Change of Pace

The thought had crossed my mind to sneak out so I could go to church. Something normal, even for just a few hours. I kind of miss it. Not to mention the bonus of beating his system and causing him great frustration. I think Warlike has picked up on my restlessness over the whole Christmas thing. That’s one of the nice things about my honesty policy is I can be moody and not have to hide it. Besides it creates a great false front. (Man we are full of contradictions.) I can be all depressed one day and bitchy another and they just swallow it all as plain fact. That could come in handy some days when I need to use misdirection.

Anyways, this morning Warlike announced that he wanted to move me some place “safe.” Ha! What a joke, my whole reason for existing as I do today is to be in danger, on purpose. And he would be the one sending me there. The real question is safe from what? Is he trying to scare me or is there a real threat? The Feds or Watchman?

Maybe he sensed that I was itching to escape and he wants to keep a hold of me for now at least. So there is an elaborate plan to whisk me out of the house when my two guardians go to some fancy Christmas party tonight. I will get picked up by one of the others and taken to God knows where. This may be the last you hear from me.

Bored in Pasadena

I asked Warlike about Watchman. I wanted to know if Watchman was telling me the truth. I guess their arrangement has always been open. Watchman has always been his own boss, Warlike paid him well which earned him some exclusivity on Watchman’s talents. When I told him about my encounters with Watchman in England and France he asked questions about what Watchman said and did all while pretending to be looking at his PDA or the paper. Distant interest. Warlike is the master at playing poker face, he does not give hint to anything, but the fact that he asked at all tells me he at least has a personal interest in whatever it is Watchman is up. Innocent Lamb started to voice some concern but cut it short. It seems to me that they have an elaborate system of signals but they are very subtle and hard to discern. I hate to say this but I could learn some really useful things from them.

Time and Space

This house is huge. It’s ridiculous really. He is a single man with a girlfriend and no family to speak of, extended or otherwise. Why the eff would you need twelve rooms? I tend to hang around in the movie theater and order all these actions films and then turn up the volume so loud it shakes the floor of the room above me. It is AWESOME! He has an actual billiard room. And the grounds go on forever. What is with all the square footage. He isn’t even here half the time.

Works out for me, I sleep in a different room every night. Sometimes not even in a bedroom. If I’m in a room were there are cameras, like the library or the arboretum, I cover them up while I am sleeping. Unpredictability is an asset. Besides, I do not want to give them any opportunity to mess with me while I’m sleeping. I have not noticed anything weird, no strange dreams or late mornings getting up. They are on their best behavior. Maybe they are waiting, trying to gain my trust or something.

Really most of my wondering around in the middle of the night, movie watching, and rummaging is a product of too much time. Not enough to do around here. I have been on vacation for months as it were. I am probably one of the most expensive human being alive and at the moment the most useless I think.

Comfort and Joy

Christmas is a few days a way and I find I am smothered by a great sadness that sits on my chest trying to crush all the breath out of me. Does this mean Christmas sucked at my house or that I am subconsciously missing it? I think about those two people I met. They are my parents, I can tell, I look related to them. They were upset over my underwhelmed reaction to them and more so when I didn’t want to see them any more. I cut the reunion short. I couldn’t take it. But now I think about them every moment. Wondering about what our tree would look like, the cinnamon smell of the house as you walk into the heat from a cold snowy day. Did we go to mass or anything on Christmas Eve?

I feel I am missing something worth being nostalgic over.

An Apple An Day

Does not work. Ever since I’ve got myself “settled in” Innocent Lamb hounds me all day long. She wants to run tests on me but I won’t let her. I keep telling her later, so instead I get grilled about how I feel, have experienced any usual pains, am I forgetful or klutzy. On and on, it’s really annoying.

I tell myself it's in the interest of science. My body is pumped full of all kinds of crap they've been giving me for years to change me at the molecular level and I have been beyond their care for several months. Surely there should be some kind of side effects from that, withdrawals or something. It never occurred to me until she started asking me these things. But her style of worry feels more like that of a mother and not a scientist. I can see that she is deeply concerned. When I blow her off she gets kinda angry in a rejected sort of way. I don't know, I can't explain it. There is nothing clinical about it.

In any case I feel totally normal. I feel like me, as much I know how that feels.

Missing Person

Usurper has been pleasantly absent so far. Only Warlike and the good doctor were at the table and are the only ones in the house besides security guards and servants. I took the liberty of searching the place from top to bottom. I didn't force any doors or closets that were locked. I did it mostly to see if they would stop me. It weirded out the black shirts (my new name for hired security guards,)but they didn't stop me. They dutifully reported it and followed me around as I explored the place. It is his private residence so maybe he likes to keep business separate and the others are at our super secret headquarters.

But I digress. Where is Usurper? I was ready for the great throw down. For the shock and horror on his face when he saw me sitting in his seat. The longer I am here I am sure the better chance of him being told I am back. I wanted to be the one to break the news to him.

Breakfast

Imagine. Me in my muddy and torn clothes seated at the head of his freshly polished mahogany dining table with silver and crystal strewn all over it. Is Warlike thinking about having to clean the seat after I get up? Someone is.

Of course I didn’t really like showing up injured, I felt it could make me look weak, or maybe it makes me seem especially hardened. My surprise appearance in his room was good, but even better is my new policy of total honesty. Well, maybe not total, I didn’t tell him about my parents, but I did tell him that MI6 was gunning for him and they were using me to do it.

His response, “You owe me two dogs.”

I eat heartily. This is good food. The man does not skimp on these kinds of things. I’m gonna take all I can from the bastard for what he did to me and if that means stuffing myself to the point of sickness it is well worth the price.

I ignore him in a similar fashion to his dog comment I say, “I want to be a free agent; you pay me like the others. None of this belonging to the company shit. The feds think I’m on their side. I’m on my side, bottom line, and if I get the inkling that you are trying to play me I am out of here.”

He doesn’t know how to react. I can see each word he speaks is weighed carefully. He gives nothing away and makes no promises but in the end he is willing to talk more after dinner. I can see he is willing to see how far this thing can go. At least I think he is. He is intrigued by my transformation and wants to why and how.

The three of us enjoy our meal as if this how every morning is spent. He chats me up with small talk, who, what, where, when. I drink my coffee, eat my eggs, and answer his questions with teenager recklessness. I play up the ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude. He is not convinced. I think he may still be in shock at my return, but he’s keeping it cool.

I thought this would be fun. This messing around with Warlike’s little world, but I am exhausted already. I kind of wish I was still with the Feds. I don’t know if this is how I want to spend the rest of my life, in constant alert, ready for anything.

Home For the Holidays

That’s right; I did it; I killed his damn dogs. The small inconvenience and cost to him to replace them is a petty victory, but a victory nonetheless. The bigger pay off was the look on his face when he found himself at the end of my barrel.

As thunder crashed overhead and the rain fell harder I was already soaked, my hair clinging to the sides of my face. My denim jacket was water logged and weighed a ton so I pulled it off and dropped it onto the flooded walkway. Looking up at the corner of the brick wall I saw the thick black cord of the security camera between the lightening flashes.

