The check-in tent was designed so that the racecar’s driver could pull up and speak to the official without having to leave their car, and this was indicated by a sign. In spite of this, when the blacked out van pulled up to the tent, all 5 occupants of the van got out (single file out of the front doors) and lined up slightly uncomfortably close to the receptionist. All of them were visually identical, as far as the receptionist could see, all wearing the same black suit, hat and sunglasses; and they all stood in exactly the same position, arranged in a half-circle so that all of them were equidistant from and towering over the receptionist.
Said receptionist, a bit taken aback, eventually started “…Hello-”
“We are racers. We are here for the race.”
The receptionist thought the one directly in front of her had said that, but wasn’t sure. “…ah, uh, okay then… so what team, did you register-”
“We are registered as ‘Team Milkvan’”
She checked her sheet. “…ehh- ah, here it is. So uh, what is your, names?”
“My name is John.”
“My name is John.”
“My name is John.”
“My name is John.”
“My name is Jill.”
To the receptionist’s surprise, this matched up perfectly with her sheet: Team Milkvan had 5 members whose names and profiles were completely identical, with the only discrepancy being that one member was listed as female. As she would find when she checked the computer later, they also matched the photographs on file perfectly; as if the photos had been taken during their conversation.
“Ah, okay… so who should I put as driver?”
(all 5 in unison) “I can drive.”
“ah… yes, but who is acting as driver-”
(all 5 in unison) “I can drive.”
“Well, yes, but one of you has to fill the role of driver, no?”
(pause)
(…)
(…)
(all 5 in unison) “I can drive.”
The receptionist rubbed her eyes a bit “So, what, you all want to be driver?”
(in unison) “…Yes.”
“Well, who is going to be navigator?”
(all 5 in unison) “I can navigate.”
“oh, so you’re all going to be driver and navigator?” The receptionist was starting to get a bit frustrated.
(in unison) “…Yes.”
“And, uh, mechanic too-”
(in unison) “I can mechanic.”
“…Is that even allowed?!” The receptionist knew the rules technically allowed members to share roles, but didn’t think that meant the teams could just forsake roles entirely. Considering how indistinguishable these 5 were, however, she figured trying to identify one for a specific role would be an exercise in futility, anyway. “Ok, sure. You are all driver, you are all mechanic, and all navigator, too. You can head in, put the car in tent, eh, eleven, and… good luck tomorrow.”
The men all filed back into their van, and drove off into the festival, paying close attention to all the other teams getting ready around them. Not long after they stopped in their pre-assigned preparation tent did they notice 2 entities looking at them from just outside the driver’s area:
“…¡Oi Paco, mira! Ese coche no tiene nada.” (Hey Paco, look! That car doesn’t have anything!)
Paco looked up from the rusty green hatchback they’d been studying to try and find what new car his little brother was now pointing at. “Ah sí, que esa furgoneta no tiene un baca encima. ¿Pero dónde van a guardar su comida y todo?” (huh, yeah that van doesn’t have a rack on top. Well where are they going to keep their food and stuff?)
“P-pues, a lo mejor, se van a cazar osos para comer. ¡Y dinosaurios!” (W-well, maybe they’ll hunt bears to eat. And dinosaurs!)
Paco chuckled “¿dinosaurios, eh? ¿Que se van a comer dinosaurios?” (Dinosaurs, eh? They’re gonna eat dinosaurs?)
“¡No, los dinosaurios son por hacer gas! Que dicen en clase que el gas se viene de dinosaurios.” (No, the dinosaurs are for making gas! They said in class that gas is made from dinosaurs.)
This deduction prompted Paco to laugh so hard, he did not notice the 2 figures beginning to approach them from the van. “¿Y-y donde van a encontrar los dinosaurios? ¿En Archana?” (A-and where are they going to find dinosaurs? In Archana?)
