Beta began the cleanup as soon as he returned to the safe house. He removed every disguise and stuffed the used masks, wigs, and other items into a plastic bin. Then he took a bottle of industrial-strength solvent from the storage cabinet and poured it in without hesitation.
"Hiss—" Acrid white smoke billowed up at once, and a violent chemical reaction roared inside the bin as the disguise materials rapidly dissolved in the solvent. Beta turned to the sink, turned on the tap, and carefully scrubbed the adhesive residue from his face with professional-grade cleanser.
As the icy tap water washed over his face, he massaged it, easing the tension in his muscles. The moment Beta looked up at the mirror, he froze. His reflection was so unbelievable that his pupils widened slightly.
Beta stood stunned, his right hand suspended in midair as his index finger hesitantly reached for his earlobe. A conspicuous smear of red stained it. The instant his fingertip touched it, the warmth made his heart jolt.
He slowly drew his hand back and held up his bloodstained index finger. He gently rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, and the crimson spread across his fingertips like a drop of paint falling into clear water—so vivid it made his heart skip.
"Fuck."
He stared at the scarlet on his fingertip, his voice barely audible.
Director Moore spoke slowly, his aged, steady voice carrying the authority of years: "Keep going. Let me see just how rotten the United Kingdom's intelligence services have become."
The entire conference room fell silent, but soon a disturbance rippled through it.
"This list is completely unreliable!" One of the officials named on it sprang to his feet and slammed the table. "I don't think it can be used as evidence in the