The Mission
Chapter one - Before
My name is Vincent Keller. The voice told me. I woke up in a hospital bed; at least it felt like a hospital bed. That must have been some accident to end up tied to a bed in God knows where. Wait, the big question is who the hell was I?
When I first heard the disembodied voice piped through speakers, I ranted and raved, thrashing against the restraints demanding answers. Nothing. Finally, I gave up the struggle, exhausted, alone and still tied.
That first day, the voice was my only companion. At least he explained why the restraints, the reason I was still alive and why I no longer had a memory. A million questions were drumming in my head but I couldn't formulate one verbally, so just listened. He told me that I was in "boot camp" and would become a unique soldier working for the good guys. My task would be to carry out orders without question; the answers were above my pay grade. I would be working for a special op unit, although he never explained who they were. The restraints would come off as soon as I surrendered and accepted my mission.
When it became obvious that struggling wasn't going anywhere, I gave up. Here was a living voice; I listened with rapt attention hoping he would give me some answers to who I was. The memory loss wasn't from some freak accident; it was a drug induced "wipe" for my own welfare and for the good of the mission I was handpicked to accomplish. The drugs they injected me with made me powerful in new unimaginable ways. I was transformed and would have super senses. The voice called me a "beast" with animal senses that would take over. I would learn to control all of the newfound powers, including the beast. But the voice would not provide answers to my identity other than my name.
This sort of power wasn't known to most of the world, the research was top secret. If it were leaked, there were international cartels that would pay a fortune to own a beast. To keep the world and me safe, I must only listen to the voice of command, this voice, this operation. They provided me with this special power so they could command my missions. I was one of them, their lieutenant. They would save the world and I was their weapon. It was all bullshit, but they were brainwashing me with the aid of more drugs. I knew it but powerless against it.
Strangely while lying on the bed, I could conjure up all sorts of memories, just not mine. The more I tried to recall, to envision thoughts of friends, family, anything, the more my head pounded. The thoughts became more shadowy and obscure until there was nothing; not a word, not a conversation, not a boyhood memory. Yet, they felt so real, I wanted to hold onto them but they were like smoke, disappearing before they could be grasped. Nothing left but a roaring headache. Current events, music, the city, all was right there. It was like a road map, nothing personal, just streets with names, and history on a TV, not lived. I felt a sense of great loss but for what, I didn't know.
Finally, a real person appeared. A military type, about my age. Up until this guy entered my room, my interaction was with people in hazmat type gear and the voice. Christ, was I contagious? No, I didn't feel like a patient. No monitors, no dripping bags of meds, nothing but restraints. The hazmat folks always carried a gun with them. They removed restraints so I could eat, shower, and exercise, but at gunpoint. They injected me with drugs that coursed through my body like fire, leaving me panting and disoriented. Those suits were protecting their identity, not their health. The gun was to protect their health.
While I felt the need throbbing through my veins, I made no attempt to overpower them. Even though I somehow knew I could kill any one of them in a second, it would have been pointless. I was in a cell with no visible means of escape. Believe me I searched, using all of my senses to find the smallest mistake in the armored room. However, it was an impenetrable box. Clinical, antiseptic and escape proof.
So this guy showed up, untied me, meaning something important was about to happen. He was armed, but holstered. Maybe they realized that I wasn't going on a rampage. I had been there for weeks or longer, but had no way of keeping track so it could have been much longer. I was a model prisoner, or rather a soldier, after those initial violent outbursts. Over time, I understood there was no one out there waiting for me, there was only the voice. And now the military standing in front of me.
He introduced himself as Ron. He was a specialist working in covert operations and would train me in special ops. He would help me to understand and utilize my unique powers. I did feel powerful, but this wasn't only because of some new drug. While no memory emerged, I felt right at home with the heightened sense of smell, hearing and eyesight. Much more was just below the surface. It was churning inside me, like some great animal pacing in a cage. It was cunning, it was lethal, it was stealthy. It was lying in wait. This was second nature to me, part of my being, not a memory or a new power to learn.
How Ron knew I wouldn't kill him was beyond me. I was tempted, but to what end? There was nowhere to go, I didn't know anyone who could help me and this was obviously a maximum-security institution. I was the only inmate surrounded by an entire staff of professionals with weapons, electric fences and concertina wire. Since there was no escape, killing him would have brought a ton of hurt down on me. The thought of killing him didn't bother me nearly as much as the ramifications of doing the deed. Well, leave that to dwell on another time. Just like the hazmat team, his life was spared because it was the smart thing to do.
No physical training was needed. Incredibly, even being contained in a small cell day after day, I was in excellent, robust health and could spring into action with impossible speed. The training Ron gave was technical. When he handed me an assault rifle, it felt right at home. I could read satellite images, diagrams of buildings, disarm a bomb. A few days with Ron and I was up to speed. Ron said, "see ya" and was gone. My only human contact vanished with a salute and a good luck. I never saw him again.
At least it was no longer necessary for restraints. Suddenly, I was the honored guest. New clothes, shoes, haircut. I was given an address that would be my home and my base of operation. There I would be provided with a wardrobe, groceries, a bank account, secure satellite phone, a laptop computer and instructions for my missions.
I was free. But not. Whatever else, I was only an operative who had been thoroughly, successfully brainwashed by drugs and the voice. I could walk around the city, but had no free will. My life was linked to the voice on the phone. He dictated every move. When to sleep, where to travel, who to converse with, my life was programmed by him. I didn't even put up resistance. I just followed the orders as they were phoned to me. Questions were not to be asked. Just follow orders. I had no past and didn't anticipate a future. I loved no one and no one loved me, so there was nothing else, just the mission and the voice.
Honestly, that made life easier, no thinking, no memories, no remorse. The voice provided a great pad to retreat to, a houseboat. Not just a houseboat but one that suited my tastes perfectly. How could they have picked such an ideal place? Of course, they knew me "before." I wasn't just a random pulled off the street, I was handpicked. This place was spotless with simple furnishings; just about perfect. But nothing personal in the space. No clues here about who I may have been, no evidence of friendships or lovers. Never mind. No questions.
The mission was laid out before me. I was to kill the mastermind of an organization that wanted to rule the world by making beasts to sell to the highest bidder. Killing the head of the organization would prevent chaos, murder and more beasts. I didn't question the killing of some CEO I never heard of, it didn't bother me one bit. Maybe it should have, and maybe it would have in my former life, but that is why my memories were wiped. No grappling with conscience. I didn't have one. I was coolly and logically laying out my plans to kill. I knew about beasts and the havoc they caused. That would be my excuse if I had a fleeting concern about killing, but that wasn't an issue.
After all, I am a beast, even without memories. So yes, saving the world from the likes of a beast like me, or rather the beast I was before training, was noble, not murder.
While in their facility they tested me over and over. They used innovative methods to train me to control my beast. At first, when they showed up and applied their torture, I lost all control. My beast would claw at the walls, snap, snarl, and howl to the heavens. However, they taught me to control my beast side. They ramped up the pain to produce the beast, wouldn't stop until I came back to normal. I learned damned quick how to control my beast side. I learned how to endure unbearable pain. Another gift from the good guys.
It also made me understand that beasts were deadly and must be eliminated. What better way than to kill the man responsible for making them. Yeah, I was on board with this mission.