Compartmentalization (Part 7)

Part 7: Thanksgiving

While walking the winding path through the winding desert towards Maxwell’s office, I look up at the sun and it is finally beginning to hang lower in the sky. I try and remember if the sun sets in the east or the west, but then again, isn’t it switched on half of the planet? I honestly can’t remember. I wonder where in the world this even is. Everyone talks in an American accent, but that doesn’t really mean much with only 7 people. That’s right, there are seven people here, let’s see, there was Kate, Ken, Dan, and, hmmm, was it Gwen? Then there is Maxwell, and then the two people that stormed out of Maxwell’s office. Oh right, I almost forgot about those guys. I still have no idea who those people are. Wait, didn’t Maxwell say I ‘met everybody’? Who were those guys then? Maybe clients?
We get closer to Maxwell’s office, and I begin to wonder how everybody knew when to come, maybe it is just a daily meeting? We get closer to Maxwell’s double decker office trailer, but instead of going through the front with the nice window, we go around the back, where there is another stairwell that goes to the second floor. The stairwell doesn’t look as rusty as the trailer does on the outside, and I assume that is because this is a modification of some kind. It is the same color as the fencing around the trailers, so I assume they were both done at the same time.
The door to the second floor of the trailer is a sort of dull silver color, with the only real stand out feature being the black keypad that is around where the doorknob would be on a normal door. Maxwell doesn’t even bother to tell me to look away, as he punches a code into the keypad. The speed in which he types in the code is alarmingly fast, but despite the speed of his fingers, it still takes him about 30 seconds to actually unlock the door. I imagine the code must be at least 50 characters long, which is odd because I wonder how many people would even attempt to break into his compound. I would have thought making your base in the middle of a desert was enough security.

The room that Maxwell and I enter is almost clinical in both whiteness and organization. There are various white cabinets lining the walls and a table in the back of the room that is facing a white screen. It makes the whiteness in Ken’s room seem colorful and warmly inviting in comparison. Maxwell stands in front of the screen as he gestures me to sit down. As I sit down, I see Dan enter, followed by Gwen and Ken, and then lastly fallowed by a very sandy Kate. I imagine that she must of practiced shooting until the very last second. We all sit down at the table and look at Maxwell who is typing on a laptop that came out of a compartment on the wall. I notice that there is still one chair empty, which is odd because I imagine that there would be a lack of chairs since I just came here today.
An art deco font that reads “THE HOUSE OF MAXWELL” with what looks like the old coffee can under it appears on the screen. The logo looks altered just enough that a person can see the resemblance to a Maxwell House coffee logo but changed just enough not to copyright infringe. Maxwell then puts down what he was reading and takes off his glasses to speak.

“Hello everyone! Everybody doing well?” Maxwell says in a loud voice not really necessary for a small room. A smattering of voices irk out words that sound like ‘fine’ or ‘good.’
“Excellent,” he continues, “We have all met our new member, Josh, and I expect everyone to give him a warm welcome. Once upon a time, there was a rumor of a member of the anti-assassination community that was so good that he didn’t even need to join a group! A master of all specialties, with a near-perfect record. The only thing I knew about this man was his first name, ‘Josh.’ So imagine my surprise when I got a letter from him! Though I had heard many rumors about him, such that he joined the UWG, or he joined the Smokers, or that he was long dead, but other than his expertise, the only other rumor that seems to be true is his rather unique way his brain works!”

People around the table began to murmur a bit, and I saw Kate whisper something to Gwen, but I couldn’t quite tell what it was. I couldn’t tell if it was towards me or if I was just being paranoid.

“Yes,” Maxwell said while clearing his throat, “It may seem odd, and you may have to introduce yourself many times to Josh, but I assure you that he means no offence!” I wanted to just stand up and explain my situation in my own words, but maybe that is accurate for the most part, so I say nothing, “To be honest, perhaps we would all do better with a little forgetfulness now and then, hmmm?” I was about to ask for everyone’s patience on the ‘uniqueness of my brain’, but as if on cue, a loud knock on the door came and filled the space.
“What the hell Maxwell! Open the door!” a muffled voice came from outside the door while the knocking became louder, “Open the goddamn door!”
The room began to erupt with everybody talking low to each other; too low to hear, but not low enough to disguise the tone of their voices. I had a feeling that something was about to go down, and Maxwell’s face of mixed disgust and anger confirmed it.