“¡Pues si!” His brother was laughing too at this point. “¡Que Archana esta muy lejos!” (Well Yeah! 'Cause Archana is very far away!)
John: “Name and Occupation.”
The voice came out so firmly, it cancelled Paco’s laughter immediately and replaced it with a brief scream. He looked up and found 2 identically dressed men on the other side of the fence, who seemed to tower over not just Paco, but the entire crowd of early spectators. “uh…que, uh-”
John: “Name and Occupation.”
“…uh, I am Paco, this is Javi. We want to look ahead at the cars in the race. …who are you?”
John: “…We are racers. We like to race.”
“ah, uh, so you drive the, uh…” He was pretty sure they were from the van, but he somehow got the impression that guessing correctly would offend these men. “…the brown one ove-?”
John: “Our racecar is the van. We are registered as ‘Team Milkvan.’”
At this point, many of the other spectators who’d come for an early look at the cars were now watching this confrontation instead, wearing a variety of reactions of their faces. Paco wanted to end this encounter as quickly as possible. “…uh, well, I am… excited to watch, the race…tomorrow.”
John: “…And we will be watching you.”
The 2 men, after a brief pause, began to return to their van, as Paco looked on; a bit scared, but mostly confused.
“¿P-pero de qué hablaban?” (Hey, what were they talking about?) Javi asked.
“…No se” (I don’t know) Paco responded quietly. After a moment, he pulled Javi away from the fence and began to leave.
Shortly after, one of the car inspectors arrived to look at the team’s eponymous van. The van itself was underwhelming; there wasn’t much that stood out about it. The only thing that made this entry even slightly interesting to verify was the slightly awkward, monotone, one-sentence responses the racers gave to every question.
“So then, you are team Milkvan?”
“We are racers. We are registered as ‘Team Milkvan.’”
“Why did you paint it all black?”
“Classified.”
“You don’t seem to have messed with the engine much…”
“Aftermarket engine modifications are known to cause malfunctions.”
“What are those antenna for?”
“Classified.”
“This van seems a bit underbudget…”
“Vans are generally not very extensively equipped, as they are utilitarian in nature.”
“Where’s the name ‘Milkvan’ come from? I mean, you guys don’t seem to be calling the car tha-”
“Classified.”
The monotony ended once he reached the interior, however, and found the van’s main quirk; everything behind the cramped front row of seats was sealed off by a metal wall and door.
“What is the door-”
“Classified.”
“…I do need to see behind the door-”
“Classified.”
“Then how do I know there’s enough seats for everyone? That there’s no banned spare parts-”
“Classified.”
“There is a checkbox on my checklist, that says I have looked at the interior and haven’t spotted anything wrong. Until I- and I specifically -have seen the entire interior, including all the compartments, I cannot check this box, and until I check this box, the car will not be able to race.”
“…”
“…”
“Enter.”
The racer unlocked the door (The mechanical movement of many metal parts could be heard), and moved out of the way to let her enter. Once inside the van, it took him a moment to consciously comprehend what he was looking at; There was a desk with more monitors on top than she could count, and a computer tower big enough to use as a stool. On the other wall, a wide selection of military grade firearms was being displayed. In the back, near a few seats, there were boxes full of all sorts of random supplies; ammunition, canned food, infrared film, spare shoes that were also cell phones, dynamite sticks, metal detectors, chemical testing kits of various kinds, cameras, cameras shaped like a variety of objects that aren’t cameras, megaphones, laser pointers- the list goes on, and he couldn’t even recognize most of the rest.
But once he was done looking at everything, he did realize something; none of what he saw actually broke any competition rules. Sure, none of it made sense for an offroad race, and a lot of it was probably outright illegal, but the race regulations themselves remained intact. And for that, he instinctively checked off the box. Just as he was about to express the potential legal problems with the build, however, one of the team members knocked him out with the butt of their pistol (turns out they were all carrying one).
