Chapter 4: Jigsaw
and the animal awakens
and all i feel is black and white
He was standing, in a room, maybe. He couldn't tell; it was all so hazy, even the walls--if he was indeed in a room and they were indeed walls--seemed somewhat insubstantial, just white mist… or was it black? It kept shifting back and forth, and then mixing together, he stared and stared and couldn't seem to decide on either…
But he wasn't alone.
Next to him, he felt the presence of another, waiting patiently at his side. He turned to have his gaze was filled with perhaps the most beautiful vision he'd ever seen. A girl--a woman--with dark hair and darker eyes, caramel skin, flawless, perfect features…
Some vague form of recognition flared through him and even as he stared, enthralled by the sight, he knew it didn't matter how she looked--she would always be beautiful to him. There was something there that was deeper than the mere placement of her eyes, her lips, her nose… it had something more to do with the fire in her gaze, the slight quirk to her mouth, the defiant set to her chin…
He met her eyes, large and round pools of chocolate. She smiled at him her full pink lips curving upward, and her expression… welcoming. Accepting. Like a hug, conveyed through her face, rather than her arms.
"I know you," he said.
The smile turned somewhat sad, wistful, and he immediately regretted his words, wishing he could take them back. He hadn't meant to make her unhappy.
"You did, but you've forgotten now."
His brow wrinkled minutely as he took in her words.
Yes, he knew her--he knew he knew her--but that was as far as it went. He couldn't say from where he knew her, what she was to him, or even recall her name…
"I want to remember," he declared.
She sighed and turned away, staring ahead with a distant gaze. He wondered what she could possibly find of interest in the massing whirl of black-white that was the wall. His head turned, following her sight, and found he found himself staring at… an ocean?
An ocean in the room?
But no, there was no room. If ever there had been one, it wasn't there anymore.
And there were rocks under his shoed feet, and some sort of a dock in the distance. The sky overhead was gray and dreary and seagulls circled above the water and above them. There was something vaguely familiar about the scene…
"You remembered once," she said softly, "But you remembered wrong… and then you had to forget again."
He shifted his confused gaze from their surroundings back to her. "I remembered wrong?" He couldn't say what that even meant, and he studied her profile, awaiting clarification.
She nodded. "They made you remember wrong." When she turned back to him, her doe eyes were soft and sad. "I want you to remember right. Then you won't have to forget, ever again." Raising one hand slowly, her outstretched fingers stopped just short of his face. He watched, and waited, tempted to complete the motion for her, but afraid of what might happen if he did. "Then you won't have to go away, ever again."
"Then tell me," he demanded in a fierce, desperate whisper. "Tell me so I can remember right." He leaned closer to her touch, without meeting it.
"I can't," she returned, voice equally quiet and full of regret, remorse. "I can't make you remember. You have to do that on your own." She reached up further, reaching in infinite slowness to brush his forehead. But before she could finish, he saw that she was starting to become insubstantial, her body fading right before his eyes.
"It's all in here," she continued in a ghost-like voice that accompanied her translucent form. "All you have to do is find it." He could see right through her, see the beach and the docks behind her.
"Find what?" he said, sounding somewhat frantic, as he watched her progressive disappearance.
She was almost entirely gone now, but she still managed to answer, "The past…"
Without the past, there is no future.
And then she was gone, but before he could dwell too much on the fact--or her words--he was rudely awakened, his head jarring violently to one side with the force of a blow.
"Wakey, wakey," a vaguely familiar voice intoned in false cheerfulness.
Adam opened his eyes to pain, and the cause of his pain--the stranger with the gun, the one who'd run him off the road earlier. His shoulders felt like they were on fire, and his sides throbbed with the strain, while various other aches and pains hovered in the background of his attention. As he came to complete awareness, he realized the reason for his more prominent pains--he'd been suspended from the ceiling by heavy chains that encased his wrists, leaving his arms to hold the rest of his body upright.
They were in a dark room with bare cement walls and floors; no windows, just a single door the only entrance and exit. The chains hooked onto pipes that hung from the ceiling, leading him to consider that this were perhaps a warehouse or a basement of some sort.
He cleared his throat, wanted desperately for a glass of water, but ignoring the desire just as he ignored the hoarseness of his voice as he spoke. "Care to tell me what this is all about?"
The other man circled him slowly, his thorough gaze taking in Adam's appearance, from head to toe, in careful study. His shoes clicked against the concrete floor with every step.
"So, this is the great X5-599… the CO, the man behind the big escape of '09." He completed a full 360-degree perusal and came to a stop right in front of him. Their eyes met--one pair brown and dark with twisted amusement and smug satisfaction, the other gray and stoic.
