Identity (and how to loose one)

Misconceptions & Conceptions

She couldn't breathe.

Carmen staggered to get away; running as fast as her aching limbs would carry her.

Pure fear and shock fuelled her adrenaline. The Argentinian's legs threatened to crumple under the severe emotional weight on her body.

But she kept on pushing, tears blinding her vision and breaths hardly coming at all. She struggled to stay upright, the rush of adrenaline fading into a tired ache.

Eventually she collapsed, tripping over her own feet and landing god knows where. Her legs gave in to the agony of having had cold metal strapped against them for hours.

VILE were cruel, she knew that. But she never pictured being cut, bruised, and whipped all over at their mercy.

Carmen cried, sobs wracking through her exhausted body. She didn't know why she was crying, there wasn't much of a logical explanation... at least, not one that her memories could provide.

She was like this for a solid half-hour; sweaty, confused, and sobbing. Curled into a ball on the sidewalk.

By then it had slowed, her sobs degrading to a sniffle, her panic morphing into a feeling of shock and confusion, and her laboured breaths slowing to a series of coughs

The pain was like nothing else. Fresh slash wounds running all over her back, purple bruises littering her body, and blood pouring from anywhere you could imagine.

Carmen didn't know how she got away or who she was running from; hell, she didn't remember the last 5 minutes of her life.

She cried out in agony from the pain radiating throughout her skull, her own long nails clawing at her scalp, digging into her head as if it would lessen the pain.

She only paused when the coughs racking through her body absorbed any energy or will she had left, her crumpled form scraping its way to the alley on her left.

Anywhere out of the open.

She dug herself away further, struggling to see against the dark light that had engulfed the streets around her.

Carmen's mind ached tirelessly; she looked down at the crimson red jacket she had yanked on her way out. She kept playing the singular memory over and over again, each time there were more holes.

Soon she blinked, her face wet and clothes batted.

Looking down at the jacket she found no recognition...

It looked nice, she mused.

***

"I've been monitoring all usual channels for any chatter. Total radio silence." The boy emphasised, his trembling figure illuminated in the bright blue light of his monitor.

Ivy looked worriedly at the boy, deciding to mention the dark circles and bags under his eyes later.

"That's too quiet."

Player slouched, propping his elbows up on his desk to rub at his tired eyes.

"I've also spent the last 24 hours hacking into every surveillance feed in Seattle I could find." His voice was laced with pain and undeniable worry.

With good reason: He had been the one to take down the sinister message from the cleaners whilst helplessly stationed behind a screen.

"No sign of Carmen."

A new recognisable voice flooded through Ivy's speakers, louder then the worried pacing behind her.