#its got implied worldbuilding and thats my favorite sort

[oswaldthatendswald]

"Huh," says Kirkland. "Well, that's damned unusual."

The rest of you do your best not to shift uneasily or glance at each other. You'd known this was a risk. Known it going out; known it better coming back.

"You understand, your team has to be quarantined now," the general says. (You don't know his name. It's safer that way, supposedly. A shapeshifter can become you-- not just take your shape, but mind and heart as well-- with just that scrap of identity. You've always wondered, if that were true, why you were told the names of your teammates when you met them?)

The youngest of the team is Ardent. "Sir?" she says quietly. "What are we going to do?"

The general backs out the door, holding a handkerchief to cover his mouth and nose, as though it might be catching. When the door slams shut behind him, you hear the click of the lock. Kirkland, who had smiled and smiled the whole time the general had been watching him, drops the mask and slumps against the door. He turns back to look across the room, keen eyes passing over all of them.

Kirkland pauses for a moment. "Take your coat off," he sighs. "It's boiling in here."

"Feels fine to me," Ardent grumbles, but she takes the coat off.

You've all been left in a meeting room, designed for managers to sit in and discuss budgets. Six plush chairs around a long table, a white screen at one end with a projector overhead. It's not meant for you-- and certainly not like this, unwashed and still in your gear, detained right off the mission-- but the number of chairs is eating at you. One for the general to sit in, when you'd entered, then five more. Coincidence? Not with the way you'd been dragged in here practically as soon as you'd stepped off the helicopter.

"You think this is new protocol?" you say, heart in your throat.

The team looks to you. You gesture at the chairs. Calm and Cassius in the back both figure it out, two pairs of eyes widening in comprehension, but Kierkan frowns. "The debrief?"

"No," you reply, "Kirk, look at this." Laying a hand on one chair, you point to the one at the head of the table. "The general was sitting there when we came in, right? Five other chairs. It's a visual aid. To remind him how many people were supposed to come back."

His face contorts in frustration for a moment, before he huffs out a breath. "You'd think they could've just checked the old policies," Kirkland says. "Those would've told them that it's three soldiers to a team."

"Then we really would've had a mess on our hands," you chide.

"Yeah, yeah, Bale, you don't have to tell me." He kicks the general's chair, sending it rolling sadly away.

Ardent, who has been growing more agitated, finally bursts out, "They're going to find me, aren't they?"

She's just a baby, really. It's no wonder she's having trouble staying calm. Fortunately, Kirkland is surprisingly good at this side of the job.

"No way in hell," he says. "We'd never throw one of our own to the wolves like that."

Calm pats Ardent on the shoulder, and Strident and Cassius nod along in agreement. You cross the room to sit on the table in front of Kirkland. It wobbles a little, not really meant to hold a person's weight. Typical. Big fancy table like this, and they couldn't even spit out enough cash to make it out of real wood.

You lower your voice. Calm is working to soothe Ardent now, and you know your words would only set her off again. "They're getting more careful."

"I know." Kirkland doesn't look at you.

"It's Ardent this time," you press, "but what if they really do look into the policies? Will Strident and Calm be on the chopping block next?"

He snorts. "If they look into the records, you'll be in as much trouble as the rest, Baleful."

"Ah, come on," you protest, voice still low. "So my records are a little sparse. It convinced them at the time, didn't it?"

"Well, you'd better convince them to let you into the records, or else the first enterprising jackass looking for evidence of shifters is going to find all the holes in your story." He squeezes your shoulder, apology and offer of comfort both, then raises his voice enough to be heard by the rest of the room. "So, Bale, got a plan for us?"

You narrow your eyes at him, but don't protest. He knows the conversation's not over. For now, you take a moment to compose yourself. Glancing up at the ceiling, an idea begins to take shape. You're not sure if you've seen too many movies or if whoever picked this room hadn't seen enough, but you're willing to take advantage of it.

"What's your smallest shape, Ardent?" you asks.

She shifts uncomfortably. "Mouse, I guess."

That's good enough for you. You'd worried it would be something like a cat: possible, but tricky. "Then yes, I have a plan."

---

The general is summoned back to the room by the sounds of your team screaming.

(Or rather, while the rest of you shout and Kirkland barks orders, Strident pulls off the most piercing scream you've ever heard. Back when you'd picked him up, you'd expressed some concerns about his name. It was unusual, you'd said, and might not fit in well amongst humans. He'd insisted that it defined him better than any other he'd tried on. Ever since, you've had a sneaking suspicion that he goes out of his way to live up to his name.)

The general bursts in. "What's going-- stop that screaming. What's going on?"

Strident, who'd climbed onto the table, smiles at him sheepishly. "Sorry, sir. I'm afraid of mice."

While the general is staring at Strident, Kirkland breathlessly breaks in. "It was Ardent, sir. She climbed into the ceiling. Turned into a mouse and made a break for it when we tried to get her, sir." He looks away, shaking his head. "I just don't understand it. I would've sworn to you I'd been to her sister's christening."

He's a pretty good actor. You'd known that already, but this is a step farther than he'd ever had to go before.

"Of course you would've," the general says gruffly. "That's how the monsters work." He looks up at the ceiling, where Ardent had left a tile artfully askew, then starts barking orders into a radio. Seal the vents, sweep the building, permission to use lethal force. You share a look with Kirkland.

The remaining five of you are pulled out for a real debrief this time. As you follow your team, the mouse in your breast pocket squirms. You cover her with a hand, both to disguise the movement and offer a little comfort.

You are a soldier in a team of six who have been sent to investigate shapeshifter sightings but return to base after finding nothing. On your return, however, all six of you are detained, and your commanding officer points out that there were only five members of your team when you left.