With a running jump I caught the top of the wall and hoisted myself up. I took a breather at the top of wall thinking about Humpty Dumpty before swinging over to the other side. Carefully scooting my way to the corner I reached down, grabbed a hold of the black cable coil and ripped the sucker from wall. To add insult to injury I kicked the camera housing from its perch and hurled it to the ground below.

Satisfied with this bit of vandalism I flung myself from the wall onto the sculpted, saturated grass. In the distance the slender white columns of the front entrance glowed eerily. There were interior lights that could be seen; I imagined it to be the unlucky soul watching in the security center, his panic growing with every camera that went blank wondering if he can handle the situation himself or wake up Warlike. I knew the drill, the dogs would be let out first. I pulled the .45 from my shoulder holster, double checked for the .38 under my belt. Assured that I had what I needed I trudged toward the house. His room was on the second floor facing the plum trees.

Midnight Musing 2

It has occurred to me that maybe Warlike or at least Innocent Lamb have been reading my entries. After all I started the blog while under their… care. That could be dangerous if he is ready for me. It would certainly ruin the surprise. Maybe that is why Warlike hasn’t surfaced, he knows that the government is on to him so he is lying low.

If Watchman was not sent by them, as he claims, are they be surprised to see he is around? Did he leave Warlike’s employ on good terms or was he fired? Maybe Watchman is being paid by another party to find me. I wonder if his appearance is a comfort or a concern to Warlike.

[Sigh] This is what I hate about this whole world. This shadow realm of smoke and mirrors. What is possible is an option. No one and everyone could be following this. Maybe the British authorities have redirected this URL to their servers and it no longer exists on the world wide web in any accessible way. I am essentially talking to myself now. MI6 has teams of psychologists dissecting all my sentences for any sign of a break down. Maybe they shouldn’t send me in.

Midnight Musings

I lifted one of those new Driods off of a distracted American tourist on my last outing. When I go out, and I emphasize the when, they are much more cautious now, they stick to me like glue. I have someone with me at my side like a parent or a sibling, they dress trendy to play the part, and I suspect that they a tracker in my jacket.

I am currently hiding under the covers frantically typing away at this entry. The phone is in silent mode and it’s a touch screen so there are no keys but sometimes my fingernails make a little popping sound here and there. I feel like an eight year old trying to read my favorite book past bedtime with a flashlight in hand. Every little creek and knocking makes me hold my breath and pause. I am relatively sure there is no camera in my room, but I suspect that there are listening devices in case I talk in my sleep. I do not have an excessive habit of talking to myself out loud. I have made it a goal of mine to eliminate all talking or expression of any kind that could be recorded visibly or audibly. Once I master removing all outward signals like voice, body language, and facial expressions, I will work on creating false ones.

Anyhow, what I was getting to is that if they are listening to me right now they may be detecting an indistinct but constant tapping sound that has never before been heard. I was thinking that they must know about this blog. They wouldn’t very good agents if they didn’t. They watch me use the internet when I am out. I always use those internet shops that just have rows and rows of computers and I try to get one that has my back to a wall so no prying eyes can see where I go, but I can’t always control that. So if they are following my blog that would mean that they know that I am planning on spilling the beans the second I get there. Are they relying on my sudden but inevitable betrayal? Are they disappointed in me because of it?

3's a Charm

As I prepare to go back I spend my nights tossing and turning all night while my imagination goes wild with all the things that could happen, are supposed to happen (according to my coaches) and what better not happen. It occurred to me I should decide what I will do the first time I see Warlike, Watchman, and Usurper. Not all at once I hope. Warlike is easy, I’ve imagined that a thousand times even without knowing I would be intentionally putting myself in his path. It’s a sort of pleasant daydream of mine to rehearse what I would say or do. The circumstances vary from an accidental run in at a street side restaurant to hunting him down in his own office with a bold face confrontation. Some days I feel the anger and hate would drive me to hurt him severely, or something more. But then I regret ever thinking such a thing knowing that I am able to come to the brink of manslaughter because of what he has done to me. I will not let him win. Public humiliation is a more appropriate revenge.

And Watchman; we have already re-met and well… that didn’t work out like I would have wanted it to. I replay our two encounters over and over and kick myself for not showing a braver face. I should have walked right up to him and shown him I cannot be intimidated. Thinking about that whole thing makes me so mad. I should have sounded the alarm or at the very least got into got into a crowd and made a spectacle of him. I hate to admit this but he does scare the hell out of me. I panicked when he came after me and I ran away. At least that will give him a false sense of security. It won’t happen again, next time I see Watchman he’ll lose something even if it’s just his dignity.

But then there is Usurper. I am not afraid of him, merely annoyed. But it wasn’t until now that I realized he had been kidnapped just I had and rescued in the same daring escape led by Protector but no one has mentioned him. Where was he now? So I asked Protector. He told me that Usurper had indeed been brought back to the UK along with me but taken to a separate safe house. His situation was different from mine, he could not be identified. No known parents, no fingerprints to trace, nothing. He was a John Doe from birth and there was nothing to do with him except rehabilitation and to monitor him closely for the rest if natural born life. He resisted his captivity and eventually escaped from his MI6 team too, long before I ever did.

There is only one place for him to go. Only one place he belongs. And they are convinced he will be there when I arrive. That is part of the complication. I am supposed to have a similar story to his; Warlike is not to know that I am a plant. I have to be convincing. That is why they are taking so much time with me. Running me through all the possible scenarios and putting me through the emotional ringer so I can control my reactions at all times to pull off the perfect performance. Don’t they realize that they giving me everything I need to escape them all? This is the world’s best training in deception by a world power for free just so they can get at my creator. These people have no idea who they are dealing with.

The Show Must Go On

Three weeks of debrief, are they kidding me! What a waste of time. Well some of that was the whole “where did you go, what did you do” drill. That is tedious. After all my descriptions and getting a sketch done up of the dark man, Watchman, they still have no idea who he is. The FBI had one shot of him from an airport security cam but no ID match. It isn’t any surprise that his name, Watchman, doesn’t match anything they have either. He’s an effen phantom.

Then came the convincing part. Them trying to talk me into going back to Warlike. I put up a good fight. But I had decided already that was my only course of action. MI6 can’t protect me, they can’t even ID the guy. But Warlike knows him. Warlike has something on him. I don’t know what, but I intend to find out. I hate both of them but if putting myself under Warlike’s protection is the only way around this guy then count me in. It's temporary, it's tolerable. Once I figure out Watchman’s weakness and can adequately defend myself I’m blowing them all off. Too bad I can’t leave the planet.

Once they had collected every scrap of information about my escapades on the continent then came the part about preparing me for my grand deception. If they think spoon feeding a false back story is of any use they are so wrong. I nod my head and agree with all they tell me. Yes, of course, Warlike will never know that I am with the government. On no, I won’t breathe a word of it. He probably already knows anyways.

