Chapter 31:
Seven a.m. The time when the world began to rouse and awaken.
Kira watched as the streets zipped past the window. The quiet roads that he had passed through earlier that morning were slowly awakening as shopkeepers went about their businesses, opening shutters and pulling racks of products out onto the pavement.
His head was pounding again, and with each throb, a question floated into his mind. Was the little girl in his dreams Cagalli Yamato? Why would he have dreams about her? Had they met before? Why didn't he remember her? He had felt such a strong connection to her, as if they were linked. But in that dream, he had attacked her. Why would he attack her? What did it all mean?
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to slow the beating of his heart and hopefully, the slew of questions that were battering his mind.
"You alright?"
He opened his eyes and saw Sting glancing at him, concern reflected in his eyes. He was getting that look way too often now. First Stellar, and now Sting. Either he really looked like shit, or he must have seriously freaked them out with his collapse. "I'm fine," he smiled. "Just tired."
"Right."
Skepticism. Well, he got a lot of that from his teammates too, whenever he said he was fine.
They understood him, more than anyone else did. More than Rau Le Creuset, more than any of the trainers at the facility. He paused. Did Cagalli Yamato understand him too? Was it possible that while he was having dreams of her, she too had dreams of him? But why? How were they related? Could she have been someone from his past, someone he had met but deemed unnecessary to commit to memory? Impossible. He never forgot anyone he met. He scanned his memory, tried to remember as far back as he could, from the moment he had stepped out of the facility and entered his new home. No sign of Cagalli Yamato, not until he had spied her at the front entrance of the theater, standing alongside Lacus Clyne. But at that point in time, he had known her as the director of the theatre play, as Lacus Clyne's best friend.
It suddenly dawned on him then that perhaps she was one of Rau's recruits too. Perhaps he had seen her in the facility. He considered the possibility for a moment, then dismissed it. No, not in the facility, no. He hadn't met her then. It wouldn't make any sense.
His memories were basically segmented into two categories: the first, were his memories of being in the facility and the second were his memories of being out of the facility. So, if he hadn't met her in either of the two phases of his life, then when had he met her?
Beyond his memories of the facility, were still memories of the facility. Nothing beyond the facility.
What was his first memory? He thought about it for a second. It had been so long ago and it came back to him slowly, sluggishly – like pouring treacle from a jug – but vividly and clearly. It was just the way his brain functioned. His memories were stored away like computer files, packed away until he needed them. It didn't matter how much time had passed, those memories were always there. He had never forgotten them.
Cold. It was the first thing he felt when he awakened. Icy coldness that seeped into his skin and flesh and reached for his bones. He opened his eyes.
Hunger.
A gnawing hunger that made him feel as if his stomach was caving in on itself.
And thirst.
As if his throat had been scraped with sandpaper.
He sat up slowly, pushing himself up on his elbows. It was all grey. The walls, the ceiling, the floor – all grey. No windows. A single grey steel door. Where was he? He swung his legs over the edge of the bed he was lying on. No mattress, he realised. He was lying on a hard iron bed frame. Where was he?
He was naked. Not a stitch on his small body. The cemented floor felt ice-cold under his bare feet. He tried to stand and fell backwards onto the iron frame, bruising his hip. Weakness – he felt it in his legs. They were like jelly. He tried again and this time, managed to stagger to his feel and totter towards the single steel door.
Where was he? He placed both hands on the cold metal and banged his fists on it. Feebly at first, then harder. Where was he? How did he get here? What was this place?
Who was he?
"Help!" he cried. No one replied. "Someone help me!" He banged his little fists hard on the door.
He heard a scrape and he pressed his ear to the cold metal. Footsteps. He heard footsteps. Then a grating sound. He stepped back just as the door swung inwards.
A woman. In a white coat. Silhouetted in the doorway. She was tall and she crouched down so that they were level.
"What's your name?" She asked.
He didn't know so he shook his head.
"Do you know where you are?"
Again, he shook his head.
"Do you want your mummy and daddy?"
He paused. He didn't understand her question and he stared at her with wide innocent eyes.
"Your mummy?" she repeated, watching him and when he didn't reply, she asked, "Your daddy?" Again, there was no reply. This time, she smiled, as if pleased at him.
Then she stood up and turned towards the door. He reached out and caught the hem of her white coat in his small hand. "Don't leave me," he whispered, tugging at her. She didn't look at him. Instead, she glanced at the door. "He's done. I'll leave him to you."
Peering around her, he caught sight of a man standing in the doorway, arms folded. An imposing presence.