Not long after, when no one was looking, the filled out clipboard was discretely placed on the race organizer’s table. 2 hours later, his bound and still-unconscious body was loaded into the trunk of a black, debadged Centara Armada and driven off. A random passerby saw this happen, so she too was knocked out, bound, and loaded into another Armada 1 hour later.
The night before the race, the agents sat in their base of operations (the back of the van), speaking with their chief on a restricted channel. They reported how a race official had to be sequestered due to their seeing of the inside of the van, and how the same had been done to another passerby. They also reported the various early spectators that had been looking at their van.
“If any of those spectators re-appear in the race tomorrow,” the chief instructed “they would become a strong suspect. Otherwise, it’s not likely they mean anything; our intel tells us that the targets are specifically contestants in the race.”
John: “Which of the racers are our most likely suspects?”
“All of them; With what we know, any team could be the aliens. Some are more suspicious than others, but we have nothing conclusive as to who it might be. That’s why you’re in play.”
John: “Can we review their information?”
“That was the next step, John. I will go over what we know about these individuals, pointing out any potential red flags we’ve identified. Keep this information in mind when observing and interacting with these suspects. John, put up the first of the photos I sent.”
The agent sitting in the chair worked the computer, as the 4 agents around him watched patiently; after a moment, a picture of 3 persons appeared on one of the monitors, with the one next to it showing information about the team. 3 other monitors dedicated themselves to showing information about one person each.
“This team,” began the Chief, “calls themselves ‘Team Dusk.’ It’s members, from left to right, are named David Yang Jun Hao, Shintaru Nanako, and Miguel la Paz Santiago. They gave no reason for entering the race.”
Jill: “The individual bios over there are very light; similar to what we see when dealing with foreign agents.”
“Good catch, Jill. We have very little information on their background, almost as if said information has been obfuscated. Even identifying their names was difficult; we had to use facial recognition software against 10-year-old records.”
John: “Why would someone with such an obfuscated identity be entering a public automobile race?”
“We know one group who would. Watch out for this team, see what you can find. Next slide, John.”
The team photograph was replaced with a photograph of 4 other individuals, as well as an animal; in turn, as many other monitors as necessary lit up with the team and individuals’ (and animal’s) info
“This is ‘Team Shift Happens,’ consisting of Kayden John Grayson, Kaylie Lynn Grayson, Rukari Khakrin-Veldrothan, and Malavera Caller-of-the-Moons. They have also brought a pet leopard, named ‘Spots.’ They mostly claimed to enter the race for fun, those some intend to use the prize money to assist in the development of alternative fuel for a ship of theirs.”
The spies studied the profiles and picture for a moment.
John: “I see no immediate red flags.”
“Nor do we, John. But remember, all the issues we are pointing out here are just conjecture. Any one of these teams really could be our targets. Next team.”
John advanced to the next team, this one consisting of 3 members.
“This group identifies as ‘Team 722,’ and it consists of Isha Basra, Laura Voss, and Zoey Stirling. They claim to be entering for fun.”
John: “One of the bios claims the person is the granddaughter of a famous racecar driver. That’s a pretty big claim.”
Jill: “Yet another appears to have no racing credentials whatsoever.”
“Indeed, their bios are pretty strange. But that’s not the only thing.”
John: “Their car makes no sense for an offroad race. Rear engined, horribly underpowered, and some of their rooftop supplies seem completely random.”
“Almost like they don’t understand how Earth cars work. Good catch, John. Keep an eye out for these. Let’s move on; Now this next team calls themselves ‘Team Hillbilly Rollers…’”
They continued into the night, looking for any oddity that could single out each team as their target. Tomorrow- and for the next 2 months -they’d have to descretely investigate all these groups to see who may be hiding extraterrestrial origins while simultaneously competing in the race, and keeping their own true intentions a secret.
Zoey Stirling 
/
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1968 EAAC Hermes Mercurial A “Pound Sterling” 