Maxwell stomped his way to the to the door and input the code twice as fast as he did before (which looked like a blur of fingers), and swung open the door, “What do you want!?”
The man outside the door barges in, pushing Maxwell aside. I recognize him by the same black leather mess of a shirt that he was wearing earlier today. He was also dragging the same white haired, white clothed man from before, but on closer inspection, he looks more like a younger man than the old man I thought he was before.
“Are you here to return your key, or are you and your friend going to apologize for your unprofessionalism?” Maxwell says.
“Friend?” the man says incredulously, “Oh now he’s my friend, because you were so adamant on calling him my ‘boy-toy” before, I thought you understood the nature of our relationship!”
“No one else is allowed to bring non-employees into the compound, and just because you are family doesn’t change that!” Maxwell yells.
“Oh really? That certainly didn’t stop you and Dan didn’t it?”
“Dan is a professional!”
“Yeah, and pretty convenient that your ‘friend’ just happened to be a professional! Or did you just sleep with him because no one else would join your stupid, insane little group other than misfits and family!?”

I could feel the tension in the room about to reach its maximum threshold. The looks of surprise and horror on Ken and Kate’s faces were priceless. Gwen and the white man seemed oddly uninterested, and Dan just had his hands behind his back while looking at the ceiling. Maxwell was red, practically seething.
“HOW DARE YOU! GET OUT!” Maxwell slams his fists on the table.
“Just because you’re in the closet doesn’t mean you have to drag everyone with you!”
“IT ISN’T A CLOSET, IT’S CALLED HAVING A PRIVATE LIFE, NOW GET OUT BEFORE I HAVE TO FORCE YOU OUT!” Maxwell says while pointing dramatically at the door.
“Fine! Fine,” the man grabs and drags the white man out once again out of the trailer, “I’ll leave, but there is no way in hell Ben and I are leaving our home. I am staying until you get your head out of your ass and apologize to me.” The black leather shirted man then storms down the stairs with the white man, whose name is Ben, I think.

The previously air-conditioned cold room seems rather hot now, and there is a silence as Maxwell begins to compose himself. Ken leans over to me and whispers, “That was Maxwell’s brother Max. They never really got along, but…”
“Ken,” Maxwell interrupts, “take these mission plans and brief Josh and Kate at the armory. Everyone else can leave.” Maxwell sits down on the chair.
Everyone begins to leave, except for Dan, who still is sitting with his hands behind his head. Everyone seems on edge as they begin to leave, but I actually feel sort of elated as my mind is, for some reason, filled with memories of Thanksgiving.

Compartmentalization (Part 6)

