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Octavio Silva was an idiot.
Those were the first words Taejoon would use to describe his neighbor on the dropship—although he would probably describe half his fellow Legends that way, so he wasn’t unique in that regard. But if you pressed him to describe Octavio a little more, he wouldn’t be able to come up with more than ‘obnoxious’. Truth be told, he didn’t think about him much at all.
Aside from being loud, hyperactive, and prone to tossing his empty drink cans across the divide between their rooms for fun, Octavio was barely a blip on Taejoon’s radar in the grand scheme of things. There were far more dangerous and important people in this sick game he’d become a part of, and so for the better part of two years Octavio remained a background character while Taejoon worked slowly towards his goals. The Syndicate needed to fall, and he didn’t have time to worry about daredevils or witches or whatever other weirdo decided to join the Games.
Until suddenly—almost without warning—Octavio was thrust directly into his crosshairs.
His father started a political campaign, gunning for head of the Syndicate. This had caused a minor stir among the Legends, mostly people wondering what this meant for the Games, but the people who seemed most anxious about it were Octavio and Ajay.
(Well, and Mad Maggie, but that seemed to be her default mode, so Taejoon didn’t really take special note of it.)
Taejoon’s attention then shifted to the election. Duardo Silva was running a campaign on the failures of the Syndicate, and for a short while he wondered if the many injustices they’d committed would be used against them. A foolish part of him had hoped his case would be uncovered, that someone would realize that that hacker who’d mysteriously disappeared, Taejoon Park, had been framed.
That never happened, of course, and he hadn’t expected it to. So he sat idle for a little while, waiting to see how this new power struggle would play out. Octavio, despite telling others he had no interest in his father’s activities, soon joined Duardo in his campaign. And something about it was...off.
Since Taejoon didn’t interact with Octavio all that much, he wasn’t really familiar with him or his relationship with Duardo aside from a general sense that they didn’t get along. He knew family could be complicated (god, did he know that), but Octavio championing for Duardo seemed at odds with what Taejoon knew about him. Was it bribery? Intimidation? Or did Octavio decide he should probably be on his dad’s good side since he was trying to become the governing force of the Outlands?
Taejoon decided that he would keep an eye on him, but to be honest, there were more dangerous people that required his immediate attention. Like his father, for instance. So once again, Octavio faded into the background, a mindless, stupid pawn of the newest megalomaniac in charge of the Outlands.
And then that changed.
Being a part of this rebel group, or whatever they wanted to call themselves—it left him feeling uneasy, despite the fact he’d willingly joined. When Ajay had asked him about it, years of loneliness had clawed its way up his throat and burst out in the form of a promise to help, and now he cursed himself for that weakness as tensions in the group reached their peak.
Everyone seemed to have a different goal and half of them had something to hide. He could see it in the way Ajay and Maggie exchanged glances when they thought nobody was looking. He could hear it in Kairi’s voice when she called Loba ‘darling’. One could almost mistake it as her normal tone, but there was a dangerous undercurrent there that said we need to talk later.
Taejoon was very good at picking up on these signals. Had to be attuned to the slightest changes in the inflection of one’s voice, the way they carried themself, even the glint of their eyes. And being in a group full of people hiding secrets had him second-guessing himself the deeper they tried to draw him into their schemes, paranoidly looking over his shoulder whenever they departed to make absolutely sure none of them were watching him.
Last night it reached its peak while he was showering, the hot water doing little to stop his body from being wracked with panicked shivers as the same thoughts circled his mind like the water around the tub’s drain: they know about me, they know about me, they know about me…
This had to be a ploy of some kind. What other explanation could there be for this haphazard group thrown together with their differing goals and expectations? They were drawing him in. They were hoping to corner him.
Perhaps they were hoping to get solid proof of his anti-Syndicate activities and were going to turn him in. Maybe Maggie had been promised freedom in exchange for this proof. Maybe Ajay worked out a deal with Duardo Silva and would get the Frontier Corps back. Loba could have been promised Revenant’s head. And Kairi’s father had been associated with some of the people who would later become the Syndicate.
In his mind, it all seemed plausible, in fact, more than plausible—almost certain. So extreme sleep deprivation and paranoia led to Taejoon entering Ajay’s room with a copy of her entry card that he’d made months ago—those skimmers had proved to be a valuable investment.
She was out for lunch, and would not be back for at least the next half hour. A card was required for entry into the Legend compound and all its facilities, and Hack would notify him once her card was used anywhere. He was confident he would not be caught, but proceeded with extreme caution anyway.
Taejoon’s footsteps were light as he crept past Flyer Liars memorabilia and what seemed to be several abandoned knitting projects—each one an unidentifiable lump of yarn. Ajay wasn’t particularly good at it.
