Clarinet Carrier

Forged from the very essence of Ferris’s opening gambit, the Clarinet Carrier coalesced when his recorded snoring loop first fooled his parents. The lingering spirit of that perfect deception, mixed with the spring morning’s rebellious energy and a discarded reed, took form in the woods near Dragonfly. It’s said the entity still hums with the tinny, synthesized cadence of a well-planned skip day, a permanent echo of the scheme that started it all.

The Carrier emits a soft, golden haze that warps light and sound within a small radius. It can cast a shimmering, translucent double of the bearer going through mundane motions—reading, sleeping, fake-coughing. Simultaneously, it generates localized ambient noise: a ticking clock, pages turning, or the iconic computerized snore. The illusions are flawless from a distance but dissolve into static and comic book dot patterns if inspected too closely. The entity itself feels cool and smooth, like polished plastic, and vibrates with a gentle, rhythmic pulse.

A master of misdirection, the Clarinet Carrier is the Syndicate’s chief architect of plausible deniability. It holds the line between getting caught and getting away with it, creating the crucial buffer of time and doubt that allows for audacious plays. Without it, the heist would be over before the first borrowed disc is even thrown.