The Mission of the Heart

Happy holidays!

This is the final chapter for the mission of the heart series. I hope you guys like it! I hope you guys had a good Christmas and good year!

-YoursTruly101

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("The deal is done," the dark figure said, sitting behind the desk. "You know what must be happen."

The female figure looked at her, pleading.

"I know it's done," she said in a low voice. "But please...you must do this for me."

"And why is that so?"

"Because...I know you love her too."

The dark figure said nothing, its fist slammed onto the wooden desk. It pointed a hand towards her.

"Don't you dare!"

"It was successful before! What harm can it possibly do?"

"Everything!" the dark figure's teeth grinded together. "The operation is simply risky."

"But can't you risk it? For her sake?"

The figure froze, its arms on the armchair, leaning its back onto the backrest. It exhaled slowly, its sad eyes looking directly at its forced visitor.

"I did," it said with regret in its voice. "I did." )

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I am in control here.

"We need the doctor here now!"

The cries were faded, like an echo of memories I never knew existed.

Darkness.

Memories of my past.

Or is it my present?

I'm not quite sure. I'm not sure of anything anymore.

A flicker. I'm in Russia, Portugal, Spain. North Korea. Faces of people I've met. People I've killed in cold blood.

Thailand.

My body shook. Shaking and shaking, a neverending series of convulsions.

"Fuck! Where's doctor Philips!? We need her now! Her body is reacting!"

A series of lights, series of memories until I finally found myself in Chicago, Illinois.

I remember how young I was, only 19 years-old. Young, so willing to kill. Strong as ever. I remember how cold Chicago was during the month of January, how the snow felt poisonous as I crouched behind the bushes of Mr. Porter's yard.

Voices.

Beeps, voices, beeps, voices, shoutings.

I was there, I wasn't there.

Hands, metallic objects, tubes where on and in me, but I couldn't move nor can I open my eyes. I couldn't feel. All I can do is lay there, and listen.

And wait.

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Struggling, I opened my eyes, but came to the conclusion that my left eye couldn't open. Moaning softly, I tried moving my head and eye around, everything was white. Bright and white.

There was a low humming noise and many medical equipment around me, but no one was there. I struggled to get up, but decided it wasn't worth every bit of energy I had for there were numerous of bandages on my skin, and tubes and needles in me. I tried talking, but my mouth was dry like a desert.

Wait, a desert.

Flashes of my staying in the underground facility sped through my mind. I started to panic as I saw myself getting tortured and beat down by a cruel man who called himself "The Judge." Each and every memory hit me like a bullet, my body began to shake and I eventually ripped all the tubes and bandages away.

Gasping uncertainly, I found myself naked, but that wasn't all. My body was scarred, not a single area remained untouched. Even my hands and fingers were scarred. I closed my eye, trying to calm myself down

Grunting, I stood on my own feet, feeling extremely dizzy and not to mention weak. My body wasn't as it was before, I can feel there wasn't as much muscle by every movement I made. It was if I possessed a stranger's body. Shaking my head, I can feel there wasn't as much hair on my head than before, but it was long enough that I can feel a bit of weight.

At the corner of my eye, I saw a door. My legs started walking towards it unconsciously only to find that it was locked.

Disappointed, I looked around the room even more, and found a mirror, but I knew better. I knew it was a one-way mirror, and I drunkenly walked to it. With tears rolling freely down my cheek, I angrily pounded on the mirror. I tried speaking, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat.

"I-I know you're there," I said weakly, as my hand pounded on the mirror for the last time.

"G-get me out...get me out. I need help...I...need to know what's going on..." I started sobbing, my hands sliding down against the mirror, body slumping down to the floor. The ice cold floor made contact to my naked buttocks and legs, and I began shaking as I hugged my legs to my chest. I let the back of my head rest against the wall, breathing heavily. This is not real, I thought to myself. All of this is not real. Tears began to dance around my eye, then gracefully glided down my cheek. Then a heard a click, and slowly the door swung open. I didn't bother to look who it was. All I did was stare blankly at...nothing.

"Seventy-six?" a soft woman's voice rung through my ears. I didn't move nor did I attempt to look at her with my eye.

