Page 2 of Hunted to Be Mine
“Without briefing?” Mattie’s pitch rose. “That’s against…”
“Protocol’s been adjusted.” He was already moving, expecting us to follow. “Brief her en route.”
I fell into step, noting how Mattie unconsciously matched his pace. “Does someone want to tell me what I’m walking into?”
“His designation is Specter. The only name he remembers. Are you familiar with Project Marionette?”
My stomach dropped. “The theoretical framework for complete personality overlay? That was banned by the Geneva Convention’s psychological warfare amendments.”
“Theoretical.” Seok’s tone made it clear how naive that assumption had been. “An organization called Oblivion took those theories and turned them into an art form. Complete identity destruction and reconstruction. Perfect deniability because even the operatives don’t even know who they really were.”
“And Specter is one of these… reconstructed operatives?”
“Was.” Mattie pulled up brain images on her tablet, handed it to me. “He turned himself in to the São Paulo police who contacted us. He said he wanted to remember. Something has started breaking down in him. His conditioning is fragmenting.”
The patterns on screen were unlike anything in the literature: compartmentalization so complete it was almost elegant, if you could ignore what it represented. But there, in the prefrontal cortex, chaos. Synapses firing in patterns that should’ve been impossible, like watching a computer virus eat through code.
“These breach patterns… This isn’t degradation. This is active resistance. His original personality is fighting back.”
“Three interrogators have tried to help him recover his memories.” Seok stopped at another checkpoint, this one guarded by men in full tactical gear. “He’s either playing games or too damaged to access anything useful. Commander Dawson believes you might have better luck.”
Through the observation window, I caught my first glimpse of him.
Specter sat on the edge of a medical bed, one wrist secured to the frame with a restraint that looked more symbolic than functional. Mid-thirties, perhaps, though something in his bearing suggested age measured differently for him. Dark hair fell across his forehead, needing a cut. His build was lean, functional: a swimmer’s body rather than a soldier’s, built for efficiency rather than display.
But it was those eyes that stopped me cold.
Silver-gray, flat as storm clouds, and unnervingly still. Not the calm of peace or meditation. This was the quiet of a predator that had learned to hide in plain sight. He wasn’t looking at the window, but I knew he was aware of every person watching him.
“What crimes was he involved in?”
“We’re still determining that.” Seok’s reflection appeared beside mine in the glass. “What we do know is that Oblivion used him for wetwork. High-value targets. People who needed to disappear without questions.”
“How many?”
“He claims he doesn’t know. The memories are there, but disconnected. Like watching someone else’s life through frosted glass.”
Specter shifted slightly, just his head turning toward the window. Our gazes met through the one-way glass. Impossible.He couldn’t see me, but that pale gray stare found me with uncanny accuracy.
A smile touched his lips. Not pleasure. Recognition.
“He knows I’m here.”
“Impossible. That glass is…”
“He knows.” I moved away from the window, heart hammering. “How long has he been requesting me specifically?”
Mattie and Seok exchanged glances.
“He hasn’t.” Mattie spoke slowly. “Dawson selected you based on your work with deprogramming. Specter doesn’t even know your name.”
But that smile said otherwise. That smile said he’d been waiting.
“One hand will remain secured.” Seok warned as Mattie moved to unlock the entrance. “But don’t mistake that for safety. Whatever he says, whatever he does, remember what he is.”
“And what exactly is he?”
“A weapon that’s beginning to remember it has a choice.”
