Forge Netting 38: Waking

Waking moments – so often they were a surprise for him. He spent a long time not expecting to be able to assemble anything resembling reality from the pieces that would be available to him – he wished for the dissociative haze he occupied and embraced it when it fogged his mind. Oblivion seemed sweet and oblivion was sought after.

When he had started to wake into an assembled truth and the guesswork was removed he began to hate the process of regaining awareness – it was painful; it was oppressive, and it was depressing. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut and force himself back down into the amnesiac dark.

He lay there for a few minutes and he knew that he was being watched, and he sensed that they knew he had finally woken up. He remembered the pain, wondered whether the fact that he was free meant his captor was going through what he had gone through. He did not want to open his eyes; he did not want to be awake; he did not want to be here.

The leader of his back-up team came up to him and placed his hand on his shoulder – he could have laid there and pretended to still be out of it, but how long would that have worked? And how foolish would he have felt to be found out?

He sat up, looked around. They were all looking at him expectantly, and what was he supposed to do with that? There wasn’t anything to do with them. They weren’t what they once had been and they didn’t mean what they once had meant. He was not the thing he had once been so all those who were created to revolve him around like satellites of his intent, were they perforce changed as well? He didn’t think it was so cut and dried.

He felt like an alien amongst these people and that was strange in and of itself. For a second one of them was speaking to him and he didn’t even register the slightest sound. He wanted to be so far away from all this that none of it was a concern, but he couldn’t physically move away from it just yet, and the mental distance wasn’t going to do anything for him except get him killed.

Something clicked in him and he faced the person he was being talked to by.

‘So, you need to make a decision about what you would like done with him.’

‘Done with him? Nothing.’

‘Well, doing nothing is a luxury you can’t afford. He is a problem that affects your life and therefore ours, and as such he needs to be handled if for no other reason than that. We aren’t that concerned with justice – but we are concerned with survival … and even if you’re not you owe it to us to help with this.’

‘Why this charade? I know you had already decided on a course of action – and this impetus on me to make a decision is designed to do what exactly? Forge us back into some kind of fighting unit? And who are we going to fight? You know what I am; you have some idea of who I am; you know what I have done, and therefore you must have more than idea of what I want to do. In every incarnation of this self I have decided that me being blanked out is the only answer. If you want to do that to him then you are welcome to do it – I cannot wish that upon anyone else. What you seek to use as a punishment would be the opposite for me. So do it; just don’t expect me to endorse it, negate it, or have any kind of opinion on it.’

‘OK, so your position is pretty clear.’

‘It is.’

‘We will help you, and we will deal with him.’

‘Fair enough.

‘I hope so.’

‘So do I.’

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