Chapter Twenty Six

If back then was desperation, then now is probably definite death.

Cuffed up in the cockpit, there’s nothing I can do. Literally nothing. I have nowhere to deliver my internal anger, except towards myself. Why can’t I be stronger? Why can’t my memory be better so I can remember more clues Jessica left? Why can't i figure out a solution to break free? Why can’t I learn telekinetic combat quickly? Why? Why? Why?

“Roger, what can you tell us about Jessica?” I whispered. I realize that we probably came to the Northern Metropolis to talk to him.

“Who’s Jessica?”

“Girl. Almond eyes. Brown straight hair. Unusually attractive.”

Roger browsed through every bit of information in his memory library. “No, I don’t remember anyone suited to those descriptions. When’s the last time you saw her?”

I retrace the timeline that I retraced thousands of times before. The village. RPG. Two officers. Mudslide. Psychological battle. Injection room. Roger.

“All I can remember is one year ago. After you brought me into the injection room. The drug you injected me is affecting my memory.”

“That highly concentrated neurological medicine? That thing is our standard last resort for rogue soldiers. It sedates the thinking and calculating part of your brain, so you are more open to other people’s suggestions before actually weighing the pros and cons. Basically you take orders from us without thinking.”

“What does ‘Day 17’ mean?”

He pauses. His eyes rolled left, then right. Then he replies in a mechanical tone. “Never heard of that phrase.”

“Are you sure? Think harder!”

This time he responds with certainty. “Never heard of it.”

“Why would that drug affect my memory?” I jump back to the topic about the drugs.

“It shouldn’t be. All the past cases we used the medicine on showed no symptoms of side effects. It didn’t even touch the memory part of the brain.”

“Where’s the antidote?”

Roger laughs. “What are you talking about? There’s no antidote! None of these kinds of drugs have antidotes. It would ruin the purpose!”

Skye lowers her head, embarrassed by her foolish trust towards the rumor.

“Then how?”

Skye interrupted us quickly, “The Reader.”

“What about the reader? That incident was five years ago,” I couldn’t see any connection between the Reader and the memory loss.

“No,” Skye said, “We could use the Reader to detect any memory in your subconsciousness that you might not be able to draw out.”