Not What It Seems.

Chapter Four: Who Am I?

Mumbled voices made me stir around in my sleep. My eyes tracing the darkness behind closed eyelids. A sudden clank alerted me. Cold water splashed onto my face waking me completely. I shot straight up cough violently, gasping for air. I squeezed my eyes shut and looked down at my now bandaged hands. What the hell happened? The only thing I remembered was running out of a room and now here I sat covered in bandages. I looked over to my left. Two men in suits stood by both sides of the door with their hands folded in front of them. They looked like a pair of guys from the CIA. They had communication devices in their ears. One of the men raised their hand to their device and began to speak.

"He's awake."

A second went by.

"Copy that."

He then went back resting back into his old position.

"Can someone tell me what the hell is going on!?" I yelled out in frustration.

In return, I got nothing but silence. I scoffed and rolled my eyes giving up. Suddenly there was a patterned knock on the door, 'knockknock, knock, knockknock'. One of the men turned and unlocked the door opening it wide. A older, slender woman entered, around her neck was a pair of glasses on an eyewear retainer covered in teal beads. In her arms, a pile of vanilla folders full of papers with colorful tabs sticking out the top. She was dressed in a long sleeve white buttoned up shirt, buttoned all the way up except for two buttons. It was neatly tucked into a black pinstriped pencil skirt that fell right above her knees. Her black heels clacked against the dirty tile floor. As she reached the chair across from me, she reached down to grab her glasses sliding them onto her face.

"Hello, Dalton."
At first I was hesitant to say anything but if I wanted answers, I needed to cooperate.
"Hi." I said softly in return.
"My name is Denise Salomon. I'm a partner of Rogers. He thought you'd be a bit more calm talking to me."
I laughed, she tilted her head. "I don't even know you."
"It'll come back to you."
"I would just love to know what is going on, why am I here?"
"Roger told me he already explained that to you."
"It doesn't make any sense."
"Doesn't it?"
"See that is what is pissing me off, you all talk around in fucking circles – in damn riddles. Can someone just give it to me straight, that's all I'm asking."
"We own you, you're an assassin. Programmed."
"Now don't you think I'd remember that?"
"You're programmed not to."
"I'm sorry?"
"When we brought you in, Dalton – you were the best we'd ever seen but you had far too much compassion therefore, like a switch, we can turn it off until we need you. This isn't the first time we've brought you into rehabilitation."
"You're joking." I said with a smirk. "This is obviously a joke."
"No, it isn't."

Just then, she reached down under the table, for some conscious reason, my eyes followed her almost like a warning, like they were preparing me. My fists clenched. Suddenly, a reflective light shined against the metal table she was sitting behind. Senses I didn't even know I had kicked in. The next thing I knew, a knife was hurdling straight for me. Without hesitation, without having to think of it, I rose my hand and caught it handle first.

"How the hell did I do that?" I mumbled under my breath.
"Believe me now?"

I sat in the cot bed stunned, I didn't know what to think. My whole life was a lie? Did the men at the dock know about this?

"Who am I?"
"Dalton Reed. An assassin for a private owned group by Central Intelligence Agency best known as the CIA."