"Pamela?" the woman's voice said again. My brain triggered something, I knew that voice. "Tell me what's going on, Carrie," I whispered, barely audible as I continue to look blankly at the wall across the room. "Do not hold back. Tell me everything." With that, I looked at her, a concern look on her face. She looked different with her long hair, her body more firm and mature

Wait a second, mature

I began standing up, and looked at her closely. "When...is this?" I asked, choking a bit.

Carrie looked uncertain, and cautiously walked towards me. She placed a soft hand on my cheek, wiping a tear away.

"It has been two and a half years since our last contact, Pamela," she whispered.

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Carrie offered to explain everything to me in a debriefing room after I put a hospital robe on. "Where am I?" I asked, undecided if I wanted the answer or not.

"I can't tell you," she said with a pitying look. She offered a hand, and I hesitated. Then, slowly, I took it, letting her lead the way through the unknown building. To say that building was just an ordinary building was an understatement. This building was big, having multiple soldiers, doctors, nurses, you name it, roaming around freely. There were multiple rooms. Sneaking a peek, there was a room consisting of high tech computers and other technologies that were alien to me.

"The Agency?" I asked, my mouth firm. Carrie didn't say anything, but led me to what looks like a debriefing room. There were many tables that were all positioned together into a circle. King Arthur's table, if you will

"You can sit, if you like," Carrie said while getting a file out of her briefcase. Robotically, I sat, and looked at her. "Tell me everything."

With that, she started to talk.

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Approximately 385 days I was in the cell.

385 days I went through barely enough food to eat.

385 days I went through many sessions of torture and abuse.

Carrie went through the files and slid one to me. I opened it up and saw "The Judge." My mouth curled in distaste. I hated that man.

"His name is Javier Auqino, " she said, looking at me carefully. "He, uh, he was the owner of the underground facility. We did a background check on him and, uh, apparently he has a mental disorders. Or had."

"What did you do to him," I asked, hiding the shakiness of my voice.

"I killed him," she whispered, her eyes looking directly at his picture. "He was one of many Marco Romano's customers

My hands made a fist.

"Where is he," I said with authority instead of a question. "Where is Marco."

"Pame-"

"Don't call me that!" I spat, my fist painfully pounded on the table as I stood up. "Where is he!"

Carrie remained calmed, but I saw in her eyes that she was uncomfortable. "Seventy-six, with your condition, we cannot tell you where he is until you are...well again."

"'We' as in the Agency," I snarled sarcastically, looking at her incredulously. She nodded, and took a couple of steps towards me. She put her hands on the table, and looked at me, her body leaning to me.

"Yes, the Agency. The same organization that had its own very members looked for you and rescued you from that hell. The same organization that patched you up when your body was dying for the last year and a quarter. The same organization that gave you blood, medicine, everything, Seventy-six, everything! In order to keep you alive"

"Well, I didn't ask for any of that! What if I wanted to die!"

"What if I didn't want you to fucking die!?"

I blinked. I was utterly speechless

"That's right," she said softly. "I didn't want you to die, Seventy-six. I went through every bit of begging to let the Agency take you in. Because the world needs you."

"You mean the world wants me to clean up the mess it made," I said gravely, my teeth clenched together.

"Like Marco Romano," she whispered. "Imagine the chaos he'll make, the terror he'll open to this country. You..."

She grabbed my hand, and held it to her chest. I can feel her heart pumping.

"You are the top and valuable agent the Agency has," she whispered, a tear forming in her eye. "Do you know how many agents he killed? Many, Seventy-six. Many. But he didn't kill you."

"He did kill me," I said, my eye closing. "He did. He took every dignity of humanness I had in me, every love and happiness. And he replaced it with fear, and anger."

"Well," she said, "I know for a fact that you are immune to fear and anger. I know that every bone in your body clings to justice, courage, and love."

I smiled, and walked towards her, hugging her deeply. I never realized how much I missed her.

"It's good to see you again, Seventy-six," she whispered, her lips on my neck. "It's good to see you are alive..."

I hugged her even harder, my scarred hands gripping her back. "It's good to see you again, Carrie," I replied, then slowly let her go.

"There's more work to be done, I'm afraid," she said, wiping some of her tears away.

"Getting rid of your scars using our highly advanced laser technology here. But there's a problem: your left eye."

