DOCKS, 4 YEARS AGO

Fire and iron rained down all around Thomas Blackcroft. He crouched behind a pillar, holding his Browning, heart thudding in his chest. 

What had happened? This was not how it was supposed to go.

This meet-up was supposed to clinch an advantage for Blackcroft. Thomas had spent long months faking data to persuade Black and Tan that taking up the deal would be worth it. Because that was all Black and Tan believed in - data. Crunched numbers and hard statistics. 

Slowly but surely, Thomas had crafted a numerical description of Blackcroft's supposed decline - reduction in revenue, diminishing territory and gradual loss of influential supporters. He had convinced Black and Tan that this proposed deal by Blackcroft was a last, desperate attempt to clutch at straws, and that giving up a few pieces of tech for cold cash was a smart move for Black and Tan in the long run. The cyber empire had just started, and they struggled to establish a foothold in the underground network of crime. Obtaining large funds to get them off the ground was what they needed, but they had been hesitant at the idea of trading with Blackcroft.

Thomas had been the one who finally persuaded their bosses.

Right now, Thomas could feel the cold metal of his heart necklace rest against his chest. His resolve intensified. If I succeed this mission, I can go home and I can change Hayley's life. She's all I'm doing this for. His mind took him, as it always did whenever he needed encouragement, into one of his favorite daydreams where he could spend the whole day with Hayley, as two normal teens on a normal date, café-hopping or visiting a theme park. Only, Thomas smiled to himself, knowing Hayley, she would reject the idea of sitting in a café and aim straight for something like paintball or lasergun.

But then again, she does like to eat, Thomas mused. In fact, I promised her that the next thing I'll bring back for her from the outside, is McDonald's apple pie.

The relentless rattle of an AK47 brought him back to his senses. Looking carefully around the pillar, Thomas saw that Black and Tan's hired mercenaries had arrived at the scene. Just ten feet away, a dapper-looking lawyer in a three-piece silver suit was holding a document in his hands. The contract, signed and stamped by Blackcroft - right before gunfire erupted. Thomas knew he had to get his hands on the document somehow.

He stepped out from behind the pillar - and was noticed immediately by Black and Tan's military drone. Instead of identifying him as an ally, as it should have, it sent an immediate kill order and coordinates to a hidden firing station, the latest in Black and Tan technology. The automated gun swiveled around, reloaded, and launched a high-explosive round right at Thomas.

Thomas saw it at the last second and dodged, but the resulting blast from the grenade sent a shockwave that snapped Thomas back, nearly crumpling him in half. He was lifted bodily into the air in the same second that his ribcage fractured, and crashed into the sea below at a speed of 30 miles per hour.

His left shoulder took the brunt of the trauma, and it would forever be a little sore for the rest of his life. The impact knocked all the air out from his lungs, and as he slowly sank to the bottom, dazed and losing consciousness, the last thing he saw was the watery rays of sunlight glinting off his heart necklace ...

|*|

BLACK AND TAN, SICK BAY.

Dimly, through fluttering eyelids, Thomas could discern harsh fluorescent lights and the mechanical beeping of clinical machines. He tried to turn his head, or even lift a finger, and found he couldn't.

His entire body had been wrapped in bandages; he was nearly mummified.

A voice from very far away said, "The physical trauma is as expected, though seeing what he does for a living he'll probably recover faster than average. I'm afraid it's the brain injury that we really need to be worried about; I'd be very surprised if he can recall his name, that is, if he ever wakes up - "

A door opening. "Mrs Hood, what are you doing here?"

"Is that my son?" A woman's voice this time, whispering. Desperation in her tones. "That's my son, isn't it? That's my son - you must save my son!"

"Your son died from a car accident a year ago, this is someone else - security! Get her out! Where is that lawyer - her husband?"

"No! No, you must save my son! My son!"

Thomas slipped back into his coma.

|*|

4 DAYS LATER

Thomas once again found himself awakened by voices.

"This is ridiculous!" He recognized the doctor's voice. "You can't expect me to give him to you - if my superiors find out about this, I'll lose my job! I might even lose my life!"

"If you give him to them, they will torture him till death. For information." The lawyer.

"And so you want me to give him to you? Why - because your insane wife has somehow gotten it into her head that he's her dead son?"

"I can pay you!" The lawyer's voice rose in volume, before it was forcefully tamped back down. "Please, she's harming herself. Having him as a - a replacement is the only way she'll stop, she's too determined and at this rate she will kill herself. I can't lose her. I've already lost Kaylan ..."

Silence. Then the doctor spoke, "I can't believe this."

