Zero.

Prologue

THE FIRST thing I notice when my eyes open is the blinding white on white color scheme I've grown accustomed too. White walls, completely bare, squeaky clean white linoleum and the plain white sheet draped across my still frame. The only thing that wasn't white were the machines attached to my body.

I was sure I had this process explained to me a thousand times, but each time I Woke, I couldn't quite recall how those machines kept me young. How they preserved me and ultimately kept me alive. I supposed to most people I would be considered immortal. But in reality, I was something else entirely. Immortality implied not being able to die. I was sure I could die. I just wouldn't.

The second thing that catches my attention is that I don't know what time it is, or more accurately, when it is. The last time I was Awaken, it was 2060. The white walls give no indication of what year it is now, but I would guess that no more than 10 years have passed. The general rule of thumb is that we're not awaken until we are needed. If we are needed, then odds are some new big bad has risen and we're the only ones who can stop him. Or her. I'd had my fair share of big bad's that were as feminine as they were deadly. So yes, it was safe to assume that 10 years was a fair time gap.

After all, how horrible could humanity be that we would need to be Awaken any sooner? 10 years seemed like enough time to birth the creation of another imitation terrorist or overzealous villain. I felt a sigh escape my lips. They would send me into another mission and I would complete it.

Why?
Because they were always right. If someone needed to die, then they died, regardless of how many people had to be caught in the crossfire. At the thought, my mind instantly replayed the countless missions that had ended with me drenched in someone else's blood. Always someone else's, very rarely my own. It was always a futile effort engaging in battle with someone like me. I was the best and being the best had its advantages.

My thought came to a pause at the mention of being the best. I amended the thought and chose to label myself as almost the best. In an identical bed next to mine laid Agent One. By myself I was formidable, but together, One and I were a force best not to be reckoned with. In a past life I supposed she had a name, as did I, but they were long forgotten. Now, we were just agents. Pawns to a life that consisted of Sleep, kill, then Sleep again.

It was the price we paid for our fabricated immortality, but we would live for as long as these machines existed. After the completion of every mission we were plugged back into these machine's and rested while our bodies healed itself from any damage sustained. During this process we were rejuvenated and reset for the next mission. Completely dormant until we were needed again

I was told that One and I signed up for this years ago, but why I would willingly subject myself to this was beyond me.

I tried to turn my head to stare at the ceiling, but my neck still felt stiff from the small movement. When we Slept, we were placed under a paralysis that prevented our bodies from aging, and moving and it still hadn't worn off yet.

Our brain waves were synched with machines that controlled our dreams. The idea was that while we slept we were to be having "peaceful experiences." Living a life that was supposed to drown out the disturbing images that would haunt most people. When One woke, she usually had vivid tales of whatever new life her sleep had given her. She always prodded me to reveal what my Dreams had shown me, but I never could. If our dreams were a product of who we really were, then even subconsciously I was messed up. A fact that I would not admit aloud.

The machines were supposed to fill our heads with pretty pictures and awe-inspiring scenery, but for me; my dreams were only a constant, torturous mission. I knew I should have reported this as soon as I was able. My dreams were supposed to refresh me, make me forget the things I'd done, not force me into reliving every heinous act I was ever forced to do. But I wouldn't reveal this to anyone. If I did, they would fix the problem.

They would alter my dreams again to show me false images of contentedness and I refused to relinquish that part of me. If I was a monster, then I would accept it. I would not be made to forget who I really was for the sake of a mission.

I wanted to remember.

Especially since remembering anything that happened before you Slept was almost impossible. As hard as we tried, holding onto a memory of our past lives usually left us dizzy and disoriented; which I surmised was the desired effect of the dreams. After all, how could you hold onto a truth if while you slept your mind played tricks on you? Made you live completely different lifestyles that felt so tangible that you woke not remembering that you had just murdered a family with your bare hands simply because you were told too. The dreams acted as a clean slate, trying to wipe away any memories that were tied to our previous mission and could hinder the success of a new mission.

We were not supposed to remember our past.
But that was the problem; I did.

My memories felt like snippets of dreams that I couldn't quite place. Almost like a deja-vu moment that you weren't really sure happened. I don't know when I realized that I was starting to remember the past, only that when I Woke, I felt a strange hollowness in my gut And that I started remembering things I shouldn't. At first I thought I was going crazy, but I did some digging and found out I wasn't, I was simply just remembering. I didn't tell One about it because I assumed it would pass, but it never did.

Now every time I Woke it was a struggle to pretend that I didn't know what I was, so gradually, I stopped pretending. Agent One often described me as moody or temperamental, and I let her believe that was all it was. Why would she think any different, when while she slept she was rewarded with peace and happiness, while I was submerged into a world darker than even this one. I was a monster, but a monster fighting for good. I would hold onto that truth. I had too, because I had since long came to terms with the fact that this was the cruel life fate has chosen for me.

I was half of the two best agents the world would never know about. Freedom was something I knew not to hope for. I was their prodigy, their prized possession. The first agent they had ever trained, and when the time had come, the first participant in the trials that led me to the cycle I remain forever trapped in.

I am Agent Zero.

*~*~*~*~*~*

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