*set think true I carefully make my way to the small space of wall next to the window, being sure to retain as much distance from the crowd as possible until I've made it to the designated point. No room for someone to approach without me noticing, escape route in the form of a window, vision of the entire room. I would prefer some cover but I'm going to have to work with what I have. Taking my post, back firmly against the wall, I begin scanning the room and taking in all places of notice. The entrance is wide to allow crowds, there are images of the school's name and mascot darted across the walls and on the floor, some basketball nets retracted into the ceiling. Based on what I observed when entering the room I begin calculating how long it would take for someone to aim and fire on my position immediately after entering the room. Using my own skills in the place of the attacker, assuming they are using a high-powered rifle with a force of 2301N and a bullet traveling at the speed of 238m/s, and of course assuming they are targeting me specifically, I calculate it would take 0.8 seconds to enter the room, 3 seconds to locate me, 1.7 seconds to properly aim, .3 seconds to pull the trigger, and .6 seconds for the bullet to travel the length of the room. Allowing me, in the most pessimistic scenario, 6.4 seconds to realize what's going on, break the window to my right, and vault through. Assuming it takes me less than three attempts to break the window, I should be able to barely make it. Confident in my security, *choice #I retain hyperawareness, keeping note of every detail It may feel safe, but in my experience safety is one of the biggest lies a person could believe. Safe was a state you should avoid at all possible costs. Safe was complacency. Safe was that feeling you got, right before a sniper's bullet splattered your brains all over the walls. I've rarely known anyone for more than two years. They usually died pretty early on, and almost every single one of them felt safe when they did. I'd lost count of the number of colleagues I'd seen get shot by a sniper from across town, or stabbed in the back by the whore they thought loved them, or being blown up by the land mine hidden under the patch of dirt on the road they went through every day. Everyone I just mentioned died in a single instance, no warning or chance to save themselves, but I didn't; because I was never safe. Nobody notices or approaches me as time moves, which is definitely the ideal scenario. Before long, the assembly appears to finally begin as a man makes a slow approach to the podium in the middle of the room. *goto aware #I settle into a state of semi-awareness Alertness, when forced by your environment, quickly becomes second nature. Something you do unconsciously at every moment. It doesn't take a great degree of concentration to maintain awareness of all possible threats, especially when the odds have been stacked in my favor such as I have done here. It is this unconscious perceptiveness that has kept me alive. That being said, the whole point of moving to a suburban utopia was to try and forget all that. While my inner child is screaming at me and telling me what an suicidal idea this is, I begin to let my mind wander to parts unknown. Thinking too much was always a dangerous idea for me, I've spent many sleepless nights back in the trenches, but the sooner I got used to thinking would be the sooner I got used to this whole experience they call a 'normal life.' The psychotherapist that they briefly had me see before being released into the world had recommended taking time out of each day for just thinking and letting my mind wander to wherever it felt like and until now I'd been severely neglecting that task. *choice #And for good reason. There's nothing in my head that I want to dwell on, best to focus on the present That therapist had no idea what he was talking about when he said I could find comfort in my mind. There's nothing in my past that could bring me peace and focusing on it would only make things worse. Better to focus on the present.; and the man walking onto the podium. *goto aware #This is supposed to help me, in some strange way. I don't think I've ever just thought before... I take one last cautious look around and, defying a rule that had been instilled in me since the day I was born, I close my eyes. It's darker than I thought it would be, like all the light in the world had just been snuffed out. To test I try turning my head and the darkness doesn't lift or even shift. I feel a degree of helplessness from being completely cut off from one of my most vital senses. I'm overwhelmed with a feeling of complete lack of defense. is this what others feel all the time? I can't imagine how they can bear it. *choice #This is too much! I open my eyes Maybe these others can live with it, but I certainly can't. When my sight returns, I quickly take stock of everything to make sure it's all right where I left it. Nobody came any closer to me, nobody is looking at me. I'm ready. I'm alert. I'm alive. Still alive. *goto