Faux opened her eyes repellently. Stings of a migraine struck her immediately, right above her left temple. This always happened, every month at the same time. The headaches always came right after her monthly “makeover.”

Shuffling to the mirror, she went to see what they had made of her this month. It wasn’t like she was anxious to see herself. Actually, she dreaded it. This was just one more thing for her to worry about. As if she needed the extra pressure.

Drawing in a deep breath, she looked at the stranger in the mirror who blankly stared back. Faux didn’t know this person. She would only know them for thirty days, then on to the next. This girl would be nothing but a former name soon enough.

It was an improvement from last month. Her hair was shoulder-length creamy brown, plain and straight. Her eyes were big like normal and now deep green, almost black. The size of her nose was normal and her lips looked naturally filled. Faux sighed in relief, appreciating the plain look.

Last month was more of a disaster. Bright blonde hair had sat on her head like a curly untamed headdress, it broke several brushes. The sizes of her eyes were normal but they glowed with a tint of turquoise caressed in a warm brown, a color on the edge of unnatural. Her nose used to be so insanely small and her lips so full that it put incisions to shame. It was gorgeous beast gone wrong. She was ecstatic to rid of that identity, “Gwen Messenger.”

That memory reminded her to check what her new identity would be. She ran her finger over the top of the wall crack, transferring it into her wall screen. Opening her top secret files revealed all of the notes doctors had written to her. As always, she ignored them, not even her supervisors read them. It was a waste of her time. A spy like Faux only has so much of it.

She scrolled through files. Swiftly, she tapped personal information.

Keziah Clydesdale.

Faux collapsed onto her undersized bed. The hardest thing about this job must have been the names. It took so much mental power to become “Keziah.” Horror stories are told of brain farts. No one wanted to be the spy who forgot their cover on the job.

“Keziah, Keziah, Keziah.” She verbally repeated, forcing herself to memorize.

She had gone through sixty identities in the last five years. If that wasn’t mental capacity, she didn’t know what was.

And she was only fifteen.

Faux didn’t even know her original name. She didn’t remember anything before the age of ten, when she woke up, in this government program. Since the beginning she had been told that she was a volunteer for a classified spy program. Even then at her tender age, she knew it was a lie. From the beginning, they started the surgical alterations. At first they were minimal, smaller noses and fuller lips. Gradually doctors began to operate more, erasing her original self. After months of surgical trials, they decided to put her out in the spy field. She was to become who they made her be.
Since she began, they gave her the codename of “Faux.” It became her name. But it was true. She was Faux. She wasn’t “Keziah Clydesdale” or “Gwen Messenger” or the others she managed to forget. Her own face wasn’t even genuine anymore, just a mess of fake surgery parts behind perfect skin.

“Wall-Screen, off.” Faux commanded, sending an echo through the room.

The lively blue screen filled with formulas and diagrams faded back to its sea foam green paint. It was guarded with fingerprint protection, keeping any outsiders out, and her cover safe.

She ran her fingers over her face. It was amazing. Whenever they did this, they seemed to completely change her appearance, supposedly with advanced surgery, but she didn’t feel any stitches or sores on her face. Really, the only thing that hurt was the killer headache. Her now narrow long fingers felt her left temple, searching for imperfection. Not even a bump.

Faux wondered every time, how they do it. From the outside, she always looked so natural, but it was all a lie.

A sudden wave of electricity ran through her arm, jerking her tight muscles. Her surgically implanted messenger, or SIM, was ringing on her wrist. It was made for communication, tracking and defense. Basically, it was the ultimate spy tool.

She took off her bracelet which covered her SIM. The tiny screen spelt out the letters “VIDEO CALL: UNKNOWN RECIPIANT.”

Faux sighed. Why was everything so top secret?

She punched her wrist up against the wall, a little harder then she should have. A red laser scanned a holographic barcode that came up.

Dr. Otterson’s old and wise face appeared on the wall screen.

“How has Keziah been doing Fox?” he said with a grin.

