Re-BOURNE

FRIDAY 12th 2015

I'm afraid. Why am I so afraid?

It's midnight as my taxi finally arrives at the designated burned-out abandoned warehouse on George St. As I pay the driver and get out, he flashes me a look of deep concern then disappears into the night.

As I take a good look up at the strangely familiar, burnt out, monolithic construction, I fight to lose that tingly feeling of dread that's been creeping down my spine since I left the office. In fact I've been feeling it for the second day running now, and it's getting stronger... along with the headaches and feelings of fatigue.

Trembling, I enter the building through the doorless entrance. Sweat's beading down from my forehead. Visions blurred. Hard to focus. He warned that this would happen. Warned that it'd be rough, due to my not taking my 'Chems' apparently. No idea I was taking the damn things in the first place. Another one to chalk down to my memory loss, I guess.

Looked up that word on the internet, too. 'Chems'. Turns out it's short for 'chemical', specifically the kind used to cause changes in behaviour or biological systems. Which actually explains a lot. Only it never mentioned anything about the voices I began hearing. Or why they suddenly stopped?

I'm looking around but it appears nobody's home. Guessing that's why they call it 'abandoned'. Only it shouldn't be. Patterson specifically said to meet him here if I wanted answers. Which means he's either watching me now or...

A noise, coming from an upper level.

I head on up the stairwell floor by floor. No sign of him. No sign of anyone. Just large dark floor spaces, teething with dusty scraps of charred furniture, cloaked in cobwebs, dirt, dried vomit from local junkies using it as hotel... and everything bathed in a cool moody blue transmitting from the moon lit night sky shining through the huge towering windows. And there's a strange... pungent odour purveying the air. Again, familiar, but I dont know why.

Eventually I hit the top floor. Stench is stronger up here.

"Patterson!" I shout out. Nothing. I've been duped, and I'm done.

"Bourne!" shouts a voice behind me. "You... don't look so good."

I spin around to see it's him, or rather his silhouette, moodily lit by the streetlights outside the gallery of windows that line the walls of the entire office area, as he approaches me from the other side of the building. He's alone. Good.

"Thought you... weren't gonna show up." I say.

"You forget, I always keep my promises!" he replies.

"Actually, yea... I did forget! Along with... everything else, remember? Did you bring the pills?"

He taps the chest area of his jacket before asking, "Did you bring the keys?"

"What do you think?" I respond.

Judging from the way he affectionately referred to our past together, back in the basement, I'm betting there's some sorta history between us. And banking on it.

He stops short of a few meters and gives a sly nod towards my direction... behind me? Suddenly I've got company. Two more people suddenly appear from behind me. I do a quick double take and I see it's the IT guy from the office, along with... the big busted strippergram? Oh you have...

"...Gotta be kidding me?" I blurt out.

"In our line of work, nothing's ever... quite what it seems." he tells me, as they silently proceed to scan me from head to toe with small electronic pole-like devices. How did I not even hear them walking behind me? Damn it, must be part of the symptoms. ANyway, two nods of approval later and Patterson resumes his walk towards me, culminating in an embrace that practically squeezes what little life there is left out of me.

"Its been too long, Alexia, way too long." he beams.

"I'll... have to take your word for that." I reply. "So what exactly is our line of work?"

"Complicated." he simply replies.

"Alright, then... give it to me in layman terms..."

"That was in layman terms!" he jokes. "Come, we're quite restricted for time."

He takes me by my arm and we walk towards a pile of broken dusty monitors and burnt out office equipment. Well, he walks I just shuffle and try and keep up, his two cohorts following close behind.

This... building once served us as a 'black site'. A base of operations, one of several located across the globe.

"That before the fire happened?"

He laughs. "Hardly. We started the damn fire in the first place. Some low-rent sports manufacturers who clearly weren't maximising this sites potential."

"So, arson, huh? Tell me, was there a crime we didn't commit?" I ask. He smiles back.

"Post Vietnam war," he begins, "following the Congressional Act that banned the US from partaking in acts of assassination in defence of our country, the CIA formed a top secret black ops programme called Treadstone Seventy One. It utilised an advanced behaviour modification programme to... breakdown, erase and effectively rebuild its operatives from the ground up into perfect killing machines, able to carry out their missions without remorse or fear of consequence."

"The Syndicate." I presume.

"Jumping ahead of yourself, there, Alexia..."

So, Kenzo was telling the truth.

"For a number of years the operatives functioned with complete anonymity. Teachers, cleaners, doctors... undetectable, completely interwoven into modern day society. Flash forward to 2002, where one of the operatives, rumoured to be the programmes most prized asset, would, following a botched mission, prove to be its ultimate undoing."

"And who was that?" I ask.

"Who they were was not nearly as important as the consequences their actions had on the rest of us. The programme, now evolved into Operation Blackbriar, was disavowed, leading those of us fortunate enough not to be 'retired permanently' to seek solace underground."