aware #Courage. I've lived through far worse than just closing my eyes Bravery wasn't exactly my area of strength; you don't survive as long as I have by being brave. But if I was ever going to get better, I'd have to dabble in a bit of courage, by necessity. My eyes closed, I try to focus on just thinking. Nothing but thinking. Not on the room full of screaming potential threats, not of the footsteps walking across the pavement approximately 13ft in front of me, not the faint sound of whispers from the bleachers passing along potentially vital information. Just thoughts. Unfortunately, this is as far as the psychotherapist ever taught me. Nobody ever taught me how to think. In fact, for most of my life I was encouraged specifically to avoid thinking about things. Thinking led to asking questions. They didn't want thinking soldiers, they want soldiers who would go out and die for them without hesitation, and wouldn't give in to petty things like regret and conscience. Killers and cannon fodder were all they wanted, all I was ever meant to be. It was only after I started becoming good at it that they gave me any special attention... *choice #That's enough thinking. I'll travel this road, just not now I thought I was strong enough...but I'm still a coward at heart. I know what comes from remembering those days; there's nothing down that path but regret and misery. I'll cross it, on my own time. So I open my eyes... *goto aware #I remember when I was first approached by the senior officer... He had a name of course. Multiple names in fact. But for me, he'll always just be 'that officer.' It was rare for any of the kids to survive more than two years in the organization. I had far longer than that. He asked me how. I shrugged and told him I didn't know. It was the most honest answer, I'd never thought about it before. Survival was just something I did, on instinct, I never had to think about it. Other people died and I didn't, that was the short and long version of it. This amused him for some reason, they were always laughing at things that to this day I never understand. He asked me if I wanted to get better at surviving. I told him that I would, if that's what he wanted me too. He laughed again, and said he would like that very much. *choice #He was a monster, and so was I, and this was pointless *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 This was a bad idea from the start. The past was the past, I couldn't change it and I can't change me. It was better to just focus on the present. I quickly open my eyes and... *goto aware #[i]That's how I began advanced training... [i]Most kids, the ones who don't make it, just learn how to point a gun and pull the trigger. They're expendable so nobody invests much in their training, just in making sure they know enough and are plentiful enough to win through attrition. For the survivors, like me, they put much more effort into turning us into effective killing machines. [i]Machines. That word is more perfect than I intended it to be. We weren't children, we were guns. We didn't choose who we killed, we just did it without question and without remorse. Killing was just what we did. [i]We became experts in every form of death. We were destroyed and built from the ground up to be perfect killers. And we were really good at it. [i]They knew my training was complete when I was escorting the man who recruited me between hideouts... *choice #I know what happened! I know what I did! I don't need to remember! *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 Will remembering it make anything better? How is digging up everything I've done supposed to help in any way? I don't need to remember, and I don't want to remember! I want to be here, at this school, and out of my head! My eyes swing open and... *goto aware #[i]It was my first time doing a real job... [i]Though by that point, the training had already subjected me to far worse than I would ever see in my actual career. They didn't just make us prepared to fight Hell, the turned us into people capable of bringing Hell wherever we went. That ability came at a cost; pain, humiliation, and suffering was their favorite method of teaching. By the time I was sent into live action, there wasn't anything they could throw at me that I couldn't endure. [i]So I wasn't fazed when what was told to be a routine job was suddenly met with a disaster. We were walking through the empty streets of a city that had been in civil war for the past three months, largely because of us. Every now and then we'd step past a body, usually in packs, or the odd crater where explosives had gone off. It was nothing, just another day in the life, but the nervousness of being on my first job and the terror of failing kept me from being lulled into a false sense of security... *choice #I was right to be afraid, just like I was right to leave it behind! That's all there is to it! *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 Nothing else happened that day that's worth remembering! The past is dead, buried, and should stay that way! It