Part Six: Second Impressions

It struck me as odd that the sun was still shining on the bright, desert trailer park I found myself in, but I suppose that time hasn’t been functioning for me properly. I felt like I should be tired, but the energy in my body betrayed the tiredness of my brain. I followed Maxwell to the next trailer, a medium sized yellow trailer with the occasional sticker here and there.
“This is where Kate and Gwen stay. Let’s see if they are up and about,” Maxwell says as he knocks on the door.
“Just a second,” I hear a calm female voice say within the trailer. Then the trailer door opens, and an olive skinned, well built, tall woman is in the doorway. She gives me the immediate impression of a professional swimmer; not just in body type, but also the serious look in her eyes. Even the t-shirt and shorts she was wearing seemed to look like a uniform just because how they seemed to fit her body.
“Oh, hey Maxwell,” she remarks, “Who’s this?”
“This,” Maxwell puts his hand on my shoulder,” is Josh! The famous anti-assassin! He is the guy I was talking about before.”
She looks at me, but I find that I can’t really read any emotion on her face. She doesn’t come off as cold, just the sort of person that doesn’t show her cards if she doesn’t need to. I feel slightly embarrassed because I need to do this sort of odd, impossible mental jujitsu just to hide anything about myself, and even then, I end up hiding it more from myself than anyone else.
I shake her hand, her grip is frightenly better than mine, but she doesn’t crush my hand, I suspect out of sympathy than kindness.
“Is Kate in?” Maxwell asks.
“No. She is out target practising with Dan.” Gwen answers matter of factly.
“Perfect,” Maxwell turns to me, “You have already met Dan, but I don’t think you met Kate.”
I wanted to say something about how I probably already knew Kate, but I am not sure if I wanted to go through the steps and try to explain what in the world is happening in my brain. Was that the future? Was that just a delusion? I guess I was about to find out, but if that is the future, than is this the present? Am I just remembering this as well? Or what if I could somehow change the past? Maybe I can travel through time? As I was wandering through my brain, the path Maxwell and I were taking seemed to be just as winding and confusing. We began to climb a sand dune, and the sweat is just starting to get in my eyes, luckily the wind is cool enough to not be completely unlivable.
We get to the top of the dunes and I see a well built man with a rifle aiming at one target, and a redheaded woman in desert colored fatigues aiming at the other with what I can see is a somewhat translucent gun. It is still rather far away, so I can’t tell if she is the Kate from the warehouse, but my stomach gives me a kick that tells me that I am about to be confronted with a paradox. The only thing worse than the sense of dread I feel like I was about to experience was the feeling that I have felt this several times before.
We approached them, and while neither gun actually seemed very loud, they had earmuffs to deaden the sound. I could see that the sniper rifle had an extra long tube at the end of it, which I guess deadened the sound somehow. The red headed women’s gun barely made any sound, and I was surprised it had enough strength to hit the target several meters away. Maxwell placed his hand carefully and gracefully on the man who was introduced as Dan to me earlier when he drove me to this trailer park in the first place. Dan seemed to give a little jump at first, but then calmly stood up and took off his earmuffs. “What’s up Max?” Dan said with his bald head reflecting a bit of sunlight, and his mustache dripping a bit with sweat.
“I wanted to give you and Kate a more proper introduction to Josh here, the newest member of the anti-assassination squad!” Maxwell said as he patted me on the back.
Dan gave me a look and shook my hand, “Nice to see you again Josh, glad to have you as a part of the group. What’s your specialty?”
I remember Ken talking talking about ‘specialty’ I guess these ‘anti-assassins’ each have their specific way of taking care of assassins. Ken’s was negotiation, and Kate seemed to like to subdue, but I have no idea what I am really great at, other than dumb luck.
“Well,” I said trying to think of something clever to say, “I figure I should explore a bit and find the thing I am really good at you know? I am kind of getting back into the thick of things.”
“Oh right, you can’t remember anything right?”
“Well, I can remember things, it just...takes me a while.”
“All right...I look forward to working with you.” Dan says a bit sleepily and goes back to his rifle.
Then Maxwell walks over to the red headed woman, whom I already assume is the same Kate I met before. She seems intent on the target, standing with her translucent gun outstretched with both her hands. I can only imagine how hard it is to aim in this windy weather, but she seems to at least hit the target, which that alone is impressive, at least I think so. Maxwell attempts to do the same shoulder thing he did to Dan, but she seems to avoid the touch and takes off her earphones and sunglasses without seeming to acknowledge our presence.