Make Believe

Once upon a time
there was a lost princess
who could not find
her family or friends
Everywhere she went
were strangers and dangers

She did not know her way home

Until one a day a dark man found her
along the shores of the Rhine
She knew him not
but he called her by name
where her home used to be
and how he planned to kill her

His reasons were his own

She knew he could
and probably would
She did not want to die
once had been enough
Ready to live
she had but one choice

No longer free to roam

Taking the path that had
brought him to her
she returned
across the turbulent waters
the only refuge she knew
to be used as a pawn

They all had much to atone

The princess and
this dark mark
They would meet again
and when that happened
she would be ready
and he would be dead

Ethics

It turns out I already know French, the minute I heard people speaking it around me it just started flowing out of me like I was a native. I wonder what else I know…

It takes a considerable amount of lying and thievery to get anywhere if you intend to stay off the radar, damn computerized everything. There are cameras everywhere. I’ve dyed and cut my hair, I try to change my style of clothes every couple of days and had started applying ridiculous amounts of make up. I talked my way onto a private boat that was crossing the channel, I gave them some of the money I had and worked off the rest, but now I think I could navigate a small boat if my life depended on it. You can’t have too many skills I don’t think.

But it bugs me that I have to deceive absolutely everyone I meet. I mean elaborate, convoluted lies. I can never give any hint of who I really am, where I have come from if I want to disappear completely. It's what I hated most about being a part of Warlike's world but to avoid going back it's what I have to resort to. It’s such a crappy set of choices, be the real me and a sucker or fake it for the rest of my life, never letting anyone know that real me.

That’s it really, I have been constantly surrounded by people at all times and yet I am totally alone. I have had to be on my guard at all times, and even when I was “myself” with the MI6 agents, I was able to use that against them in my escape and in the end being contrary to who I really am. Do normal people have to deal with— a work persona versus a home persona? I’m sure on some level everyone has layers but the depths of what I am having to resort to is exhausting. I don’t know how long I will be able to keep this up.

Retribution

MI6 thinks they can control the situation. Warlike thinks he rules the world. They’re all wrong. I ditched the whole lot of them. Just another day in the life of Peaceful the naïve tourist. A few strategic purchases, two items from a food store, and another at a gardening store, and an extended time in a women’s rest room, I mixed the ingredients and then decided to ride the tube at rush hour. A little smoke, someone yells fire, and you have an instant stampede.

I find now that I have not prepared appropriately for London weather, it’s freezing and has been raining some, but I warm myself with thoughts of them running around that house in a state of panic because they’ve lost me. I had to show them, I had to know for myself that I can make it without them, that I don’t need anyone. I will slum it for a few days, see if I can’t make it to Portsmouth and get a ferry to France or Spain. I have already given my mobile to some shoeless street kid, but I have memorized the numbers of some of the agents, I will call them in a few days just to mess with them.

I lifted an iPhone off of a yuppie in the tube, so I could write this, it will be shut off soon. The next question is what to do next. If I manage to drop off the radar long enough to have a new life who do I want to be, what do I want to do? I can think about that once I have gotten the English channel between myself and them.

Hell Hole

I lied. I told them it had been a long day and I just want to go to bed. It has been a long day. I am in pain in ways I didn’t even know were possible.

What do they expect me to do? Why are they doing this to me, what do they want? If I can’t go back with my parent’s, if I can’t live the life I once had, what is the point of torturing me in this way? These are supposed to be the good guys. This reunion has resolved nothing for me. I don’t know what they hoped to accomplish from this. If it was to encourage me toward some future hope, that too is no good. Without the past to draw from I cannot imagine my future with them. If it was to comfort and reassure me that too has failed.

All I feel is anger mixed with confusion. I hate them all! I am just a tool to them, all of them, no matter whose side they are on. Is that my fate?
They tell me it’s gonna be okay. Warlike has lost his advantage. The game is ours now. With my parents safe I can go back, without fear and together we can get him. All this team talk of their’s, its bullshit. Do they really think that after I hand them his head on a platter that somehow I can then go “home?” I don’t even know those people, why would I want to be with them. In a strange way they are asking me to hand over the only family I can recall. If anything I should be running to Warlike and his merry band of mercenaries. Everyone wants to use me, at least he pays.

Homecoming

I awoke this morning to the smell of bacon. I come down the narrow servant stairs into the kitchen to find Pure cooking, nothing unusual there, they all alternate, the ones that can cook. We greet each other and that is when Protector comes in. He meets me at the bottom of the steps. He’s wearing a brown t-shirt that says “Bass Master” with fish flipping across his chest. “Today is a very special day.” He gives me wide smile, his black hair standing straight up like he had been electrocuted. It’s seems so strange to me that someone with his job should be so…weird. He takes me by the arm and starts leading me toward the sitting room. “Now I don’t want you to freak out. We’re here, we’re all here for ya. If you need anything just let me know.”

Their names are “Counsel Rule” and “God is Gracious” (different names from those agents with the same meaning.) Mr. & Mrs. M. have been introduced to me as my parents. And as if to bring evidence of their claim they came armed with pictures of me: As a toddler in a blue and red bikini with a young Mrs. M kneeling next to me. On Santa’s lap in a red dress and white lace collar, black patent shoes shining brightly. My first soccer uniform, my hair pulled back in long dark curls and a black and white ball under my arm. Each photo progresses in age, finally a newspaper article showing the mangled car and the announcement of my death.

I felt nothing. I held those photos in my hands and stared hard into the eyes of the girl that was me. I want to feel something. I want to believe this is the truth, it’s such a nice truth. All I can feel is anguish for my lack of connection and anger because the only emotions I have felt are a result of Watchman’s appearance. Why should he have a place in my emotional life while my parents have none? It’s screwed up.

Of course they could have been faked, I can trust nothing but myself and that is the problem, I can’t even tell what is me or what was suggested or implanted or whatever else Warlike did to me. Maybe that was Warlike’s plan from the start. It is impossible for me to accept anything as truth or reality.

Life is but a Dream

I wish sleep was optional, I've decided to become an insomniac because they crap that comes out when I sleep is so messed up. I was in my room, in my house. I know this in the way that you know anything in a dream, you just do. It’s not the room I have now here in London or is it anything like Warlike’s house. It’s suburban America. It’s a school day and the only things left to do are put on my shoes and grab my stuff. I have my backpack, but also my duffle bag with my track clothes for practice is after school.

As I come down the stairs I can smell bacon and I am hungry. As I come jogging down the stairs I pass by a series of framed photo collages, they are always there, I have no need to look at them, I don’t have time either. As I attempt to recall the details, all my mind will conjure are rectangles of fuzzy images.

I come into the kitchen. Dad is at the table, half a cup of coffee still steaming, only the top of his head can been seen above an open newspaper, the “Wall Street Journal.” Mom is at the stove tending to the frying pans, her back to me. “Have some juice dear,” she says without turning around. That is her voice, I know it like I know my own, the voice that had been there my whole life until…

I am so overwhelmed at the sound that I run up and kiss her on the cheek. “What is that for?” She turns to look at me. With what, eyes of compassion, arched eyebrows, what! WHAT! Nothing. There’s just contoured skin over eye sockets and a mouth. I scream, stepping back, I trip and fall. I hear the newspaper rustle, followed by my dad’s voice, “What’s going on here?” It’s not a mad tone; it’s a confused tone, that is all I have to go on because he too is a blank slate.

I’m crying, I don’t know what is happening. The swinging door from the dining room bursts open and Watchful and Usurper come crashing in, they grab me by the arms and start dragging me from the room. My parents, with their blank faces, “watch” as I am pulled out of sight and dragged out of the house.