doesn't matter what happened, I'm here now! That time is done! My eyes swing open and... *goto aware #[i]It was why I survived the ambush... [i]It started with sniper fire from the building down the street. The ones leading the group were the first to die; quick bullets through the head. They could have survived if they'd been moving more carefully and using cover properly, but they weren't and so they were defenseless when the bullets started flying. I, on the other hand, was being careful; the second the gunshots went off, I grabbed the arm of the officer and pulled both of us behind a wall. A couple seconds later bullets rained down on the spot he had just been standing. I was later promoted for this, but looking back I can't help but scream at the little kid for saving his life. It would have been better to let him burn in hell. [i]After the snipers, foot soldiers came to flank us. There weren't a lot of them, but they had probably been relying on the majority of the escort being taken out by the snipers. They were right; by that point, it was just me, the officer, and a wounded kid, more green than I was, who had a bullet go through his lung and wouldn't live to see tomorrow. Seeing the approaching group, I took a grenade from one of my fallen allies and threw it at their feet. They scrambled quick enough to avoid it, but left themselves open for me to finish them off. I'm not sure how many I actually killed, but I know I shot at least a few of them. [i]The officer grabbed me by the shoulder and shouted that we needed to retreat. The nearest hideout was less than a block away, and if there was an ambush this close to it then that probably meant its location had been compromised. We needed to get there, warn them, and relocate the operation. Understanding, I led the way in front of him, always the first to round a corner just in case there was someone waiting there... *choice #Enough! I don't want to remember anymore! *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 There's nothing in my past that could bring me peace! It's dead and gone and I should be too! Coming to peace with it? That wasn't going to happen, and they didn't know what they were saying when they said it could! They didn't know what I'd been through! I'm sick of them, and I'm sick of being in my head! I open my eyes and... *goto aware #[i]It was a necessary precaution... [i]When we were finally getting close, I rounded a corner and almost literally ran into a soldier wearing the same uniform as the ones who had ambushed us. This wasn't the U.S. soldiers, they weren't in this part of the country yet, this was just another rebel faction inside the city. He was poorly trained and his equipment was even worse. As such, I got the first move. [i]Of course, the first thing to do was disable him. I started with a kick to the groin, and was going to gouge out his eyes afterwards but I had panicked and only hit his thigh. He punched me in the face and would have knocked me to the ground had there not been a wall behind me. Afterwards, he pulled a knife and tried to stab me in the throat. [i]I crossed my arms around his, and it was a battle of strength for a brief moment, a scenario that I knew I would lose if I let it keep up. It would later occur to me that the officer could have easily shot him at this point, but apparently he wanted to see if I could do it on my own. I didn't question his reasoning. Especially at the time, when all I saw was a knife coming toward my face. [i]I knew that he was stronger than me, and knew that I would eventually have to try a different tactic or I would die. Acting quickly, I released the knife but misdirected it so it would instead go into my right shoulder. The pain was excruciating, but I'd suffered far worse than that even before I began advanced training. When he came forward, I used the opportunity to open my jaw and get his throat between my teeth. Then I bit down. Hard. *choice #I can't remember! I don't want to remember! I want to forget! Just forget! *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 I'm sick of tasting his blood in my mouth every time I think about it! I don't care if this is supposed to help me, I would give anything to forget those awful sounds he made! I don't need to remember, the past is dead! I'm in the present! I open my eyes as quick as I can and... *goto aware #[i]It made him pull away... [i]Of course, when he tried to wrench his throat free, all he really did was cause me to tear a chunk of meat out of him. He began bleeding and we both knew he was dead, it was just a matter of time. He fell back, holding his throat in a desperate and futile attempt to stop the bleeding. He didn't scream, presumably because his vocal cords were hanging out of my mouth, instead he made an almost inhuman sounding gurgle as the blood flooded into his windpipe. [i]"Good work," I feel the officer's hands press down on my shoulders from behind me. I wince from the pressure placed on my wounded shoulder, which still had the knife sticking out of it. But that was secondary. My superior was