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Ever had that feeling, that you weren't living your life the way you wanted it to be? That feeling like.. There was more to your life than others were letting onto? Like you were really somewhere out there just waiting to be found?
I know I have.
I never really understood how I came to be what I am today, or where I came from for that matter; I just knew that I was different, and I didn't fit in.
My life never really had been 'normal,' as some like to call it... I was only sixteen when I killed for the first time...
They congratulated me.
Actually... they encouraged me. Trained me. Honed my abilities to their maximum potential, until I was perfect and Elite, above all the rest... it was the only life I knew.
But that was the thing.. I only knew what I had learned; I remembered nothing. Did I have a family? Friends? Any sort of life prior to this deplorable existence? Those around me, had something called a 'childhood,'... but I couldn't even remember my own birth, much less this... "family." Prior to waking up in that room, there was no memory. And for a while... it didn't bother me.
I didn't know what they'd done to me, and as long as I was getting paid, it didn't matter. I was what you would call a 'happy worker,' always ready and willing to do my job without any complaints. Killing was what I did best. In reality.. It was the only thing I knew how to do... well.
I never really was what you'd call a 'people person,' I'll admit, I wanted to kill every last one of my co-workers... with the exception of one.
Robby was everything I really could have lived without: Happy, cheerful, bright eyed... yet there was a dark side to him, and that side, I actually got along with. Perhaps it was because he treated me as an individual, instead of a monster...
I respected him for that. He saw people for who they were on the inside, not the mask that they pretended to be. That's probably why he wasn't ever terribly intimidated by DeKarte. I never really understood the guy... but we became good friends, over the next year or so that followed my awakening... apparently, he was one of my mechanics. We talked quite often, about work, weapons, missions... until one day, he got off topic. I asked him about his family, then he asked about mine. When I told him that I couldn't remember, he fell silent.
"That's right.. I should have remembered that..," I remember him saying. What was soon to follow, I wish I could have turned back time and told him to stop, but he told me of the memory flushes... the experiments, everything that had happened... how they had found me in the desert on my deathbed, and how DeKarte was rubbing his hands excitedly when he had found out that we weren't human... I probably would have been better off not knowing about it.
I became angry, bitter, more hostile. I wanted revenge so badly. DeKarte sensed it when I started rebelling against orders; he knew that I had found out. To prevent myself from losing any more of my memory, I started logging journal entries in leather-bound books, much like the one you're holding in your hands, and left them in Robby's care in his apartment, far from reach of any CIA or FBI officers... I never actually remembered the occurrences in those books: it all seemed like a fairy tale to me, not real, even though I knew it was. Though it did me some good for a while, having a written record of everything they did to me... eventually, I was cut off.
I was ordered to kill him. Exactly what he had done, I don't know, but I wasn't about to go and eliminate my only source of sanity, and the only person to have ever showed me compassion, and I made it clear to my superiors that it wasn't going to happen..
But-
It did.
How I wish so badly that I could turn back time and undo what I did that day.. I had so many opportunities to spare his life.. But he just knelt before me, with a wooden box in hand, reaching out to hand it over to me, and that was when I pulled the trigger. His heart stopped, his body wilted, and as the color drained from his face, so did his spirit flee from his cold, dead body, as I left him there, bleeding, without a single emotion in my head and what was left of my frozen-over heart. I had no idea of what I'd just done until I opened that box one day, after the mission, and started reading those twenty or thirty books inside...
I cried when I realized what I'd done, horrified, to say the least. For you see, at the time, I was not consciously aware of what I was doing, having come fresh off a memory flush yet again. Robby was gone... killed by the hand of one that he had trusted with his very own life.
Again I was alone... without anyone that I could count on.. Though I didn't mind it. Peace.. Solitude... those were something I got a lot of in my line of work, and over the course of my life. Guess that's just the life I was bound to live.. A lone wolf, so to speak.. Though... mercifully,... fate had decided I was not to walk this path alone.
... but was that really such a good thing?
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