Syd kept on following the worker in their guise, trying to get a look at every facet of the man’s appearance. He was well-built, stout, going to seed a bit around the middle, but still clearly powerful, and his hair had grown out flared as if it was resigned to life spent under a hard hat on the Richemont Dairies production floor. The bristly mustache was a nice touch, but Syd simply could not get a good look at the man’s eyes.

Brown would do. Nine times out of ten, no one noticed.

The Richemont worker entered the dairy by swiping a keycard; Syd slipped in behind him in a brand new form and nodded a curt thanks. The guy didn’t seem aware that he’d just let his doppelganger into the plant, but Syd found this to be another curious fact of their existence. People were really bad at recognizing themselves, especially since they were used to looking in a mirror and had no reason to be on the lookout for imposters.

Cutting the opposite way, Syd began their search for ley lines to break. It wouldn’t be difficult to find them; Richemont was crisscrossed by dozens. The builders had unintentionally built it on a nexus, as people so often did, and its importance to Higbee meant that still more had migrated there over time. Syd would have to break as many as possible.

“Hey, Carl.” Another Richemont worker, Earl if his nametag was any indication, had come up behind Syd, absently stirring a styrofoam cup willed with coffee so strong and so wretched that Syd’s eyes watered a little just to be near it.

“Heya, Earl,” said Syd. “I see you went with the weak mud this morning.”

Earl laughed. “I know, I know, but they’re already down to the dregs in the break room and Sherry hasn’t made a new pot yet. You ready to go try and get #2 forklift working? If we can get the dock up and running today it’ll be less to move over the weekend.”

“Uh, I was going to try and scare up some spare parts first,” Syd said. “Sherry told me she remembered seeing some upstairs in a closet. You know how it goes–they go up there and then everyone forgets about them.”

“Sure thing, just meet me on #2 dock.” Earl paused. “Hey, Carl? Something wrong with your eyes?”

“Huh?” Syd said. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they’re…they’re not normally brown. We don’t call you ol’ blue eyes for nothing on karaoke night.”

“Oh,” said Syd. “Contacts. It’s contact lenses.”

Earl frowned. “Contacts?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d try some colored ones. Mix things up, you know? I have 30 days to get some clear ones if I get sick of it, but for now, I kind of like looking at life through a brown lens, you know?”

“No, I can’t say as I do.” Earl’s brow knitted, and then he shrugged. “Looks good though. Suits you. Maybe I’ll have to try that sometime. I always wanted blue eyes…”

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