I touched the bandage that covered my eye.

"It has been...severely damaged and it's blind. But!" she continued when she saw my panicked face. "There's an eye waiting for you, perfectly compatible, and the surgery will be safe. Is it alright to use that eye in order to replace yours?"

I nodded, "Yes. Definitely."

"Even though it's blue?"

I blinked. "Blue, red, violet, whatever works. But I thought that wasn't poss-"

"Good," she said, pulling another file out of her briefcase. "Now, the long scar that goes through it and going to your collarbone...for the most part we can fix that. But the scar near and going through your eye has to stay, I'm afraid. The doctors are hesitant to let the laser go near the eye since they are going to perform the eye surgery first. They want the surgeries to go smoothly as possible."

"Well, can't they do the eye surgery after getting rid of my scars?" I said as Carrie handed me the file.

"Let's just say that the eye has many other admirers that want to make it as their own. And the fact that it's the only legit eye available now as we speak make's it vulnerable to other clients," she said, glancing at me.

I looked through the files explaining where and how I got the scars, but stopped where it says "caused by a sharp knife" right next to my heart.

I began to tremble. The file said that even though I had my share of sharp objects gliding through my skin, a long sharp and thin knife cut deep across my sternum, and all across my chest..

I never felt it. I guess at that time I was numb enough to feel nothing at all.

"That almost killed you, actually, more than the torturous and abusive moments you had in the cell combined," she said quietly, her hand on my shoulder. "The doctors had to literally work on you for numerous hours, day and night, to get some of the little shards out. Some of them stayed inside of you for...well, 300 days. I was surprised you d-didn't feel any pain. Or die, for that matter."

"That is surprising," I mumbled, gently closing the file.

I closed my eyes and remembered everything. The rain, Marco, falling from a building. Charlie, pointing the gun at me, and James. Then finally at me, right on my heart. She pulled the trigger. The judge, smiling menacingly at me, with his yellow teeth, and psychotic eyes.

Carrie looked at me questionably as I handed the file back at her. As Carrie was beginning to ask me something, I said, "Carrie, do me a favor?" as I peeked inside my hospital robe. With my hand, I felt it: a the scar across my chest. It was monstrous.

"Carrie?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't erase this scar," I said, pointing to my heart.

"Why not?" she asked, putting the files back into her briefcase.

"It serves as a reminder."

A reminder to never let your heart interfere with anything.

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The next day, the doctors finally did the eye surgery and smoothly did it well. The next day after that, I had my scars removed except the one going through my eye, and the one on my chest. After all of that was done, I looked at myself in the mirror. The blue eye looked strange on me.

"Well I think it looks mighty hot," Carrie said teasingly when I asked her opinion on it. "And that scar? Jesus, if you were a man, I would make love with you right here right now."

"Scars are some kind of fetish of yours?"

She laughed and trailed the scar, "Not just any kind of scars. Just the ones on you."

I blinked and blushed, and she laughed even more.

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For the next couple of weeks, I began to train again. Not just train, but literally trained hard each and everyday and night. I ran on the track (yes, there's a track in the building. I came to realize that the building was completely underground), I boxed, I did weights, I ate everything, but unhealthy foods. I did everything since I was willing to get the muscles I lost back on me.

But, when it was time to go to sleep, it was a stranger to me. I couldn't sleep since the memories from my torture sessions in the underground facility hugged me tightly, never letting me go. I developed my own demons through my nightmares.

One night, I began to weep, hugging my legs near my chest, sitting down on the floor next to the bed. It seemed like Carrie heard me since she opened the door and stuck her head in.

"Seventy-six?"

I looked up and saw her messy hair, glasses, wearing only a talk top and baggy shorts. To say she was gorgeous was nothing. She looked incredible dead drop gorgeous, which I never really realized before. She closed the door and sat down next to me after she turned on my lamp. She faced my body to me, her face both a bit tired and worried.

"I know what this is, Carrie," I mumbled tiredly. "And I know you know what it is too. It's just...I never thought I'll be one to have it."

I laughed weakly, and she smiled faintly. Trying to hold my gaze on her, the tears started flowing, and I couldn't help, but weep in front of her. Giving me a pitying look, she immediately pulled me to her chest, cradling me, rocking me like a baby.