alive, and more importantly he was pleased with my performance. I would be given a second helping of the meager shares of food that night. But first, there was one last thing I had to do. He slowly slid his arm down mine until it reached my hand, after which he pressed a loaded firearm into my grip, "Now...finish it." *choice #Forget! Forget! Forget! *set forget_past true *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 Forget how his blood tasted! Forget how afraid I was! Forget the screaming! Forget the gunshot! Forget the knife! Forget the officer! Forget! FORGET! I force myself back into reality. I'm here, in a school, in the middle of a big room with lots of people and my back to a wall, and there's someone standing at a podium, and there's a window to my left, and the floor has been waxed recently, and the ceiling is at least 30ft high, and I have a bright green backpack, and my hair is clean, and there's a crack in the wall right where my hand is! I'm here. I'm here. I'm here. When I've finally convinced myself, I calm down and notice that I had been sweating. After wiping it from my forehead, I look at my now almost damp sleeve. How could I let memories affect me this harshly? Have I really made any progress, if just thinking about the past can leave me a complete wreck? *if (male =true) "Son, are you alright?" *if (female =true) "Miss, are you alright?" I hear a concerned voice from directly in front of me, and quickly stand up straight, prepared to deal with some sort of attack. Instead, I see the man from the podium, with a look of severe pity "...I'm fine," I mumble out. It seems that while I was busy thinking, I'd let this man get close without me noticing, despite him standing right in front of me. "Right...of course," he said, "I...well, I'm Principal Gardner, head of the school...we were supposed to meet earlier but, I suppose you had...other things going on." His voice is low, almost at a whisper, like he's afraid of scaring me off, "Were you...paying attention to the speech?" "No," I answer honestly "Right, I suppose that's understandable. Well...it wasn't anything important, really, just...I hope you have a good year." He gave me a strained smile, the kind you give a fallen comrade when his legs had just been blown off by an anti-personnel mine, and you tried desperately to convince him that he was going to be alright despite both of you knowing the ridiculousness of the lie. The lie of anything good coming from me was just as ridiculous. "Come on, I'll take you to your first hour personally..." *page_break First hour... *goto_scene 1-4first-1 1st hour: Family and Consumer Science 2nd hour: Personal Finance 3rd hour: Algebra 4th hour: Art 5th hour: Language Arts Lunch 6th hour: Psychology/Sociology 7th hour: History I look at the paper carefully, memorizing its contents; supposedly, this would be my schedule for the rest of the year. It didn't seem all that different from the duty roster they would place in the mess hall. "Go on, there's nothing to worry about. Everything is safe in there." Principal Gardner continued to stand behind me, apparently convinced that he was comforting me. All he was really doing was making me even more suspicious of the door than I already was. There wasn't anything for it though; I couldn't just not go to school, not in my circumstances. So, mustering up as much courage as I can, I cautiously step through. #And then I got promoted *set remember_past true After that display of absolute ruthlessness and lack of self-interest in defending my commanding officer, I rose through the ranks quickly. Soon, I was more than just a simple footsoldier. I was a specialist. There weren't many like me in an occupation where the number of years you were expected to live could be counted on your hands, but I was good at what I did. And for better or worse, that got me noticed. I got a lot more privileges after that. More food and water, which was probably what I appreciated most, and I was given the authority to order around the other grunts though I only tried it once. I didn't understand what the superiors always found fun about ordering people to do things they didn't want to do, I just didn't see the appeal in it. It seemed pointless when I could be training or eating. Of course, with those privileges also came an increase in demand. I couldn't blend in with the other soldiers anymore. That officer continued to give me his attention, which was usually for the worse. On top of that, the missions I was given became increasingly dangerous, and communicated with others of my kind more frequently. Our lifespands tended to be slightly longer than the canon fodder, so we actually bothered to get to know one another. None of had names, names would imply that we were human beings, so we gave each other nicknames to tell each other apart. The others would call me a "Cockroach" since it seemed no matter how many times I was sent into sucicidal situations and beaten to hell, 'stepped on' as they put it, nothing ever really stuck. Until, as was bound to happen eventually as they