Cassian sat in the confines of his apartment.
His recent actions weighed heavily on his mind. Kingston was dead, and with it came unforeseen opportunities.
His phone turned on, and he rechecked the marketplace, ensuring that each order was accurate and each alias secure. Not long ago, he had purchased various items to craft something new—all while ensuring things wouldn't trace back to him.
News of Kingston's demise would spread through the underbelly of the city, emboldening other rebel factions.
Then there was Cassian. In this world, his name could become both revered and reviled—either a rallying cry or a target.
What he understood was that he needed an alibi, something to shield himself from public scrutiny. And he knew exactly what to do.
Lying on the table was a notebook, crammed with sketches, notes, and ideas. The thought that had come to him was that he needed a new identity—one that could be recognized.
The first step toward that transformation was a mask—a literal shield between him and the world.
A knock on the door came. It was his packages, each of them having been acquired from the deep web. It was illegal to order from there, but he had no choice.
He gathered the materials he had spent the last few days sourcing under various aliases and IPs. As he laid everything out on the table, he mentally reviewed the steps.
The tools were simple and straightforward—scissors, a knife, a hot glue gun, a paintbrush, and sandpaper—everything he needed to make this creation.
Metal and craft foam would also provide a lightweight option. The foam itself would be comfortable for extended wear.
First, he found the mask template on his laptop, leaning closer to ensure the pattern would match his vision. He printed it out and carefully cut it into pieces, tracing the design onto the craft foam.
With a few well-placed snips, he had the base—an imperfect shape that would soon transform into something much more.
Next came the heating process.
With a heat gun on low, he warmed the foam, bringing it to just the right temperature—enough to mold but not so hot it would lose its integrity. Carefully, he shaped the mask into a curve that would comfortably fit against the contours of his face.
As he worked, his mind wandered on the name he would need to don. The identity would not just be a mask; it would encompass mystique.
Once the base was prepared, he moved on to the details.
Using small pieces of metallic foam, he fashioned raised areas and additional features, layering them until a visage began to emerge.
With the mask ready, he set aside his tools and moved outside for the next task—the paint.
He had chosen black spray paint as the base color, the classic choice for a hidden identity.
Spraying the first coat wasn't at all hard; it was as if the darkness was swallowing the mask whole—quite the allegory.
Waiting patiently for it to dry, he decided to ponder what name he would use. Unsuccessful, he returned to his work.
He applied a second coat, ensuring every inch was covered, before returning indoors. Once the mask was dry, he pulled out the silver and gold metallic paints he had selected for embellishments.
With the brush, he carefully added strokes of gold, allowing the trims to be captured in the light.
When he finished painting, he admired his work. The combination of black, gold, and silver looked quite alluring and intimidating. This was indeed an interesting mask, one that would serve its purpose well.
Yet there was still one last step left.
Returning to his workspace, he brought out the elastic bands and prepared to attach them.
He thought of how critical the fit would be; the mask needed to be snug but comfortable if he were to wear it during crucial moments.
He secured the straps on either side, pleased with the design. He also decided to add a mechanical Velcro for a more adjustable fit, ensuring it wouldn't slip off during tense encounters.
One could almost equate this mask to a full-face motorcycle mask. Only sharper with an automatic adjustable feature and material used to deflect bullets.
With the initial work complete, he understood that he needed to test the mask. He set it over his face and felt that it had fit perfectly, molding to his features as though it had been designed solely for him.
Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he remained stoic. While the mask did make it seem like he had authority, he didn't have any mystery.
Bandits were powerful, so powerful that those who could manipulate fire could probably scorch him to death. Then there were other Bandits with convoluted powers that might see through the mask.
Its design was aesthetically captivating, but it needed additional functionality to protect his identity from advanced security systems, such as x-ray vision.
That's why Cassian was prepared.
Delving into items he took from AU's engineering department, he found specially coated materials used in military applications.
He set out to modify his mask by integrating a layer of carbon fiber fabric within the foam. This material was known for its durability and for its aptitude to block certain forms of radiation.
Carefully, he cut out a section of the fabric and adhered it to the inside of the mask, ensuring it lined every contour of his creation, transforming it into a barrier against prying eyes intent on unveiling his true identity.
To bolster this layer further, he devised a system inspired by stealth technology utilized in modern aircraft, where the outer layer could minimally deflect radiation.
He applied a thin coat of conductive paint—a mix of graphite and resin—over the exterior of the mask, providing not only a sleek finish but also enhancing its ability to disperse electronic signals.
Once dry, he could connect small copper wires to tiny rechargeable batteries he had sourced, creating a low-level electric field around the mask. The field would serve as an additional deterrent, effectively disrupting any scanning devices that approached.
But he wasn't done yet.
He attached small nodes along the edges and tested the flow of electricity, watching as the lights on the mask briefly turned on and off, a signal that his design was functional.
Now, with the mask not only concealing his face but also thwarting detection, he was confident in his clandestine persona.
He felt like a different man—devoid of scrutiny and public imagery. It was frightening to think what he had just created. And there was one thing missing: a name.
Not able to think of anything right now, he carefully removed the mask, storing it safely nearby.
But now, he needed to prepare himself for the next phase.
As he mulled over the creation of his new identity, he decided to call Nia—she would be crucial for what lay ahead. Pulling out his phone, he dialed her number and waited as the line connected.
"Nia…" he greeted in a monotone voice. "I need you to meet me at the location I'm about to send you. Just you…"
"What's this about?" she asked, feeling worried.
Abruptly, he ended the call, leaving her hanging. Back on her end, she stared at her phone in frustration.
"Did he just hang up on me?!" she exclaimed, annoyed at his sudden dismissal. She became angry as she contemplated what he could possibly want.
After several minutes of waiting and worry, the two met in a secluded park.
Nia stood alone, feeling off because of how dark it was. Suddenly, she caught sight of a shadowy figure approaching through the gloom, draped in black, with a mask concealing his face.
As the silhouette drew closer, she felt agitation.
The figure paused and slowly removed the mask with a swift, mechanical whir, revealing Cassian beneath.
The removal adjusted his hair as if wind was gradually blowing on it, making his features almost accentuated.
"You didn't have to come at me like that, you know!" she shouted, pulse racing. "You looked like some sort of walking shade that scared me half to death!"
He remained silent, only smirking at her comment. It wasn't every day she would see him give confident grins like that.
"What's wrong?" she asked, still trying to steady her breath.
Little did she know, the name he had been trying to think of had finally come.