Illusion Report

"I just got back from a business trip abroad. My wife’s waiting for me at home."

"Could I see your license, please?" the officer said.

Fu Tailan made a show of frowning with obvious displeasure and reached into his trouser pocket to pull out his wallet. "Is something the matter?"

The officer examined the license carefully, checked the photo, confirmed the home address, and his tone softened considerably. "Mr. Josen, you’ve been away for a while, I take it?"

"Dubai. Two months."

"That explains it. We’ve had orders since last week to increase patrols in this area — local residents only, no one else allowed to loiter out here at night. Anyone just passing through, we have to make sure they move along."

"Something happen?" Fu Tailan asked.

"No, just a precautionary measure." The officer handed the license back with a smile.

...Westley, no doubt.

In a country where you could buy yourself a presidency, arranging a little extra overtime for the local police department was nothing.

As Fu Tailan took the license back, the streetlight caught the photo — a well-preserved, middle-aged white man stared back at him.

Morgan had said it once: this world is a brotherhood.

Middle-aged. White. Male. Married. Wealthy. Driving a Mercedes 450. A man like that could be out at two in the morning and not raise a single eyebrow.

Fu Tailan eased off the gas and came to a slow stop in front of a sign that read: PRIVATE PROPERTY — NO TRESPASSING.

In the distance, a tall iron gate fitted with cameras stretched across a private tree-lined driveway. And in front of the gate — was that an armed checkpoint?

He stared, barely believing it, then double-checked the satellite image he’d worked so hard to get on his phone.

From here to Westley Manor was still a forty-minute drive, wasn’t it?

The perimeter extended this far out?

He didn’t know the exact surveillance range of that Illusion, but assuming it roughly matched the checkpoint perimeter — or fell within it — that seemed a safe bet. After all, beyond the checkpoint was public road. Working from that, the straight-line radius was probably no more than thirty-five kilometers.

"Alright, Little Eye."

He slumped back against his seat and spoke toward the eyeball sitting in the glove compartment. "The question now is how to get past the checkpoint guards without tipping off whatever Illusion may or may not be watching."

The eyeball gave a rare swivel, as though searching for another way into the car.

Fu Tailan slid the license out of his wallet, gripped it in his fist, and gave it nine sharp flicks. After the ninth, he held it up — blank card, nothing on it.

If that officer had looked over right now, he would have found no respectable, upstanding local resident behind the wheel — just a minor reeking of hand-rolled cigarettes.

"So... want to take a gamble?"

He spoke to the eyeball like he was asking for its opinion. "I think the surveillance range on that Illusion probably doesn’t reach all the way to the first checkpoint. This spot is too close to the public road — even without regular traffic, you can’t rule out someone taking a wrong turn. If every ordinary civilian who wandered near the first checkpoint triggered an alarm — or worse, got killed on the spot — the fallout would be way too messy to manage."

The eyeball stared straight at him, unblinking.

"You agree? Great, Little Eye." He said it with genuine patience. "There’s a cap in my backpack. I’m going to reach in and get it. You stay in the glove compartment — understood? If I put my hand in that bag and find you’ve already crawled inside and you’re waiting to bite me, I’m going to be very unhappy."

Despite the polite negotiation, Little Eye went straight for the backpack, as expected — though fortunately, he had anticipated exactly that.

Fu Tailan pulled on the baseball cap, stretched with a lazy roll of his shoulders, then grabbed the pizza box from the back seat. He flipped it open, took a bite of cold pizza, tossed it back in, and snapped the lid shut.

He’d parked well down the road. Before walking up to the gatehouse with the box in hand, he remembered to wipe the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Who are you?"

He hadn’t even gotten close when the gate swung open. A guard stepped out and raised a hand, signaling him to stop where he was.

Ex-military, by the look of it — trained, efficient. One came out to assess the situation; the other stayed inside the booth.

"Pizza," Fu Tailan said in a flat, dull voice, and lifted the box slightly.

"What?" The guard blinked.

"What, what?" Fu Tailan looked slow to catch on, then repeated himself with the same unhurried tone. "Pizza. I’m from the Domino’s down the road."

"I didn’t order anything. You’ve got the wrong—"

"What about him?" Fu Tailan tilted his chin toward the guard inside the booth.

The guard hesitated, then glanced back at his partner. "You order anything?"

Fu Tailan’s other hand was in his jacket pocket, fingers wrapped around the Mouth Puppet.

The second guard rose from his seat under the light and shook his head, eyes lingering on Fu Tailan with suspicion. The moment he opened his mouth, Fu Tailan gave the Mouth Puppet a quick twitch.

"I certainly didn’t. Ask him — what’s the address on the order? Does he even know who placed it? How does this kid end up delivering pizza all the way out here?"

Inside the booth, the exact same words came out at the same time.

The man had his guard up — nothing like a regular security drone just coasting through a shift.

"It’s an app order. I don’t know who placed it. The notes said this private road, first checkpoint." Fu Tailan released the Mouth Puppet and brought his hand out of his pocket. "Isn’t this the place?"

"Leave. Now." The first guard’s expression went hard. One hand moved to the weapon at his hip, fingers stained faint yellow from years of smoking. "Take your pizza and go."

"O-okay, okay, got it—" Fu Tailan could sell fear on command, and his voice trembled right on cue. "I’m going, I’m going..."

He turned and walked away quickly, back toward the road.

Once he was behind a cluster of trees, he took out the Mouth Puppet.

"Last voice collected," he said to it. "Start."

The Mouth Puppet sat motionless — a frozen, blank white face with nothing on it but a pair of full, vivid red lips pursed into empty air. Unsettling, to say the least.

Though what came next was even more unsettling.

Fu Tailan sighed.

He still didn’t understand why he had to kiss an Illusion. With the resignation of a man accepting his fate, he raised the Mouth Puppet, turned it around, and pressed his lips against the back of its head.

Thank god it wasn’t lips to lips.

"Oh, how could I forget!" he said against the back of the puppet’s head.

"Oh, how could I forget!"

Inside the booth, the second guard opened his mouth. Throat, tongue, and lips all moved together and produced the exact same words.

"The guy at the next checkpoint mentioned ages ago that he was thinking of ordering food and asked me to buzz him in if the delivery showed up... I completely forgot he’d done it! And at this hour, too."

Inside the booth, the identical line came out in perfect unison.

"So what do we do?" The first guard turned to look at the empty road — Fu Tailan was guessing at this point, but he figured the reality couldn’t be too far off.

"See if the delivery kid’s still around?" Fu Tailan said into the puppet. "I’ll call that guy, find out if he actually placed the order. You go grab the driver before he gets too far. I owe you a pack of smokes."

He eased his head out from behind the trees and took a quick look — the gatehouse door was open, and the first guard was already muttering to himself as he headed toward the road.

Fu Tailan smiled without making a sound.