Chapter 3

  I've never felt so exposed. Even during the most intimate sessions during my dead career, when I was naked and they were screwing with me, I never felt as if I was exposing a part of me. As if I ought to be mindful of how I should be more protective of my body.

But that was because I had something behind me. A force of executive power. Something that they would not able to contend with.

  But now I'm stripped of that. I'm hollow inside. No direction. No driving force as to make sure I can vie to be better, to make myself the biggest asset. The favored one. But it's all gone. A sunken ship. Rotted and decaying under the weight of the water. And the ships shell breaking and tumbling into disarray, exposing the emptiness of its interior.

  Yeah, that's me.

  Sitting in the black van, I sit resolutely as a pole. I may be a frayed mess inside, but I don't show it. I've been hardwired not to. To be the perfect little example of something a male would want to eat up for dinner in his bed, regardless of how he swung. One look at me and he would think submissive, cute, tiny, and most of all delightful.

  But it made sense if you thought of it. Somebody with my body would have to be like that. Being short, I would be enticing to have in bed to eat. The program was designed to do that. Once you got through the initial years of basic training, such as shooting, academics, combat, and fieldwork, the fun stuff began. As Pinball called it.

  That's when each of the remaining cadets was grouped into three groups. Dominant, versatile, or fruits. All fitting names, except the last ones if you didn't understand the ideology behind it. I think the fruits got their name because they wanted us to be sweet, wet, and they especially wanted us to have the easy-to-prey-upon look. To be delectable.

  Most of the ones who got grouped into this group were females, but occasionally, there was somebody like me. A male. Small, tiny, innocent looking. When I wanted to be. But I fit the overall image. Standing below the average height of most teens my age, and with my petite stature, I was more than viable for that group. My legs are skinny and thin, though they have more than enough muscle to kick a skull in. Or my torso that has small round muscles. It's there, just tiny. Like the rest of me.

  Not to mention my apparent 'delicate' look, with my tiny nose and my thin and dark eyebrows that pull out in a straight line above my 'big' eyes. And my skin tone. My somewhat middle-eastern ancestry has given me a skin tone of fair and light bronze color. Like a good tan, but not too tanned. One that glows almost golden under the light. It all made me into the group of 'fruits'.  Yay for me. So I got trained to be the one who got the receiving end.

  And even now, the training refuses to wear off. Sit still and try not to take up as much space. Be quiet. Be shy. Always be well-mannered. I sit with my hands folded on my lap, not making any sound.

  I left two days ago from D.C. And then I went to some base in Arkansas, then had to stay there for a day. Then I flew out early this morning, and I landed at some other base. The guy who's driving me now picked me up and led me off the base, where he then proceeded to show me to this van. The guy in the passenger seat was eating a burger when I crawled in. I'm pretty sure my face had 'disgusting' splattered across it. But screw his feelings.

  After what I noticed and heard, I think I'm in Washington. But I don't know. They're driving me to a 'tiny town' where I'll be dropped off. Green pines pass by as we drive along the winding road that leads through the endless-looking forest we've been driving through for two hours now. It seems to be mid-day now, and the sun is hidden behind a cloudy sky. But the light-grey sky illuminates the endless green that passes by in a blur.

  I think that now I'm out of the system, maybe I'll do some of the stuff normal kids do. I grimace. Normal. It's so alien. I hate to think that I'm normal now. I can't get accustomed to it. I want to not think of myself that way. But I have to. It'll help too. I have to never tell anybody about my life. It's better if I start the habit of talking about myself as if I'm normal anyway.

  Normal...

  Nothing in my life has ever been normal. Ever since birth. My parents were agents as well who met on the field and one thing led to another and they got married and my mom pregnant. But less then a month after I was born, they crashed in an accident and died. National security agents die in a car crash. What a headline.

  But what was more headline-worthy was the fact that in his will, my 'father' stated how in the case of his death, he wanted me to be put into the program that would beat me and mold me into what I am today. 

  I remember when I was little, I would have this loathing inside me. How could they have done that? My father wanted this to happen and my mother who let it happen. I would hate and wish I was never born when I was little and when I lay in bed when I was breaking on the outside and inside. But over the years the black and smoldering hate turned numb and cold. Now I just think of them as strangers. If they were alive, I would never think to even look at them. I might have even killed them myself.