"Shh..." she whispered. "You're safe now." She kissed my forehead, her hair surrounding me like a fence, keeping the others out. She made me feel safe, my body began to relax. I slept safely with her arms around me.

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I woke up around...well, honestly, I didn't know what time. I reached across my bed, half-expecting Carrie to be there, but only grasped the bed sheets with a slight disappointment. Dressing myself up in my sweats, I went to the track and ran at least 10 kilometers. It has been nine months already, strengthening myself physically as well as mentally. I all of my muscles back, but I consider my well-being better than last time. I was stronger, and I was actually eager to go back to my missions.

"Already?" Carrie asked when I told her I was ready to go back into the field. "I thought you need more time to, you know, recuperate and-"

"I'm ready as ever," I stated firmly. "Put me back out there."

"I-I don't know, I probably need to persuade the head, a-and it's probably going to take some time-"

I walked over to her and stood only a couple of inches away from her body. From the look of her eyes, I knew she doesn't want me to be out there again. For whatever reason, I was touched, but at the same time I was impatient of her emotions.

"Carrie," I whispered, "I don't know why you are hesitating on me being out there again, and trust me, I'm touched."

"But you know me," I looked directly into her eyes," and I will find a way somehow to get myself out of here."

I put my hands on her hips, and I saw a flicker behind her eyes. "And that is what I'm willing to do if you don't help me."

"I want to help you, I really do," she interjected, her eyes looking lost. "But...I just. I just don't want to see you...hurt again."

I was touched. She looked down to the ground, looking mighty vulnerable and fragile in front of me. I pulled her to me, her forehead on my shoulder, hugging her closely as possible as a way I appreciated her concern. She hugged back as she hesitantly put her cheek next to mine, gliding.

"I always come back in one piece-"

"But I almost lost you last time," she whispered shakily, putting on a brave face. "I mean...the agency lost you...almost lost you last time."

I blinked, confused at a moment with the overwhelming amount of emotions running throughout my body. Awkwardly, I walked a couple of steps back, already feeling the warmness of a blush rising up my chest.

"I'll, uh, talk to the head," she said, clearing her throat and looking a bit flustered. I couldn't help, but break a smile as she walked down the hallway.

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I was in the coffee room, drinking the night away, lost in my thoughts.. Last time I checked, it was around 2:38 am (roughly around that time), five hours after Carrie and I talked.

What's taking her so long, I thought glumly to myself. I was restless beyond cure, my body waiting for action. I was eager to be out in the field again, sick of being in this underground facility for the past couple of months. It was suffocating me.

Footsteps were echoing down the hall, coming nearer and nearer. Yawning, I lazily stood up, and a tired looking Carrie waltzed in. She froze when we made eye contact, her puppy eyes sleepy. In her hand was a tan file, with red obnoxious words of "Classified" written on the front.

"It's done," she said, handing me the file. "You can get all the necessary supplies you want, including weapons, gadgets, all of those. You can also leave whenever you want."

Swiftly, I took the file, and scanned through the papers. Another assassination mission, the subject was located in New York City. A Mr. Edward Burns, a 49-years-old bank manager, blah blah blah. But at this point, I was willing to kill a anyone to get out of here.

Nodding, I looked at her, muttering a thank you. Then, I went to my room and forced myself to go to sleep for I was planning on going away tomorrow.

I never did realize the look that Carrie gave me. The look of concern, sadness, and longing.

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I was in the weaponry, getting all the necessary supplies (and new ones of course. As I looked through, I found a balaclava: black, light to wear, but keeps the head's temperature in a neutral temperature. One horizontal medium slit for the eyes were visible. My mask to the world. I glided my fingertips across the fabric, remembering the night Charlie and I...

Stop it, I thought to myself. She's gone, and you almost went too. Sighing, I put the mask in the bag, along with my passport, money, and airplane ticket. As I was about to turn around, Carrie was behind me dressed in her pajamas.

Her hair was messy, and her face showed the many stresses her job put her through, but she still looked beautiful. I smiled weakly and nodded," I'll be on my way."

She nodded, her eyes looking into mine. As I passed her, she put a warm hand on my stomach, and I can sense her urgency.