“Hello, Maxwell, what do you want? Is this the new recruit?” she says sounding somewhat frustrated.
“Yes, by the way, how is target practice going?”
“Crappy, but that is how it goes. I need to tune up the spring and maybe add a stock to get more stability. I didn’t think this tranquilizer gun needed all these mods, but that is what I get for trusting the manufacturer”
“Yes, well, first impressions are important,” Maxwell says as he gestures towards me.
“Ahaha, sorry,” I shake her hand, “I have a feeling this may not be the first impression we make.” I finally confirmed that this was the Kate from before and I am trying not to let all the implications that holds fill my mind to the point where I can’t function.
“What does that mean?” she looks at Maxwell as we are still shaking hands.
“Josh has a very special way of remembering things. This is actually the second time we had to introduce him to Dan. This may seem inconvenient, but I assure you, Josh is one of the best anti-assassins in the world!” Maxwell elaborates.
“How does having a bad memory make you a better anti-assassin?”
Both Maxwell and Kate look at me expectant of an answer, but I couldn’t really give one. I thought maybe it could be because I forget what I can’t do, but that just seems glib to say with these people practicing so hard on their aiming.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Kate says and goes back to her gun.
“Alright then!” Maxwell says matter of factly, “let’s head over to Ken’s and then you have met everybody!”
“Ken, I think I have met him, Kate as well. Is there any possibility that, we worked together before?” I ask.
Maxwell gives me a puzzled look (I seem to be getting all the ‘looks’ lately) and says, “I don’t think so. They started the business with me, and I would know if they ran into you. Unless you somehow got into some conspiracy with both of them to keep a secret, which I highly doubt, then no, I don’t think you have worked with them before.”
I then felt this surge of power, like maybe I could change the future, though if I am just remembering this, then any changes I make wouldn’t matter anyway. I almost feel obligated to try something just to test if this is real or not, but a fear deep inside me prevents me from doing anything too drastic. I could try to assault Maxwell, or maybe inflict pain upon myself, but then I would have to go back to the warehouse and see if anything had changed. I have a feeling I won’t be remembering that anytime soon, so I wouldn’t be able to check anything like a small scar or whatever I could think up to change. Before I can think of anything clever enough to test anything, we arrive at what I assume is Ken’s trailer, a smaller white, but clean, trailer.
Maxwell knocks at the door, and almost immediately the door opens and I hear, “come in, come in! I already have tea made up for everybody.”
We walk into the trailer and it is seems rather big, but that is only because the trailer is rather simple with mostly white walls and white carpeting. Ken seems to pull out three chairs and a table from compartments around the room. As I look around, I see all the various compartments, and I realize the room isn't so much simple and empty, but well organized and hidden.
“Nice to meet you Josh! I heard so much about you!” Ken shakes my hand with not much of a grip, but rather quickly, perhaps to compensate, “My name is Ken, and I hope to work with you soon! It is so nice to have a new people around here!”
“Yes, Ken here is a very good negotiator, you will actually be working with him on your next mission!”
I am sure this would flabbergast me in any other situation, but seeing as I had already succeeded in a mission, I figure that I should be okay.
“Don’t worry, you will be going with a team, we are sending three agents after one low ranking assassin. The tip I got seems very reliable, so I honestly I am more worried about not having enough people here than the safety of you all.” Maxwell says, “Also, I need to see Josh here in action as soon as possible, is this alright with you?”
I nod approvingly, “Sure, got to get my exercise right?” I expected this to get a laugh, but it turns out to be much funnier in my head.
“I think Kate also needs to test out her new pistol, so it will be you, Josh, and Kate.” Maxwell says authoritatively, I can tell on the look on Ken’s face that he has some objections but he does not voice them. “It will be fine, Ken” Maxwell says, “This is barely a training mission, you two can work together. I also need you two to have a better working relationship, so do try to work your charm on her, yes?” Maxwell says with a smirk. Ken decides to put away all the chairs and table, despite the surprising lack of tea that was ever served.
“Good to meet you Josh and see you soon!” Ken says as he gets us out of his apartment.
A part of me wants to make sure to find a way to perhaps wants to mention something about the turret, or perhaps mention to Kate that she should bring a chaff grenade (whatever that is), but I am so swept away about the possibilities, that I sort of freeze myself to inaction. As I try to think of something I see that everybody is heading to Maxwell’s trailer. I begin to feel a little off, but I try to stay on top of things as well all gather in Maxwell’s office.