Adam stared back blankly, the other man's words making absolutely no sense to him.
"You don't look so great right now, 599."
"My name is Adam. I don't know why you keep calling me that."
That wasn't the truth, not entirely. Just the other day he'd told Mary and Buddy that he was sure Adam wasn't his real name… but until he had something else, something better than a string of numbers, that was what he'd stick to.
"Actually," the man said, cocking his head slightly to one side, "from what I hear, you were called Zack"--something flickered briefly inside Adam, but he kept the reaction to himself--"but it doesn't really matter. Either way, you're going to die."
He rolled his eyes, the melodrama just too much for him to ignore. "And is this the part where you tell me your plan to take over the world?"
The man's smirk disappeared, gaze narrowing minutely. "Sarcasm," he drawled unappreciatively, "is it something they engineered into your genes? You and your fellow transgenic scum seem to have that trait in common."
The pain in Adam's shoulders--especially the right one--was getting a little distracting, but he kept from attempting to shift to a more comfortable position, not wanting to let his captor onto the weakness. "Well, see, I can't help you with that one--considering I have no idea what you're talking about."
Stepping back, the stranger's posture relaxed as he brought his hand up to his chin thoughtfully. "You know, there's something I've been wondering, something that's been weighing on my mind since we tracked you down…" A slight grin twitching on his lips. "How is that you're playing farmer Bob, tending to the cows and the pigs and the chickens, while 452's running Transgenic Central?" He seemed to miss the slight jolt that passed through the other man's body. "I mean, where did you get that little setup?" he laughed.
Adam hardened his jaw, but didn't answer. After a few moments, the other man walked back toward him, stopping only when they were eye-to-eye, faces barely inches apart. "You really don't remember, do you?" he inquired in a quiet, amused voice. "You don't remember anything about who you are, where you're from." Then he laughed again, easing back. "I didn't believe it, not at first, but it's true."
"Glad you find it so amusing," Adam returned dryly.
"Oh, it's fucking hilarious… and I'm wondering if 452 knows about this little condition of yours, or is that just another treat I get to pop on her."
Whoever this 452 was, Adam couldn't help but feel apprehensive, hearing the malice in the man's tone as he spoke of her. What could she ever have done to earn so much hate from this one individual? Surely it went beyond the whole "transgenic scum" mentality he was supporting.
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation.
"Yes," the man called out.
The door opened and a dark-haired man, with matching eyes and complexion peered in. "Sir," he said, a bit hesitant to intrude, "it's time."
The first man nodded. "Alright. Let's go." He headed toward the door, and the other man moved aside to give him passage while glancing at Adam.
"Sir, what about him?"
His superior paused, and shot a backward look at Adam. "What about him?"
The second man shifted uncertainly from his boss to the prisoner. "Aren't we taking him?"
He was met with a condescending, incredulous stare. "Why would we take along our only bargaining chip?"
"I just thought, sir--"
"Well, there's your problem, Otto," the other man interrupted. "You should leave the thinking to more capable individuals."
He nodded. "Yes sir."
The door clicked closed behind the pair as they exited the room, leaving Adam still suspended from the ceiling. He raised himself to his toes, using the extra few inches to stretch his shoulders, and then tested the strength of his bonds. No luck--he was firmly rooted in place unless someone chose to free him.
That someone arrived not much later, though freedom did not appear to be the intended goal. Four men entered the room, two with weapons drawn and visible, the other two holding even more restraints--all expressionless and dressed in nondescript suits. One man wrapped his ankles in heavy chains, while another adjusted the set around his wrists so he was no longer linked to the pipes. He was clearly intended to make a little trip to… somewhere.
"Let's go," one of the armed men barked out, gesturing with his gun when the other two were done. He and the other armed man took up position behind him, and he gave a hard nudge for emphasis.
Adam stumbled forward, his stride restricted by the heavy chains the movement they allowed him. The group left the room, the first two men flanking Adam as they walked into a dark, narrow hall, with bare cement walls.
"I don't see why we need all the security," someone grumbled quietly behind him, but he heard the words easily. "Guy doesn't even know he's a trannie… forget about the training they're all supposed to have had."
"We need the security because White said we need it," came the impatient response from the man who'd pushed him. "That's good enough for me."
The man at his right side snorted slightly. "White's just fanatical about these things 'cause he hates them all. Plus, he"--referring to him, Adam realized--"supposedly has something to do with 452…"
452--how many times was he going to have to hear those numbers again, while having no idea whom they referred to? And yet, she seemed to be the primary reason for his current condition, according to what the other man--White--had revealed in their earlier conversation. Hadn't he called him a 'bargaining chip'?
