What Memory Remains

“Did anyone see you?” Zenapharr said, eyes darted about the corridors beyond his concrete barred door.

“No. Do you really think I’d still be here if someone saw me? I have some news for you…Wiliam Ostrand is dead.” The shadowed man at Zenapharr’s door whispered.

“He is….that’s inconvenient.” As sarcastic as he stated it, he was genuinely concerned.Ostrand’s only crime seemed to be working for the wrong company.

“He was shot by a security guard. Pennington’s orders apparently. They were arguing moments before he was killed. Pennington ought to be the one you talk to about your past.”

“Pennington…so you are the one with the secret…What do you know? How far down does my rabbit hole go?”

“It could be endless. How much do you really remember from the Injection? What they did to you, exactly?”

“I’m not sure...they said the Injection could incur memory loss. I was hoping you could tell me more.”

“I wouldn’t trust them at all at this point.”

“I can make Pennington talk, you know we can,” The Voice spoke in Zenapharr’s head. “We can take our time with him, drag him from his bed and make him pay for his treachery. Then we’ll kill him…that’ll make us feel so good! How long has it been since you’ve last killed? Six months?”

Zenapharr ignored the voice, focusing on his friend’s words. “I think we should pay Pennington a visit. I could convince him to tell him.

“You can’t.”

“Why? Isn’t this the whole point of being here? To find out what they did to me exactly? To find out the truth?”

“It is, but also realize that it may be too soon. Zenapharr, you are not well. The truth could be more hurtful, and you could end up killing again. Remember…that’s the entire reason you spared me. You broke down, said you had killed a boy. And you couldn’t do it anymore, didn’t want to, not even if you were paid for it. You wanted to get better.”

“Is that the real reason you talked me into turning myself in?”

“No, but it is a fact. You’re not a killer anymore, Zenapharr. At least you don’t seem to want to be. Once you have complete control, I say that you get him to tell you.”

“How?”

“Throw him a curve call by breaking him mentally. Make him vulnerable. Tell him the truth…I think you’ve kept it hidden for long enough.”

“The truth…yes. I should, but, I’m afraid…for the first time in a long time. Afraid to learn what really happened to me…I have such fond memories of Mother despite her untimely death. And Skye...on the cusp of manhood…and his light was snuffed out so suddenly.”

“I know. As you said, I don’t want you losing control. Something tells me you’ll wish you hadn’t known once you do. This is NOSRAD we’re talking about. There are so many tings that went on that they thought it best for you not to know.”

“I see. So, is this all you came to tell me?”

“No, not at all. This is the main reason I came here.”

The mysterious man slipped a small folder between the bars, and Zenapharr took them with great curiosity. He now only wore handcuffs, as the straight jacket had given him a crick in the neck. Due to his peaceful cooperation, they allowed him this one freedom. They already knew it was best not to press their luck.

“This is…all about the Injection…” Zenapharr said, perusing the file. And it stated the following.

Northern Organization for Scientific Research and Development

Date: 370 A.W.

Test Subject 112

Experiment 210-Injection X

Conducted by: Dr. Richard Pennington, Dr. Arthur Miles, Dr. Sandra Wick, Dr. Samuel Calhoun

Hypothesis: According to properties of Chemical 42B (a.k.a. Agent Crimson) , by injecting test subject 112 with Chemical 42B, subject should show increased speed, strength, toughness, agility, and cognitive functions as well as superhuman regenerative abilities.

Prognosis: Unlikely successful due to past patients’ incompatibility but has interesting potential, based on patient’s rare blood properties.

Risk: High-Lethal. Subject expendable.

Diagnosis: After injection, Subject 112 showed remarkable results. Immediately, the subject was consumed in a raging fire that was deemed to be magical as it burned everyone but the subject. All doctors involved were killed with the exception of Dr. Pennington. After subduing the fire, the subject became fatigued as he passed out. Subject awoke showing extraordinary results, successful in all areas beyond human capacity. Military application very viable.

Side Effects: Subject has shown sporadic long and short-term memory loss. Emotional loss seems prevalent, yet is prone to unpredictable anger which results in the short term memory loss. Whether the deprivation of emotion is long term will remain to be seen.

Notes: Positive results accredited to subject’s rare blood properties, which show an almost non-existent link to the Seraphim. This anomaly in his blood was suspected when previous lab tests on subject 112 showed remarkable magical abilities. Considering this magical prowess is even further strengthened, doses were applied to his food to suppress his magical abilities, as any emotional stress or outburst could turn catastrophic. Subconscious conditioning applied to defer subject’s use of magic. All magic tutoring have also been halted to prevent subject from increasing magical threshold.

Classification: Highly Dangerous, yet controllable.

There was even more to the document, but it was marked out with a large black pen, making it undecipherable. What else were they hiding?

“I don’t believe it,” Zenapharr said, taking all the information in. “Expendable? Rare blood properties linked to the Seraphim? I’m not so sure about this…I feel like this only leaves more questions.”

“It certainly does. And I will find them for you. I have only just recently found this file, which was kept only in physical form that you see here today. I do know that the Agent Crimson they spoke of is quite remarkable. Other files show that is an ancient rock found by archaeologists. When melted down, it is the very same liquid you were injected with. Your blood seems to have reacted to it. You are something quite special, Zenapharr.”