Compartmentalization (Part 5)

Part 5 ID Protection

    I look down at my watch and realize I have no watch. I had no real indication whether I was in the future or the past, but this sort of adrenaline rush I was feeling was not something I ever felt whenever my brain would shift to a memory, so if even if this is a memory, everything in my body is telling me that I need to take this seriously. The warehouse seems to be completely abandoned except for the few boxes we were hiding behind, the assassin, and, of course, the turret. I can’t get a good look at the assassin, but I finally get to see the two people on either side of me. On my right, I see a short black haired man with dark, thick glasses, a white suit, and clutching onto a black briefcase. He looks Asian, but I can’t really tell as the most real identifiable thing on his face are the glasses. The woman to the left of me seemed to be wearing camouflage fatigues, but her bright red hair sort of betrayed any sort of stealth she was hoping to obtain. She also seemed to be holding a pistol, but the pistol looked sort of small and translucent.
    “If I just had a clear shot, this could be all over,” the red haired lady said through her teeth.
    “Maxwell always does underestimate these guys, but this is ridiculous,” the glasses man said under his breath.
    “So…my name is Josh, I know this isn’t the best time for introductions but. I think if we are going to survive…”
    “Shut up! Neither the time or the place!” the lady said while trying to stick up what looked like a power bar over the box. Before the power bar had even two centimeters showing behind cover, the turret shot the bar right out of her hand. She then proceeds to let out a long string of expletives while looking through her bag.
    “Wouldn’t do that if I were you!” the assassin yells to us from several meters away, “Just wait for few minutes, and this will all be over.”
    “Well, as long as we have nothing else we can do for the next few minutes, my name is Ken, nice to meet you,” the glasses man introduced himself, ”Not my real name, mind you, but I bet that ‘Josh’ isn’t your real name either.”
    “Not entirely sure, to be honest,” I say, embarrassed.
    “Haha, don’t worry, all names do is deceive anyways. Better to name ourselves now that we know who we are, than stick to something our parents decided when they didn’t even know who we were, right?” Ken says with a smile.
    “So nobody brought a chaff grenade?” the lady says as she gives Ken a dirty look.
    “No, KATE,” he emphasizes as he looks in my direction and gives a little eyebrow raise, “my specialty is negotiation, so weapons of any kind would be contrary to my mission.”
    “Great, just great. If I was paired with ANYBODY ELSE on this mission, this would be over already, but because I had to be paired with a,” Kate looks at me, “dead weight, and a,” Kate looks at Ken,” a lounge singer with a briefcase, now we will either be dead or be fired!” Kate then gives a frown and crosses her arms.
    “Don’t worry Kate,“ Ken says over-empathetically, “if we don’t die, I’m sure Maxwell will give us jobs as janitors or something.” Ken smirks as he turns to me, “She is always worried that she is going to be fired. No idea why, it is not like our jobs are highly sought after. Maxwell is lucky to have talented people like us!”
    “Highly talented, huh?” Kate scoffs, “All you do is offer cash and run away if things get too hot. Do you usually go in a suit? Does that impress anybody?”
    “You wound me Kate, you positively wound me, but I must be doing something right if I have the highest conversion rate on the team?” Ken says smugly.
    Kate says nothing and looks through her bag again. I am not entirely sure why I am here, but I think the purpose was to learn what these people do. I close my eyes and think

    Why did I pass out in Maxwell’s office? Why did I ‘wake up’ here, of all places? Is there a reason or is my brain just misfiring? I try and remember what Maxwell said right before I went out. There was the video about anti-assassination that I didn’t see, and then there was talk about bodyguards, or something. Wait, it wasn’t just about bodyguards, it was about how they worked, their protection. Assassins use old sniper rifles because, why? Oh right,

ID Protection

    Then the light bulb in my brain lights up, and I realize what I must do.

    “Give me the gun,’ I say to Kate.
    “F--- no,” she responds.
    “Uh, trust me?” I mean to say more confidently.
    “What in the hell are you thinking?”
    “Well here goes nothing. Mr. Assassin man?” I yell out, “I want to talk!” I pause to see if he responds, and there is none. I slowly raise my hand above the box to the horror to the two people next to me. Luckily, my hand is not shot to smithereens, and then I finally use that pooling adrenaline in my system to run quietly towards the assassin.
    “What in the world?” I hear Ken behind me say, and I can only imagine the face on Kate’s face.
    I see that the assassin and the turret are actually on a higher level than we were behind the boxes. I climb up the stairs as fast as I can and before I get to the top, I see the automatic gun turret staring me right in the face. It is facing me, but a flashing red light near where I assume the bullets come out of may be what is causing its problems. As I sneak closer to the assassin. I see that he is aiming his beat up looking rifle halfway out the window, and has large headphones on his head. At first I think that they are to deaden the sound of the rifle when it fired, but the closer I get, the more I can hear a loud techno beat coming out of them. Something switches on in me again, and I realize that other than the turret and the rifle, he assassin has a handgun in his belt. I quickly slide to kick the rifle out of the window, and grab his handgun at the same time. “FREEZE!” I yell as intimidating as I could.
    “HOLY SHIT! You scared me!” The assassin says as he knocks off his headphones, “I was so close too.”
    I was caught off guard at the casualness he seemed to take my ‘against all odds assault,’ but before I could respond I hear Ken behind me, “We would like a discuss a deal with you!” I can hear him walk towards me, and then a few seconds later I hear a second set of steps running up the stairs. I hear a distinct crash, I want to look, but I still have the assassin in my sights with the pistol I just took.
    The assassin stands up and lazily remarks, “By the way, dude, that gun totally has no bullets.” I feel my face turn red and someone pushed me out of the way.
    “I assure you my gun is loaded,” Kate says as she aims right at him.
    Ken then says behind her, “Either you accept our deal, or my associate will shoot…” Kate interrupts him and shoots the assassin with what looks like a dart to the neck. “Oh what the hell Kate!? You know the preferred method is to leave them conscious! Oh, whatever, I’ll call the cleanup crew.” Ken goes down the stairs and makes a phone call.
    “That was impressive Josh, I underestimated you,” Kate says while holstering her gun, “So how did you know that the turret was jammed?”
    “Intuition?” I said the first thing that came to my head.
    “Well, I thought your ‘reputation’ was a load of crock, but it is refreshing to see another pro on the field. Sorry about earlier, my name is Kate,” She holds out her hand.
    I was about to return the handshake when I felt the blackness take me over and I heard “not again!” as I fell to the ground.

