Retention

"So…start from the beginning."

"I'm tired of the beginning."

"Start there anyway."

"The name I have been given is Samuel. I was adopted three years ago. When I was adopted, I had strong and complete amnesia. About five months ago I started to remember."

"Remember what, Sam?"

"Everything."

The therapist sighed, leaning back in his chair. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he concentrated on the path he would now retrace with Samuel. A common patient, Sam was growing more hostile the further they traveled into his past. It was strange but not uncommon. The therapist readjusted his glasses, looking back across the room to Samuel, sitting in the chair opposite him. Sam was a young man, barely twenty, but rather small for his age. His hair was dark, with one light strand draping over his dull eyes. He always wore his red jacket, though it was worn and running the end of its use.

"What does that mean, Sam?"

"I remember who I am, who I used to be."

"Enlighten me."

"Why?"

"You're in therapy, Samuel. You're parents worry about you, about these so-called memories you're having."

"They are memories. I'm sure of it."

"Are you sure they aren't dreams? Or even false memories you created in order to fill the need of lacking memories?"

Samuel smiled, sitting up straight and placing his hands on his lap. He nodded, acknowledging the previous statement. Something about the smile made the therapist uneasy. It was crocked like a villain's. It was almost that of a cunning schemer. Nonetheless, the therapist kept calm, sitting up as well, mimicking Samuel with hands on his lap.

"I know these memories are true, doctor. I know. I know this because, I've begun to notice the people from my memory."

"Yes, you've said this," the therapist quickly flipped through his notes. "You said that these people are out to get you. Why?"

"Because I have what they want."

"Which is?"

"The key." The smile grew more cunning, like a secret being withheld.

"The key to what?"

"The get back to normal."

"Normal?"

"You see, doctor," Sam hummed, getting to his feet. "Over these past weeks, I've come to a solid point."

Sam kneeled beside the doctor, smiling as he did. The therapist looked at him cautiously. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. He moved for the emergency button on the desk to alert the security guards. Something pinched against his skin, and he fell limp. Sam nodded, sitting beside him, twirling a syringe.

"I don't trust you, doctor. I never have," nodded Sam, leaning back. "Don't worry. Simple paralytic. Harmless in small doses. You should still be able to speak, doctor."

"Why…"

"I told you. I don't trust you."

"Why…"

Sam frowned, near glaring at the doctor. Then he smiled again, getting to his feet. He stood in the doorway, throwing the syringe in the trashcan. He glanced back at the doctor, stilling smiling.

"Why, doctor? Because, I have remembered before you have. You see, you and I are in the same problem. We are the same species, trapped in this form. We are not what we seem."

"What are we then…"

"The correct question would be who are we, and I know exactly who we are, doctor. I am Starscream, second in command of the Decepticons for a short time. As for you, doctor…" Sam stopped, smile widening. "You are Knock out."