"I have a dead body all prepared; same height and same build as Thomas." The lawyer was speaking fast now. "He's all bandaged up, so the face can't be seen anyway - all you have to do is tell your boss that Thomas was found damaged beyond repair. Nothing could save him, and he was cremated. All you have to do is tell them this."

A pause. "On 26th August 2016, Thomas Blackcroft was hit on the docks by an M63 grenade. He did not survive his injuries."

"You know he looks nothing like Kaylan, right? Once the bandages come off, your wife is going to see that."

"I have my plans for that, doctor. You don't have to worry."

Footsteps came close and Thomas felt his bed being wheeled away. He tried to open his mouth to protest, but that attempt proved too exhausting for his wrecked body, and once again he fell into unconsciousness. 

|*|

ST. DREHSEN COSMETIC AND PLASTIC SURGERY

"And you're sure you want to leave the tattoo there?"

"Yes. Just for ... insurance."

"I'm not sure what you meant by that, but that's fine by me. I don't do tattoo removals anyway, though I can certainly recommend you a great colleague of mine. I have to say, that was one of the most damaged faces I've ever seen." Sympathetic tongue-clicking. "What did you say your son was involved in again?"

"Hit-and-run. Drunk driver." There was real loss in Mr Hood's voice.

"To hell with those irresponsible drunk drivers! They should mandate the death penalty for them that's what the law should! I'm terribly sorry for your loss, I can hardly imagine what it feels like to almost lose a son. Although I did have a beautiful Saint Bernard once, Julie was her name, kept me company all through my boyhood. Ah, the great mountain hikes we would take! Lost her to old age just last August, and my heart aches still ... but I talk too much, eh?"

Papers being shuffled and the capping of a pen.

"Here we are. So it's 32 thousand and 97 dollars for the surgery. You wanted to pay in cash, yes? ... Ah, thank you. Well, I won't count 'em now, that'll just be rude eh? If you can trust me with restoring your son's face then I shall certainly trust you in paying fair. Thank you for your visit, Mr Hood!"

Thomas was pushed out of the surgeon's office in a wheelchair. Most of his bandages had been removed, but the ones around his chest remained. Now, new bandages encircled his face. 

Thomas couldn't see, but he could hear the sound of a phone being dialed, followed by Mr Hood's low voice saying, "Clean up the Drehsen surgeon."

And most of all, he could feel his new father leaned down and whisper in his ear, a cool, musky tone,

"Time to go home, Kaylan Hood."

|*|

46, SANDALWOOD HEIGHTS

Thomas had never received this much love and attention in his life. 

He was given Kaylan's old room, and assigned a personal physician and therapist to help him recover from his devastating car accident. The maid, Ada, came and went silently and effectively whenever he needed something, whether it was a glass of water or a snack from the Italian deli two blocks away. Most of all, his mother spent every second between her social engagements to dote on him, reading by his bedside, and playing him classical music.

"Do you remember, Kaylan?" Mrs Hood said softly one fine summer evening, as the beautiful strings of Tchaikovsky filled the room. "You loved violin so much, and you used to practice two hours a day. When you get better, I'll teach you the violin again. You can join your school orchestra."

Here she leaned over and placed a tender kiss on Thomas' forehead. When he looked into her eyes, he could see himself take up the entire space in her pupils.

"My Kaylan," she whispered. "You came back to me. I knew you would."

Thomas struggled to open his mouth. It had taken him four months just to learn how to stand, and even now he could not speak properly. The doctors predicted at least a year of recovery before he could handle basic tasks that require motor coordination. Walking seemed like an impossible feat.

Thomas remembered nothing of his life before the brief spell in the Black and Tan sick bay. Even that too, he was beginning to think was all a delusional dream.

"I am," he mouthed with great difficulty, "Kaylan Hood."

Mrs Hood's eyes overflowed with tears. "Yes you are, my darling. Yes, you are."

|*|

ONE YEAR LATER

Thomas came back from his physical therapy session drenched in sweat. He had done nothing but walk at a steady pace, something which came as natural as breathing to others, but which for him felt brutal. Still, the feedback from the physician had been the most positive so far.

"Good job, Kaylan! You're walking really well now and I think the last fall you had was more than six weeks ago. I'm really impressed at the way you keep getting better faster than we expected. At this rate, we'll be moving into more complex motor tasks pretty soon."

As he entered the house, Ada came rushing up to him. "Are you going to shower now, young master? If I may assist - "

"No," Thomas stuttered. His speaking ability was still slightly affected. "I would like to try it by myself."

