Jared Rollins, undercover spy

John Anderson was the agent's civilian identity, though it seemed to fit him more than his real name, Jared Rollins. Perhaps because John’s world, with its endless stream of spreadsheets and morning commutes, demanded a different kind of courage than Jared’s.

The courage to be ordinary.

Where Jared commanded every room he entered, John mastered the art of blending in. At the office, he balanced ledgers with the same precision Jared used to disarm bombs. In a weird way, there was an unexpected satisfaction in maintaining order through numbers rather than ****. Girls might look Jared’s way, but as John, he noticed the small kindnesses of his coworkers. Whether it be small talk while sharing coffee or a sympathetic smile during late-night deadlines.

Some days, inhabiting John’s life felt like the more challenging assignment. A mission, no matter how dangerous, had clear parameters: objectives to achieve, threats to neutralize, assets to protect. But civilian choices weren’t always clear and the effects lingered. A declined lunch invitation could alter office dynamics for months. A missed deadline could impact dozens of lives in subtle ways. Each morning conversation and casual interaction wove itself into a web of consequences that never quite faded.

Jared excelled at split-second decisions - which wire to cut, when to trust an informant, how to escape a burning building. But John’s world demanded patience, routine, and a different kind of instinct. The kind that told you when a coworker's cheerful greeting masked personal troubles, or when to step back and let others take credit for a project's success.

These thoughts about his dual existence had been weighing on him more heavily lately as he waited on the subway platform. It was almost as if the carefully maintained barrier between his two lives was about to be tested. And today, the delicate balance between John and Jared (and the world at large) was about to shatter.

It started with a crack.

Specifically, a crack in reality.