Sweet dreams are made of this… Who am I to disagree? I travel the world and the seven seas-- Everybody's looking for something…

Some of them want to use you… Some of them want to get used by you… Some of them want to abuse you… Some of them want to be abused…

Everybody's looking for something...

-"Sweet Dream" by the Eurhythmics

Broots sat in front of his computer searching for something he wasn’t convinced existed. Miss Parker had him scouring the Centre’s database again for anything on Project Heptagon.

He sighed in frustration- nothing was turning up, not even the tiniest bit of information. But nothing wasn’t good enough for Miss

Parker- she wanted something.

Sydney quietly observed Miss Parker’s troubled pacing. He knew her well enough to know that the pacing wasn’t just from the lack of information on Project Heptagon; it was mostly from leaving Jarod behind. Though she might never admit it, he knew that it mattered to her what Jarod thought. And Jarod did not take being lied to well.

“Parker,” he said finally, “why don’t you sit down. Pacing will not speed up the process any.”

She did not sit, but she did stand still.

“Raines’ office,” she said in reply to an unasked question.

Sydney gave her a questioning look.

“Come again?”

“The DSAs and files on Heptagon must be in Raines’ office.”

“That’s a good possibility,” the doctor said thoughtfully. “But there’s a problem.”

“What?”

“Getting into Raines’ office.”

Parker didn’t respond. She frowned and began to pace again.

“How are we going to get in there?” Broots asked glancing between them.

Parker’s ringing cell phone interrupted any further conversation.

“Yes?”

“So how are things going?” Jarod’s voice was uncharacteristically subdued, almost as though he was calling from inside a library.

“Where are you?” The question came out as an unintended accusation, but she made no apologies for it.

There was a pause. “Where do you think I am?”

She ignored the reply, apprehension forcing her words out in harsh coldness. “Have you found anything yet?”

“No,” he answered. There was a long pause and Parker could hear muffled voices.

“Where are you?” she asked again.

“We’re not going to find anything unless someone goes back to the Centre,” he said. “Let me go back.”

“No,” she said, putting a hand to her forehead and rubbing her temple.

“Where are you?” he asked, turning the inquisition on her. “Are you at the Centre?”

She paused briefly, internally conflicted. “No. Are you?”

“Have Sydney and Broots gone back?”

“If you haven’t found anything, why are you calling?”

“You told me to call twice an hour.”

“Right,” she muttered. “I’m hanging up now.”

No sooner had she put her phone away did she hear the familiar wheezing of…

“Raines,” she pasted on a cheesy smile for him while conveying her contempt with her eyes.

“Miss Parker,” he nodded, ignoring the other two men in the room.

“Is there something you want?”

“No,” he replied, turning to leave again. “I just came to tell you…”

“What?”

“Lyle’s returned.”

Meanwhile, Jarod cut the connection and slipped the phone into his pocket. He frowned, racked with guilt over his dishonesty. But he wasn’t given a chance to worry about it.

“Tony.”

Jarod turned and looked at Willie, Raines’ head sweeper.

“Yo?”

“We’re needed.”

Jarod nodded and followed Willie. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the overly polished walls of the hallway. With platinum-blond hair, green eyes, and prosthetic nose and jaw-line there was no trace of the runaway Pretender left.

Time, what a cruel time… When a master is on your ground… He wants you to do what he wants like an animal… I want to go out of this time…

He caught himself dozing off again. Three hours had passed since their arrival and it seemed that Raines had not reported his return to Mr. Parker. More curious still was the fact that Raines seemed to have disappeared completely. He was not in his office, nor the halls, nor the sublevels.

He rubbed his eyes for a moment, fighting the sleep that tried to overtake him. He sat there for several seconds with his hand over his face, before pushing his chair back from the counter. His gaze slid over the contents of his desk and came to rest on the picture frame on the upper right hand corner. He frowned and picked up the frame.

If he remembered correctly, there used to be a picture of Lucy, his secretary, in the frame. A post-it note covered the front.

Removing the note revealed Mei, but it was the message he was interested in.

Missing someone? You might try looking for her in Japan…

Happy hunting, baby brother.