What was Adam to this 452 that gave these people such a leverage having him in their custody?
"That's enough," the pusher interrupted. "You can discuss this later; right now, we've got our orders to fill."
As they turned a corner, Adam stumbled over his ankle chains. The man at his right caught his arm at the elbow, supporting his weight to keep him from meeting the floor, and Adam used that instant to deliver a backward kick that knocked one of the men behind him--the pusher--straight and hard into the wall. Before his leg could fully return to the ground, he twisted his body around in mid-air, and used the other foot to kick the weapon from the second man's hands. It landed a few meters away from the group, skittering along, metal dragging against concrete.
Inevitably, the maneuver ended with Adam on the ground, on his back, but he quickly somersaulted backward, finishing in a crouching position, his still-chained arms held before him. The man who'd been on his left side was drawing out his own gun, but before he could complete the motion, Adam grabbed his arm and threw one elbow up into his face, hearing the squelching noise of a nose breaking. While the other man screamed and brought his free hand up to his injury, Adam kicked him backward, right into the first man he'd hit--the one he'd knocked into the wall and had just now recovered. Both bodies toppled to the ground in a tangled heap, the bottom man hitting his head, with a loud thud, against the cement.
That left the other two still attended to: the one who'd been behind him, whose gun he'd kicked away, and who was currently scrambling toward said gun; and the fourth one, who'd been on his right, and who was now stumbling in the opposite direction, desperately pulling something from his coat pocket. At first, Adam thought maybe a gun, but then he realized it was something far worse… a radio.
He was going to call for backup.
Adam lunged at the man, crossing the distance between them in one smooth leap, and with a grunt from the other man, he brought them both to the ground. The little two-way radio was still clutched tight in his grip.
Adam caught the hand, tried to pry the little black rectangle away, but the other man hung on as if his life depended upon it. Impatient, Adam raised the hand in his grasp and brought it down mercilessly against the concrete. There was a cracking sound, but still the object didn't come free. Another similar blow and he could feel--not only hear--the bones snap beneath the force.
A strangled cry escaping his victim's lips and the radio dropped to the floor.
Wasting no time, Adam jumped to his feet and crushed the instrument beneath one boot, pieces of plastic and metal littering the area. Then he turned his head just in time for his gaze to lock with the final man still standing, who had by now recovered his weapon and was raising it to shoot. Adam ducked, barely escaping the line of fire as the bullet lodged itself into the wall behind him.
Shit, that was close.
Of course, he didn't wait to give the other man a chance to get it right, and using speed beyond what he'd known himself capable of--but on some level failed to surprise him--he burst forth and snatched the gun right from his hands. Then he brought the butt of the weapon down across that man's forehead, knocking him out cold.
Adam straightened and surveyed the damage. Two men unconscious, another an incoherent mess, blood pooling down his face, his nose swollen to twice its normal size. He realized that he might have hit him harder than he intended… the nose was a sensitive area, if he'd knocked the bones back far enough…
He bent down beside the man, searching his pockets until he came up with a set of keys. Quickly, he undid his chains, letting them drop to the ground noisily, metal links clinking against one another. Then he stood and turned to the fourth man, the one with the broken fingers. He was on his back now, staring up at him with the fear in his eyes so blatant that Adam was torn between shame and a sense of satisfaction. He cradled his ruined hand to his chest as Adam slowly walked to his side.
The sound of his heavy breathing and the moans of the man with the broken nose were the only noises heard in the little passageway as, with deliberate care, he lowered himself to a crouch.
His fingers ventured forward, procuring the man's gun from where it still rested… never once drawn, never once fired, throughout the entire altercation. He held the weapon casually, without even looking at it.
"Where did he go?" he asked quietly.
"W-who?" the other man stuttered. He suddenly discovered his own gun pressed against his left kneecap. His already saucer-round eyes widened even further.
"You know, there are many areas of the human body that can take a bullet wound without causing a… quick… death." The safety clicked off. "Doesn't mean it won't still be painful."
A bead of sweat rolled down the man's forehead, and he swallowed thickly as he eyed the progression of the finger that was slowly squeezing down on the trigger.
"Of course, it would keep you distracted from those broken fingers."
Any second now… any second, there would be a loud noise and an excruciating, blinding explosion of pain…
"Alright!" he gasped out, his voice a strangled sound that just barely escaped his lips. "Alright, I'll tell you!"
'Adam' allowed himself a cold smile, finger easing off slightly, though it didn't lift away completely.
"I'm listening."