- (sonrisa) wrote in repose, @ 2018-02-27 02:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, steve mcrory |
Narrative: Steve M
Who: Steve McRory
What: narrative
Where: Area-52
When: recent past to present
Warnings/Rating: none
The neuralyzer was a difficult tool to master. You probably know it from the Men In Black franchise, but they do actually exist. Or, at least, this government agency had some on hand. But, for such a little thing—about the size of a cigar, silver, with red lights in a line at the top—it could pack a wallop. It was supposed to go off with a flash, and the length of time it was meant to erase—that's what it did; it erased memories—could be chosen from a volume-like knob on the side, slid along with the pad of thumb. But, maybe he'd overdone it. The agent was new and since the slider didn't come with numbers, you had to know where it was on its spectrum without reference. So maybe he'd done it a little too long on the woman—Parker Ramsey. Because, when they'd left her, at the carriage house, the one behind the B&B, she looked less 'yes, I'm accepting these false memories that tell me I've been here and seen no one' and more like 'what's my name and where am I?' But, it was an imperfect art. They didn't do it to the asset. His memory was already addled, like an egg cracked in a pan. Though, it wasn't just him. The entire town was affected. They didn't know what it was, though they had men on it, of course. But, they couldn't risk it with him, they couldn't risk making it worse. So, they'd just taken him after knocking him out with enough doses of a new tranquilizer to kill a bull elephant. A week later, by the time the memory affliction, as they'd taken to calling it, had passed, the asset seemed to have regained his perfect recall. He knew the year. He was able to answer questions, though he didn't always comply. He knew the woman he had left behind wasn't the same as the one his files called Peggy. He kept asking how they'd found out, but, of course, no one answered him. And when the time came to drop him off again, they did so, out in the raucous wilderness that surrounded Repose. He couldn't know where they stayed or anything like that—and surprisingly (or maybe not, since they'd tranq'd him again), he didn't fight.—They left him propped against an oak trunk, in the same clothes he'd left in, fully trusting in his ability to navigate his way back into town. It wasn't so far, after all, and this man had been on enough fronts to know how to divine his location. And, when they needed him again, they knew where to find him. |