-MP

Parker… He crumpled the note in his fist, tossed the paper onto the desk and discarded the picture in the trashcan.

Muffled shrieks made him turn.

She was lying on the couch against the wall, sweating profusely beneath his jacket. Her face was contorted by unspoken horrors- she was trapped in a nightmare.

Instantly, he was by her side, gently coaxing her out of the horror of the dream. It was difficult to wake her, but slowly she broke through to the conscious realm. Reality, however, came a bit too abruptly for her and she sat bolt upright, eyes even wider in fear and lungs gasping for air. He clutched her shoulders and held her at arms length. She stared at him with unseeing eyes as he tried to establish eye contact with her. His mouth was moving, that she could see, but she could not hear what he said.

Eventually, sight and sound comprehension returned to her and she fell against him. His body went rigid as every muscle tensed. His heart rate increased in correlation to her tears. Uncomfortable, he tried to get up- to get away, but she clung to him tightly.

“What were you dreaming about?” he finally managed after finding his mouth had suddenly gone drier than cotton.

“T-t-the..mur…death,” It was impossible to get the words out. “I didn’t do it! I couldn’t have! They have to be some else’s memories. I’m not a killer!”

If there was anything to say that would have consoled her, it escaped him for he sat there feeling utterly useless. Then something flashed into his mind, something from years ago that still bothered him frequently.

“Shhh,” he whispered, raising his hand to her head. “It’s okay… you’ll get used to the dreaming. You’ll see. It won’t be long before you’ll be able to ignore it.”

Tears after gloomy fears… You don't know where you are… Why you are there on a battlefield… Is it a punishment? You want to go out of this time…

He knew that he would not instantly be allowed into Raines’ innermost lair since he was a rookie, but he had hoped for a little more than simply standing guard while the infamous man attended to business. However, this job did allow him to get a sense of

Raines’ routine. From Willie, Jarod gathered that the doctor descended into the Centre’s nether regions at the same time every day and was gone for hours. But what he did while he was down there, even Willie did not know.

He was alone, totally alone- there were not even cameras in this hall- so he checked in with Parker. She was short and terse with him, more so than usual it seemed. After the call, Jarod felt immensely unsettled; their conversations were pointless with words that meant nothing and questions that were never answered. Every call was an exactly the same as the last, though her questioning where he was seemed to be more frequent. He worried that she suspected something, then worried that there was something she wasn’t telling him.

Time, what a cruel life for the innocents to survive… They don't know why they are in jail… They don't understand… They want to go out of this time…

They passed in the hallway late that evening as she headed to her father’s office. She would not have paid him any attention had it not been for the way he openly stared at her. She despised Raines’ thugs and was about to reprimand this new one for ogling at her, but something made her stop.

His hair was white and spiked and he wore two earrings in each ear. His build was wide and husky and his eyes were an intense green. He wore all black just like the other freaks roaming around, but… she knew him…

Somehow…

They stood there for seconds that seemed like hours. She couldn’t place his face or name… but she knew him, she was sure of it… there was something so familiar…

They passed and were headed on to their respective destinations, but they cast lingering looks at each other over their shoulders.

She knew him… and he knew she had lied to him…

He leaned forward and entered in some information into the computer. In every chain, there was a weak link; he simply had to find it. While searching the files on Raines’ crew, he reclined in the chair once more. A weight applied pressure to his right shoulder.

He gritted his teeth. She refused to stay on the couch, apparently preferring his shoulder to the sofa cushion. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he saw her head nod and her eyes droop sleepily.

The tension in his shoulder traveled up his neck tightening the muscles in his back. However, he didn’t notice the pain because he had found the weakest link finally. Raines had employed the services of a mouse of a man, a Thomas Waterford, to act as an informant of sorts. This prompted an amused chuckle from Lyle. He was familiar with Waterford for he had employed the man very briefly himself when he first returned to the Centre. Waterford was the least competent member of the Centre staff; he made

Broots look like a genius. He wondered briefly why Raines’ would have troubled with such a person. Whatever the reason, this boring process of tracking Raines’ moves was about to be speeded up.