"Oh, I'm not too sure - " But Thomas had already closed the bedroom door. Carefully he made his way into the bathroom and filled the bathtub with water. As he waited, he rested with both hands on the sink for support.

Thomas looked into the mirror. A hand reached up to touch his jaw. It was sharp, almost unnatural. Like it could cut glass. One year ago it had looked worse, but after he started doing more exercises and consumed non-liquid food, his physique had gradually improved. Now he could see some tone in his muscles, and the doctor said he was approaching healthy weight. Thomas couldn't help smiling at his own progress.

He stripped, and took his time in the bath tub. When he was done, he stepped onto the mat, hair dripping wet with nothing but a towel around his waist. As he turned to grab his clothes, he caught sight of his reflection.

Something tiny and black was on his lower back.

Thomas frowned. He moved close to the mirror.

For one year, Ada had been the one who bathed him every day. Even his own mother had not done it; Mr Hood had, for some reason, been rather strict on this aspect. As such, Ada was the only one who had ever seen him naked, and the Spanish housekeeper's brusqueness had quickly removed any awkwardness from the situation.

"Now we apply some uh, baby powder, yes?" Ada had smiled the first time she did it, and Thomas could feel her small quick hands patting his lower back. A side glance at a bottle near her elbow however, showed that she was not applying baby powder at all, but something called Giorgio Armani Silk Foundation.

While it did arouse in him some curiosity, Thomas had simply chose to accept it as part of his recovery routine, and let her do as she was told.

Now, in the foggy glass of the mirror, Thomas could clearly see what Ada had been trying to cover up.

A tattoo about one and a half inches long, depicting a Z-shaped spring jumping out of a cube box. The letter "B" looked regal.

Sudden, sharp memories flashed in Thomas' mind.

A girl, head down, staring at a keychain with a tigress on it. When she looked back up and smiled wide, Thomas felt like his heart was about to burst.

Sitting on the bench, feeling her shoulder brush against his. Watching the sunset. Feeling the electricity between them sizzle.

Setting out on the most dangerous mission of his life. Unable to bring anything from home. Yet her face never faded from memory.

A name. A whisper. A heart necklace. Two heart necklaces.

The reason he did anything and everything.

Hayley.

Thomas stumbled backward with a gasp, nearly losing his footing on the slippery floor. His hand clutched at his forehead, acutely aware of the drumming that had started up between his ears. At the same time, the door to his room burst open, and Mrs Hood came fluttering in.

"Oh my darling, I can't believe Ada let you bathe alone, I didn't - " The words died on her lips. Through the mirror, Thomas saw his mother's eyes widened as she too, saw for the first time, the tattoo on Thomas' lower back.

Mrs Hood froze. Thomas turned, and was shocked to see the way her eyes seemed to have shattered.

"You are not my son," she whispered. 

"Mother...?" His head was spinning.

"You are not my son. My son would have never gotten a tattoo. It's a lie - I - Kaylan - where is my Kaylan? Where is my Kaylan!" The last sentence was uttered in a shriek that brought at once Mr Hood and Ada running to the doorstep.

Thomas' sharp eyes didn't miss how his father barely blinked at his tattoo.

"Ada, bring the madam downstairs and get her a sedative," he barked. "At once!"

"Y-yes, sir!" Ada dragged the hysterical Mrs Hood away. Now it was just Thomas and his - father? - alone in the bedroom.

Mr Hood shut the door. His eyes were piercing. "Kaylan? What's going on?"

Thomas swallowed. "I uh, I have a tattoo. I didn't - know that."

"I see." Mr Hood's voice was eerily calm. "Yes, you got it just before the car accident."

"Why?"

Mr Hood shrugged. "Pure rebelliousness. Comes with any puberty, you know."

"Mother said I'd always been the perfect son."

Something in Mr Hood's eyes flickered. It was an emotion that Thomas saw once in awhile, when Mr Hood looked at him. It was an emotion that he had never been able to name, but that day, standing in the bathroom, he realized what it was.

Grief.

"You were - are. The tattoo was just a rash young boy's act, that's all." Mr Hood turned away and rubbed a hand across his nose. He cleared his throat. "You are not to let your mother see it anymore from this point on. It upsets her greatly. Are we clear?"

"Yes, father."

The bedroom door shut close.

As Thomas sank down on the soft sheets of his bed, the name couldn't stop ringing in his ears.

Hayley. Hayley. 

And on the heel of that, the sound of a girl's voice calling him.

Thomas.

Thomas!

"Thomas Blackcroft," Thomas said out loud.