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“Well, of course we are,” said someone else. “It’s kind of what we do. We’re dicks.”

“That’s D-I-C,” added Reever. “Deep Infiltration and Cover. That’s our sect. Everyone just calls us dicks, though.”

“As they should. We voted on the name.”

“Did we? I didn’t.”

“Yeah, because you’re new. Dumbass.”

“I just think we should have a name that’s more professional-sounding or something.”

“Like what, huh?”

“I dunno--like, well, the Vanguard has that watcher’s division, right? We’re basically like them, only cooler. So we should have a similar-but-cooler name, right? Like the Infilifilers.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Yeah, but it’s like a combination between infiltrators and defilers. Infilifilers. What do you guys think?”

“Y’know, I actually kinda like it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Sounds retarded.”

“Hey, fuck you, Ted.”

“Yeah, Ted, shut the fuck up.”

“Me shut the fuck up? No, you shut the fuck up!”

“You wanna dance, fat man?!”

“Bring it on, choads! I could kill you both with my left ass cheek!”

“Oh, I--!”

“Everyone,” interrupted a soft voice, “please be quiet. Remember that we are still in the middle of a mission.”

And they actually did. Perhaps they were more disciplined than they seemed, Ibai thought. Or perhaps they were simply afraid of that little voice. Ibai’s attention shifted to the similarly little man that it belonged to. If not for the full mustache, Ibai might have mistaken him for a child.

The small man addressed Ibai now. “Greetings. My name is Caster Egmond, and while it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I must ask you to keep your voice down while we remain here.” His smile was much fainter than everyone else’s as he adjusted his gray tie.

With wide eyes, Ibai’s curiosity had certainly been piqued by this person. By appearance alone, the man could have evoked a sense of harmlessness, but now that Ibai was observing more carefully, he could sense it. That vague pressure. The same thing he could feel from Uncle Mel.