became more and more interested in our operations, one of my missions took me to the United States. And the rest was history. In the end, I suppose the only question is whether or not I regret all of it... *fake_choice #It's the only life I have How could I regret the only life I've ever known? Maybe if I were born somewhere else, I could have been happy; or maybe I was cursed from birth, and I was doomed to live in a permanent Hell no matter what happened and regretting it would only make things worse. This is who I am, and there's nothing I can do about that. #I hate who I am because of it, but what choice do I have? *set humanity +1 For better or worse (and in this case, probably worse), my past has made me who I am. There's no changing that. It doesn't matter how much I try to fight it. Your history isn't something that you can just run away from; it seeps into your very being and lingers in your presence, infecting everything you touch. I catch a glimpse of it, every time I round a corner or look out of the corner of my eye. Your history follows you, like a shadow, and it makes sure you stay in line. There's no changing oneself, no matter how fast you run or how deep you hide; we all have to live with what we are. #Of course I do *set humanity +1 *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 All the bloodshed, all the pain; I would have given anything to make it stop. I often wonder whether or not it was even worth it to survive, only to continue living in the same pathetic stand-in for a life that had been dumped on me. #I don't think about it *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 Maybe things could have been better, maybe they could have somehow been worse. It's not worth thinking about. It's the past, and now I'm here. Regret doesn't suit me, I don't need it. After the journey through my mind, I finally open my eyes and become awake to the world once more. The psychotherapist had said that thinking about my past would help me come to terms with it, and maybe eventually find some form of peace with it. That's what it was supposed to do... *fake_choice #And strangely enough, I feel somewhat calmer than when I began Maybe there was a point to coming here after all. #I honestly don't feel any different Some things just can't be fixed; I might be one of them. Or maybe the therapist was even crazier than I am. Either way, this was completely pointless. #Now I'm just angry After all that happened to me, all I had to suffer through, I'm supposed to feel better about it? All this has done is remind me how much the world hated me, and how much I hated it! And I especially hated any doctor that thought they could 'cure' me with a pep talk! With that thought, I begin scanning the room for any changes since I cut off my own field of vision. Nobody had come any closer to where I was, which was good, but I noticed that the students were slowly making their way out of the room. Apparently I had missed the entire point of coming here in the first place. Once the majority of students have left the room, I see the man from the podium quickly making his way toward me. I track him carefully; he's moving at a quickened pace, such that his breathing has slightly accelerated meaning he was clearly unused to physically exerting himself in any fashion, and his face held vague signs of discomfort and frustration yet despite this he was still attempting to appear civil. He stops at a comfortable distance of 6ft away from me, "I uhm- well, I see you decided to show up after all." "Do I know you?" "Well, I suppose you wouldn't, seeing as how you missed our meeting," he said, putting emphasis on the last word, "I am Principal Gardner; I oversee this institution." "You are my new commanding officer?" "Well no, I wouldn't say that...I'm more of a...well, a caretaker, of sorts." *if (daddan >0) "You're not my caretaker, Daniel is." And I certainly trusted him more than this man "Oh, well my apologies..." he stuttered, momentarily surprised, "I of course did not mean to diminish Agent Decker's role as your guardian, I was simply implying...that is to say, stating the fact that...well, I'll also be tasked with monitoring, or rather looking out for you. As you...adjust." "Why can't Daniel do that?" *if (daddan =0) and (hatedan =0) "I thought Daniel was the one who was assigned to look after me." "Well, yes he is. But so am I; me and Agent Decker are, I guess you could say we're working together on this. After all he cannot exactly come into the school to look after you personally." "Why not?" *if (hatedan >0) "I don't need another warden." "Now now, I am of course here for your benefit, please remember that," he coughed, "Besides, you could not seriously expect Agent Decker to come here, now could you?" "Why not? He follows me everywhere else." "Well...because, CIA agents simply don't belong in a highschool." "And terrorists do?" "Well...that is to say, you're not a terrorist, now are you? I mean, not anymore...of course, that's all behind us now! I have faith that in a few days, you'll come to think of our