Her drone, lifeless and wrapped up in a haphazard attempt at a cozy, rested in its charging dock, looking insignificant. Trite, even, with how ubiquitous Chevrex drones were—but he knew beneath that yarn was a fascinating piece of technology. Though today he didn’t have time to ponder how a war drone was coded to act like a puppy; he had recordings to sift through.
He’d discovered it not long after joining the Games: D.O.C. recorded nearly everything in its vicinity, and chances were that Ajay and Maggie would have had at least a couple of conversations around the drone. If they were talking about him, plotting against him, there was a good chance it would have been recorded and stored inside the drone.
As far as Taejoon could tell, this feature was used by Chevrex to gather information that would help them fund both sides of the war, so once this specific drone was out of their hands they’d cut its access to all of their servers—and therefore, all that sensitive information. Which was almost a shame, because that meant it didn’t upload these recordings to the cloud, or he could’ve just accessed them from the comfort of his own room.
Good thing he could simply plug D.O.C. into an SSD and copy all its recordings onto it.
It shouldn’t take that long. Thankfully D.O.C. only recorded anything that resembled human voices for extended periods of time, so it wasn’t bloated with recordings of gunfire or quick exchanges.
As he waited he glanced around, taking note of his surroundings. The room was strangely messy—not the worst he’d ever seen, but he’d expected Ajay to be a lot tidier. A box stuck out a little from beneath her bed, and a quick glance inside revealed it to be full of stuffed animals and 1st and 2nd place ribbons for baton twirling. Judging by the years on each ribbon, she would’ve been in high school.
Taejoon wondered why they were in a box instead of on display, like most people would do with that sort of thing. Perhaps she was embarrassed by them. His fingers twitched as he stared at the box, half-wanting to dig further through its contents, before he shook his head and tucked it back under her bed.
Yes, he was paranoid and had already broken into her room, but Taejoon knew better than to dig through a woman’s private things.
The files finished copying and he carefully set D.O.C. back in place. At Ajay’s door he paused and listened carefully; he didn’t have Hack positioned outside, as that would give away his presence. When the coast seemed clear he stepped out, and it was only back in his room did he receive a ping telling him that Ajay had just used her card to enter the building.
He’d timed that well.
Taejoon’s room was bare, especially compared to Ajay’s, though that wasn’t unusual—every Legend had a room here, but only those who didn’t feel like frequently commuting, or otherwise didn’t have a home, stayed here full time.
He did make a habit of staying here at least once a week. That way during times like these where he needed to break into some place at the compound he wouldn’t look suspicious for suddenly deciding to spend the night in his room—but he wouldn’t be doing anything significant here. He didn’t feel secure.
Taejoon tucked the SSD into a hidden pocket in his overnight bag. It was almost two; any minute now Dr. Somers would call him, asking him to lend the assistance he’d offered in her lab. It was the guise he’d come here under.
Right at two she called him, asking him to come over. As he stepped out into the hallway she apologized for calling him on the dot, explaining she set up alarms for these kinds of things or else she’d forget. He passed by Ajay in the hallway, her head bopping to a silent tune as she scrolled through her phone.
And even though she didn’t look up at him, and even though Dr. Somers was laughing lightly in his ear, Taejoon was struck with the familiar feeling that both of them—and perhaps every single person in this building—would betray him at a moment’s notice.
He would find evidence later on that SSD. He was sure of it.
Once in the privacy of his own home Taejoon quickly got to work on combing through the files, headphones plugged in but the volume not excessively loud so he could hear someone sneaking up on him. He skipped through most of them, listening to all of the recordings in ten second increments to parse through game banter and patient talk, which were of no interest to him.
He was so certain that there would be a recording of Ajay and Maggie on here plotting against him that his mind was hyper focused on it, so he ended up mindlessly skipping through what sounded like Octavio droning on about something until his brain registered his words midway through.
“Mi padre es un...un...terrorista. And what does that make me?...Nah. Must be—”
He paused the recording and checked the date that it was created.
The day of the Malta terrorist attack.
It wasn’t what he was looking for, but his interest had been piqued. He copied the recording to a separate file and continued his search, listening closely for any hint of deception, but all the while questions about that recording sat at the back of his mind.
Another recording caught his attention, an argument between Octavio and Ajay about his father. He saved that one too and continued his search, but his curiosity was mounting.
Taejoon reached the most recent recording, a spirited discussion between Ajay and Obi about music that D.O.C had picked up on, before he unplugged the SSD with some frustration. He may not have found anything, but that didn’t put them in the clear just yet. He would need to keep an eye on them.
Maybe they’re genuine, TJ, a familiar voice nagged at him. Maybe you’re just seeing danger where there isn’t any.
Taejoon closed his eyes, imagining Mila sitting across from him. That’s what she would’ve said years ago, he was sure...but present-day Mila would know better. She would encourage him to keep looking.
And even if he hadn’t found evidence of a plot against him (yet), he had found something just as interesting.
