For the man known to just about no one on the island as Lawrence Weiman, 2014 had gotten off to a good start. The year before had been less than pleasant, all told. He’d gone on an ill-advised trip to what looked like a fascinating theme park which had gone entirely wrong in every possible way and stranded him on what amounted to hell on Earth. The island had no amenities, no television, no decent food, no luxuries, nothing at all. He’d lived in the lap of luxury before the end of his life as he knew it, surrounded by wealth, cats and his lifetime or ill-gotten gains and now he struggled to find food that wasn’t rations or awful cans of cheap excuses for edible matter. He had lost weight he hardly hard to lose in the first place and was driven half mad with sleep deprivation from his insane weapon and the uncomfortable rooms.

The New Year he told himself was a good omen, he’d awakened from what had to have been a dream where he had been home, safe and free and somehow the memory had thawed some of the ice and despair from his mind. It had been the breather he needed to reorient his mind due ambition. He realised that many of his problems stemmed from the persona he’d brought with him out of necessity, pet psychic worked when you were dealing with a lot of sweet old ladies with more pets and money than sense, it did not translate when you were on an island filled primarily with youngsters. You had to change to survive, evolve or go extinct.

And so change he had.

On his return from his mission he had brought with him bags and bags of clothes and makeup and had set to work doing exactly what he had done best his entire life. He had changed who he was. Jan was set aside, still useful and available but not suitable for the time being. People had watched Jan try to kill another hunter, and some would ultimately remember this fact. Chantelle would give him freedom to move once again.

Laying out the clothing, he had meditated for a long time on who he would be, choosing a style which was striking, memorable, simple and most of all a balance between the simplicity of re-applying it every single day and being flattering to his age. It took him a long time, because there was a lot of time on the island and because he was selective. When he finally stood in front of the mirror he had purchased it was as someone else, considered down to the finest detail, his slender figure padded where it needed to be, his beard gone along with any other unsightly hair that might have detracted from the illusion. The makeup had taken a long time, smoky eyes, black lipstick and pale foundation all offset by long false nails. The black wig was dyed and combed to absolute perfection, his hair shorn down to the roots underneath.

He smiled and Chantelle smiled back at him and for the first time since he had gotten to the island, he felt safe and in control. He knew what he was doing now and he could handle it, he was back in business and business was what he most enjoyed.

Twitter was next; new persona meant a new twitter, bolstering his confidence in his choices enough that he felt like he could pull it off in the long term. With that commitment decided and set in stone, he started to pack his things away neatly into a bag. Jan lived upstairs, Chantelle would live in the basement, the quartermaster had already given him the keys, and he intended to at least make the place liveable, it would be difficult, no luxury at all, but it was work, and he could suffer it for now, he’d suffered far worse when he first arrived in the US on the run.



He still had to tolerate the incessant natterings of the ghost dog in his thoughts, his totem – a rolex – concealed under a stretchy wristband, but one day he would find a way to solve that problem too, solve it and escape. In the meantime, Chantelle would play their game.

It was going to be like, totally awesome.