The Grey. *-(A SciFi Thriller)-*

Part III: Ami

"Tell me, Ami - What are you fighting for?"

The man was standing there in the corner of her room, with eyes brooding into her. The sliver of dim light from the open window hit the side of his face with harsh lines, and danced in his bright emerald stare. This brazen confidence - breaking into where she slept, with no explanation, and demanding answers? No, she was no longer afraid, but as soon as she stood up from the back wall of her bed and to the floor in front of him, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of intimidation.

He was much taller than her - and could easily grab her if she tried to make a break for it to either the door behind him, or the bathroom with her gun lying in wait on the bathroom tile. But something else also caused her to pause. The way he stood, and the familiar black clothes.

"So it's you?" she finally spoke, looking up to meet his face.

Ami watched his head tilt slightly and brow furrow, but there was just a hint of a smile on his lips as she stepped closer.

"You're one of the leaders - of the rat masks. The 'Vermin,'" she started, slowly walking around him with careful steps, inspecting. The memories of the sea of rat masks backing away once she raised her gun flashed through her mind, "Or maybe, the only leader?"

He only responded by crossing his arms, smiling, then looking at the floor.

"N was it? You sure have a flair for the dramatic," Ami continued, now almost at his back, "I had the pleasure of seeing one of your videos. So is that why you're here? To capture me again? I already told all your rat friends that I'm not some spy. I'm not some secret agent. I work for. No. One-"

With a quick side step, Ami lunged for the bathroom door - but just as her hand touched the handle, his hand was on top of hers, with his wide arm blocking the door and her head knocking against his chest.

"Now, now, Ami. Let's not do anything stupid," he teased in almost a whisper.

Ami tried to pull her hand away from the handle with a sharp tug, but his hand held firm over it.

"I'm not here to fight you. I'm not here to take you away again. I know that's not going to work," he continued, then loosened his grip, letting her go but still blocking the door, "I just want to talk."

Ami backed up, but he seemed to see her looking out of the corner of her eye to the open window and blocked her path, yet again.

"Ami - we have the same enemy," he continued, walking towards her, "And I'm sorry I did not see that before. I just need to know - where did you come from?" He brushed a dark curly strand of hair from his eye with a wide palm, "Where did any of you come from? These trained killers taking out our agents, one. By. One," his eyes widened, and jaw clenched with each word as he stepped towards her, "Each with the same, white. Hair."

His hand was on the side of her face now, with his tight jaw close to her face as her back hit the wall of her bedroom. But she did not pull away, and her eyes met his with matching intensity.

"So you see my dilemma, Ami?" he continued, voice softening into almost a whisper, "If you're not the enemy - then who are you? What are you?"

"I could tell you. I could tell you everything. But why would you believe me?" said Ami.

He paused, taking back his hand, and stepping back away from her into the light.

"Because, like you, I seem to have nothing left to lose."

And so, for the second time in only a few short days, Ami recounted her entire life story - only this time fresh with the new details given by the Sleepwalker. And to her surprise - he listened, with no interruptions, no eye-rolls, not even a shake of his head in disbelief. It was only when she stopped that he crossed his arms again, looking down in consideration.