He twisted in his chair slightly, reaching across with his left hand and lightly touching her cheek. She stirred and drowsily opened her eyes.

“What?” She blinked at him, sitting upright and yawning.

“I’ve got something to take care of.”

“Are you leaving?”

He stood up and walked to the center of the room. He stared at the layout of the office as though it was unfamiliar to him. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as his gaze landed on the door to the bathroom.

“Come here.”

She walked over to him, still wrapped in his jacket. “Yeah?”

“I need you to get out of sight.”

“Where?”

He bit back a snarl and looked around the room again. He jerked his head toward the walk-in closet.

“There.”

She slipped into the closet without further comment, but didn’t close the door immediately. She watched him close out the programs on his computer and pick up the phone. When he glanced in her direction, she hastily shut the door, but a few moments later cracked it open enough to see out. Before long, there was a knock at the door and a wispy, timid man entered the office.

He spoke to the man for a period while casually reclined in his seat, then he rose to his feet and his tone changed. He circled the

quivering man with a deadly attitude. During a pass by the door, she saw him lock it… and the man saw it, too. He was asking questions, but getting no answers. He was getting agitated. She saw him glance in the direction of the closet and frown. Then both men disappeared from her line of sight.

Minutes ticked by and she became concerned. More time passed and she could take it no longer. Cautiously, she crept from her hiding place. There was no sign of either of them.

He exited the bathroom wiping his hand on a towel. He paused at the door and looked back into the room.

That was messier than I thought it would be, he thought slightly aggravated. He made a mental note to get his Cleaners at a later time and tossed the crimson-stained towel back inside, making sure to close the door firmly behind him.

She was hiding behind his desk when he came out.

“What are you doing?”

She stood up quickly and spun around to face him. Clutched in her hands was the disposed picture frame.

“I got worried when you left,” she explained, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. She held the frame out to him. “Who’s this?”

He frowned at the picture of Lucy. “No one important,” he replied taking it away from her and putting it back in the trash.

“She must have been someone important.”

He stared at her perplexed. “What difference does it make?” he snarled.

She turned away from him with a wounded look.

“Oh, come, Mia,” he said, unnerved, “I didn’t mean it... Let… let… I need your need help.”

Once he had her attention again, he moved to computer and motioned her over. Then he began to outline his plan to infiltrate

Raines’ office based upon the information his lackey had so “cooperatively” offered.

Broots almost rolled his eyes. “Come on, Miss Parker,” he entreated. “You’ve had me comb through the Centre’s systems several times. I’m telling you there’s nothing there.”

Parker arched her eyebrows at his sudden bravado. “Let’s not whine about it now,” she said pointedly. “I want to find information on all of Raines’ goons. See if there’s one for a big guy with bleached hair.”

“Oh,” he swallowed. “Yeah… okay.”

While Broots searched, Parker waited impatiently for Jarod’s next call. Sydney busied himself with other work.

Still no call came and Parker checked her phone a few times for a malfunction. But everything was operating flawlessly.

“Miss Parker?” Broots called diffidently. “I think I found something.”

“What?” She stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. He squirmed as her nails dug into his shoulder.

“This him?”

“Bingo.” Her eyed scanned the file. There was little more than standard information on “Tony”- he was a recruit with no prior clandestine experience. She frowned at the photo of Tony. While he looked just the same as he did when she saw him the first time that sense of familiarity was absent.

“That’s it?”

Broots shrugged, wincing from her grip. “Yeah, apparently he hasn’t gotten much of a record yet.”

“So old Wheeze Bag is so hard-up for additions to his freak show that he has to get some clueless sucker?”

“Perhaps he only appears to be a ‘clueless sucker’,” Sydney chimed in. “Perhaps Raines’ doesn’t care for his true record to known.”

“Perhaps…” Parker’s frown deepened. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right about this guy. An idea based upon Sydney’s remark began to take shape.

“I think it’s time I had a little chat with good old Tony.”

Broots glanced worriedly at Sydney as Parker walked away.

“Parker,” Sydney shared Broots’ concern. She stopped and turned her head. “Be careful.”