Taejoon opened the folder, checking the length of the recording—around twenty minutes. With a long, tired exhale through his nostrils, he pressed ‘play’.
The first fifteen minutes or so were of Octavio narrating the events of that night, interspersed with tangents and obnoxious commentary like he was telling the story to an audience. It seemed that even in private, he kept up this sort of persona.
At what point did it stop being a persona, though, if this was how he was in private? The thought had just flitted across Taejoon’s mind when Octavio’s tone changed; quieter, solemn.
“I have a confession. That part about telling you all this to prove I’m a good storyteller? I made that up. Truth is...”
The last five minutes of the recording was less of a story, and more of Octavio rambling to himself, questioning the motives of his father, what it meant for him and if it had been some sort of prank.
As Taejoon listened he found himself sympathizing against his better judgment. Even if he was loath to accept Nox as a part of his family, Mystik considered them both her sons, and Taejoon had struggled to come to terms with him being his brother for a while. Honestly, he still struggled with it—and if given the choice, Nox wouldn’t be a part of the picture.
It sounded like Octavio was experiencing that same struggle. Confronted with evidence that his own father had orchestrated an attack, putting the lives of hundreds of people in danger, including Duardo’s closest friends and Octavio’s chosen family. The fact that they were Salvonian terrorists was not lost on Taejoon either, and Octavio must have come to this realization later on too, judging by the way his voice wavered on terrorista…
...and that was when Taejoon’s sympathy dissipated. If Octavio knew that his father had orchestrated a terrorist attack, pulling the strings of a few Salvonian terrorists for his own gain...if he knew, like the rest of them, that Duardo had put Maggie in the Games as a scapegoat…
He closed the media player and looked at the second recording. This one was much more recent, a few weeks before the election. Taejoon found himself scowling now, knowing that despite Octavio’s confession months prior, he was going to help Duardo win the election. He pressed ‘play’.
“—healin’, but she can do plenty more,” Ajay said, her voice sounding rather clipped. The first few words of these recordings were usually cut off, but if Taejoon had to assume, she was talking about D.O.C. “Go keep watch over there and make sure no one’s coming.”
He heard a displeased but affirmative hum from Octavio. There was some shuffling, and the distinct sound of the springs in Octavio’s legs squeaking a little. Then:
“Wait, look—his computer! Probably has everything we need on it.” Octavio sounded proud of himself. Ajay was not as impressed, judging by her response, and then there was silence between them for a minute or so, only beeps emitted by D.O.C and quiet whispers of encouragement from Ajay picked up by the recording.
It sounded like D.O.C. was breaking into something. That drone was both incredibly useful and incredibly worrisome.
As the recording continued, Taejoon sat up straighter in his seat, listening to the revelations Ajay was making—a death certificate, Duardo’s faked identity—and in the background, the tinny sound of Duardo’s voice, as though being played on a recording.
An argument ensued. Even though Taejoon wasn’t there to witness it firsthand, he still felt a little awkward listening to them lash out at one another, what was clearly years of pent-up frustration with one another taking the form of hissed insults and petty name-calling.
It was one thing to unearth private details about Syndicate employees he’d never interacted with in his life, and another to listen in on an argument between two of his coworkers, half of which was about Octavio’s treatment at the hands of ‘Duardo’; the implications there was personal information he would rather not have found out about this way.
The argument ended rather abruptly. Octavio burned the death certificate, and their friendship was declared over. He told Ajay to get out of his father’s office, and then the door was slammed shut. He could hear her footsteps stomping for about ten seconds before the recording ended.
Taejoon’s mind was racing as he copied the recordings to a hard drive before deleting them off his computer. His agitation regarding Ajay had eased somewhat, his mind connecting the dots and coming to the conclusion that her secrecy must be regarding Duardo’s real identity, but a more fervent agitation had taken its place.
Duardo Silva was a terrorist, and, more importantly, a fake. But how could his own son not have noticed all this time? Was their relationship that distant? Had ‘Duardo’ taken up the deceased’s identity when Octavio was too young to remember? Before he was even born, perhaps?
Why hadn’t anyone noticed? What about Octavio’s mother? The board of directors at his company? Was the current Duardo identical to the real one? Did he have a brother? A twin, even?
A quick search of Olympus census records proved no such person existed. Taejoon combed Octavio’s family records up to two generations: Torres Silva and Inés Silva, whose only son Eduardo Silva had briefly married Octavio’s mother, Xóchitl Reyes. Xótchil was an only child, and her mother—Octavio’s maternal grandmother—was Malinalli Reyes. Xóchitl’s father was unknown. All of Octavio’s grandparents had died before he was born, and he had no cousins to speak of, no uncles or aunts, great- or otherwise.
But...if there was a death certificate for Eduardo Silva, why wasn’t that reflected in these records?