I wonder if they will give any drugs to suppress this crap.

Together Again

I was in the Megastore today, honestly standing at a listening station. I had forgotten all of them, Warrior, He Gave, Pure, the whole lot. I was just me- discovering a new (possibly renewed) love for new wave music. Surely I appeared as any teenager does, bouncing my head, tapping my foot, peering closely at the back cover, blending in. Satisfied with my selection I pulled the headphones off. As soon as I set them in the cradle, I feel it, a change in the atmosphere.

‘What once was lost has now been found,’ an American accent, coming up from the chest, ragged on the edges from years of chain smoking. His voice made the deepest part of me freeze with terror. Watchman.

I looked up across the CD rack. In the next aisle over he stood there holding the headphones and staring directly at me. His black hair tussled, his jaw shaded with bristles, and a slight smile on his lips. As always in his dark blue sports jacket and white dress shirt. Pretending to listen, he held the earphones to one side of his head making his jacket gap a bit, the butt of a gun stark against his shirt.

‘Pardon?’ I asked in the Queen’s English.

He scoffed and set the headphones aside. Winking he turned and started walking toward the doors. Quickly I looked around to see if anyone who should have been was watching. I saw no one immediately. I started toward the front of the store. An employee opened the door and let Watchman loose on the streets, into the crowds.

Again I looked around to find no one; maybe they were outside, following him now. He should be followed; the man is essentially a serial killer. He is also free lance, who was paying him is a troubling mystery. This was the moment we had been waiting for, the pieces were moving again. How can I be surrounded 24 hours a day and yet this is the one moment I appear to be alone?

The security feed revealed only what I have told you. The angle and distance of the camera’s gave only a grainy image of a customer looking at CD’s. I have spent the better part of my evening looking through the MI6 and CIA databases for an ID match. There are none and all I know about him is his first name and the murderous tenacity he has for his quarry. The next move has to be mine.

Close Encouters

There is a Hagen Daas store just under Tower Bridge. Going in for a mid-day snack I hold the door open for a man coming in behind me—this is the beginning of the end.

I wish I had faked a French or Russian accent but I have already ordered a double scoop with Pecan Praline and Cookies ‘n’ Cream in perfect English. Besides, persistence like his is not a to be discouraged by such a trifling thing as language. His name is Kennedy (yes, that’s his actual name), and he is from Brazil. He has been on vacation for the last six months and London is his latest stop.

He asks if I am married. No, do I have a boyfriend? I tell him it’s none of his business and hope the hard edge in my voice will give him the encouragement he needs to move on. He does not move on, he sits down next to me and leans close, telling me what beautiful eyes I have specifying the various hues and tones, blah, blah, blah. I look around the room for help. The other patrons are focused on their cup or cone and I can’t get anyone’s attention.

I tell him I’m seventeen but this has no effect. He accuses me of being a terrible liar and puts his arm across the back of the plastic seat back. I thank God that it is not a bench seat. I need an escape or at the very least a plausible excuse. I am quickly working my way to the bottom of my cup and have yet to taste anything it contains.

Where are the agents? Have they taken his photo and sent it to MI6 for identification already? I am hoping this will be my salvation but as I think it through I realize that he is indeed a man on vacation and therefore of no immediate threat. I hope he has a record so they will come pull me out of the situation. But with an ever-increasing sense of dread I know that I am on my own for this one. Why did I hold that door for him?

Empire Strike's Back con.

As I had said before there is not much I can remember from that time. In this case I imagine it to be a blessing and not a curse. Through all that haze I remember one thing for sure, the face of Protector above me. His face was like the others, meaning he was Chinese, but there was a quality about it that was different. It could have been hours or days, time was irrelevant there. It turns out that it was just short of six weeks we were there. Protector had been there from the start so he must have been under deep cover long before our arrival. Am I glad he was, every day whispering in my ear like an angel, he spoke to me in words I knew but I was so drugged I could not make sense of what he said but they gave me hope. Hope for what I do not know but hope is all it takes to get you through any disaster. It’s all like a weird and way too long dream. I am never sure if the people and things that happen in my head at night are/were real or if my brain is making it all up.

But him and Noble Lady they are with MI6. What a coo for the British government, I wonder if the American’s are pissed that they didn’t get to me first, I mean they probably feel they get dibs since I’m a US citizen, I think. This whole operation is run by the Brits so maybe they have a thing against Warlike, though I can’t imagine who wouldn’t. What ever you can call this life it’s the best one so far. Long live the queen.

Empire Strikes Back

One day I’m Warlike’s prisoner and the next I am the prized possession of MI6. But still I have not gotten to how MI6 has come into this long and sad tail. I’ll tell ya how. The Chinese, not to be out done by anyone, still desperate to prove themselves a force to be reckoned with, are investing in genetic alterations. Russia couldn’t afford us and I don’t imagine any terrorists would be interested, they aren’t organized enough as a single group to afford what the Chinese paid, besides they tend to like the good ol’ fashion warfare with explosive weapons and stealth.

Anyways next thing I woke up to find myself in a padded room. I couldn't even recall the last thing that had happened to me. All I knew was that I was alone in a cushioned box with only the barest of clothing on and electrodes all over my body. The lights came on full force, the door swung open and I was surrounded by four compact but very cut men. I had no idea what this was about so I waited. They thought the same I guess 'cause there we all were ready to fight but no one moved.

Then there was shout from behind that filled the tiny space with ear bleeding effectiveness. Seemed one of them had decided they'd had enough and they jumped me. I decided until I knew what was going on I would only defend myself. After the fourth or fifth dog pile I had changed my mind about keeping it friendly.

Until now I had never had to actually hit someone for real, Usurper and Bright Flame did not count. I mean really hit, with the intent to harm. A-it hurts, being nigh invulnerable is not mutually exclusive of pain. B-it’s noisy, the sound of cracking bone or fist to flesh is not something I had heard before. The whole experience is jarring. I was able to hold them off for a good bit just out of shear brutality, but these guys were fast. And did I mention there were four of them.

Then as suddenly as they had started, they stopped. I was one knee on the ground just trying to breathe. They were bloodied and out of breath as much as me. As I pushed myself to standing a jolt of electricity bit my skin. Then another. And another. It was the electrodes, there were dozens of them and they all started shocking me. I reached to pull them off and the intensity of the shocks increased.

I must have passed out at this point because the next thing I saw were lights moving above me, I floated along the ground as my attackers carried me down a tight hallway, I could see the walls past their heads. My fingers and toes still tingled with electricity. I kicked and screamed to the best of my ability. My new strategy being to make things as difficult as possible for them.

Quickly we passed through a door and I was harshly thrown up onto some sort of surface or platform where they strapped down all my extremities before I could regain my coordination. The room was uncannily similar to what Warlike’s facilities were. Maybe they had the same designer. Looking I around there is a table next to me. Usurper restrained in the same way, the rise and fall of his chest indicated sleep. Holding my head in place a mask is put over my nose and mouth. I can smell the gas that will usher me into oblivion.

If I ever see Likeness of God again he’s a dead man.