    As I begin to wake up, I feel a gloved hand on my shoulder, “I see that my film wasn’t very interesting for you,” the red vested man goes towards the TV to turn it off. I wake up and realize that I am back in Maxwell’s office.
    “How long was I out?” I ask exasperatedly.
    “The film was about thirty minutes, so about that much I suppose,” he answers.
    My body feels fresh and fine (which is strange seeing how hard and wooden this chair is) but my mind is racked with questions. Was that the future? Was it the past? How was I able to assault that assassin? Seeing as it was all ‘a dream,’ I don’t think asking questions to anybody is going to help me.
    “You know, I spent a lot of money making that video. I was excited that I finally had a reason to show it again, but alas and alack, I guess someone of your experience would find this all boring.” Maxwell states as he puts the TV and the video back in the compartment in the wall.
    “What experience? What was I famous for?” I ask.
    “It stands to reason that you wouldn’t remember. Josh, you were, arguably, the best anti-assassin in the world. It was rumored that you were so good that you actually became one of the UWG elite, and when I saw your letter, I thought the whole thing was a joke. I still have my…reservations, especially with your memory loss. For all I know, you could just be some random man named Josh! Either way, I have no idea what really happened to you, and I don’t think you do either.”
    Well, that may explain why I was able to get that assassin, but it brings on even more questions. If I was part of the UWG, then why am I here now? Was I thrown out? Did I escape? Mind is filled with so many questions. Before I can process anything though, Maxwell stands me up.
    “Let's get you some fresh air and meet the rest of the crew, shall we?”
    I had a hunch that I met most of them already.

Compartmentalization (Part 4)