  Another hour of driving and we arrive at wherever we are. A tiny town with little slanted roofed buildings nestled in the foot of mountains that enclose the town. January snow still rests on the roofs, and the mountains are adorned in their winter wear, white and blue with a hint of bare tree color. The town itself is pretty small, especially compared to cities that I have witnessed around the globe.

  We drive through the little town for half an hour, passing people and buildings, houses and churches. and the occasional store, The town seems to be a place where the rich-and-no-worry type gathers. I notice as I drive through the town to our destination the brands of the cars. Most are worth a handsome bundle of money.

  Driving through more, we make it to a tiny building. An apartment complex. Probably only has eight or so rooms. And most seem to be empty. That or they're just quiet. Stopping the car, the driver, and the other guy step out. I do too.

  "This is where you'll be staying. The apartment building is relatively secure, and it's equipped with modern appliances," he says business-like. I nod mutely.

  Opening the trunk, the guy hefts out my bag. Weightless from the lack of things inside. He also pulls out another bag that I didn't notice. A black big one. Along with a silver briefcase.

  Leading the way to the building, the guy who talked walks up the stairs to a door on the second floor. The other guy follows behind me. Trudging into the apartment, he leads the way to a kitchen joined to a dining room, which leads to a hallway and a tiny living room.

Walking over to the dining room, he sets the briefcase on the table. The bags he sets on the floor. Sitting down, he opens the briefcase. I don't bother sitting down.

Stacks of fifty dollar bills line the inside. The brown strap I recognize from when I had to actually break into a back and steal a certain trinket just so that my target would come to talk to me. I killed him when he did. Conceited freak.

  Three by five. And stacked a hundred. $75,000. I mentally grin. That's a lot of cash. Not the most I've seen, but enough. The money does little to cheer me up. I feel the numbness creep back into my being. Like icy fingers, enclosing my ribcage.

  I don't show it.

  "This money is given to you as cash so that you may be able to pay for your daily necessities. This card also," says the man as he pulls out a tiny black card that shimmers in the light from the window, "is linked to an account that has the money that you have earned through your services. The amount will be disclosed to you when you first go to get cash at an ATM, or a bank. ATM is preferable, however, as the card is not trackable. When you scan the card, all video footage of the past thirty seconds and the next four minutes is erased, and instead replaced with a loop."

  I nod in understanding. Taking the briefcase, I close and set it to the side. Looking over at him, I talk for the first time since we met.

   "Anything else?" I ask flatly.

  I frankly do not want to be around these people. I just want them to leave and go away so I can be alone. Alone in my despair.

  "There is something else," he says.

   He pulls out a black tiny envelope and sets it on the table. He slides it across the table. I look at it, then at him before picking it up and opening it. A black phone slips out.

  "On the phone is the information of the school you will be attending," he says. I blink.

  "School?" I ask with no sense of questioning. I sound like a robot. An automaton.

  "Yes. You will be attending a school that is roughly four blocks away from here. It will be important for you to attend. If somebody like you were to be walking around without any form of occupation, such as student, the general public will grow suspicious."

  "I could eliminate all eyes," I say darkly. The man looks taken back. But he remains professional and indifferent.

  "That is expected to be said from somebody with your training and expertise," he says, "but it is important to not draw the eye of the public. Therefore, school is mandatory until you turn 18." 

  "And if I refuse?" I ask a bit defiantly. My delivery is cold and menacing. The man shifts in his seat.

  "The government may not hold its promise of 'letting you go' without a bit of intervention."

  I nod, but I know what he means. They could easily throw me in a psychiatric ward that is full of crazed patients. I dare not think of what it'll be like in there.

  "I'll keep that in mind," I say quietly. He nods, and then stands up.

  "Anything else that you require can be communicated via your phone. The line is secure, so no tapping will occur." He extends his hand, but I don't even move to acknowledge it.

   I walk off into the apartment. It's a decent size. Not a king's castle, but not a hobo's tent. It fits my needs. I walk past the living room and down the hall to a bedroom, and a bathroom too. The bed is furnished with sheets and warm blankets, and opening the closet, I see an assortment of clothes. My eye catches the leather jacket, and I reach out to touch it. The smooth texture of it is alluring.

  I pull it out and set it on the bed. You're my favorite. You're quiet and you don't talk. Walking back down the hall, I reach the foyer where the two of them are talking. They drop silent as they see me.

  "You may leave," I say simply and dismissively. They look at each other and something passes between them.

  The man who did all the talking turns to leave, but the other turns to me and opens his mouth.

