DNA

Yesterday, after the battle, outside the villain's stronghold.

"Shapeshifter?" Ivan lit another cigarette, the orange glow reflecting in his narrowed eyes.

"You're telling me she can mimic anyone perfectly?" he asked, voice steady but filled with curiosity.

"That's right," Melanie replied, her face pale, her hands trembling slightly from the ordeal. "She can transform into anyone she's got a DNA sample from—appearance, height, body shape, all of it. But I don't think she can copy memories, which is why she keeps us alive. She needs us to fill in the gaps, to ask questions, so she can perfect her impersonations."

Ivan's gaze swept over the group of hostages. Most of them were young women, fragile and beautiful despite the hardships they'd endured. Long months of captivity had worn them down, leaving them gaunt, hollow-eyed, but even in their disheveled state, their attractiveness was evident.

If their captor had been a man, the scenario would have pointed to an obvious, grim motive. But the suspect was female. It made Melanie's explanation seem more plausible—that this was less about perverse desires and more about something strategic, a well-thought-out plan.

"So, you're saying she's a shapeshifter," Ivan said slowly, letting the words sink in. "And all of you—every single one of you here—are part of her toolkit. She can become any of you and walk freely, using your identities for whatever she needs."

"Yes," Melanie confirmed, her eyes dark with worry. "Her ability is dangerous. We need to track down everything that's happened with all the hostages during our time here. She could've used any one of us to do anything… including…"

"Including stealing the identity of a senior agent and infiltrating the Ninth Special Service Division," Ivan finished the thought for her.

A cold shiver ran down Melanie's spine. 

"You think she's already done it?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. Her hands moved to her temples, massaging the tension building there. "God…"

She stared at the ground, silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"Is the situation serious?" she asked, looking up at Ivan, her face pale.

"That depends on what you mean by serious," Ivan replied, his tone flat. "Batman was here. He brought in some backup, and they've already neutralized the most dangerous threat on the mothership. But someone stole something during the chaos—something small, seemingly insignificant. But we have no idea what it's for."

"God…" Melanie repeated, her voice shaky, her face contorting with a mix of fear and disbelief. She had prepared herself for bad news, had imagined all sorts of dire consequences if her identity had been misused. But this? This was worse than anything she had imagined.

Melanie leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She would come back regularly," she said, glancing around nervously as if the shapeshifter could be listening even now. "Sometimes she'd take one of us out, and other times she'd stay to ask questions. Detailed ones. She needed the specifics to be able to impersonate us convincingly."

Her eyes darted around again before she continued. "But she never showed us her real face. Every time we saw her, she was wearing one of our faces. And even then, she never let her guard down. Even when we were at our weakest, she didn't trust us."

Melanie paused, a flicker of something darker crossing her face. "But I wasn't totally helpless."

She reached into her pocket and subtly handed something small and thin to Ivan. He barely looked down as he pocketed it.

"What is this?" he asked, maintaining an air of indifference.

"One of her hairs," Melanie said in a whisper so low it was almost inaudible. "She didn't notice when I pulled it. I've kept it hidden for days. I figured if I ever got the chance, this hair might be the key to proving her existence."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "And you gave it to me? Why not report this to the investigation team? It's what they're trained for. It's their job."

"Because…" Melanie hesitated, then leaned in closer, her lips barely moving as she mouthed the words I don't trust them.

Ivan's eyes flickered. He understood.

Melanie was convinced that her capture and the subsequent infiltration of the Ninth Division had been orchestrated. It wasn't random—it was part of a larger plan, and she believed there were traitors within the organization.

Insiders, Ivan thought grimly.

"You don't trust the organization anymore, but you trust me," Ivan said softly.

"I know I can trust you," Melanie whispered, her voice firm despite her fear. "Find her, Ivan. Prove she exists. And when you find her… do me a favor. Make her pay."

Ivan said nothing. His face remained impassive, but his mind was already racing.

Later that day, Melanie was taken into custody. She was placed in a high-security cell aboard the mothership, where she would undergo further tests and interrogations. Even if her story about the shapeshifter was true, the process of clearing her name would be long and grueling. The higher-ups weren't easily convinced.

Shortly after returning to headquarters, Ivan was summoned for a meeting with his superiors.

An agent had reported Melanie's claims of a shapeshifter during the post-battle debrief. The higher-ups were skeptical, and they wanted answers from Ivan directly.

They told him that while Melanie's story might seem credible, they couldn't ignore the possibility that she was lying. What if the whole thing about the shapeshifter was just a cover story? What if Melanie herself was the traitor, trying to regain their trust by creating a phantom enemy?

The testimonies of the other hostages would be investigated, but the higher-ups couldn't discount the possibility that Melanie had orchestrated the whole thing. And then there was the hair she had handed over. Any agent worth their salt would have reported that evidence immediately. 

But Ivan had never been one to follow rules blindly.

"No," he said, standing calmly before the assembled leaders. "She told me about a shapeshifter. That's it. Nothing more."

Ivan had always been known as a rogue agent, someone who didn't play by the book. But if there was one person in the world he truly cared about, it was Melanie. Not in any romantic sense, but as a colleague, a friend. She had covered for him when he pushed boundaries, and now it was his turn to return the favor.

He hadn't told anyone about the hair. Instead, he'd used his rank to borrow a lab within the Ninth Division, running a DNA analysis without notifying anyone.

The results came back quickly.

The hair belonged to someone named Lisa. A girl who had supposedly died over ten years ago.

Ivan stared at the report, stunned. 

He knew that it wasn't unheard of for people who were legally dead to suddenly reappear, especially now with the rise of infected individuals. But Lisa had died over a decade ago—long before anyone had ever heard of infections or people returning from the dead.

Perplexed, Ivan dug into the old case files related to Lisa's death.

What he found was a haunting tragedy.

Lisa had been just a teenager when she died. Her parents were out of town that weekend, so she had gone to stay with her uncle, Dolton. She had brought her best friend, Hanna, along for company.

But that night, everything changed.

Something snapped in Dolton. In a drunken rage, he had attacked the two girls. Hanna had managed to escape, running for her life and screaming for help. But by the time the authorities arrived, Lisa was dead.

The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head. Dolton had fled the scene, but he was quickly captured and convicted of his niece's murder.

The case had been closed for over a decade. Lisa had been mourned and buried.

But now, it seemed that Lisa wasn't as dead as everyone thought.

Ivan stared at the DNA report again, his mind racing. 

The girl named Lisa had been dead for over ten years.

But her DNA didn't lie.

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