Phantom Assassin (2015 version)

Chapter 05

The world bled in around him like a drop of rain making its way across a window- slowly. The room was dark; only a few chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and they were burning out.

Trace dropped into a cold leather chair that gripped at his cloak. He let the chair hold him in place.

This was just a mission report. Nothing bad was going to happen. Phantom was a responsible association that would make sure he wouldn't get hurt.

Three silhouettes surrounded him, one on each side of the chair.

"Trace, tell us exactly how your mission went," a woman's voice cut through the silence. She sounded urgent, as if Trace didn't answer she'd go ballistic or something.

He shifted in the chair, but felt the leather latch him back in place. He went tense. Why wouldn't they let him move?

"I followed everything according to plan," he stated, trying to sound relaxed. Something wasn't right, and he could feel it.

"Did anything interfere with your Modifier?" A man's voice interrogated. "Anything, like a hacker or a target?"

"No, sir," Trace replied, his voice shaking. What was going on? Was something wrong with him?

"Good, now let me check the history your Modifier captured," the woman spoke again, this time a bit softer. "It may hurt a bit, but it won't last long."

Trace felt a hand squeeze the sides of his neck. A cold hand. And his vision went black. Searing pain slashed its way through his arms. He felt like he was being split open by a thousand knives at once.

Phantom isn't doing it. It's all in your head, Trace reminded himself. This wasn't bad at all. It was a test, for sure.

"Are you scared, Trace?" The woman laughed, moving her fingers around his Modifier.

"No, ma'am," he said sternly. As she continued, though, he seemed to shake. He couldn't stop the strange feeling of horror overwhelming him.

"Good," she mumbled, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Now be completely honest with us, Trace. Have you seen any strange visions, like memories of your past?"

That triggered something deep, something dark, in his brain. Ten times worse than the dark void he traveled through when teleporting. Trace froze in place. His mouth wouldn't operate. Something was trying figure itself out in his head. Some faint, happy memory. A silent, wavering flower in the wind...

* * *

A girl stood in a field, a happy grin spreading on her face. She held out her hand, saying words Trace couldn't hear. He replied to her, but he couldn't hear himself either.

He reached out to receive her invitation, but she seemed to back away from him, taunting him.

And then his vision went black. Why couldn't he see the beautiful little girl? Where had she gone? He wanted his vision back! He had the strangest urge to be reunited with her! The beautiful girl with the golden curls and the shiny porcelain face...

When he could see again, it was night. He slowly looked down, dread coursing through him. The girl was dead at his feet, a blade sliced through her neck. Blood spilled from everywhere around her, soaking her light pink dress to her skin. The shiny locks of her hair plastered to her face like an erratic nightmare.

Trace bent down, wondering if he should touch the horrifying spectacle. Hot tears ran down his cheeks, and he started screaming. He pounded on the grass, dirtying the silky green color with a beautiful scarlet red. His hand was bleeding, and then it came off. He shrieked louder in the pain of both seeing the girl dead, and seeing his hand gone.