Search and Rescue

It hurt, let there be no delusions about that. I don’t know how many floors up we were but it doesn’t take much speed to cause the littlest damage. There was smoke, darkness, and pain. All of us on the bottom of a half crushed metal box, a tangle of limbs. I don’t know if I blacked out of not. There was the confusion of voices and hammering. There was light eventually. Flashlights, really bright ones. Then in that grotesque half-light I was pulled out of the elevator and I saw the man from the American Eagle store.

He smiled at me, “Good to see you again, Peaceful.” He offered his hand and helped me to my feet. I was dizzy. It felt like I should know him but maybe that is because he acted as if this is the case. He could see I had no idea who he is. “’Likeness of God’, I’ve been looking for you for months.”

There’s a commotion as Usurper was retrieved from the wreckage, kicking and shouting. He was pulled up by his arms and looked up to see the two of us. “You! Again!” He lunged at the man, but was held back by those holding his arms. “How did you find us?”

“Same as the last time,” he handed me off to someone, I was too dizzy to stand on my own, and then stepped up to Usurper. “I’m surprised your owner didn’t have the tracking device removed,” he looked back at me. “We all deserve a second chance.” He pulled his hand back and struck Usurper hard across the jaw.

Usurper started bleeding but acted unfazed, the look of hate in his eyes tried to burn into Likeness of God. Usurper started struggling again, but I could tell he was not him self. His eyelids were weighted despite his rage. His movements sluggish, like trying to run in mud.

“I will not be deprived of my pay a second time, you pair are worth a lot on the black market.” He pulled out his gun and fired it into the elevator car. Sparks flew out as a fire began eating away at the contents left in the elevator. Only Usurper and myself had been pulled out.

Where It All Went Wrong

As result of my maneuver mentioned on 06/25, it was my idea, my small victory among all the losses. The loss of identity, memory, and essentially free will. It was a small thing to go to the mall, but it meant a lot to me. Little did I know how much it would change everything. Then again not so much as I would have hoped. I have managed to escape the tutelage of Warlike only to be the pawn of the powers that want to take him down.

There I was in American Eagle when I heard someone say my name. It’s not a common name, sure there are few names that could be mistaken for it, but still, I’m not going to give in so easily.

“Peaceful.”

I looked up from my examination of a top I was contemplating. Someone definitely said MY name, someone not in my entourage. I casually looked around. At the next rack over was a couple that appeared to be browsing as well. The woman did not look up but the man was looking straight at me. He seemed familiar, there is something about him that I wanted to remember, but of course there is nothing there but the wanting of a memory.

Usurper showed up at that moment to tell me we are going back to the hotel. By the time we get to the hotel we are fighting. Our ever so discreet escorts had learned long ago to stay out of it, no doubt under Warlike’s advice to let us work it out between us. I was so fed up with his shit, he is so full of it and himself, and I had just had it. We were in an elevator, going back up to the penthouse when this death trap stopped to a grinding halt and all the lights blinked out. We stood in the dark silence listening on full alert. There was tapping and creaking in the shaft. Then our stomachs dropped as the elevator started its sudden descent.

It’s amazing what the human brain is able to do in those brief moments. So much runs through your head in a very short space of time. “Is this it?” I thought angrily. This is to be the sum of my existence, a shell of shattered bone matter, exploded organs, and high tech drugs at the bottom of an elevator shaft and with these people! These people don’t give a shit about me; they just do what they’re told. There’s got to be someone out there who cares what has become of me. Is there anyone crying into their pillow at night wondering if I’m alive?

BAM! Welcome to the basement.

What the...?!

I'm on the bus going to Trafalgur and I'm standing next to this gal who is dressed really nice. I mean her style is cool and I'm thinking maybe I should dress more like that. It's hip but not cheap wanna be hippie. She looks normal (what is that?) put together and then BAM! Literally, BAM, she slams her own head against the bar she's holding onto. There was no sudden stop or shift, everyone else seemed to be as still as I am, as still as anyone is on a city bus. It was just so violent and sudden. What is going on inside of her that would cause such an abrupt action. Very strange.

Allies

There’s this cute guy at the Costa Coffee at Waterloo Station, so now I have an addiction to coffee, but I prefer to think of it as an addiction to him-“Little Fire”. Dark brown eyes, chocolate brown hair, and the most beautiful smile, it makes my day every morning. I think he’s 20 or 21, I told him my parents are house swapping for the rest of the year with a family that has our house in NYC. I’ve never been to New York, but I did a little research so I can talk like I live there, tell him where the best coffee is, the best sandwiches, best place to take your date, complete with street names and neighborhood, those kind of pertinent details, I think I could live there. Little Fire promises me to visit, but hasn’t offered to take me to any of London’s best of. Whatever, it’s better he remains eye candy, I could disappear any day now, no point in disappointing both of us.

It wasn’t until recently that I was told the story of how I got here in the first place. Why London? Why MI6? I’m an American, I least I’ve never been told otherwise. The answer is “Determined Protector” and “Noble Lady.” Undercover agents with MI6, working on a case that I was unknowingly made a part of. Once my presence, and consequently Usurpers, came on the scene it altered their assignment. What that assignment was I don’t know, I didn’t even know their involvement until I was introduced to them a few days ago. But if Protector had not come to the rescue I’d still be strapped to an exam table with masked faces hanging above me jabbering in another language as they stole blood, bone marrow, and all other kinds of DNA components from me. Bastards!

Most of those six weeks is a blur of bad dreams, pain, and periods of bright light followed by pitch black darkness. To be taken from one hell to another kind is not what I would recommend to anyone. But anyways, Protector is awesome. He is not Caucasian, he is of the same decent as those who kidnapped me, but he is an English citizen though he would fit right into any of those fantasy Kung Fu movies that are so popular right now, I mean he is that good, he does that stuff for real, but only when needed of course. Luckily he doesn’t need it often because Noble Lady is his partner person who makes sure there is always a way out, around, or under, which consequently how they got Usurper and I out and thereby ruining their whole operation. They won’t tell what happened to Usurper. Is he in an identical house somewhere else in London or did they ship him back to the US? I can’t imagine him cooperating with these guys…what would he do with his time if it was his own?

Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

"Of the earth" is a hulking brut of a man. So utterly unrefined, I wonder if there's a drop of English blood in him at all. I think he's just faking the accent. For a government agent he seems unnaturally obsessed with guns, but I have to admit that is a comforting feeling when I'm out on one of explorations. His source of pride, next to himself, is his sharp shooting ability and that is a skill that can always be appreciated. It's scary to listen to the guys banter about various ways to kill a man and know I can throw in my two cents, but I don't. I pretend to be enthralled with other things, like the stupid teen magazines they've brought me and reality TV. Ulgh, what a waste of time.

"Pure" despite the harmless tone of her name she is a rod of steel. She'll joke around with the others, but if you want something done, she's the one to do it. "Jewel" and "With brown hair" are so sweet I can't believe that are agents. They could kill you with their pinky finger and you would never know it. I guess that I'm that unsuspecting as well. "Summer" is a prodigy of sorts, like me, only without all the drugs. She's a natural smarty pants, has a mind for strategy in creepy sixth sense sort of way, a chess game lasts about 3 minutes if she's playing. I however am simply a walking science experiment, now that there is no more experimenting, I can't help speculating what will happen to my abilities now that they aren't being enhanced.