He pulled up mortality census schedules from the past one hundred years. Malinalli Reyes died about forty years ago, well before Octavio had been born. Inés Silva’s passing was more recent, but still a ways from today’s date: twenty-nine years ago. And her husband, Torres, not long after…
Taejoon froze, eyes catching something. He checked Torres’ date of death: January 11th, 2709. He happened to know this was very close to Ajay’s birthday: December 31st, 2708, though these two events weren’t related. Probably. That ever-present feeling of danger urged him to consider all possibilities, but he knew that line of thinking was completely coincidental.
Octavio’s birthday, on the other hand...the 27th of March, 2709...that made Taejoon sit up straighter in his seat.
Someone had slinked into Duardo Silva’s place in the world, unnoticed by everyone around him. Someone with an incredible amount of power, who could demand the alteration of official census records to hide the truth. Octavio hadn’t even realized the man he’d been calling ‘father’ wasn’t actually his...and what if it was because that was indeed the only man he’d ever known as his father? What if Duardo Silva had died before Octavio was even born?
It was his only lead right now, but Taejoon was confident that he could unearth that man's secrets.
Unraveling the Syndicate, its crimes and lies, was a daunting task. Taejoon felt as though he had only barely scraped the surface after all these years: they were good at covering their tracks, coding their language and documents in ways that made it hard to prove anything criminal.
But this? Octavio’s quiet confession to D.O.C. about the terrorist attack on Malta, and the discovery that Duardo Silva was an impostor? Gold had been dropped directly into his lap, and he was not going to let this opportunity get away from him.
He would need more concrete proof than just a confession, though, and illicitly gotten recordings of private arguments. In this day and age, there couldn’t only be a paper copy of Duardo Silva’s death certificate, there had to be a digital one too. If he felt the paper one was important enough to keep locked in a safe, then what smart man wouldn’t have a back-up encrypted onto his computer?
Unfortunately, tapping into the cloud didn’t produce any results, and Taejoon doubted Duardo would fall for the typical phishing that had enabled him to get access to Syndicate accounts before. And though Ajay had swiped some files using one of his USB keys, clearly it hadn’t gotten everything, because Taejoon hadn’t ever heard of that video Octavio had discovered before getting his hands on those recordings.
There had to be things on that computer that would take more than a key and an auto-uploader to obtain; he needed to break into the Silva family mansion, as he had Kings Canyon all those years ago.
(“I need a favor,” Taejoon said quietly—barely moving his mouth. He didn’t want his lips to be read on any camera watching him. “I want to break into the Silva mansion.”
Lips curved into a playful smile, Loba turned towards him, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. It was a casual move, but incredibly calculated: her hand positioned this way would cover up what she was saying as well.
“Oh?” she hummed, tracing the index finger of her free hand along the rim of her cup of coffee. “And why is that?”
“I believe I can find records of his tampering with Revenant on his personal computer,” Taejoon lied easily.
Loba’s golden eyes narrowed at those words, and he fought to keep his composure under her sharp gaze. Loba was an excellent liar and could sniff out deception like a bloodhound, but he was hoping her laser-focus on Revenant would cloud her senses. After a moment, her smile widened. It wasn’t as playful as before. Wolfish now, sharp pearly teeth and cold glinting eyes.
“You’re a doll, you know that, Hyeon?” she purred, removing her hand from her face for a second to pull something from under her sleeve.
It was a small object, looking like a switchblade, but instead of unfolding into a knife it was a series of golden lockpicks. She dangled it playfully before his eyes before dropping it into his awaiting palm.
“This is a multi-tool. It’ll get you into places you shouldn’t be...but between you and me? Octavio likes to let fresh air into his room, and you know how forgetful he is, don’t you?”)
The security cameras around the property were easy to confuse: they should be looping the same two minutes of uneventful footage for the next hour or so. He hadn’t spotted Octavio on any of the cameras, and there were no cars in the driveway, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t home, so he would have to be careful. He couldn’t use Hack to scout him out, either, as that would be like sending up a bright red flare alerting the mansion’s occupants to his presence.
Taejoon also couldn’t do this during the weekdays when the house was sure to be empty. His absence from them would paint a clear target on his back if he left any evidence of his break-in behind. And while Octavio was usually home during the weekends, everyone knew you couldn’t get ahold of him on Sundays; he slept that entire day, after staying up all week with the help of copious amounts of caffeine and stim.
Taejoon circled the property cautiously, the hood of an unremarkable black jacket pulled over his head. The Silva mansion was so large it would probably take him a good fifteen minutes to walk around the entire structure and its many turrets and extraneous buildings, but he didn’t need to—for one, he highly doubted Octavio was in the two-story greenhouse behind the mansion, and two, he’d already spotted what could only be his bedroom window on the side of the house, overlooking the picturesque valley next to the hill the mansion was built atop of.