    "Why are you mad?" he asks.

  I look at him for the first time in the couple hours that we've been together. The numbness of reality had somewhat pulled a veil over my eyes when I usually would have observed all physical features about anybody I see. Guess old habits, or old training dies hard.

  He looks to be maybe in his late twenties. Or his early thirties. His dirty blond hair is cut short and his strong jaw is getting a five-o'clock-shade. He looks questioningly at me with his brown eyes.

  I stand silent for a moment, not really acknowledging his question.

  "Hey," says the guy at the door to his partner, "let's go, We finished what we have to do."

  "I asked him a question," he replies.

  "I don't care! He's had enough already! I'm telling you we're leaving!"

  "Not until I get an answer!" says the dirty blond. He turns back to me, waiting for me to talk.

  "What do you want?" I say flatly. But it comes out as condescending and strained. Ready to snap.

  "Why are you like this? Shouldn't you be happier? You get to have a normal life now," he says.

  I've been trained to be unreadable. Undetectable. Untraceable. Nothing shows on my face that is internal. But what breaks it all is the single word.

  Normal.

  I snarl. My face contorting from the placid and sad look into a mask of hate and rage.

  "Happier? I should be happier? Over the fact I am like you now?" I ask, my voice like a whip. Slapping him across his face. He clearly was not expecting this answer from me, but he manages to reply.

  "Well, not like me. But like other kids your age. Somebody that's a kid. I'm no expert, and I haven't read your file, but you look as if you're-"

  "Let me put it out for you," I say as I shut him up, "I have worked since the time I could walk to acquire what I had. The title, the rank, the honor. But it got stripped from me in the blink of an eye. For no good reason. And I can't accept it. But for somebody like you, a normal person, it won't be understandable. It's just something that your lame-ass brain can't possibly understand. 

  "I wanted that job! I wanted to be there! I wanted to die there! That would have been the perfect way for my life to end. In the mission. In battle," I say as I step up to him and grab his collar. He stands taller than me, but he seems to shrink beneath my angered gaze. His face is white, the blood drained from the skin.

  "But now it's all gone. Shattered glass. Wasted bullets. Holes in the kevlar. All I am, all that I was, it's all gone. And maybe for you, you can be something. An officer or ensign, whichever you are, but for me, I'm nothing. The honor of my name brought low and buried! All the built-up years of success dashed upon the rocks! So excuse me if I'm not happy when you say I get to be NORMAL!!" I roar, shoving him away.

   He stumbles and lands on his butt, looking up at me. With fear, his eyes wide. The other man also is aghast and looking at him, I see his face mirrors the one of the man on the floor.

  They ought to know how I feel. They asked. I turn and storm away into the other room. I don't care if he leaves or not. I just don't want to see anybody right now.

  But if they linger, I'll kill them.

........................................

  The silence of the apartment presses in. I've sat here for quite some time now. Maybe two or three hours. I think the two of them left.

  After I stormed off to the bedroom, I burrowed into the closest. I sat in the darkness, with the smell of recently washed clothes and a somewhat pressing feeling from the weight of them. It holds me down and keeps me down from getting lost in the mind's maze. And just the sound of my breathing and heartbeat.

  Darkness can only give so much comfort. Once the heavy emptiness becomes unbearable, it begins to suffocate and strangle me. Kicking open the closet door, I crawl out of the clinging shadows of the tiny closet. The air from the bedroom seems less stiff, it's that possible.

  Getting off my knees, I walk out of the room and make my way to the living room. A nice small couch sits on a white fluffy carpet. I low grey glass coffee table sits in front of the couch, and a medium-sized tv is on the wall. Not that I'll be watching anything. I'd rather do something else. Like bury a knife in the politician who did this to me. Gut his sorry body and bathe in his blood.

  I would love to do that. But that's not who I am...

  Sitting down on the couch, I notice the little piece of paper on the coffee table. Reaching for it, I grab it and see something written on it.

  I know you're mad, but please try to get along with your life. I'm pretty sure things will get better for you. Call us when you need anything. We're here to help.

  -Mr. Colt

  P.S. I'm the guy you pushed to the floor. I forgive you.

  I scowl and crunch the paper up. Throwing it into the corner, I think of how I'll have to pick it up later. But who cares? For now, I'm just venting. I don't need anybody's mercy. Or pity. Let me be by myself. I can deal with it.

  It's what I am.