building as your very own home away from home!" I didn't even know I had a home at all, at least one that wasn't being periodically bombed, "Now, I suppose you don't have your schedule with you, now do you?" "No." "Right, I meant to give that to you at our meeting but...well, here you have it now," he said, handing a large sheet of paper to me, "Come then, I will escort you to your first class personally." *page_break First hour... *goto_scene 1-4first-1 1st hour: Family and Consumer Science 2nd hour: Personal Finance 3rd hour: Algebra 4th hour: Art 5th hour: Language Arts Lunch 6th hour: Psychology/Sociology 7th hour: History I look at the paper carefully, memorizing its contents; supposedly, this would be my schedule for the rest of the year. It didn't seem all that different from the duty roster they would place in the mess hall. "Go on, there's nothing to worry about. Everything is safe in there." Principal Gardner continued to stand behind me, apparently convinced that he was comforting me. All he was really doing was making me even more suspicious of the door than I already was. There wasn't anything for it though; I couldn't just not go to school, not in my circumstances. So, mustering up as much courage as I can, I cautiously step through. *label aware *set ignore_past true My ears are immediately assaulted by a sharp screech from all directions, scrambling my thoughts and leaving a sharp ringing in my head, such as the type you hear when a fragmentation grenade blows through the wall you are taking cover behind or when a sniper bullet flies right by your ear. Right away I'm suspecting sonic weaponry, non-lethal and within the hearable sound spectrum. Given that it clearly isn't meant to incapacitate me, it is probably a type of diversion tactic for a larger force. The sound lasts less than a second but leaves me disoriented for a half-second longer after it has ended, as it has with the rest of the student body. After regaining awareness, I immediately turn toward the window; I slam my elbow into it with the greatest amount of force that I can muster in my weakened state, and succeed in leaving a large crack in it. I wind up for a second strike, when I notice the sharp sound has been replaced by speaking, "Sorry! Sorry! My mistake! We're, uh, having some...technical difficulties!" I trace the voice to several large speakers scattered around the room, given their positioning, it would be impossible to find whoever was actually speaking...if he wasn't standing in front of the room, holding up his hands and trying to get everyone's attention, "Right, so...test? Yes, this appears to be working now...Hello students, new and returning!" The man at the podium addresses himself as Principal Gardner, the overseer of the school. He then proceeds to thank us for crowding up the hallways and using up taxpayer dollars (not in those exact words mind you) and that he hoped we all had a great year. After that, he went on to explain what the function of a school was, which I thought was particularly redundant seeing as how we were all here and thus had probably all been briefed on what a school was for. *page_break Next After determining that he had nothing important to say, I began inspecting the elbow I attempted to use for my escape attempt. It appeared that there was some broken skin but nothing that would be noticeable with my sleeve rolled down. Not enough blood to seep through, and the cut would begin scabbing over and mending itself before the day was over so there wasn't much point in getting it treated. The cracked window would be much harder to mend. One more strike and I probably would have broken through, or failing that at least weaken it enough to jump through. The damage is quite noticeable. Luckily the CIA set money aside to deal with these kinds of damages. After a short while, the principal finally closes his speech with instructions to pick up our schedules on the way out and get to our first hour in a timely manner. I suppose this is when the school day actually begins... *page_break First hour... *goto_scene 1-4first-1 1st hour: Family and Consumer Science 2nd hour: Personal Finance 3rd hour: Algebra 4th hour: Art 5th hour: Language Arts Lunch 6th hour: Psychology/Sociology 7th hour: History I look at the paper carefully, memorizing its contents; supposedly, this would be my schedule for the rest of the year. It didn't seem all that different from the duty roster they would place in the mess hall. I study the door in front of me that supposedly led to my first class. It's a sturdy wooden door like the others in the building with creaky hinges and dirty doorknob. Taking a short second to listen, I can hear the sounds of 12...no, 13 pairs of footsteps walking around inside, the majority of them being light and young sounding. There are voices too, but I can't make out what they're saying. None of them seem to be waiting in ambush; there's no formation, and none of them sound battle-ready. Determining that I at least have a high chance of surviving going through the door, I go through the door.