The huge French windows were closed, but he could see curtains with crude messages spray-painted across them drawn shut behind the clear glass. It was on the second floor, and an intricate trellis with carefully cultivated summer flowers climbed up the wall one window to the left of it. It would be easy to climb it and then traverse across the window ledges to reach Octavio’s room.
Or so Taejoon told himself. Despite how eager he was to find proof of Duardo’s crimes, as he readied a sneaker-clad foot against the trellis, he felt a shiver of fear run down his spine.
Don’t look down, he repeated to himself as he carefully scaled the trellis, choosing spots with the least amount of flora so someone wouldn’t notice a trail of trampled flowers up the wall. Don’t look down...don’t look down…
The journey was short but nerve-wracking, and once he reached the second-floor window he eagerly climbed onto the wide ledge. He shuffled across, repeating to himself to not look down under any circumstances—before leaping onto the ledge of Octavio’s window, heart rising into his throat despite it only being a gap of about three feet.
Taejoon looked over his shoulder, momentarily paralyzed with fear that someone had seen him. But he only saw beautiful, artificial bright green grass and hedges lining the property, and beyond that, the valley. He took a deep breath, before moving to pull the window open.
It was unlocked. Even if Loba hadn’t given him the hint, he might have thought to test this out himself. Octavio was always getting into trouble for trying to open windows on the dropship to ‘get some fucking air in here’. He supposed even Octavio grew tired of his own smell: that of deodorant, stale sweat, and citrus-flavored energy drinks.
He cracked it open enough to reach a hand cautiously through and pulled the graffiti’d curtain aside to scan the room. Nobody was there.
Taejoon carefully opened the window wider and stepped inside with ease. He was surprised Octavio was not asleep in his bed, but perhaps he was sleeping elsewhere in this huge house—or not at all. He would need to tread very carefully.
And if he’d had any doubts about this being Octavio’s room from the outside, the inside assured him it was most certainly his: dirty clothes were strewn carelessly across the floor, and several skateboards posed a tripping hazard. Empty cans were piled high on every available surface, and posters of various movies and video games had been spray-painted, their original visage ruined by portrayals of Octavio’s stunts and the occasional rabbit.
Beneath the Octavio-ness of it all, there was still a feeling of grandeur to the room; the four-poster bed was mega-king-sized with satin sheets, the bathroom was bigger than Taejoon’s apartment, and a TV screen took up the entirety of one wall. Taejoon didn’t even know they made TVs in that size.
An expensive PC sat comfortably in the corner of Octavio’s room, illuminated by RGB light strips. A fancy camera and microphone made it clear that this was set up for streaming. Taejoon doubted that important documents related to the imposter would be on this computer, but it would be stupid to not be thorough.
His computer was easy to get into; he didn’t even have a password. Taejoon was greeted with a disorganized mess of desktop files, folders, and about fifty games. He rolled his eyes before beginning to click through them, quickly discovering that most of the shortcuts were to half-edited video files for his channel, with extremely unhelpful names like ‘dfnkjfw’ and ‘eeeeeeeeee’.
He didn’t think there was anything on his desktop. Maybe his browser history would have communications between him and Duardo, at least?
His browser had about a hundred tabs open, and Taejoon took a deep breath to tamp his annoyance down as he went through each one. Band sites, Octavio’s own videos or videos from other creators, concerning searches like ‘how much lighter fluid can you drink before dying’, at least three different tabs opened to the same exact episode of a popular action series…
Nothing. Taejoon was sure he’d seen more web-page graphics of explosions on this computer than he’d ever had in his entire life.
There was nothing on his desk of note, either. Taejoon did discover a hidden box beneath it, but like Ajay’s box under her bed, it seemed to be filled with things Octavio was embarrassed of for some reason—first place ribbons for gymnastics and defaced pharmaceutical textbooks with curse words scrawled inside.
Useless to him for now...but perhaps something he could dig into later. He could maybe use their embarrassing high school accomplishments against them one day.
Taejoon carefully returned everything to its original state before stepping quietly into the hallway of the Silva mansion’s second floor. You could comfortably park four cars along the width of it, and that said nothing of its length. Thankfully though, after looking through the security cameras, he had a decent idea of where Duardo’s office was.
After some twisting and turning he managed to find the staircase that would take him to the third floor, and from there, it was easy locating the hallway he’d spotted a distinct painting on in the security cameras. There were scant few cameras inside individual rooms, but the camera looking down this hall had been labeled ‘office_camera’, so he figured it would have to be located somewhere here. He just needed to cautiously try all the doors.
He started with the door closest to the camera: the handle gave easily, and one quick peek inside showed a guest bedroom. He crossed the hall to the next closest door and found the same. He repeated this action two more times, discovering a private library and another huge bathroom before he wrapped his fingers around a handle that simply wouldn’t budge.
