You don’t find many Illusions this considerate in the Nest."

For Chaisi, it was exactly what he needed.

After a few simple tests, he quickly made his decision. "The Family Faction will take it. Twenty thousand dollars."

The only downside was that the Illusion would only last for six months after leaving the Nest. That was why Chaisi had only appraised it at twenty thousand; by any standard, a six-month lifespan was far too short.

"Don’t feel too bad about it," the junior-high mom had said with a smile as she was leaving. "It’s a good thing Illusions eventually expire and disappear from the human world. It’s what keeps us Hunters in business."

’True enough.’

Chaisi didn’t know how long the Nest had existed, but its history had to be a long one. Generation after generation of Hunters had brought untold numbers of Illusions into the human world. If they could exist forever, the world would have turned into a chaotic sci-fi movie long ago.

If someone were to review the surveillance footage later, they would see a figure with a goat’s head in a long black robe standing on the departure platform at 10:33. It stood near the top of the stairs, occasionally glancing up, then lowering its head and resting its chin on a large hoof, looking like a pensive goat weighed down by deep thoughts.

That was Chaisi, listening for any commotion in the station. The "goat’s hoof" was just his hand covering his face.

After all, to the naked eye, he still looked like himself. It was best to expose as little of his face as possible.

At 10:34, a faint commotion drifted down from the station entrance.

Hurried footsteps echoed from the top of the stairs. Someone asked, "What’s going on outside?" another, "Are the trains still running?"

’The police must be here.’

Chaisi glanced at the platform screen. The departure train was scheduled to arrive at 10:36.

He took a deep breath. The outbound and inbound trains were arriving at the same time. A one or two-second miscalculation could mean the difference between life and death.

10:35.

Suddenly, a few people came shouting and scrambling down the stairs, startling the other passengers as they landed on the platform. It was the same group of youths who had been hanging out by the entrance and had cheered for Chaisi. One of them glanced back over his shoulder and swore, "Why are there so many bluebags?"

Chaisi moved behind the staircase, stopping at the edge of the platform near the tracks. "Bluebags" was slang for the police because of their blue uniforms; some people shortened it to just "bags."

He heard multiple sets of footsteps, all falling with the same trained, urgent, heavy rhythm. Mixed with the sounds was the rustle of bulletproof vests and holsters as they charged down the stairs.

Thirty seconds until 10:36, at most.

’Just one more second,’ he thought, gritting his teeth. ’Just one more...’

A faint rumbling finally echoed from the distant subway tunnel. It was so far off that the vibration felt almost hallucinatory on his nerve endings.

"Everyone on the platform," a voice suddenly yelled, "stay where you are! Don’t move! We’re apprehending a suspect for reckless driving!"

Chaisi smiled.

The moment all eyes turned toward the shouting officer, Chaisi leaped from the platform. He landed softly beside the tracks, like a great cat sliding silently from a rooftop.

By the time a passenger finally noticed and let out a soft gasp, he was already sprinting across the tracks, heading for the opposite platform.

"Stop!" someone behind him yelled. "Or we’ll shoot!"

But the train didn’t give them the chance.

The 10:36 train, the one carrying the Illusion, roared out of the tunnel and hurtled toward Chaisi. Its bright headlamps illuminated one side of his body and the platform just inches in front of him.