“I’m starting to get that notion,” Zenapharr said wryly. And suddenly, as he sorted out the details of the document, the memory of the Injection started coming back to him in pieces. There were people’s screams…..and his screams…he could see the fire….he could smell something burning…could see black ashen walls…and burnt faces. The skeletal remains of doctors..

“Uhh!” He grunted, and fell to his knees. “I…I killed them…after the Injection.” Then the screams he heard in his memory were replaced by laughter, loud…cackling, maniacal laughter. It was his laughter. Yet, the memory was not in his own eyes…it was like a dream, where he only saw him himself…blood red eyes, a hunger instilled in him. It felt more prevalent now than ever…the Injection had turned into him into a killer.

“I’m sorry to leave you in your current state, but that was all I had to discuss with you. The file, please? I cannot arouse any suspicion with it being gone.”

Zenapharr stood up in a daze, passing the file back through the bars. As the sound of his friend’s foothalls faded away, he wondered what he would do, where he would go from here. The news was enlightening no doubt. All of the feelings, the notions, the suspicions of foul play were all solidified now. And there was still more to consider.

“Hey, what are you doing?” A security guard approached, seeing that Zenapharr was standing at his door rather than lying down.

“Oh, just talking to myself, “Zenapharr said, chuckling darkly. His Friend had slipped past undetected no doubt.

“Well, talk to yourself a little lower. It’s late.”

“Yes sir!” The half-elf gave a sarcastic salute, to which the guard rolled his eyes and walked away. Zenapharr wondered how differently things would have gone had he not spared his informant’s life. Had he not listened, he may have been blindly following orders despite losing his appetite for the kill. As he thought back to the day he had spared the informant’s life, he realized just how strange it was the way everything had coincided.

In the shadows of the man’s office, Zenapharr had lied in wait for hours. His patience and ability to be still for hours was uncanny, as he disciplined himself in mind and body. With a flair for the dramatic, he had laid out photos of all the wrong-doings and atrocities the target had commited; all provided to him by Minerva’s intelligence, of course. Though his paid mercenary work was all business, he thought it would make it more fun to make his enemies look their mistakes right in the eye before he ended them.

“Hello, friend,” he said when he held him fast with one arm and held his blade to his throat with the other. “You’ve been quite the bad boy. Tisk tisk tisk tisk tisk. Look at the mess you’ve made,” he pointed to the photos of multiple innocent civilians, lying in pools of blood, some decapitated, some mutilated.

“Wait, don’t kill me, please!” he begged, pleading like a frightened child.

“And why not? You deserve it, plus I’m getting good money for your head.

“Because I’ve been expecting you.”

“Exepcting me?”

“Yes. I know who you really are.”

“Really? And who is that?”

“You’re Zenapharr Meridian, they call you the Spectre.”

“That I am.”

“You were raised in the NOSRAD facility until you sent to Minerva for military training. It was there you learned about the world for the first time, and honed all your skills to be used as an assassin.”

“….go on.”

“Your uncanny abilities are also due to a special experiment. Unfortunately, it also made you next to emotionless, and with the insatiable urge to kill.”

“How do you know that? You’ve been following me?” He held his blade closer to the man’s throat.

“No, not me personally anyway. I have a lot of connections. I can prove that I know more. Tell me how good your memory is.”

“I had toast for breakfast.”

“No, I mean…tell me how you got your powers. What was it like growing up in NOSRAD as a child? Tell me about your brother.”

“Skye….”

Zenapharr lowered his sword and sheathed it. He looked the man in the eyes, and they began a long discussion.

It was then that Zenapharr realized how hazy his memories were, and had almost completely forgotten about the Injection altogether. Upon further conversation, he jogged Zenapharr’s memory with more details, things from his past that no one would forget.

This man he had sworn to kill had contacts in both Minerva and NOSRAD, and could use them to find out more about his past. Yet, some of that information only went so far. So he agreed that he’d find out more for Zenapharr but only under one condition…that Zenapharr surrender himself and try to control his desires to kill. The whole situation was so extremely odd The man even understood the torment that Zenapharr had been through, specifically the recent incident where Zenapharr’s impulse to kill had gone wrong.

Reminiscing on this all brought Zenapharr’s oncoming anger back down, and reminded him that he was here on a promise. And if there was one thing that Zenapharr did, it was to keep a promise, no matter the cost. The Voice inside him chided again, prompting him to kill all the scientists responsible for his Injection, but he cursed at the Voice.

“I don’t want to be that person anymore.” He whispered. In fact…in spite of all that had done to him, he wanted to be the one to be forthcoming.

William Ostrand was right about him all along…he was a hypocrite. One who killed in secret, yet claimed to uphold the truths that were being hidden in the world. Finally, he made a firm decision in his mind. In hopes of turning away from his egregious actions and impulses, he was going to confess some things that had been bothering him, and knowing he had some sort of conscious in there made it all the more compelling to do. To save his soul, it was time he revealed a truth of his own

He was going to tell Dr. Pennington the truth about his son Nathan. It would hurt him, it would most likely break him on the inside, but it had to be done. He didn’t really care if Pennington would reciprocate, there was no way he’d do Zenapharr any favors after it all. The more he thought about it, they weren’t going to tell him anything unless he forced it out of them.

Either way, it would be one hell of a show.