It is spring, around May. I see myself, following myself around as a third person. I have gotten older.. my face has matured, my hair is longer, my body more built and strong. Most noticeable - and the thing that spoke to me the most - was a blood-red tattoo on the back of my neck, in the shape of a squid. Looking back on it now, I think of cult tattoos and marks, burned into the back of their heads - the cult doctrine seared into the back of their minds.

I shiver.

I am in the kitchen of my home. A crystal-bore glass is in front of me, a two-liter of Cherry Coca-Cola in my hand. I am about to pour the drink, when the phone rings. I assume - no, I know - that it is for me. I set the drink down, glancing out the open window for a moment before rushing to grab the phone.

My father is already there, waiting with the handset. I remember now - I have been detailing him on Neurocam International operations for the past six months. He has taken to them with great interest, always asking, and I, always telling. These operations I cannot recall now, only that they have been moving progressively forward, towards some goal I cannot even imagine. I think.. I think the goal is pure consciousness. But how can I know?

My father raises the phone to his temple. "Hello?" He says, eyes concentrating on what the individual on the other end is saying. I watch myself as I near my father, trying to catch a glimpse of who it might be. My father furrows his brow, and pulls the reciever from his ear. "It's for you.. the man who you met last Thursday." I gulp audibly, a cold sweat hitting me quick. Visions of a car racing after me, I'm on foot, a fence, a near escape, gunshots.. they hit me like the cold sweat, leaving me exasperated and nervous.

I see myself eye the phone like it is explosive, raising it to my ear carefully. I remember what Moriarty has told me - deal with them in a professional manner, and then eliminate them. I sigh, shake out my body and answer. "Hello?" This is our conversation, to the best I can remember.

ERIC: Hello, Eli. This is Eric. You remember me, don't you?

I remember this man. Eric.. Eric Lewis, perhaps? He was one of the NCI
staff, not Elite Core, but definitely up there. Was it him who chased me? It
could have.. he traveled a lot. But... why?

I don't make any conclusions just yet, but I am near positive..

ELI: Of course. How could I forget our.. encounter?

(There is an audible exhalation of air, followed by a "hmph".)

ERIC: You did recieve my e-mail, did you not?

(I see myself go to my computer, throwing clothes from the chair onto my
bed. My browser seems possessed, going by itself to my inbox. A lengthy e-mail
appears, it's contents I do not remember.)

ELI: Yes, I did.. It's right here.

ERIC: So you know what must be done?

(I frown, glancing over the e-mail.)

ELI: Like I said, I just got it..

ERIC: I see. Why aren't you more active in checking your e-mail?

ELI: I don't get much time to myself anymore.

ERIC: But I have gifted you time!

A turning point. He raises his tone to me.. with this, it seems the cosmos
do not want me to be able to hear him. Distractions occur.. my computer plays
rock. My clock alarm goes off. His voice dims down to nothing. I catch bits and
pieces.

ERIC: You do know what......heard, right?

ELI: Who? Who heard?

ERIC: You must... hot4u19... the one who died.

(I know who he's talking about. A memory of a newspaper clipping, a
suicide, caused by our SAPPHIRE-X testing. We are all shellshocked from the
incident.. it is a wonder we were not all indicted.)

ELI: I know her.. but what are you talking about?

ERIC: (laughter.. evil, dark laughter) Poor puppet.. nobody told you.

(My heart is racing. I don't understand. I am confused.. feeling betrayed..
but mostly, scared.) And suddenly, everything stops. Silence. Except for him.)

ERIC: You killed her, Eli.

(I shake my head furiously, a madman's denial, frenzied.)

ERIC: You oversaw the S-X project, Eli! You administered the drug! If we don't
take care of you before the FBI does, then this incident could be the end of all
of us.

ELI: No. No. No. I didn't. I couldn't. I.. I wouldn't.

(I am in tears.)

ERIC: My boys should be down there soon. Tell me, Eli, did you ever expect to
get this deep?

The phone clicks off with the power. Everything goes quiet, dark. I tremble. Glass breaks in the kitchen. My father yells. I cower in the corner of my room. My door breaks down. White masks.. flash of metal..

And I awaken, cold sweat, legs tangled in blankets, afraid.

EL: Ah.. yes, please, call me Eli.

NW: Well then.. Eli.

(Noah pulls out the wooden chair across from Eli, sits.)

NW: I hope you had no trouble trying to find the place.

EL: Oh, none.. MapQuest.

NW: I see. Resourceful.

(Pause.)

NW: I assume you're wondering why I asked you to come here.

EL: A bit, yes.

(Noah sets a briefcase on the tabel, removes a filled folder.)

NW: It says here on your file you've been an operative for around four months, correct?

EL: That sounds about right.

NW: You don't know?

(Silence.)

NW: ..You've completed five assignments, including an SO, correct?

EL: Correct.

NW: What are the circumstances surrounding this special operation?

EL: Well, ah.. It was around a month ago. I'd been associating freely with another operative from this area, Jason Tremonti. My Regional Director, Jeff Seifer, sent me an e-mail asking that I provide a secure method of transport to give Jason Tremonti a message. He recommended I not use e-mail, or any other form of tangible transmit. It was nothing, really.. I just obtained Tremonti's number and verbally read him said message.

NW: What was the timeframe given?

EL: Three days, max.

NW: And when did you complete it?

EL: The night it was issued, if I'm not mistaken.

(Noah rifles through his papers, nearly absorbed in his work.)

NW: It seems a job opening has opened in this area. As you have the most experience of the operatives in the Dallas area, and have already proved yourself trustworthy.. I have a proposition for you.






EL: Go on.