OPERATOR25

What Happened to the Lights

**Disclaimer: some themes include violence and suicidal thoughts**

Chapter 1

In a tiny rundown apartment in Seville, Spain a scruffy muscular man with sandy blonde hair covered in various tattoos lays on a bed covered in blood and gun tossed on the floor. He jolts awake as if from a bad dream, groans, and heads over to his sink. He inspects his temples to find a deep scar tissue on either side. An entrance and exit from 9mm bullet.

"How long was I down this time I wonder," he says to himself. On his wrist was a date; three days ago. He had been healing for 3 days from when he shot himself in the head for the 2136th time. He shakes his head and thinks to himself, 'the sky is blue, the grass is green, and I couldn't stay dead if I tried.' This was true, he couldn't stay dead. Not since the fallout.

Royce Bennett, born in 2005 has physically been thirty since 2035 but stopped aging due to the prolonged radioactive exposure he experienced while he served overseas as an American Green Beret during the Fallout. Instead of slowly dying from cancer like the rest of his troops, his DNA mutated, and he began experiencing strange changes in his genetic makeup. He felt pain and if he didn't set a broken bone, it wouldn't heal right (which was evident with his extremely broken right trigger finger) but for the life of him he couldn't die. His body marred by "scientific observation" and "debriefing." Eventually he was decommissioned and forced to sign an NDA to never speak of his condition in exchange for government assistance to change his identity every 15 years and pay his rent. After all, it was the least they could do after completely eviscerating him twice.

He pulls out a new set of sheets and picks up the gun from the floor to clean it. There should be a fed coming by any day now to drop off his new identity. A notice of eviction sits on his tiny kitchen table. An indicator that he will be needing to move soon.

"I'm getting tired of this," he said to no one, "Hopefully this time I get to go someplace where I don't have to learn a new language. At this point it's just annoying." Soon to be twelve identities and eleven languages get old for a two hundred- and 10-year-old. Yesterday was his birthday, so it'll probably happen soon. They like stupid continuity like that.

After his weapon is cleaned Royce goes to toss it in a beat-up suitcase. He pauses briefly to look at an aged picture frame on top. Lucky bastards, he thinks as he looks at the picture of seven soldiers grinning in front of a Humvee. He looks at himself at the bottom right; when was the last time he smiled like that? He exhaled sharply and tossed the gun in. He picked up a can of spackle and went looking for the hole he might've made in the wall. Right next to the last one.

"Damn, maybe I twitched," he said unimpressed. He threw on a fresh shirt and walked outside. The plan was to get extremely drunk at a bar in the middle of town, attempt to flirt with the bartender's daughter, then get thrown out onto the street because he tries to fight someone. The only reason he hasn't gotten banned yet is because he drinks the whole bar then tips enough for everyone. He wanders into the bar down the street and the owner looks up.

"Ah! If it isn't my most obnoxious patron," he says with a crooked smile, "are we starting from the top shelf or bottom. What's the occasion tonight?" Royce lays a wad of cash on the table.

"I'm leaving town tomorrow for good." The bartender raises an eyebrow and let out a deep laugh.

"Hijo de perra! My daughter is finally safe! Top shelf half off tonight, bottom shelf is free. I bought some tequila that isn't popular with the tourists, and I know you won't care. I hate to throw out liquor." He pours heavy and Royce starts to drink. The night progresses and he gets drunker and drunker. Eventually he's incoherent and tries to leave, but the bartender's daughter catches him on the way out.