Quite a story. But none of it still rings any bells.

"Enter Solomon Lane. A man with more connections than your average cellphone network. He seeks us out and recruits us, recruited you... united us together for a new singular purpose. His purpose, which ultimately became... our purpose."

Is it 'Zero Hour'? Or 'Whitewash'? Both were name-checked back when I awoke in that lab? And just who is this 'Solomon Lane' character?

"I always wondered why you were his favourite." Patterson tells me. "Apart from the obvious of course, you being incredibly hot-looking. Why'd you think you were the only one involved in that heist that didn't have a kill chip implanted?"

The kill chip. Back in the truck before the heist, we were all told we all had one. How did I even forget a detail like that?

"You know, you... really don't look so good." he notes rather casually,

That's because I'm not, idiot. But then you knew that wouldn't you? A relapse from the experiments. You already calculated it would take another four days to kick in. Just in time give you an added edge.

"Ch... Chems... "I mumble.

"Yes. Yes, that's right. I have em, you need em. And badly by the looks of it. Tell you what, you hand over that key and they're yours!''

Rooms spinning like a carousel. I sink to my knees as Patterson and his two stooges circle me, watching on. Gonna need to wrap this up quickly. Still a lotta gaps need filling but at least I got something more to go on now. Nicky Parsons can fill in the rest.

"Hazuki... where is... Hazuki? He's missing. You were involved... that night I saw... saw you in the basement."

He pauses for a moment, hesitant to respond.

"That was the final fulfilment of our contract and conclusion of our business there at H.E." he concedes. "Hazuki and that bitch wife of his have been securely delivered to our client, via an incredibly intricate plan almost a year in the making. With the help of a handful of well placed double-operatives, of course. But I would be more concerned with your own wellbeing."

Suddenly, the I.T. guy whips out a beretta and aims it squarely at my head.

"Time's up, beautiful. Now, the key... where-is-it?"

"Hey, wanna dial back the hostility a touch?" I tell him, as I struggle back onto my feet. "Besides, deals off, I'm afraid. I already... have... everything I came here for."

Patterson looks over at his two cronies before all three burst into a fit of giddy giggles. But it all stops dead when I flash him the tiny plastic satchel of half a dozen blue pills I slid out from his jacket pocket, without him knowing, during our tight embrace. The priceless look on his face.

"NOW!" I yell, as a tiny red dot hovers over the IT guy's trigger hand.

You see, one of many benefits of working for a corporation that majors on cutting edge technology is the unrivalled access one has to high end fibre optic audio receivers coated with a detection disrupting alloy. The other is a heavily modified L115A3 sniper rifle, extending its recommended range of 1400 metres. Like the one currently in Kenzo's possession, roughly 1450 metres away.

By the time the rifle's bullet pierces his hand, and subsequently removes it, I've already made my way to the top of the stairwell, dogging a hail of bullets sent in my direction via Patterson and his big-breasted hit woman, as the IT guy lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

"Damn you, Bourne! I said come alone!" screams Patterson.

I did. Technically, anyway. The floor bellow, I scurry beneath a desk. The gunfire that ensues is deafening, reverberating around the building as Kenzo smothers the entire top floor with cover fire.

For me, I'm curled up in a ball, petrified. Palms sweating, vision impaired, my heart feeling like its about to beat for the last time before exploding out of my chest like a baby xenomorph. One chance... the pills. But how many do I take? Too few, and I'm dead. Too many and I O.D.

I decide you only live to die once and down all six in one go, struggling not to vomit in the process as I clasp my hand firmly over my mouth and a fervent burning sensation erupts along the inner walls of my throat. Final pill swallowed, I wait. Eyes are feeling... heavy now... like both lids have been laced with lead.

Silence. I'm hearing silence. The shooting's stopped. Why, are they all dead? Did Kenzo get all three?

"Bourne! Listen up!"

Hardly. It's Patterson. Shouting from the top of the stairwell.

"Forgot to mention a small... minor detail, regarding the... 'stability' of said pills. You see, Mr Lane and his small team of kidnapped Toxicologists led by Doctors Ludlum and Hirsch, have been relentlessly trying to come up with a permanent solution to the adverse side effects caused by the extreme braincell tampering... hey, something had to give, right?"

Great. What now?

"Okay, so I was supposed to hand you one of the latest prototypes to sample." he concedes, "We needed a trial run, you needed some info... seemed like a good trade at the time! Just remember, when you do take you first pill, to... wait... you didn't take all 6 did you?"

"Oh, dear...!" goads the still-alive, one-handed IT guy. "Oh deary, deary me!"

"Go get her!" whispers Patterson to him softly, from the floor above.

From the floor above? Wait. I can... hear his whispers.

To be continued...