For lack of any other remembrance, I like my new family. It's artificial, like the last one, I am still in the unnerving position of being watched all the time, and I am having fun, but I miss having a purpose. Warlike's an asshole and I will kill him if I get the chance, but with my first family there was always this drive towards something bigger. Being a teenager, as I have been exhorted to be countless times, has gotten boring. Being a tourist isn't much better, it's fine for the first few weeks, especially when there is no monetary limitations, but now what?

SPAM

I don’t think I will be very good at this now that I have the time and opportunity to do this cyber social networking thing. I don’t really like it. I rather be outside. I think that is the old me coming out. Should I say the “original me?” The me I was before Warlike came along with his plans for world domination. Anyways, I just get the feeling that I did not spend much time in front of a computer or TV for that matter.

Did I mention the Millennium Bridge? Watching the opaque water churn below as I wait for Big Ben to tell me the time is something I do often. It's so open right there. With the exception of some steel cables there is no cover. Even I wonder if I have a death wish. Listening to them report at the end of shift when we all return to the house by separate routes is the most entertaining part of my day I think. "He Gave", "Pure", "Little Rock", "With brown hair", "Of the earth", "Jewel", "God is Gracious", "Summer", and "Counsel Rule" are the crack MI6 agents who watch over Peaceful Kingdom and while they represent the control I'd rather be free of, I do get to be outside in any case and that's a plus.

My whole premise for being here in cyberspace was to feign some sort normalcy that I otherwise lacked when I was with Warlike. While being used by a different kind of tyranny it is the most normal I remember to date. I'm living in a house with windows, bullet proof of course. It's a small borough that skirts London and there are neighbors who walk their dogs and rake their yards. All I need is some parents and a sibling, but really that's what "Of the earth" is good for, I really don't know how he got in. But that's between you and I. ;)

Surreal Life

I'll never forget that sound. For me it is the sound of freedom, to others it is just the sound of passing time. If you live here long enough it becomes white noise. Sadly this is true for me despite my best efforts, but at least once a day, usually more, I hear the first tones hit the air I stop everything and wait for the low tolling the simply states the hour.

I love London and its crowds of people. I love jumping into a stream of people and literally get lost among them. Having never been around more than the handful of aforementioned individuals it was scary at first, but I love, love. love every moment. I go on The Underground during rush hour just to be smashed into those tiny tubes. My body guards HATE it, I mean pist. It aggravates them not only because they don't share my enthusiasm for hoards of angry commuters, but also because having so many possible kidnappers or assassins to watch over in tight quarters makes their jobs near impossible.

To the unobservant I am just a teenage tourist wandering the city in naive wonder. I passed through the line five times just to see the light sparkle off of the thousands cut surfaces on the Crown Jewels. At St. Peters Cathedral I come so often just to stare out at the skyline that the director’s minions have stopped ushering me from the dome. Once they let me stay up there during high mass. I sat with my back against the curved walls and with my eyes closed I drifted in an ocean of choral voices. That was a great day.

To the very observant they would see that I am never alone at any single moment. Ear pieces being a tip off they have resorted to eye and hand signals. I have more people watching over me than William and Harry. The best part of all of this is my very public appearances, of which I gladly indulge in, are intentional. It's all part of the plan. I'm not sure I like being bait, but at least I get to have fun while I'm at it.

For now I get to be like every one else, sort of, which is all I can remember wanting for so long. But ultimately my life can never be "normal". I should accept that it has not been and never will be normal. The fantasy to be a typical teenager must be forsaken, but for the moment I've gotten really good at pretending. Presently, it's time for high tea at Baker Street with Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson.

Field Trip

I hate to admit this but the girl thing really works. I complained and badgered them enough to get this Internet privilege. I knew that was a stretch. I announced my discovery of the dress and the subsequent recall of the incident at the party, ball, whatever it was. Freaked them out! Is it really that hard to conceal side way glances and shuffling of feet? They we’re very uncomfortable with my recovered information. I was given reserved congratulations on my overcoming amnesia.

That revelation coupled with a teary outburst of emotion broke them. It completely unhinged them. I was shocked. These people act like the planet is their personal chessboard, toppling diplomats and negotiating wars or whatever it is they do, but I have moved the hands that move the world. What’s this you ask, this request of mine that I made with tears and pleading?

I imagine it is a small thing for anyone reading this, but to me it will be the greatest day to date. I get to go to the mall. No doubt there will be an escort and it seems that Watchman is forever hovering in the background, but I don’t care. I get to transverse sunlit corridors with crowds of people, some of them my own age. Eat really bad food. Try on things and maybe, if I’m fortunate, I will even buy something. This may seem overblown and silly, but I have been locked up too long with people I don’t like in a place with no windows. To breathe fresh air is all I ask.

Why was it so effective? If Usurper, that obedient pup, is any example of what the others are like then I am a complete wild card and their most successful case to date. Technically Usurper is the most successful of any of us; he has yet to display any unfortunate side effects (unless you consider self-centeredness a defect.) But I suspect it is because I am his equal and it is in their best interest to keep me happy. To cooperate with me is a gesture they hope I will feel inclined to return. I have considered the possibility that the price they will exact later will be higher than what I want to pay but for now that is a risk I am willing to take for a few minutes of freedom even if it is only a self induced delusion.

Diplomacy

I found the dress. It’s one of those shiny materials that looks like two colors depending on the light. Dark blue/black with clear rhinestones, like stars, scattered across the full, floor length skirt. It was sealed in a dry cleaning bag in the back of my closet, I took it out because I just couldn’t believe my eyes— it still smelled like smoke.

It wasn’t a dream. I did punch Usurper, right in the gut as he was gloating, with the clubhouse on fire behind us, Watchman standing behind me, police and fireman every where. All of us, we were just part of this crowd of witnesses that had been in a terrible incident. With some effort I found a newspaper article reporting about an explosion at an exclusive L.A. clubhouse. Pieces of several explosive devices were found and due to the kinds of guests, foul play is suspected but there were never any arrests.

The other boy that was there, he was real too. I thought maybe at first he was a plant. Some sort of stupid test set up by Warlike, but I don’t think he was. I have no way of ever knowing for sure, but I can’t let them get to me. They don’t control everything, just a very small part. “Defender of men” from Westchester County whose father works for the UN, I’m sorry if either of you were hurt, I wish we could have talked longer. I wish I had escaped, we could have been friends. I would have secretly lived in your family pool house. Only you, the gardener, and me would know I was there.

Is that something I can want? Is that so wrong? Friends and free time. I have no choices here; it’s do or die. Desire is a dangerous thing. I think it’s safe to say it’s gotten me in trouble before.

A Day In Wonderland

Today was awesome! One word—BUNJI. It’s kinda crazy to think that there is a full size gym hiding down here, like one you would see in a high school (so I’m told, stairs climbing up one side, the side you enter in at the top. Rich people spend their money in all sorts of ways, I guess. Some people get expensive cars, others get expensive cars and underground gyms. But who cares, I can fly. The objective is to get my equilibrium used to sudden drops and to practice firing at fast speed, call it what you like it was the most fun I’ve had yet. Bright Flame has me doing it all week, but I think I know what I’m doing with my free time.

