October 4, 2045
Code Name: Resurrection
Purpose: Understand the minds of offenders to create better profiles.
Phase 4: Human Trial
Source: Sabine Morat
Crime: Serial Murder
Subject #3: Special Agent Levon
I don’t think people know how hard it can be to kill someone. I don’t mean the actual act itself, but the work that goes into picking the right person. I don’t choose someone with the intent to kill them, but it is just what ends up happening sometimes. An occupational hazard. Matis and I were lucky to have found our purpose in life early on. We were born strong and able to do the hard work that came with making others strong. People, if they found out our methods, would probably kill us for it; that’s the curse of trailblazers. Like any endeavor in science, we have a system. We make friends with our mark, usually someone doe-eyed and too naive, like Clarisse. Friendly and desperate to be well-liked. Flowy long skirts and jumpers, tight shirts and heeled boots, not really dressed to run. She’s easier than most marks but the one we are going to have to bend the most. That’s the key word: bend. Sometimes, I think my brother forgets our purpose; he always breaks them too fast and too soon. It makes cleaning up so hard. But it’s my turn to choose and bend the mark, so I don’t have to worry about that.
Clarisse believes us when we tell her we are meeting up in the forest with other councils of the Green Union to give reports on the environments of our area. I feel bad when on Friday, she drags in equipment she won’t actually use. I tell my brother that, and he assures me it’ll still go to use. I really have my work cut out for me; she sleeps in the car, still stumbling and slowly waking up, drinking some coffee I give her. She is too busy trying to stomach the taste of the black coffee, not even taking notice of the silhouettes in the window and ambience of conversation we created until we get inside. Now is where the real fun begins.
I shove her to the ground, Matis stands by watching, ready in case she slips from my grasp.
My heart is racing, the knife in my hand is sliding a bit, from the sweat on my palm. I shake off the … fear, I think it is. I never feel it enough to remember what it is. No, it’s adrenaline. God it’s been a long time since it was my turn. She scrambles trying to run out the door she came in, goes to twist it, and I slice at her calf. She leans against the door and —
It hurts. I grab the door handle on the way down. Twisting it but it doesn’t budge. Sabine is holding a long hunting knife, calm but her eyes lighting up. This isn’t real, this isn’t real. Sabine grabs my ankle, dragging me away from the door. I feel the skin tear at the force, at the unsanded wooden floor —
“LET ME GO!” I handcuff her to a bolt in the wall. Her other hand slips from my grip, and she reaches for the knife. My brother jumps in and bolts the other one in.
“I know, it’s not like me to mess up.” I feel dizzy, and again that feeling, the fear is back; it’s making me lose my focus. I look over at Clarisse who is suddenly quiet, her body drooping. Shaking, terrified.
“Which coffee did you spike?”
“The one with the star.” He had one job.
“The unmarked is hers, that’s mine.” Damn it. We looked over to her, she was tugging against the chains, panicking, her pupils dilated. “At least you still gave her the drug.” I could feel myself falling into it.
“I’ll take over.”
“No. I’m —”
I could see the thread stretched between our legs: mine red and burning, melted maroon creeping to Sabine’s feet. When mine touched hers, I was her, and she was me. Hands, people they’ve killed before, tore through the wood. Clawing at me. I was stuck to her, I couldn’t move my legs. Sabine kicked away the skeleton hand, popping off some of the meat and skinning off my cut calf. Not real. Not real. Not real. Sabine grabbed my face. Her fingers — claws … Ow, they were sharp.
She was sweating skin.
“You may not believe it, but I’m your teacher.” She shook her head, loosening the skin on her face. Neon liquid leaked out. “You were born too weak, too naive, so the universe directed you towards me. I teach hard lessons, but they’re valuable.” Sabine spread her neon blood. She smacked the knife against her hand, the snap of it changing the room. The room was suddenly devoid of color, now shades of grey and black. I looked toward the reflective glass.
I heard voices far away. “Take it off Levon, take it off.” I pulled against the bounds, which tugged and bit back.
Sabine had her eyes on me, all six of them, all of them watching. “Lesson number one. You learn how to escape yourself. Don’t rely on anyone to do it for you.” She walked around me, her floating eyes popping in and out with each pass. She reached into her leg ripping out a long orange rope. She wrapped it around her fists, stretching her arms. The snakes that wrapped around my wrists were calm, and even when I shook it, they stilled. It was handcuffs. I remember it was handcuffs. The chainlink snakes slithered, tightening. I pulled down, the pain in my thumb stopping me.
“Pain doesn’t matter. Focus.” Sabine said. Wrapping the orange rope around my neck. She didn’t press hard, but it hurt, and I pulled against the cuff my thumb snapping in.
She was crying big, drowning tears. It splashed loudly on the floor. My brother was stepping around them, watching from the side of the room. Her pink skin, the color and texture of paint, got brighter at the tears. It hurt my eyes just to look at her like that. I looked into the cool dark blue of my brother. Clarisse got herself free, holding her hands close to her, cradling them. It was too easy. She didn’t earn the next lesson. I held the rope, its red thread feeling around on her neck, trying to find a way into her skin. She pulled against it, hands trying to tug it free, but the red dug into her skin, draining out that bright pink.
“You need to do it! DO IT NOW!”
“God, Matis, you are so impatient!” I looked over at him. Or where he was earlier. It was now a blob with stretched out limbs, an eye cramped onto a limb and Matis’ mouth moving on another.
“I didn’t say anything.” I rolled my eyes so hard I had to push them back into my skull. I didn’t have time for this. I let the red rope slosh to the floor dragging her to the next room over. She stumbled in, frantic. Her tears slowly started to flood this room. Ugh, it was going to be a mess to clean up. Her skin, a duller pink now, was veined with red threads that were squiggling under her skin. She looked at me with wide eyes, not paying attention to the red that wriggled in her cheekbone. Eww.
“Lesson two, learn how to fight.” I handed her a smaller knife duller than mine. I wasn’t stupid. It slumped, like heated rubber. Hmmm I don’t remember it doing that before. Clarisse looked at it then me. “Go ahead, take the first hit.” She adjusted it slightly, concentrating on moving her broken thumb. Then, she lunged. I side-stepped it easily; her knife hit the wall, turning the colors to black. It was quiet. Nothing, no one here. Then it hurt. Then it—
Results: Unsuccessful. Special Agent Clarisse Levon and the department had failed to notice that she had been a victim of The Morat Twins. Her current mental state, based on observation, appears to be irreparable. Despite the team’s efforts, no one has been able to separate her from Recall. The data is still able to be viewed and recorded, but as the memories go on, they alter into a confusing mess of new and old. It seems none of the data will be usable. She is the only surviving member of the trials.