Lightning Cloud

Mnemophobia

Disclaimer: This chapter details Thiago's history. It follows real world events and is easily the most dark chapter I've ever written. If you're the type with a weak heart and/or just not in the mood for grim and horrifying, skip this chapter. I'll try and minimize the real-time details so that the main story continues after that one.
You've been warned.

Pain. Rivers of it running through the core of his being and snaking outwards to the rest of what he was. That was what Thiago felt as came to, immediately registering the thick, tight ropes binding his hands and feet, the black cloth covering his sight as well as the gag in his mouth. He took note of the dull, synchronized throbbing in his head where he had been hit earlier.
It barely registered next to the agony his mind and soul were experiencing.

For Thiago Hernandez was once Osman Ilhamija, the only child of a Bosnian Muslim family. In their small house at the edge of a town called Gacko in the east of what is now Bosnia-Herzegovina, he had a relatively happy beginning. Between his father's store and his mother's parlor, they did not want for much.  However, the most important thing in their lives was their friendship with their neighbours, the Bosnevis, and their son and daughter.
Osman Ilhamija and Adem Bosnevi grew up as brothers in all but blood, and to the former, Umihana Bosnevi was his sister to the same degree.
Their blissful bubble popped as the Bosnian War ravaged the area. Suddenly, there was a cloud of suspicion and uncertainty in the air, and the 9-year old Osman one night overheard his parents about fleeing to Canada and seeking asylum.
Their plans never came to pass.
One morning, Bosnian Serb troops surrounded the town, forcing any Bosniak Muslims out of their homes and killing and raping as they went. As they got to the Ilhamijas, Abdullah Ilhamija picked up a hunting rifle from his cupboard and stood at the front door with Samir Bosnevi and his shotgun, both attempting to buy some time for their respective families to run. However, both fell side by side as a hail of automatic fire tore the door to shreds, them along with it. Their wives, through their tears, tried to usher their children out through the back, but were caught. Mad with grief, Osman's mother took a knife out from her coat and tried to stab the nearest Serb.
Another hail of gunfire, and she, too, fell. Behind her, Adem's mother, in shielding the children from the gunfire, caught a bullet to the skull.
The three children bolted, too shocked and numb with horror to register all that had transpired. Running even as further gunfire whizzed past them, they managed to lose their pursuers and ran into a small tunnel , finding themselves among some other survivors. It was there that the trio broke down, weeping inconsolably as the others tried to comfort them.
The survivors had managed to procure two small trucks, which they would drive at night to a NATO safe zone and hope for the best. The two would leave at separate times, hoping to minimize the chances of being seen.
Adem and Osman both agreed to let Umihana leave on the first truck, in the care of another survivor: her schoolteacher, Mrs Halilovic.
The truck left under the cover of night. The two prayed for her safety.
A few minutes later, they both heard a deafening bang.
Adem snapped. Roaring, he ran past Osman and the others before they could stop him. Grabbing a gun, he rushed out, determined to take as many Serbs as he could with him. A nearby survivor grabbed Osman before he could follow, despite his impassioned pleas.
Soon, they heard more gunshots, and decided to leave. Grabbing Osman, who struggled constantly, they got into the second truck.
Soon after they had left, as they turned a street, another bang and then an explosion sounded. Osman's world went sideways as the truck skidded across the road, coming to a stop as it hit a large boulder.
His fear completely spent, Osman waited for death, the only means by which he would see his family again.
He did not even register the distant gunfire he unconsciously knew was not directed at him.
Moments later, people with masks and strange-looking weapons came. Searching the bodies- the survivors having caught the worst of the rocket- they came to find a small boy with far-staring eyes. Unsure of what to do, one of them spoke in English into a small radio.
As a voice replied, Osman started at his saviors- if they really were. They moved, hesitating. One of them, a man from his build and stride, stepped forwards and held out a hand to him.
He was holding out a hand to a boy who was as good as dead on the inside.
And yet, some last, dying embers in his being willed Osman's hand forward, making it meet the man's. Being pulled up, Osman was carried to a small helicopter with a strange black paint, whose engine and even its rotor blades made hardly any sound as it lifted him up from the ruins.
As far as anyone was concerned, Osman Ilhamija was dead. He would forever remain with the remains of his parents, the Bosnevis and, most importantly, Adem. What the helicopter carried away was an empty shell, a shell that his handlers at the Organization remade into the finest assassin alive. In doing so, through the use of various drugs and the shattered state of the young boy's own mind, they suppressed his memories. However, they were not entirely successful; he would forever more carry flashes of memory of the events. However, the feelings of horror and despair that they brought out in him caused him to develop mnemophobia, the fear of one's memories, and he learnt to shut them out completely. They were unhelpful and unessential to his assasinations.

And yet, now he was reliving events long repressed, brought to the fore by Adem's reappearance. He was in agony. He just wanted a release from the pain. Surely, death would be be better than seeing everyone die all over again.

And with the CIA HQ's last resort against a hostile takeover, an advanced thermonuclear bomb that would obliterate almost anything and everything within the compound whilst containing fallout to the epicenter, ticking on, Thiago's wish would be granted in the next 5 minutes.

*At some point, I will write a tie-in story that focuses on his training and his first few missions. This tie-in will help make sense of why the pattern of attacks on Thiago seemed familiar to him.*