Despite the fact that there are no windows and therefore no reference to night and day, there is a rhythm to what happens around here. They have me on a set schedule to get me re-ready for whatever purpose they created me. After breakfast is strength and perseverance training. Then “book” learning, MacGuyver type stuff, chem., internal communications, stuff that helps you when you are out in the real world, like French. I guess we’ll be taking over a French embassy someday, I don’t know, maybe just a French restaurant, but at least I will know all the wines. It’s mostly memory stuff and that is easy as osmosis, it just happens. The bunji training is part this sort of program to make you distraction free, a lot of it is done with the military video games, but Warlike wants us to feel it and sense it in actuality and that is where paintball comes in. They throw in any one around, change the environment, light levels, noise levels, some people may have better or worse weapons, they mix it up pretty well. It’s a good way to get out frustrations, but most of the time it’s just a lot of fun. Except for Usurper, that guy becomes someone else when he’s got a gun in his hand. Sometimes I wonder if he is the same person.

It had been a pretty good run of games and as it often is, he and I were the only ones left, but he had already won the two previous rounds and he was feeling pretty good about himself. We all banter as we run around, but his was becoming increasingly self- aggrandizing. In short he was getting on my nerves and it was time to knock him off his goddam horse. All it would take would be one shot and it’s game over. In a sequence of running and shooting, only seen in movies, yellow paint speeding past me, splattering all around, we ran at each other in a full run and some how, I dodged and weaved, aimed and fired, and BAM! Usurper is covered purple paint. If we had been using real guns I would taken out his entire chest cavity.

I admit, I did a pogo dance of victory. The others clapped and cheered. Usurper just glared at me. In keeping with the spirit of the game I walked up to him with a little sway in my hips and leaned in close to his reddening face and said sweetly, “Whooped by a woman, huh? Better get used to it,” and blew him a kiss. To my shock and amazement he threw his gun on the ground and verbally exploded. He lost it, I mean absolutely lost it. He was demeaning, derogatory, and right out malicious. A real Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Finally the cyclone ceased and he stood before me, sweat dribbling down his beet red face, hissing through his teeth as he caught his breath. I was so stunned by all the hurtful things he had just thrown at me. He had always been so supportive and encouraging. It seems that Mr. Number1 was feeling his position slipping. The perfect revenge of course would have been to play up to Warlike and simply displace Usurper, but that would take too long. So…I punched him; square in the jaw.

There was a clean cracking sound that matched the jab of pain that shot through knuckles. His head snapped back, but he recovered quickly, staring me down. Blinking, he took a deep breath and leaned in toward me, as he pulled his arm back for retaliation; Bright flame squeezed himself between us before Usurper could do any more. Even as pain was just starting to radiate up my arm I was so happy. Punching him was one of the most satisfying things I have ever felt.

Needful Things

The one's I like…the person who oversees my training is "Bright Flame". He's funny and so down to earth for someone in an outfit like this he's a misfit. He seems so well adjusted, he should have a wife and kids somewhere. Maybe he does, I don't know. He often works with "Admirable," she's really nice too. She's one tough woman, despite the Southern charm thing she's got going on, sometimes I think she fakes that though. I often wonder how Warlike appears to them. Is it just a job to them, no questions asked beyond that? Is he fair? Are there good benefits? The pay must be killer, why else work for such a megalomaniac. Why is he more desirable over all the other warmongers? They all seem to understand the nature of the Company's business, and yet they sleep well, get along with each other and even watch movies together, like it was a family. There is no competitiveness that I can see. Still…this is not normal no matter how familiar it is to any of us.

When Bright Flame was informed about my amnesia, he shook his head and stuffed down his opinion with a grunt. His naturally open demeanor returned quickly enough, but with my heightened paranoia it was enough to make me suspicious. Admirable seemed taken back by my condition. While this unusual twist of my fate seems to disrupt people, it is momentary and easily passed over with the auto-response, "It's just the drugs" and/or the assurance that it's only temporary. "Here's the 'truth,' just accept it and be happy about it." This is what I mean about every one being liars. Though I realize that I have no grounds for judging them, I lie too. It's a prerequisite for this lifestyle.

Bright Flame doesn't seem to mind one bit that he has to retrain me, I remember in an unconscious sort of way. If I don't try to remember things will comes back to me, out of habit I suppose, or as he calls it muscle memory. I know how to block or disarm without remembering it. What ammo goes with what weapons, it does seem to be stored up in there somewhere because it comes out when I need it. This is somewhat assuring to me. It means that this has actually happened before and I'm not just being told it was so, which is how it feels.

Doesn't this also mean that I can't be crazy because your brain can only "make up" stuff it knows? I can't make up quantum formulas if I didn't already know them in some way right?

There is something else. Someone is missing. Of course I don't know who it is and won't until they show up. I don't feel like they are another wunderkind like Usurper or myself. I've heard there are others, but I've never seen them. In the Med. Center their names are on little glass jars, just like mine: "Dawn", "Harvester", "Handsome", "Gift of God", and "King". But this person I want to meet, is none of them, I'm sure of it. I don't even know if they are male or female, but there is an urgency to find them. I hope with every new person I meet that blank space will get filled, but it doesn't. I think they may be AWOL or MIA, so no one wants to talk about it. Or worse, turned traitor and defected or killed. If that's the case then the gnawing in the back of my mind will continue to wake me up at night.

Big Brother

There are many things about my situation that don’t seem right and including “Usurper.” My gut reaction towards him is aggravation. He's my “partner” (like we are working on some science fair project or something) and he is the most helpful, understanding person of the whole lot. And you see, that’s the problem, because I don't believe a thing he says. It's like Warlike has put him up to this and he's doing an Academy performance at being my buddy.

I tested him when we were running together the other day. I told him I had a dream that we were at a dance together, a really fancy ball. Warlike and Innocent Lamb were there too. (I really did dream this.) While they have attempted to wipeout everything I know, my brain is still trying to tell me something, I get the feeling that a lot of my dreams are not dreams at all, but memories rising to the surface, they’re too grounded and detailed for dreams. But anyways, in the dream I met another boy there who was as bored as I was with all the pomp and circumstance and BOOM— a big explosion, tables in the air, fire everywhere, people screaming, the whole nine yards. Usurper listened patiently, no reaction other than active listening. Then I told him how in the dream he was such a jerk that I ultimately punched him, right in front of Warlike and everything. His cheeks flared red. He sputtered in shock that I could think him so terrible and apologized for his dream self. But I saw it, in his eyes, for that millisecond there was anger there.

The other thing that doesn’t fit is that when we are alone, like when we’re running, he is personable, jokey, and ultimately a really big flirt, but if anyone else is around he’s like a robot. Only speaks when spoken to and everything becomes a ceremony with him. Things have to be done just right, in the right order and timing to attain a kind behavioral flawlessness. There is nothing careless or sloppy with him. You should see his room, the place is like a museum. Is this OCD behavior a result of his genetic enhancements or the accumulative effect having so much expected of you for so long, isolated most of his life like he has been? It makes me sad to watch him watch himself. I don’t get it.

Once I’m retrained we will have to start putting into practice all this training and we will have no one to trust but each other in a dangerous situation and I'm not going to be able to because frankly--he's a two faced liar. Well they all are, aren't they, even the ones I like. No one tells the truth or they disguise it with layers of jargon and enigmatic metaphor.