Parker gave a slight nod and left the room.

The two men sat there in silence until Broots voiced a troublesome thought.

“Jarod didn’t call.”

Sydney looked at him and frowned. He tapped his bottom lip with his finger.

“No, he didn’t, Broots. No, he didn’t.”

She lied to him and he couldn’t understand why. He was hurt, incredibly hurt, and just a little angry. While he stewed over her deceit, his conscience kicked.

What right do you have to be angry? You’re doing the same thing to her…

He grumbled internally, arguing the ethics of lying for a greater good. And then he saw her headed straight for him. He panicked before remembering that she couldn’t recognize him.

Just play it cool…

She stopped in front of him just a few feet away, shoulders square, hands in fists on her hips, and feet shoulder width apart. She was the picture of intimidation.

“I wanna see Raines,” she snapped.

The shaking of his head was imperceptible. “Sorry. Docta Raines ain’t takin’ no visitors right now. You gotta come back later when he is.”

“And. Who. Are. You?”

His periphery vision picked up her hand moving briefly to her jacket pocket and returning to her hip.

What is she doing?

“Tony.” he shot back, matching her suspicious tone. “Who. Are. You?”

“Your worst nightmare if you’re not careful.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down. But she wasn’t about to be deterred.

“So, Slick, what are you in for?”

He shrugged, trying to keep it together. She had zeroed in on him for a reason, he knew, for she wouldn’t waste valuable time if there weren’t a purpose.

“Not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, how’d you get this gig?”

“The price was right, if ya know what I mean.”

“Mmmhmm.”

She was beginning to run out of things to ask him and she was worried that Jarod might call while she was in public. If she missed his call, it would be a while before he called again.

“Where’s Willie? He still around or did you replace him?”

“He’s still here.”

“Oh, yeah? For how long?”

He was unshakable and she had to admire that. A lesser person would have cracked by this time.

“Guess until they make him a ghost,” he replied.

The corner of her mouth turned up slightly at the corners. He had just made a fatal slip by the ghost reference. It confirmed her suspicion that he had worked in the Centre before- a novice wouldn’t have known about the Centre’s habit of making ghosts out of people.

“Well, tell that ghost of a boss of yours that I want to see him.” She turned away from him, slipping her hand back in her pocket.

“Will do, Miss Parker.”

She was too far away to hear him call her by the name she didn’t give him.

“I take it all went well,” Sydney said, not bothering to get up.

She rolled her eyes skyward and took a small recorder out of her jacket pocket. “I don’t know about well, but it went,” she replied.

Turning to Broots, she tossed the recorder to him. “Can you run a voice analysis on this Tony?”

He gave her a puzzled look and turned the recorder over in his hands. “Sure, but I have to have something to check it against.

What are you looking for?”

“I think ‘Tony’ has worked for the Centre before. See if you can find a match with anyone.”

“Okay,” Broots listened to the conversation Parker had recorded. “It’s going to take a while… I’m not sure how long…”

Parker resumed her pacing while Broots began the slow process of checking voice patterns. Sydney watched her for a while, but found the repetitive walking to be maddening.

“Parker,” he said suddenly. “Have you given any thought to Lyle’s return? Do you think he’s located the Seventh Member?”

“Lyle?” Parker stopped and frowned. Truthfully, she had forgotten all about her brother. “I doubt it. He would have been buzzing around here gloating if he had. I don’t know why he’s back so soon, but he doesn’t have her yet.”

It was nearly three hours later before Broots identified the voice by accident. He was searching for a clip of Sam, Miss Parker’s sweeper, speaking, but was having trouble locating one when he stumbled across a file of Jarod. He went to close the file out, but unintentionally clicked the button to analyze it.

His eyes went wide with surprise.

“Miss Parker!!”

“You’ve got something?” Instantly she was next to him.

“You’re not going to believe this!” he exclaimed. “I was searching for a sound file on your sweeper Sam and…”

“Short version, Broots!”

“Oh, right… sorry… Anyway, the voice pattern of Tony matches Jarod voice pattern! Granted he’s disguised his voice and all, but…”

“What…” her voice was low and very still. The air around them suddenly turned cold.