The woman stepped towards the door and he tailed after her, running to keep pace, keeping his hand on the hem of her coat. "Let go," she snapped at him. He recoiled, frightened by her tone, and she brushed him off easily. She passed the man in the doorway and closed the door behind her without a backward glance.
Left all alone with the stranger.
"You're new, right?" the man said. There was a sneer on his face. A terrifying smile. He felt fresh tears spring to his eyes as the man advanced on him. He didn't have time to respond as a large hand slapped him on the face. He fell to the ground and when he glanced around, he saw the man standing over him, towering over him. "Your first lesson, boy," the man said, "is never to cry. That's weakness, boy, and over here, we don't accept weaklings."
Kira closed his eyes as the memory flooded in. His first memory. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. The man had beaten him. Repeatedly. Until he was lying in a puddle of his own blood. Until he had come to fear the man who eventually became one of his trainers at the facility.
But he had learnt to change that fear and shape it into hatred. He turned it into his driving force, the very air he breathed in that kept him alive. Since then, he hadn't shed a tear. His first lesson. Forever imprinted in his mind.
But why was that his first memory? What had happened before that? Kira thought hard about it, but it was like running into a wall. A dead-end. A barrier. There were no other 'first' memories. That was it.
Why?
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't realize they had arrived back at the warehouse until the van came to a shuddering halt. Jerked out of his memories, he glanced over at Sting who was eyeing him suspiciously, "Are you sure you're alright?"
Kira considered the question, and realized he had no answer to it. Was he alright? He didn't think so.
"What's the first thing that you can remember?" He turned and glanced at his teammate.
Sting gave him a perplexed look.
"Your first memory," Kira elaborated, "the very first thing that comes to your mind. The start of all your other memories."
The green-haired man rubbed his chin thoughtfully and his eyes searched the ceiling of the van. Kira waited, drumming his fingers on the dashboard in an impatient rhythm. Then Sting grinned and glanced back at him. "My first memory?" he laughed, eyes twinkling excitedly, "I was one of the best ass-kickers around."
When Kira frowned at him, he shrugged and laughed, "What? It's true. We were back in the facility and some stupid kid was trying to steal my food so I kicked his ass. Hard. I don't know how I did it, but the trainers told me later that I kinda smashed his skull in, so..." Another shrug of the shoulders. "Yeah, that's kinda like the first thing I remember. Why?" Curious green eyes turned to look at him. "What's with the sudden bout of nostalgia? Very unlike you. You sure you didn't hit your head when you went down?"
Kira ignored his last question. "What about before that? Like, how did you get to the facility?"
Sting quirked an eyebrow and glanced up at the ceiling searchingly again. "I don't know," he muttered, "I never seriously thought about it. Never saw the need. We all grew up in the facility. Maybe we were born there. Maybe our parents were screwed up scientists who tried to experiment on us. I don't know. What's with all these questions anyway?"
"Have you ever had any strange dreams? Have you ever dreamt of people you don't know?"
"No, I haven't. Sheesh, Kira, you're acting like a fucking psychologist. What's the matter with you?" Sting gave him a look of repulsion.
Sensing the end of the conversation, Kira merely shrugged and glanced out of the window, "Nothing."
"Hmm."
He was surprised by the hand that came into his line of vision and rested on his forehead. Turning around, he looked at Sting who had a thoughtful expression on his face as he rested the back of his hand against Kira's brow. "What are you doing?" Kira sighed.
"Let Dr. Oakley take a look at you. I think you're having a fever, Kira. I would prescribe lots of rest and maybe a time-out away from Auel and Stellar, who are no doubt bickering at this point in time."
Kira brushed him off. "Not funny, Sting."
His teammate just laughed and sat back, leaning against the door to get a better look at him. "Hey," he smiled, "don't worry about a thing. You're probably just worn out. We've always led our lives like that, man. Don't go stressing yourself thinking about these weird things. They're not for people like us. Just relax. We've got your back. We're all good." He gave Kira a gentle punch in the shoulder, then opened the door and slid out of the van.
Kira watched him leave. There was still a nugget of doubt in him. But Sting was right. They had always led their lives like that. Dictated by Rau, dictated by the facility. They had never questioned their orders, never questioned their origins, never questioned their parentage, never questioned how they had come to be and why they were so fucked up. It was just how they led their lives. The only way they knew how to lead their lives. So why was he questioning it now? He shook his head and pressed a hand to his forehead. What in hell was wrong with him?
Author's note: Here's the next chapter. So, what do you think about this chapter? Just wanted to show a little bit more about what Kira was feeling. I felt a little bad writing this. Hmmm... remember to review, review, review!