Nemesis

"Watchman," whom I usually refer to as Asshole, is not actually an employee of "the Company," just a specialist that works exclusively by contract. The exact nature of his expertise and purpose of his current contract appears to be common knowledge to all but myself. Warlike depends heavily on him, which means he must be good at whatever it is he does.

For someone who is not part of the organization he sure hangs around a lot. Not only that, he has a vested interest in pissing me off. How can you be a professional anything when you can’t even take the time to comb your hair or clean your jacket? The man looks like an AA reject. As far as I can tell his talents include profuse cussing, chain smoking, and nervous twitching. Tapping on tables, sucking on a toothpick, or pacing, just this ongoing litany of motion. He must be OCD or ADD.

Despite that though, somehow he manages to appear and disappear at will. If he is not directly involved with what is going on you forget all about him, then right in the middle of the conversation he throws out some lame ass comment and we are all taken by surprise. To add insult to injury every word he utters is an act of plagiarism. Not a single statement is original, all of them borrowed from some TV show or movie. I don’t think he knows how to form his own sentence.

He is, however, aptly named. I’ll be in a training session with Bright Flame or reorientation with Ever Mighty and as soon as I step into the hallway I have this feeling that I’m being watched. I am always being watched of course, there are cameras everywhere. It feels like a temperature change or a drop in the barometer. The first couple of times I shrugged it off and would continue on my way to my room or the dining hall-BAM, there he’d be, leaning in the doorway leering at me, a cigarette in his mouth.

{{{shivering}}} It’s so gross, I hate it. The elaborate schema of lies that has been constructed for my benefit is galling and insulting, but this, this weird pre-cog kind of way of knowing he is nearby is disturbing to the point of sickness. He's the most repulsive human being I can remember ever meeting and I’m sure the most repulsive of the ones that have been erased.

We're All Mad Here

Sometimes I think that maybe I’m actually a crazy person and all of this is a paranoid delusion I’ve created because I can’t cope with the real world. But do crazy people make up worlds that are worse than the ones they live in?

Maybe I’m in a coma and this is the world my brain has made up while I’m stuck asleep. I was in a coma for a short time they’ve told me. But maybe that was a dream too and so I only dream that I am awake now. A dream with in a dream sort of scenario. The cause of the coma is one of those mysteries that they explain as an effect of the drugs. It seems to me the unpredictable nature of these drugs would not be worth the risk, then again I don’t have the resources, the time, or the motive they have to experiment on human life.

I found out something I shouldn’t so they wiped out the memory of it and got a little enthusiastic. Or maybe I was on an assignment and I had an accident, fell off a balcony maybe. I rather believe I was in a terrible car accident. We were in a high speed car chase. We…Usurper and me? Somehow that seems to actually be something like the truth. Not the coma, the car accident. I wasn’t driving. It was somebody else, another girl…I don’t feel well...

Fantasy Island

You should see Warlike’s house. I feel like the director is going to out from behind a pillar and shout “cut” at any moment. Marble and mahogany everything. The style is fairly simple, just rich in texture. Handrails and arches are dark, anything wood really, is a simple bevel and fully functional, but the rich color is highly polished giving it a mesmerizing depth. The floors are all composed of tile imported from Italy. The fully loaded home theater with twenty leather recliners is a shocking sight to behold. With a full staff to maintain the house at all times every room is in order at all times, there is nothing out of place except for me.

This is my first idea that something is wrong. It seems to me that if this environment was something I was accustomed to I would not be in awe. It just feels weird having maids make my bed and people serve my food. I don’t really like the extra activity of them moving around me, as I do nothing.

My room supposedly is unchanged. There’s a mahogany vanity. It has the expected female amenities, namely aromatic lotions and body sprays in an array of colors. There is some make-up but nothing overwhelming. CD cases are piled in leaning towers on one side of the mirror and continue on to the floor. Most of the CD’s themselves are in similar piles on top of the cases. I want to see photos taped around the mirror but there aren’t. There are no photos of any kind. There should be, I think. But then again the nature of the organization is not given to photographic evidence.

Clothes are in neat piles in the chair next to the walk-in closet. I suspect they are folded by the same person who makes my bed, which happens to be covered in a purple zebra stripe pattern, so maybe the punk band thing is not that far off. It’s still out of place with the brocade curtains that belong to a couch downstairs, but at least there is some hint or falsified attempt at my supposed self expression.

There are no books or magazines so I must not be a reader. Half the clothes that have been left out are workout clothes, so I must be active. Learning about yourself from yourself is like landing in another country you know nothing about. Everything is an enigma and a mystery. You are curious about everything but you have no context to interpret what you are seeing.

Something in me wants to take what I can conclude about myself and act contrary to it. If can surprise Warlike and Gentle Lamb with this new Peaceful they will slip up. The façade will crack and I will be able to see things as they really are and not as the have engineered them to appear. I just have an inexplicable desire to piss them off. Maybe that is how this all happened in the first place. My being difficult, yet indispensable, forces them to drastic measures.

Is my amnesia really a side effect or a consequence?

Time will tell. Despite my discomfort there it beats this windowless hellhole they’ve brought me to. I know one thing for sure and that is that I miss the sun and a sense of day and night. It may be an intentional tactic to break me down, or maybe training so I’m not even reliant on the elements, irregardless, it sucks.

Meet the Parents

On MySpace they ask, “Who Would You Like to Meet?” My parents. I’m going to call them Ron & Judy. For some reason I imagine them to be an older couple, almost like grandparents, or maybe aunt and uncle like Peter Parker or Luke Skywalker. Ron…er… Dad has owned a hardware store for the last twenty years. He has five hardware stores in the same town. Everyone goes to him for their D.I.Y. projects. And he's on the city council. After school I work there a few hours a week to learn responsibility. Judy…mom…ugh, let’s go back to Judy later. I don’t know what she does. I want to say she bakes all day but that is so utopian.

I'm going to say that we live in Suburbia where all the houses coordinate and I'm the center of their lives in the role as the perfect, college bound daughter they always wanted. I'm going to be blonde in this version to determine if it's true about them having more fun. I'm the captain of the division championship girls soccer team and my boyfriend…he's junior class president. I'm in a band, "The Screaming Eels", we do angry girl punk rock. I do this because I want to be known for more than my amazing soccer skills. Can't box me in, I like to keep them guessing. You know the almighty them. Those people you believe are watching you, judging you, saying things about you. You're like them, only nicer.


We live in upper middle class bliss in sunny California because it's always sunny there. Bad things happen in L.A. so we only go there for Disneyland. It feels like I should have a dog, but I don't. No pets ever and I like it that way. I guess I'm not an animal person.
My best friend, her name is Sydney, like the city, it's where her parents got engaged. She's from Japan, her parents moved here when she was 2 so they could pursue the American Dream. Her dad's has to spend the week in Silicon Valley to keep the dream alive so she only gets to see him 48 hours a week. She sneaks out of the house late at night to escape the forced family time only to appear at my window and we stay up until 3am chatting online and being outrageous flirts. She's the drummer in the band, I'm lead guitar. We are looking for a lead vocalist...