Hey!
I've had this idea in my head for a while. It's been gnawing at me :)
But recently, I was talking to TheDarkMaiden 27 and we were planning to do a little Christmas special.
But I started writing, and I couldn't stop when I noticed that something else was coming out.
Here's the result, see if you like it at all!
"MOM! DAD!" Private jumped cheerfully on his parents' bed with his sister, Corporal.
"Honey, what the..." Their mother mumbled sleepily, sitting up.
"IT'S CHRISTMAS! IT'S CHRISTMAS!" Private shouted, a big grin on his face.
"Well, then." She laughed, grabbing the kids and restraining them.
"Just you wait, I'm not going to let you open those presents, never ever! I'm the nasty Grinch who's come to take Christmas away."
The kids tried to wriggle out of her grasp. Corporal, who was by this time maybe twelve and believed she was just a bit too old for this (which didn't stop her from squealing and kicking along with Private, who was around ten), freed herself first and tried to sneak away to take a peek at Private's presents before he did.
"Not today, sis!" The boy shouted, grabbing her mid-back-length brown ponytail, causing her glasses to slip off of her dark eyes.
Corporal smirked, grabbing his arm and pressing on a special place to make him let go. "Stop me." She challenged, breaking into a run across the floor of their suburban home.
Private cheered, freeing himself from his mom's grasp and chasing after his sister, his brown bangs flopping in his eyes.
Then…
What then?
Private opened his eyes, frustrated. It had been six months since Skipper and the others had found him half-dead on their doorstep.
His memory was gone. He remembered… he remembered his name… his title? He couldn't tell.
His life came to him in short flashes.
Like that one.
He placed his head in his hands, trying to remember any details.
Corporal. He remembered his sister's name. Title. Either one. It was the single word that popped into his head whenever he tried to picture her.
Her face… her face was out of focus. He could see her clothes. A green and blue jumper over a black shirt. Her glasses. Her ponytail.
But not her face.
Now that he thought about it, he didn't know what he looked like.
It was like whenever he looked in the mirror, there was something blocking him from focusing on his face.
Something blocking him from focusing on any face.
Any face? He could see two faces. Kowalski, and Skipper. Two operatives. Like him.
Except that he knew what they looked like.
Them and nobody else. When he looked at someone, he saw a body. Hair. Clothes. But he couldn't see faces, expressions. Sometimes he would think he was crazy.
He punched his pillow in aggravation. What was wrong with him?
He heard someone come in and saw an arm on his shoulder. It was Kowalski.
Kowalski was a man in his late twenties, with blonde hair that looked like it had never been brushed and dark green eyes, wearing a long, white lab coat, and a mysterious streak of smoke on his cheek. Most likely from the last experiment that literally blew up in his face. He was very tall- Private estimated him to be six foot four, or so.
"How did you-" he started. His "quarters" (also known as bedroom) in the government institute where the scientist worked (and Private lived) was supposed to be under lock and key.
But then again, this was Kowalski they were talking about. The genius who designed the entire security system.
It was him, actually, and Skipper (whose real name Private didn't know) who had managed to get Private a place to stay in the NYC Institute of Military Experiments, under the pretext that studying his memory loss would be beneficial for Kowalski's studies, as lead researcher in the NIME squad.
NIME. Nime. The word told Private something more, but he didn't know what.
Just another of the many things he was hiding from himself.
"I know how hard it is for you." He informed the boy. "Well… I don't, actually. But I've done some studies and I know how hard it's been for the lab rats to recollect…"
Private managed a small smile.
"Thanks… I think." He could never be sure whether Kowalski was joking around or dead serious.
Kowalski smiled. Joke, then.
Through these six months he had become something of a brother to Private and he appreciated it beyond measure.
"Skipper said he wanted to see you. Wouldn't tell me anything until I brought you." Kowalski raised his eyebrow meaningly. "I know him well enough to know he's found something."
Private snapped to alert. He dragged himself off the bed where he had been trying to remember anything.
"D'you think…?" he started, suddenly short of breath.
"Very much so. Come on. And don't forget your uniform." He gestured to a barely-used military uniform handing on the door to the wardrobe.
Technically, he was supposed to wear it at all times like the other "operatives," or, in his case, the base's only "junior operative."
Even Kowalski had on a pair of camo pants under his lab coat.
"C'mon, Kowalski…" he groaned, mispronouncing it "K'walski" on purpose because he had come to know that that was one of the few things that annoyed him more than not being told something important.
"Skipper's orders." The older man raised an eyebrow, reaching toward the top of the simple wardrobe and throwing the outfit at him.
Still muttering under his breath, Private pulled it on. He didn't like it- it was rough, and rubbed against his skin, but even that couldn't stifle his growing excitement.
As soon as he pulled it on, Kowalski motioned with his head for him to hurry. Private practically had to jog to keep up with his long steps as they hurried down the labyrinth of corridors and staircases, pausing every so often for Kowalski to "beep" them through a door.
Just when Private had just about lost every sense of where he was, Kowalski pushed open another door to reveal a small office, plain and Spartan. Private looked around. He had never been in Skipper's quarters before.
"There you are." A voice greeted them. Private stood at attention and Kowalski followed suit, faced with none other than Skipper himself.
Skipper was a tall man, though not as tall as Kowalski, but well built. He had a black buzz cut and a military general's uniform and a stern, emotionless face, which didn't match his eyes.
His eyes were always alive with emotion, and in the six months Private had known him, he realized that it was the only way to tell what he was thinking.
Private enjoyed being in here, with the two people he could fully see.
It almost felt like being normal.
If only, if only his memories weren't blank.
"Yes, sir! Reporting!" Kowalski said, a note of sarcasm in his voice. He and Skipper seemed to have known each other since New York was founded, and been best friends ever since. At least, that was what Private thought.
"Well, soldier, here's the thing. We've discovered a trail that may lead us to finding out your true identity. I need you to get up to your Q, grab everything that belongs to you and clear out. Meet me here in ten minutes. Dismissed."
Excitement pulsing in his veins, Private jumped up and dashed back upstairs.
Kowalski feels sick at what is about to happen next.
It always happens this way.
Six months, then a false trail. Then it all starts over. A loop.
A loop that makes him doubt whether he isn't worse than the terrorists they track.
"How many more times, Skipper?"he whispers, placing his head in his hands. "How many more times do I need to play the part?"
"I don't know. As much as it takes for you to finish your studies. You tell me."
"I can't… Every time, he remembers more. Every time, he comes closer to the truth. And it's killing him."
"You always wipe him again when it happens. It's part of the cycle."
"But he never knows… he never really knows. And I think that the wipes are getting less and less effective. And there are side effects."
"Unforeseen side effects?"
"Side effects I should have foreseen. I was so stupid… He's suffering. I see it. It's had a more profound effect on him than I could ever imagine. The first time, he couldn't remember his own face. Normal for amnesia victims. But now… it seems to have blocked something in his head. It's been getting worse. He can't see most faces. I'm not sure if he can see any.
I… I just don't know how much more he can take. I don't know if I can keep playing the part, knowing it's my fault."
"You have to, soldier. It's not any easier for me. You just have to tell yourself it's one for many. One boy, one guinea pig, for all of humanity. ALL OF HUMANITY, CONDEMN IT!" Skipper's voice rises and he stops short, forgetting for a moment his office has soundproof walls.
"Then why is it so hard?" Kowalski whispers.