Otterson was her main doctor. Every month he preformed her ‘makeover’. He had truly been more of a father to her over the years; always acting like they had some secret or inside joke between them. Faux just never knew what. When they first met, he had accidentally pronounced her codename as “Fox” instead of “Foe.” French wasn’t his strongest subject. Since then, it had been her only real nickname.

Faux smirked back, “I haven’t gotten to know her yet, I was thinking that her and Gwen could get together sometime to get better acquainted.”

Dr. Otterson’s brown eyes glistened. “We designed this look for Faux;” he gave a subtle wink toward her “enough headaches were caused over Gwen’s whining. We understand you aren’t exactly glamorous.”

Faux let out a huff. “Well we will all just have to spend some time with this new girl. What’s her name? Kazara is it?” Faux cooed, drowning her words in sarcasm. “Maybe the three of us could get together for tea sometime? I will message you about that.”

Dr. Otterson raised an eyebrow at Faux. “Did you even read Keziah’s profile yet?” an unexpected urgency escaped his voice.

Faux sighed, “not exactly.”

The Dr.’s completion changed, now to a bright red. “AGENT FAUX!” he screamed.

“Why would anyone care about what type of music Miss Keziah listens to on her morning jogs? It’s useless information.” Faux muttered, not looking the doctor in the eye, an attempt to cover up her admitted laziness.

“You don’t understand,” He stammered “this conversation can not continue on camera, please come talk to me in private. And bring your profile, knowing yourself is vital.”

The wall returned green again. Dr. Otterson’s face drowned in its obnoxious paint color.

Something was undeniably wrong about the situation. Dr. Otterson had never been so rigorous about Faux omitting her profile description. Conversations like this ordinarily ended with witty remarks. Faux replayed the conversation in her head once more, searching for key details in his words.

There was something in the profile, hidden. It made sense; no one would think to ever look for a message in a character profile. The files were almost never fully read and were permanently disposed of after a short period of time.

But why didn’t Dr. Otterson want others to review the conversation? Whatever was hidden in Keziah’s profile wasn’t supposed to be seen by authority’s eyes. Their conversation seemed so relaxed but his expression seemed stiff. Faux had to get to him immediately.

Without breaking a sweat, Faux vaulted herself off of the plush bed and onto the artic floor, directly ahead of the wall screen. She forcefully smashed her hand into the wall. An instant burst of pain blasted up Faux’s arm, she ignored the protests in her limb and proceeded with searching through her files on the wall. Dr. Otterson had done the generous favor of labeling the file in the middle of Faux’s screen.

Not even glancing at the contents she printed the message. A slot appeared on her wall screen and ejected the profile printed on edible paper. Faux’s numb hands grasped the thin paper within her unscarred fingers.

Faux had to find the doctor, now. Without a clue of where she was going she took off down a web of hallways, each room packed with different spies of every category, most not allowed to be seen. Protesters jeered at Faux’s running, none recognizing Keziah.

A figure in a white lab coat appeared at the end of the long hallway. With just a glance of his anatomy, Faux knew that it was Otterson in front of her. Quickly he gestured her into a room.

“We don’t have much time,” Dr. Otterson rumbled, holding a scalpel and handing Faux an extreme pain preventing pill. “I need to remove your SIM at once; everything you say is recorded on it. All I can say is that we’re fulfilling a promise and need to run, now.” He stated.

Faux shook, unsure of what was happening, myriads of questions flooding her head but only able to utter one. “What promise?”

The doctor smiled, “The promise I made to a terrified ten year old girl. We are going to find your memory, Faux. They’re waiting for us. You are more important than you think you are and much more dangerous than you believe” He smiled once again, as if he was fulfilling his lifelong dream. “We will stop those nasty headaches from causing you to forget”

Faux stood discombobulated, staring at the doctor as if he had three heads.

Dr. Otterson gently picked up Faux’s hand and motioned for her to swallow the pill. The scalpel was now floating inches away from her wrist. His voice choked as he spoke again. “It’s good to see you with your original face, Faux.” He said heartfelt.