The Complexitor had spread out the latest deep intel on his kitchen counter, some of which included information on ending a date before ten PM. Just outside the orbit of the papers he had placed a microbrew beer and his cellphone. Roberts had done well this time, he thought; he had several avenues to attack the DMIC.

The cellphone went off and he looked at it sourly. His cousin, again?

His cousin had a confident, cocky, voice. “Yo, C-Man. I’m on my way!”

“What? I told you, no! It wouldn’t work out!”

“I’m just visiting, man. Chill out! I’ll only stay if I like it.”

The Complexitor’s fingers turned white in a death grip around the phone, and he started pacing. “Damien, I told you already.” He sighed. “Look, just tell me where you are.”

“Why start now? I didn’t tell you where I was because I didn’t think I’d need to.”

The squeal of tires and a giggly female voice came to the Complexitor’s ears, followed by the shutting of car doors, and then squealing tires again as the car took off. He parted the drapes and looked out through the window.

His cousin, Damien Inverness, was walking up towards his house. He flashed a hand-sign in the shape of an “E”, with his thumb securing his pinky and ring finger, and his other two fingers extended.

The Errorist had arrived.