Taejoon procured Loba’s multi-tool from his pocket and got to work, glancing around from time to time, but the air up here was utterly still: hardly anyone came into this hallway.
After about two minutes of messing with the lock, he heard it click. Straightening up, he cast one last look around before entering Duardo’s office.
The room was entrenched in a deep red, much like the rest of the house, with a sleek grandiosity to it. Dark oak furniture, pure velvet drapes. His desk was clean, legal documents related to Silva Pharmaceuticals tucked neatly into files. Only an empty, half-crushed energy drink sat in the trash can beside it. Strange.
Aside from the legal documents there was a simple but incredibly expensive-looking computer. It didn’t have all the bells and whistles Octavio’s set-up did, but that somehow made Taejoon feel all the dirtier for getting his hands on it, almost like he was too poor to even look at it. Which was a ridiculous thought to have, but he still felt some amount of trepidation as he turned it on.
The PIN wasn’t a problem; Taejoon had obtained that data from the key Ajay had plugged into this not too long ago. After getting past the security screen, Taejoon was greeted with a thankfully organized (albeit boring) desktop. Each app and file were clearly labeled, and as he went through each one he recognized several from his and Ajay’s mission.
A tall, beautifully carved grandfather clock sat across the room from him, its golden pendulum swinging back and forth as he scoured through files, pages, logs, and communications he’d seen already, either from that initial data obtainment or from the auto-uploader. Each tick from it seemed to weigh on his shoulders as the minutes crawled by, checking every nook and cranny for inaccessible files his key hadn’t been able to reach.
After a while Taejoon glanced up at the clock, noting the time: he had twenty minutes left until the loop would stop, and he would show up on the security cameras.
Plugging in another USB key to rip data wouldn’t achieve anything if the files were well-hidden; Taejoon had to admit that there was some competent cyber-security at play, here. He would need to carefully comb every single file for clues.
As he opened a file labeled ‘Family photos’, a question flitted through his mind: why hadn’t he found that video, yet? The one Octavio had discovered? Taejoon hadn’t found it on his initial scan of the computer’s contents…
The photos file was full of other files, each displaying a particular date range, and clicking on those revealed more files with names, places, more dates, and clicking on those led to specific events, vague descriptions like ‘dance’ or ‘cruise’...
Going through these was dull. Taejoon didn’t really take Duardo for a sentimental man, but there had to be thousands of photos on his computer, mostly of his wives or personal expeditions. There weren’t very many of Octavio, and of the few Taejoon could find, they were only sprinkled in files dedicated largely to other people or events. Like photos of Duardo’s wedding to a woman in a file titled ‘Sanem’, where Octavio showed up semi-frequently in the background.
Octavio had no dedicated files of his own, it seemed—until Taejoon opened a file with a date range of about twenty-six years ago, and there one sat, simply labeled ‘son’.
This had to be around the time Octavio had been born. Taejoon opened it, expecting a barrage of baby photos. There were only three inside, all of a newborn with tufty black hair swaddled in a pink blanket. There was something rather impersonal about the photos. Distant. Taken by the hospital, not by someone who truly cared.
Frowning, Taejoon backed out of Octavio’s file and found several more from this date range. Towards the bottom, he saw a familiar name: Xóchitl.
He clicked on this file first and was greeted with about fifty photos of the same woman: straight jet-black hair and hooded brown eyes. Tiny in stature, but she stood with her back ramrod straight. Taejoon could see the resemblance to Octavio with her high cheekbones and heavy eyelids, and her deep brown skin explained why he was several shades darker than his father.
These photos felt more personal. Xóchitl and Duardo’s marriage may have been fleeting, but there was something... intimate, and fun, almost, about these photos. But there was still a conspicuous lack of the child they’d had together among them.
Taejoon returned to the file labeled ‘son’. The difference between both were night and day; this file was not here because Duardo wanted a file of Octavio on his computer. This file was buried here for appearances...and something more.
Taejoon’s heart seemed to beat in sync with the ticking grandfather clock, acutely aware of his remaining fifteen minutes as he right-clicked and selected ‘show hidden files’. And there it popped up: an encrypted file with a nonsense name.
If Taejoon’s theory was correct, and Torres Silva was in fact Duardo Silva, then it would make sense for Torres to hide Duardo’s death certificate (and any other information on him) in a file labeled ‘son’. The pictures of Octavio were only there to keep up the illusion.
Now that that mystery had been solved...he just needed to copy it over onto a USB. Perhaps it might not fail this time if he targeted it specifically...then he could decrypt it at home…
He plugged a key into the USB port and waited for the file to copy; it was rather large. As he waited, one question floated about in his mind: where was that video Octavio had found?
