Anomaly

The Enemy

It's one thing to lose your memory. It's another to have it stolen.

You don't know it's gone at first; you just have an eerie feeling that something has been taken from you. Almost like reaching for something in the darkness that you know should be there, but it isn't. Except instead of your hand blindly flailing for the familiar feel of your phone or a light switch, you're reaching for something when you don't even know what that something is.

Frustrating, to say the least.

Especially when people insist asking repetitive questions you don't know the answer to.

When we made it back to headquarters I was told that I would have to undergo a standard debrief. That "standard debrief" included a comprehensive medical examination including blood tests, CT scans, and an MRI where I was asked at least 100 questions.

Then I was subject to an intense interrogation complete with a whole good cop, bad cop routine from two of my fellow agents.

After that, they hooked me up to a bunch of wires and showed me a series of pictures of unfamiliar people and places.

And now I was taking a polygraph with agents asking me the same questions that I had been asked at least five times already.

My patience was wearing thin.

"Do you recognize this picture?" an agent asked.

I looked down to see a picture of the same girl I had been shown over a dozen times at this point. She had a generally unremarkable face, partially covered by long, limp brown hair. Her steely gray eyes stood out though: those were striking.

"No," I said flatly. "And you can show me her picture a hundred more times and I still won't know."

Another agent glanced up in the corner of the room where a small camera had been placed.

"I know you're watching me," I called out directly to the camera. "I'm not an idiot. If you want to watch me take this pointless test, you can just come in and watch. No need for the smoke and mirrors."

"I think we're done here," the agent administering the polygraph said.

Another agent escorted me to yet another room, then left me alone. I tried the door, only to find it locked.

Why are they treating me like some kind of criminal?

I sank into the chair at the table, frustrated. Would they keep me here for an hour? Multiple hours? A day? Clearly they were trying to get something out of me that they hadn't gotten.

To my relief, the door swung open within only a few minutes. In stepped the Commander.

"What is going on?" I demanded. "There's no way this is standard procedure."

"That's correct," he admitted. "There were irregularities with your mission that we're just trying to get to the bottom of."

Langford threw a picture down on the table – the same brunette girl I'd seen so many times by now.

I groaned. "I don't-"

"-remember her. Yes, we know. And we've verified in several different ways, so we believe you. But you did know her. She was your girlfriend."

Girlfriend...? She must have been the first girl I kissed...had I been good at it? Bad at it?

Had we done more than kiss?

I searched my brain for any hint of a memory, frustrated to find nothing but a massive void.

"She...it is also an extremely powerful Anomaly," Langford continued. "It murdered 358."