KickStarts

            "Rosie! Come on! The ball is about to drop!" cried a young woman, tugging on the sleeve on her friend.

            "Nah, I'll just celebrate from over here, thanks." Rosie replied, staring off into space. She was deep in thought.

            "Whatever!" the young woman shrugged, and then sashayed through the crowd, disappearing past the mass of bodies, waving her red cup of alcahol around, stumbling over anything solid.

A countdown began, whoops and shrieks entering the mix of the off count crowd.

10... 9... 8... 7... 6...

Another year, Rosie thought.

5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

Another life.

 

Suddenly everything went black.

Rosie could vaguely remember the screams of joy in Times Square turn to squeals of terror as anyone who knew Rosie's name fell to the ground. Rosie felt bad for them. It was her fault for what was happening to them. They didn't deserve to lose their memories. But she couldn't help herself. People tended to gravitate towards her in public, asking her name and starting small talk. Her life was a curse on others, as well as her own.

            She awoke in a bare white room, with a single glass door which let Rosie see a bit of an identical whitewahed corridor. In the center of the small room was a single silver dentist's chair that had wires hooked up to it. A flashing computer screen on a rolling stand made beeps every so often, with lots of graphs and numbers displaying mysterious information. She was lying on a metal bed, no pillows, no sheets or blankets, just a solid sheet of metal.

            "Geez, thanks for the hospitality." Rosie muttered, looking down to find herself in a tightly fitted black jumpsuit. A note was stuck on with tape on her stomach, so she ripped it off and read it.

            Greetings, Rosie.

            We have some new information for you, as you already know. We are relocating you to Pennsylvania. Since it was so close to New York, we have altered your features. Your blonde hair is now brown, and your blue eyes are now green. Other facial features are the same. I think you nose is a bit thinner and you have a few more freckles... perhaps a beauty mark? I haven't seen you yet, but I was issued the alteration report. We have granted you the gift of a few of your memories, from your old life. We believe that you're now responsible and savvy enough not to abuse this privilege we've given you. You'll figure out what you remember when we deploy you. Best of luck!

 Oh, by the way, your new name is Celeste.

 See you next year!

Ethan

             Celeste's brows knitted together, and she screamed out in rage. She remembered a few things of her old life, as she struggled to recall simple memories. Things like the color of her apartment, the kind of car she drove, the deli where she bought her meals. But she couldn't remember the names or faces of her old friends, or what her favorite place to shop was. But suddenly she remembered one face. It was blurry in her mind, but she could make out hazel eyes, short, dark blonde hair and a blinding white smile. A few names came to mind when she saw the face, but none of them sounded familiar. Tucker? Trevor? Toby? No, none of them quite fit the face she saw. But she was determined to find out. She was convinced that the face belonged to someone who was important in her old life, and perhaps he was the person to help her keep this identity.

It was the first of eighteen identity changes that the Agency had let Celeste keep a little bit of her memory.

And it was their biggest mistake.