Agent Marks was running straight towards the glowing sea. He was losing himself in the activity. His eyes were unfocused; he couldn't hear his footsteps or the occasional crackle of his Geiger counter, he couldn't smell the dirt, or feel the rain. He hadn't been in this wasteland long, but he had been there long enough that it seeped into his veins. It was a part of him now. So he ran, knowing exactly where he was going but not knowing where he was.
For the first time since he woke from stasis, he wasn't thinking of Nora or Shaun, he wasn't thinking of everything he lost, he was simply running. Until he stopped, rested, slept, and dreamt.
Allen "woke" and instantly knew he was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming because he "woke" up comfortable. Even when he and Nora got their own place, with a memory foam mattress and Egyptian cotton sheets, he never woke up comfortable.
There was also the fact that Nora was in his arms, the little spoon – a dead giveaway.
Allen shut his eyes the second he saw Nora's red hair. If this was a dream, then he wanted to wait a little longer until he actually had to do something in it.
"I know you're awake," he heard Nora say.
"Of course you do," Allen replied, eyes still clenched shut. "You're just a dream."
"If all you want to do in a dream with me is cuddle, then I failed as a wife," she joked. Allen felt Nora shuffle around in his arms.
"You know me Nora," Allen started.
"You think with the head on your shoulders," Nora finished.
Allen finally opened his eyes, and was greeted to Nora's smiling face.
"Hey there," Allen mumbled, pressing his forehead to Nora's.
"Hey you."
"It's so good to see you again."
"I'm glad. But, soldier boy," Allen gave a half grin at Nora's old pet name for him, "We need to talk."
"No, we don't," Allen refuted, pressing Nora into his chest.
"Come on, Allen. You've never been one to run from the truth."
"Can't we do the 'other than cuddle' things you were referring to?"
"This is your dream Allen, you want to talk about it." Nora said, pulling away.
"I'd like to wake up then."
"Allen."
"Fine. What are we going to talk about?"
All too suddenly, Allen was overcome with a sense of vertigo. He was no longer lying down, his wife in his arms. Instead, he was standing on a roof above the burning streets of Prague with a silenced MP5 in his hands.
"What was it I said to you here?" A figure before Allen asked. Allen would have answered. But before he could, the words seemingly came from all around, more from nowhere than anywhere.
"This is it, Nathan, this is the future! Mankind escalates, every time we think there's been a war to end all wars a worse one comes! Soon the only thing left to escalate to will be the nukes!" The figure turned around, needlessly. Allen already knew who it was. Agent Lynch.
Allen's cell of the CIA consisted of sixteen active agents, four analysts, two com officers, and two commanding officers. One recruiter, and one who ran the OPS. Lynch was the recruiter, and a traitor.
"If you had known I was right, I wonder if you still would have killed me," Lynch wondered aloud.
"Definitely." Allen answered as he raised his gun and sighted Lynch.
"Put that gun down, Nathan." Lynch's order was casual.
"My name's not Nathan." Allen said, defiantly.
"Really? It was the name you had when we met. It was the name you wanted to have when you were trying to retire. The name you were returning to."
"That life's over."
"That world is over!" Lynch shouted. "But here you are, still clinging to it, still clinging to stupid ideas like 'safety' and 'protection.'"
"Why are you here, Lynch?" Allen demanded, not willing to get sucked into Lynch's mind games.
"What was it that Marion told you? Oh so long ago?"
Marion's words and voice seemed to float into existence.
"The mind of an agent always knows what it takes to survive. The body will betray you. So listen to your mind and accept the hard truths necessary to survive."
"You're running from the hard truths, Nathan," Lynch lectured.
Allen snarled, "I'm running from nothing!"
"You don't believe that."
"I know what I believe," Allen proclaimed.
"Once," Lynch clarified, "In a different world with different rules, where you fulfilled a different role."
"It's the same world."
"Not any more, Nathan. What do you think is going to happen next?"
"I'm going to find Virgil…"
"After that?" Lynch shouted, "After Virgil, after the Institute, after you find your son and he accepts you as his father?"
Allen was silent.
"Because I don't know either, and I'm your goddamn subconscious! You don't honestly think you can just return to Sanctuary Hills and live the rest of your lives do, do you?"
"I can try!" Allen shouted angrily, bitterly.
"And you'll fail. Because you're right, Agent Marks, you're not Nathan, you can't get a job as a bartender like you planned. You can't start saving for little Shaun's college education."
Lynch threw his arms in the air as he spoke, just like he did all those years ago. Same movements, different speech. "You're a killer, Agent Marks, drifting from one cause to another. And with your anchor, you're nothing. Shaun is better off without you, maybe you should just put that MP5 in your mouth and pull the trigger."
Instead, Allen turned the gun on Lynch, and pulled that very trigger. But before Allen woke, Lynch was able to get a few last words in, the same words he said years ago when he was dying in Allen's arms.
"You were never one for speeches."
Allen woke up, dusted himself off, did a few stretches, and started running.
Soon, he was losing himself in the activity. His eyes were unfocused, he couldn't hear his footsteps or the occasional crackle of his Geiger counter, he still couldn't smell the dirt, or feel the rain.
Lynch had recruited him because he was efficient. Marion kept him because he was an idealist and would do anything for what he believed in. These days, Allen believed in Shaun, and for now, he needed to run.
Hard truths were overrated anyhow.