Taejoon paused, his mind working through the details. Duardo in that video claimed he did everything out of love for his son, but there was a shocking lack of him present in here. If Torres was Duardo, then it would make a bit more sense if it was in fact Torres talking about Duardo...but where was it? Was it inside that hidden file? There was no way Octavio had decrypted it. Had it been planted there? But why? What would…
His eyes flickered up towards the office door. A security camera was trained on it outside, and would have caught all attempts to break into it...and it sounded like Octavio had been caught once. Several puzzle pieces seemed to slot themselves into place—but at that very moment, the handle on the door moved.
Taejoon ripped the key from the computer and hastily shut it down, standing from Duardo’s rolling chair and sending it skidding across the polished floors. He glanced over at the window, calculating the jump from this height, and concluded that he wasn’t agile enough to make it out in time nor stick the landing without serious injury. In the next split second, as the door was pushed open, he pulled his sword (currently compact in a puzzle cube) from his belt and hid it behind his back, thumb poised on the unlocking mechanism.
It was Octavio. Dark circles under his eyes, hair tousled on one side, a satin blanket hanging off his shoulders as he stepped into Duardo’s office. His eyes were open but glazed over; he’d clearly just woken up. Despite this glassy quality, they still found Taejoon in the room quickly, and he paused, tired expression morphing into one of confusion—then, some mixture of annoyance and dread.
“Dude. What the fuck.” Octavio’s voice was loud but gravelly. He turned his head towards the computer. “Are you hacking my dad’s stuff?”
Taejoon grit his teeth, cursing himself both for not locking the office door and for not locating the other man before doing this. Octavio must have been sleeping on this floor and overheard him going between rooms...or he’d wanted to get in here for his own reasons.
“Come on, you’re already caught.” Octavio started towards Duardo’s desk, the joints of his legs squeaking faintly.
With each step he took, Taejoon took one towards the door, edging along the wall. His heart was beating frantically in his chest despite Octavio’s relatively laidback reaction, his body tensed, ready to make a run for it. After finding his father’s computer off, Octavio glared with bleary eyes up at Taejoon, mouth turned down at the corners.
“The hell did you do?”
This was unlike the Octavio Taejoon knew. Granted, he didn’t know him all that well, but there was something different about his speech, the way he carried himself. Was he always like this, or was his father’s influence or his exhaustion affecting him? And, speaking of, as Taejoon scanned Octavio for any signs of a weapon, his blanket shifted just enough for him to see what looked like a bottle of sleeping pills clutched tightly in one hand.
Octavio stayed awake all week and knocked himself out on Sundays; there had to be a lot of those in his system right now. He would be easy to deal with if this came to an altercation.
A pair of fingers snapped themselves in front of his face, and Taejoon blinked, mind clearing of potential plans of attack.
“I’m talking to you,” Octavio pressed, voice taking on that particular whininess unique to him—and rarely, Ajay. The voice of someone used to getting what they wanted.
Octavio’s eyes flickered from Taejoon’s face to his hand, the one not behind his back. Clenched between his ring and middle finger was the key.
Despite his lethargy, Octavio was quick when he lunged. Taejoon’s body, already tensed like a coil, snapped into action, but even then he barely had time to step back and raise his hand high above his head. His thumb on the other pressed hard against the unlock mechanism of his sword, but he didn’t unsheathe it…yet.
Holding the key out of Octavio’s reach felt incredibly juvenile, but it worked; the shorter man’s hand quickly followed his into the air, but his fingertips barely feathered against Taejoon’s inner wrist. Octavio smiled a little at him, only a few inches from his face now.
“I don’t think you wanna know what a metal knee to your balls will feel like,” he said. His voice cracked towards the end a little, lessening the effectiveness of his threat, but Taejoon knew Octavio wouldn’t relent until he at least knew what was on that key. He came up with a quick, boring answer for him, the same he’d given Loba:
“I was looking for Revenant’s blueprints.”
Octavio’s face fell and he immediately let his hand drop, backing off with a sigh. He already knew Taejoon and the others were trying to interfere with Duardo’s plans with Revenant, as did the patriarch himself. Octavio seemed rather disappointed by this typical answer.
“Tough luck, compadre. Ain’t shit there.” Octavio looked him up and down. “You couldn’t have texted first?”
Taejoon inhaled deeply, unclenching his jaw. He was already reaching his ‘Octane’ limit. “Why would I do that?”
“Man, I don’t know. Pizza and a round of Skyblitzers 7000? I kick all kinds of ass at that game.” Octavio yawned. “I could’ve kicked yours and then told you Papá doesn’t put shit like that on his home PC. Save you the trouble of breaking in and save me from getting woken up from my nap. Can you get your boring ass out of my house now?”
Taejoon stared him down, drawing himself to his full height to take advantage of that small, three-inch difference he had over him again. He knew he needed to give up and leave, there wasn’t any point in being here now, but a petty part of him refused to concede to this brat.
