Project Megalomaniac

Chapter 1

I opened my eyes, sleepy gazing at the white wall above me. I sighed and rolled over trying to go back to bed, trying to come back to my dream. The last time I was ever happy with my family. I was six years old and we were in the kitchen making pancakes. I remember my mom and dad were talking about how 'a notorious criminal had escaped the facility.' At the time I didn't know what it meant but I didn't care. All I cared about was not burning the pancakes for mommy. I remembered my mother kissing my forehead before I went to get on my bus. Then through the window, I watched as my parents waved and got into their car and drove the other way.

Then my mind wandered to a dangerous place. When I got off the bus the area around my home had police tape around it. I knew at once something was wrong. Cars piles around my house many with sirens and flashing lights which only made me more anxious.I saw my Uncle Calvin and Aunt Nikki. I was always afraid of my aunt Nikki she was always so strict and she always yelled at me whenever I did the slightest thing wrong. She was so different from her sister, my mother. But I never trusted my Uncle Cal, he swooped my aunt off her feet without effort and I knew if he found someone better he would drop her in a heartbeat. My nervousness told me to go through the back door but now I only wish I didn't. What I saw was dreadful. The first thing I saw was my mother sprawled out on the floor in an unflattering pose. There were holes in her blouse with blood leaking out of them. When I managed to look away from my mother I saw my father just across the room. He was hanging from the ceiling fan and his organs were dangling out from his torso. His eyes were open in a permanent state of horror, his skin was so drained of life. I dropped to knees in front of my mother's corpse unable to take my eyes off my father. Then I let out the loudest shriek of my life.

The next thing I remember was all just a blur of police and interrogations. I cried so much I had no more tears to shed. I was emotionless for so long as if I was unconscious. They noticed this and they knew could talk in front of me without consequence. Though they were wrong. They talked about how they had found the criminal who had killed my parents but he managed to escape the scene before the neighbor called the police about seeing my father in the window. They talked about government secrets only people at 'the top' knew. When I was being interrogated I told these secrets. When they asked me how I knew these things I said I couldn't tell. I was shipped to the president so he could decide what to do with me because I already knew too much. But then an agent came and suggested they added me to their project, called Project Megalomaniac. The president agreed and I was sent to a facility in Wisconsin. There I was trained over and over and over. Some techniques new some old. They never went easy on me. Not once. A lot of the time I get to near death experiences but I don't mind as much anymore since I'm used to the harsh training.

I lazily got out of bed to avoid some kind of existential crisis. As always I had a white dress as my only clothing when I'm not on a mission. When I am in a mission I can use whatever disguise necessary. My long brown hair dropped on my shoulders. I went into the small bathroom provided in blank apartment-like cell and grabbed a brush. I did my hygiene always taking a double look at the mirror knowing there is a person behind it staring at me in this fish tank doing.... research.

As soon as I was done one of the agents came into my room. "Yes?" I asked staring into his eyes intently, well knowing I was making him uncomfortable but was doing fairly well at hiding it.

"Bad news," he said with a stern yet sad tone," Your caretaker, the one who was assigned to look after you has recently died so we're informing you of this inconvenience and assigning you a new one." He said writing something down in a notepad.

"Of course," I said in a tone people had when they didn't care. I continued to fiddle with strands of my hair and the soft fabric of my dress not listening entirely on what he was telling me. I could tell he was looking at me like I was a monster. Which indeed I felt like one. I knew my last agent for so long, he practically owned me. Yet I couldn't care less that the poor man has died. I knew he had kids and a wife who had left him years ago for unknown reasons to me. To me, he was just another one of them.