“An evac van is waiting for you."
I missed one of the cameras. There's one in the far-left corner of the warehouse. It's hidden well. But. I should have seen it. Maybe I did. I don't remember.
I don't remember.
I. Don't. Remember.
Raising my gun, I shoot the camera. That was my last bullet. I saved it. One last bullet for one last camera.
"Agent Jack, remove yourself from the building."
Why can't I. Why can't. Why.
The smell iswhatpropels me to leave in the end.
I got used to it. The smell. In the grey room. And outside it. But I don't like it. I don't need to stay in the warehouse, so I don't.
Iwalk outof the warehouse that's painted red and stinking of death. It's easier than it should be. It always is. This time should be different, though. I know it should be. I don't remember why I'm here or how. But I know it matters. I know the loss of memory is important.
That should make it harder to walk away. It doesn't.
I'm in a mental haze, lost inside my own head. I'm trying to find my way back, but. I can't stay in the warehouse and do that. I can't make sense out of aworld soloud and bright all around me.
When I get outside, there's a nondescript black van waiting as promised. Three OI guards are also waiting in the back of the van. They open the doors for me, and I slip inside. All of them are suited up in body armour. I sit down on a bench seat.
I'm wary of the guards. But. That's just business as usual. They all look wary of me. Again, there's nothing strange about that. Most of the OI agents and guards look at me like I'm one tick of the clock away from murdering them. As if they aren't all professional killers. Just because I started young, I'm a novelty. They seem a bit more on edge than usual, though. Cowards.
I don't look at them. I don't want to, and I don't need to.
The van starts up and drives away from the warehouse. Throughout the journey to wherever we're going, I can feel them staring at me. That is a bit off. They don't usually stare. Normally, they aren't brave enough for it. If Dan were here, he'd have already asked them what their fucking problem is, and do they need a cuddle because he's sellingthem for a fiver each.
I don't talk to them. The guards. They just stare and stare and stare. I could kill them all. If I wanted. I don't. I don't want anything but Dan, and that's never going to be an option for me again.
My neck prickles where the needle sank in. It doesn't hurt so much as it feels cold and uncomfortable. I resist the urge to touch it. I can't do that. Not with the guards watching me the way they are.
They did something. They did something to me in that room. Whatever was in the syringe, whatever the bluedrugwas, it stole time from me.
I try to push at the wall blocking me from my memories, but there's no wall to push. There's just a gaping hole of nothing. I can't push nothing. I can't fight nothing. I can't dig through and find what isn't there. I don't even know how long it's been since the second grey room. Or the first. Dan could have been dead for months.
When we arrive at our destination, I don't wait for the guards to give me orders. Technically, despite my age, I outrank them.That doesn't give me power over them. It just means they don't have much power over me either.
I jump out of the van, finding myself in a familiar parking garage. I've been here countless times before. We’re in England. I was injected with the blue drug in a facility based in Romania. At least that gives mesomeidea of how long I've been out.
I can be almost glad Dan is dead because he would hate this. He would hate them for messing with his head, experimenting on him, taking more from us than they already have. I wish I could find some relief in it.
But that would be a lie. I'd rather he was here, suffering it all with me. It's a selfish feeling, I know. But the love I have for my brother has never been anythingother thandesperate and terrible. Our lives didn'tpermit ustobe kind, not even to each other.
One of my handlers is waiting for me on the far side of the parking garage. I walk towards him, not bothering to look back at the guards as they exit the van.This handler'sname is Warner. He's a tall white man in his mid-thirties who has a bald head and thickly muscled arms. He watches me like I'm late, and he gottired of waiting for me three hours ago. That’s just how Warner is. Tired of people. Tired of them all. He's the one handler who never rose to any of Dan’s baiting.
Warner is not a nice man. He's a pragmatic one.He would shoot me in the head without hesitation if he was ordered to do so. But he's one of the few handlers Dan and I ever had who would only do itifhe was ordered to. That may not sound like much, but it meant feeling a little bit less like a dangerous animal in a zoo when we were on a mission with him.
I'm not an animal. I'm something far worse. A weapon. Everything I am is what they forged me into. There's not a single thing in me thatwasn't putthere to hurt other people as effectively as possible.
Even what I feel—felt—feel for my brother was, at least partly, manufactured by them as a way to blackmail me into doing their bidding.
OI is fully aware of Warner's indifference towards his agents. They know he's less cruel than most. If they've chosen him to meet me here, then they were probably expecting some sort of volatile reaction to whatever it is they did to me. Maybe they thought I would try to run or attack other OI agents in a fit of confusion or fear. Warner was chosen for the express purpose ofstemming any such behaviour.
I've lost time. OI has found a way to take time away from me. Their assumption that I would lose it after getting my mind back should have been correct.