Octavio stood his ground, but despite this he looked quite unbothered by Taejoon poking around in his father’s things. He wasn’t bluffing; there really wasn’t anything about Revenant on there. Taejoon’s eyes narrowed. How would he know that?
Finally, Taejoon returned his sword to his belt—an action Octavio’s eyes followed with an eyebrow arched, as if to say really?—before relenting,
“Okay.”
Once back in the hallway Octavio slammed the office door shut behind them, and though Taejoon didn’t turn to look at him he could hear the squeaking of metal joints following close behind as he made his way to the front entrance.
At the huge pair of ornate double-doors, Taejoon paused. A question lingered on his mind, as well as something else. Pity, maybe, and a good heaping of curiosity. Why was Octavio doing this? Why was Octavio so committed to someone who clearly didn’t give a shit about him?
He’d seen it in the orphanage; kids with hollow cheeks and dull eyes, burned by parents whom they’d loved and trusted because they didn’t know any better. But Octavio should. He was a grown man.
So he turned to face him. Met his eyes—a bright green, almost unnatural. Scratch that, definitely unnatural; they’d looked hazel in older pictures. A side effect of stim, maybe...and though they weren’t dull, and his cheeks weren’t hollow, there were still signs there. A distinct slump to his shoulders. Head tilted up. Not held high, but tilted—attempting to look confident in himself, in his father. Like if he stopped, the illusion would shatter.
Maybe Taejoon was reading too much into it. He barely knew Octavio, after all. Perhaps he had always been like this when not putting on his persona, but he still couldn’t help but feel that something was off. This feeling (and, to be frank, morbid curiosity) had him asking,
“Why are you helping him?”
Octavio blinked, groggy. “What?”
“Your father. Why are you helping him if you know he doesn’t care about you?”
“He does care about me.” The words came easily to Octavio. His voice had gotten even creakier between Duardo’s office and the front door. And his tone, more annoyed. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t trust me with some super-secret and super important stuff. And I’m not gonna tell you what that is, either.”
There was a coldness in their interactions from what Taejoon had seen, and the distance in those family photos was unmistakable. Octavio was either blind or in deep denial.
“I think you know that’s not true.”
“Why do you even care?” Octavio drawled, not looking him in the eyes now. Rotating that bottle of sleeping pills in his hand, fingers twitching.
“Because you’re more than just an idiot. You’re a dangerous, useful idiot.” Taejoon cocked his head to the side. “What did you come into his study for? Did you want to find that video?”
Judging by the way Octavio was now glaring at him, Taejoon had hit a nerve. No wonder he wore a mask constantly; his face was incredibly easy to read...and someone could take advantage of that.
“He put that there on purpose. I think you knew that already. You’ve tried to watch it again, haven’t you?” Taejoon couldn’t keep himself from smirking down at him. “Why do you think you haven’t found it?”
Octavio shrugged in response. Though he had his father’s broad shoulders, the bedsheet slipped from them as he did so, and he swiftly tightened it back around his thin frame. Like he was feeling a chill, despite the warm interior of the mansion.
“The old man is good at locking stuff down. He’s a private guy,” he said. Taejoon swore that his voice wavered slightly on the word ‘private’.
This conversation was going nowhere, and frankly, Octavio was not his problem. He didn’t care if he became a pitiful creature with empty eyes; he was already halfway there.
Taejoon finally opened the front door, giving the other man one last look. Was there nothing he could say to convince him of the truth?
“I do not care if you lie to yourself,” he murmured, but he knew it would take years of therapy to undo whatever Duardo had done to him. “Just try not to drag everyone else into your misery.”
Octavio smiled, but there was something nasty about it, not helped by his heavy-lidded eyes with dark circles beneath. “Look, it’s not my fault your family doesn’t love you, or whatever. That’s your problem. My dad loves me.”
Taejoon had explained to the other Legends that his family never showed up to events because they had a difficult relationship. Octavio’s words shouldn’t sting, but despite the falsehoods they did, a little. Taejoon turned away from him, stepping outside.
“Annyeong, Silva.”
“Whatever.” The bite had fled from Octavio’s voice as quickly as it had come. His tone changed so his next words were higher-pitched, friendlier. Almost good-natured. “See ya in the Games, güey.”
The door was slammed behind him, and Taejoon let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He’d been caught, but that was fine. He’d copied that hidden file...now all he needed to do was crack it open, and Duardo Silva’s secrets could be his.
On the edge of the property, he checked his watch; about two minutes until the loops stopped, not that that would matter if Octavio told his father about discovering Taejoon there. He looked back at the grand house, beautiful and lonely atop its hill at the same time. He thought about Octavio, curling up in one of the house’s many bedrooms as he forced himself back to sleep, a tool in his father’s insidious schemes.
For a moment, Taejoon pitied him.
And in the next, he added Octavio Silva to the list of people whom he would need to destroy.