“Broots,” Sydney joined them by the computer. “Are you positive it’s Jarod?”

He nodded fervently. “Absolutely.”

“He lied to me…” she continued in quiet disbelief. “He’s in the Centre…”

Sydney and Broots looked at her.

“I’ll kill him.”

“Parker,” Sydney went to her side. “Let’s not get carried away.”

“Carried away?” she spat, looking him straight in the eye. “He lied to me.”

“And?” The doctor was unmoved by this news. “You lied to him as well.”

She was rendered speechless for a moment. Her expression then hardened. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Save the lecture, Freud!”

Her hand went over her stomach; she could feel her ulcer beginning to flare up again.

Jarod…!

You were under the impression that when you were walking forward you'd end up further onward…

But things ain't quite that simple… You got altered information… You were told to not take chances…

As he approached the office doors, he glanced up and down the hall and gave the surveillance camera an officious smirk. He knocked on the door as though he actually expected someone to answer.

He knew that Raines was away from his station and buried somewhere beneath the Centre and that was why he was there. He also knew that Willie had not locked Raines’ office.

I’ll have to make sure to send Willie a thank you card, he chortled.

Once inside, he locked the doors, shut down the cameras, and searched the office for any other bugging devices- he hoped that he found them all. A ventilation shaft loomed above him. He studied it quickly before shoving Raines’ desk chair underneath it and using it as a stepladder. The screws were easily loosened and cover came off with little effort.

With his help, Mia climbed out of the shaft. However, the chair was on wheels and not sturdy enough to hold both their weights.

The chair slid at a sharp angle, jilting them roughly to the floor.

The humor of the situation struck her and she started to giggle. He did not find the circumstances amusing in the least. She quickly clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the chuckles when she caught sight of the looking he was giving her.

He picked himself up, immensely relieved that no cameras had been able to catch the humiliating scene. Grabbing her elbow, he helped her to her feet and found himself gawking at her legs.

“Are those my pants?”

She looked at him guiltily, then down at the folds of material that pooled at her feet. She had found a pair of his running pants in his closet and had modified them to fit her… sort of. The drawstrings were so drawn out that the ends hit her knees. “Yeah, a skirt

really isn’t the best thing to be snooping in.”

“I’m not sure that’s much better,” he muttered, then shook his head distractedly. “Let’s get this done and get out of here.”

My jackets gonna be cut slim and checked with a touch of seer-sucker with an open neck…

The search began neatly enough, but disintegrated into a ransacking hunt. While he was looking for concealed areas, she was scouring the more obvious locales. Accidentally she jerked a file cabinet draw too hard and too fast; it pulled along with it a panel of the wall behind the cabinet.

“Bobby?”

He stopped what he was doing and came over to her.

“Good girl,” he whispered reverently, pulling the filing cabinet out from the wall. There was indeed a hidden locker behind it. He worried that it would need a key or combination, but as fortune would have it, neither were required. The “door” was not a door at all but rather a metal envelope that was behind the wallboard. He ripped it from its hiding place with trembling hands. His mouth watered in anticipation of what was in the metal folder. It had better be good…

I've had enough of living… I've had enough of dying… I've had enough of smiling… I've had enough of crying… I've squandered and I've saved… I've had enough of childhood… I've had enough of graves…

She watched him empty the contents of the folder with an intensity she had never seen before. Seven discs, six black files, and a red file fell into a heap on the desk. A slow exultant smile spread over his features and he turned to her.

“You’re a very, very good girl,” he extolled, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her close. Shocking both her and himself, he kissed her before returning his attention to their treasure.

Crimson flooded her fair skin and her hands rose to her lips. She stared at him, but he was already consumed with the contents of the files.

Their celebratory mood quickly soured.

“Here,” he said darkly, shoving the DSAs at her. “Put them somewhere.”

Unsure of what to do with them, she hid them in the large pockets of her pants.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s your file,” he replied, holding the document out to her.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She looked afraid. “No,” she shook her head feverishly. “No, you read it.”

He nodded slightly and scanned the papers, then closed the file and caught her gaze.

