Owen POV:

"Your brain was screwed up way before I got to it. You were a broken solider, they had to keep locked away."

Amanda's tidbit of information was doing exactly what it was intended to do; drive Owen out of his mind. He couldn't stop analysing every little part of the life he remembered, every conversation he had with Amanda or even Percy, but he could barely remember those either. They were hazy at best and at worse, just white noise. He had hoped that there would be some kind of clue as to who Sam was.

So far, no luck.

"I fixed you."

God damn it! He punched the sand bag hard enough that he knew his knuckles would soon be sporting new bruises. That he could deal with, it was familiar pain. He had been working out for the past hour and a half. It wasn't helping distract him from his thoughts as much as he wanted, but he kept on punching, imagining what he would do to Amanda when he got his hands in her. What the hell did she want with him?

"You want answers and I have them."

Owen wanted those answers, but he couldn't go after them yet. So he was stuck with the feeling that he had nothing. Nothing to drive him, nothing to focus on. Sure Nikita had given him a place in Division, but he was still kept on the outskirts. There was no invite to the round table for him. It was like they were waiting for him to slip up and show that he was working with Amanda all along. But he couldn't help but understand the reasons behind there suspicions.

Hell, he'd even think that about someone who was in the same situation as him.

"Where do you want me to start Owen? Or should I call you Sam? That's what your friends used to call you. Before you killed them all."

Owen hoped that was another one of Amanda's mind-fucks. He couldn't even fathom the kind of person this Sam guy was if he had truly killed his friends. For all the bad things Owen had done, killing a friend had never been one them - although he didn't really have friends until lately, but he knew he wasn't capable of that.

Just in case, Owen felt he was better off where he could be watched.

So, for now he remained in Division. His home away from home. He grunted at the thought, sending a swift and angry side kick to the bag, splitting it wide open. He watched the sand bleed out, feeling a twinge of sympathy, as it reminded him of the knife wound Ari had inflicted on him. It had healed up well, but, at night, he could still feel the blood flowing from his body even as Nikita tried to stop it.

Owen could barely even admit this to himself, but he had been scared of dying that day. He had lived. Now he needed to figure out what to do with that life.

Right now, he just felt restless. He wanted something to do. He could easily seek out Nikita or Michael, hell, even Birkhoff would do at this stage, to keep him company, but he had always been alone and didn't see the point in changing that now. What was the saying? Old habits and all that - at least it might be an old habit, or it might be a new one he picked up when he became Owen. Who was to know? Oh, that's right, Amanda would know.

If only Owen could mind some way of remembering for himself.

He was a mess.

Owen was unwrapping the ace bandages from his protesting hands, when a loud bang alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. It sounded like it had come from the locker room. Already on edge, Owen cautiously made his way over to the locker room door. After the explosion in medical that had almost killed Alex and him, he was constantly primed for a fight. Medical had been, yet another, attempt on his life - wasn't he just the most popular guy in the world - this time at the hands of one of his live victims from his Cleaner days. He had done a lot of nasty things as a Cleaner and they would haunt him for the rest of his life. It was his penance and he deserved to remember every vile thing he carried out on Percy's orders. His tattoos helped keep that in perspective.

Owen silently pushed the door open and took a look around. He expected someone to jump out and attack him, but what he found instead had him flying across the room, before he even realised he had moved.

Alex was on the floor, blood flowing from a head wound she must have gotten off one of the bench corners, when she fell. Her locker door was swaying slightly, so Owen assumed she must have hit it on the way down causing the loud bang. Even though she had a pretty bad gash, almost in the same spot she had been wounded on the Black Forest mission - beside and slightly above her right eye - it wasn't that, that had Owen so worried.

"Alex? Alex?" He tried rousing her even as he ripped off his t-shirt - he knew it was sweaty, but it was the best he could do for now - and used it to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.

"Alex? Can you hear me? I need you to wake up for me, kid." He tried again, but she gave no response.

Her whole body was shaking, as if she was having a seizure. Her face was ghostly white and her skin clammy to the touch. If Owen hasn't known any better he would have thought she was suffering from a really bad flu and taken her straight to medical. Fortunately for Alex, he did know better.

Withdrawal was a bitch.