Get a job and fight to keep it… Strike out to reach a mountain… Be so nice on the outside but inside keep ambition…

He cleared his throat, uncertain how to begin. It wasn’t in his nature to sugarcoat catastrophic news, yet he felt badly that there was no gentler way break it to her.

“It says,” he purposely avoided her eyes. “It says that you were part of an experiment to create the perfect killer. Raines created a serum that produced a sub-personality.” He picked up the folder again and read directly from the source. “The injections produced a sub-personality- a personality that dwelt independently of the Primary personality. This sub-personality was blank and primed for programming while the Primary personality was left intact. The sub-personality takes over as principal only after injection.” He glanced up at her, but looked away quickly. “Basically it says that the sub-personality could be programmed to carry out hits without the subject being aware it. Murders could be committed without the subject retaining any memory of the action.”

“Why?” Her sad gaze remained locked on her feet.

“It only gives vague information- the main file on the Project must be somewhere else. But if I had to guess, I’d say it would be to create the perfect assassin. If you were caught, you’d pass any lie detector test, no hypnosis could surface any recollection. It’s brilliant, really.” His voice caught and he sounded almost apologetic.

“Why me?”

“Your disposition, your… primary personality. You’re perfect… sweet, compassionate, honest, dependable… no one would ever suspect you. You’d be seen as the victim, not a killer.”

“How… why… I don’t understand…”

She looked weak as though she was about to pass out. Tears trickled down her otherwise expressionless face. He stood close; watching her, ready to catch her if she fainted.

He cleared his throat again. “Your dad had a drug habit, I assume.”

“Yes…” her voice trailed off. “How did you know?”

“He must have gotten pretty desperate while he was in jail. The file said that your Dr. Puccini visited him in prison and made a deal with him. You for cocaine. The Centre’s pretty much all powerful; it could make that happen…”

She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes and bringing a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders heaved with every breath. He stood by helplessly, not wanting to further upset her, but he knew she had a right to know the rest.

“Puccini is a Centre operative obviously,” he continued quietly. “The couple you stayed with during the trial and your mom’s subsequent hospitalization were also with the Centre. They sent you to a hospital when you were ten?”

“Yeah,” she nodded with her eyes still closed. “I had a curved spine.”

“No, you didn’t and it wasn’t a hospital you went to… it was the Centre…” He turned away from her and cursed. When he turned back, anger was etched in his features. “On the upside,” he said acerbically, “you were the only achievement. The Centre planned on making seven perfect assassins, but you were the only success. Congratulations.”

She remained very still; reeling from the nightmare she would never wake from. An arm slipped around her shoulders as he pulled her close to him. Her tears soaked the costly silk of his shirt.

Don't cry because you hurt them… Hurt them first, they'll love you… There's a millionaire above you and you're under his suspicion…

In time she settled seeming almost accepting of the lot she’s been dealt. She looked up at him with a tear-stained face and wet eyes.

“What about you?” she asked. “Is your file here?”

As always, she was more concerned about others. How sickly ironic, he thought, that she reminds me so bloody much of Jarod…

“Yeah,” he said, having forgotten the other reason why they were there. “It’s here.”

He knew his file was a Red File; this wasn’t what he was looking for. He was looking for documentation of the injections he was fated to take. Handing the file over to her, he began to rifle through the others.

He turned back to her after finding nothing on the table to appease him. She was staring at the file that was open in her hands, but his attention was glued to the separation in the folder’s cover. He snatched it from her and tried to peel the folder apart, but without that crucial thumb the task was impossible. Without being asked, she took it from him and slid her fingernail into the partition. The red cover fell away revealing that Lyle was not the Red file he believed himself to be but rather a Black/Red file.

A chilling passage echoed in his head from the file on Mia that his father had given him: “Fatal errors occurred in project members one through five in the initial preparation stages. The Sixth Member survived, but was ultimately considered a failure due to personality instability...”

I've had enough of dancehalls… I've had enough of pills… I've had enough of street fights… I've seen my share of kills… I'm finished with the fashions and acting like I'm tough… I'm bored with hate and passion… I've had enough of trying to love…