Part 4: UWG

    The United World Government. Just hearing it rings so many bells in my head, but what any of it means is lost on me. I wonder why for a moment, why would I choose to forget so much in the first place? I wonder if I just knew too much, and my brain is now keeping me ignorant for my safety. Or maybe it is like a ‘zen’ thing and I need to empty my mind to see things differently. There is a part of me that just wants to ignore Maxwell’s explanation, if only because he comes off as a bit patronizing. I know I should listen though because I have a feeling the UWG is part of the reason I am here in the first place. Though, I suppose if one is going to rule the world, they might have a part in just about everything.
    “The UWG is the organization that now governs the planet and the main reason why we have a job,” Maxwell begins to walk around the office dramatically around the office, “Even since the world fell into catastrophe 20 years ago,”
    “Catastrophe?” I interrupt.
    Maxwell shoots me a look I can only interpret as a mix of pity and annoyance. “Really?” he says incredulously, “You don't even remember that? Is this some sort of joke?
    I try and think of something clever to shoot back at him, but I am so earnestly curious that I can’t think of anything.
    “Do you remember why you are like this?” Maxwell stands in front of me holding some papers.
    “Uhhh…MCN?”
    “MCN? And what is MCN?” Maxwell pulls up his chair and sits directly across from me.”
    “It stands for Mind Compartmentalization. MCN is a technique that allows the human brain to function at a higher rate than the average person’s.
    “At the cost of memory?”
    “Well, not really. It is just, when a person changes the way the brain works fundamentally, and then trying to make it work like it usually would doesn’t make sense.”
    Maxwell looks at me puzzledly, and takes a pause. He puts his gloved hand on his chin, “Didn’t I see this whole ‘MCN’ thing on TV or something somewhere?”
    “Yeah, I think it was advertised a while back.”
    “Wasn’t it shut down because it was a scam?”
    I could feel myself put a frown on my face. I remembered exactly what happened, but I felt no inclination to recall this to anyone, especially Maxwell.
    After a few seconds of silence, Maxwell, hands me the papers, stands up, and goes to the chair behind the desk. “No matter. Those papers describe the catastrophe in vivid detail. Though, I think the emotional resonance is a bit lost, perhaps that is for the best. Now where was I? Oh yes, the United World government.” Maxwell motions to what looks like a cabinet, “Do you want anything to drink?”
    “Just some water, with ice, please”
    “Ah yes, it is smart to keep hydrated in the desert,” Maxwell pours a pitcher into a glass and carefully puts two ice cubes in, “UWG is the ruling party, as you know, and while it does allow for the locals to decide a few things here and there, the World Government calls the shots for the most part.” Maxwell sits down at his desk and takes a shot of some brown liquor.
    “Ah yes,” he shudders a bit, and continues, “Now, depending who you ask, it was either the population who grew stupid, or the UWG grew corrupt, but either way, things took a turn for the worst, and now nobody is happy. UWG has turned into some shadow organization where the leaders are behind the scenes, people are either sent to camps or are left to their own devices with no help at all, and no one knows what is going on anymore. It is a huge mess, and it doesn’t seem like it is going to clear up anytime soon,” Maxwell pours another drink for himself, “And that is happening all over the world, mind you.”
    I wasn’t quite clear on what the UWG was, but to be honest, I don’t think either of us wanted a social studies lesson. Whatever the World Government was supposed to accomplish, but it seems like it isn’t working anymore, or at least it isn’t from Maxwell’s point of view. What I wasn’t clear on was what this had to do with anything so I lifted my hand and started to ask what does this have to do with me exactly.
    “I bet you are wondering what the UWG has to do with anything?” Maxwell asked in a way that implied he knew more about what I was thinking than I did, “Well, with the UWG being the secret organization that it is, no one actually knows who the leaders are. Every region has a group of public representatives, but they are probably just messengers. That doesn’t stop people thinking they are responsible for all their troubles. We are now living in an age where ‘shooting the messenger’ isn’t just a cliché, but a way of life for more politically minded people. It was all fun and games until the guilds started to show up.”
    “Guilds? What kind of guilds?”
    “What other kind are there? Assassins’ guilds, of course. Taking the whole ‘shoot messenger’ thing a little too literally. It used to be more about groups of five to ten people getting together and drinking beers, ranting about the state of things, than killing people, but as time went on, people got angrier and decided to focus that rage in more organized ways. Now, other than a few detached groups here and there, the only guild we have to deal with is the Smokers”
    Suddenly, I remembered something, “Oh Smokers, that’s clever,” I remarked.
    “How so?” Maxwell said while raising an eyebrow.
    “Oh, its just that ‘assassin’ means ‘hashish smoker’ so naming an assassin’s guild that would be…”
    Maxwell begins to laugh, “You have to be kidding me!” Maxwell barely says over his unrestrained laughter, “Of all the things you remember you remember that?”
    He had a point, but at the same time, I just don’t have certain memories, I am not stupid. I let it go, mostly because I would laugh too if I was in a different situation.
    “Are you sure it was MCN? Maybe it was another substance that affects your memory?” Maxwell wipes the tears from his face from laughing too hard, “Anyway, the Smokers are the big, bad guild now a days, and despite their organization, the only ones we need to be afraid of are the grunts. Unlike the UWG, we know exactly who the leaders of the Smokers are, and they act more like high school students with a Che Guevara t-shirts on than actual assassins. All talk, no action. We never have to deal with them. The people we need to deal with are the lower level assassins going after the representatives.”
    “How do you ‘deal’ with them?” I asked.
    “Good question!” Maxwell stands up and puts his hands on his desk. “How do we deal with them indeed! We are employed by the UWG to deal with assassins in any way possible, barring death. Our group at the House of Maxwell are trained in many different disciplines to deal with assassins.”
    “Wait, doesn’t the World Government have their own body guards and protection?”
    “Of course they do! but they rely on ID protection from modern weapons. Try to shoot a UWG official with a smart bomb, orbital laser, or turret drone, and you are out of luck. Give a bunch of low level thugs rifles from 30 years ago, and suddenly you have a serious problem on your hands,” Maxwell then starts to pace the room, “The House of Maxwell is the finest anti-assassination group, and through our wits and cunning, we always manage to get the job done!” Maxwell raises fist in a way that sort of broke my initial ‘cool and collected’ image of him, though on second thought, his enthusiasm for his own ‘wit and cunning’ did not surprise me in the least.
    “How do you ‘manage’ to do that?”
    “Well, I just so happen to have a video right here!” Maxwell enthusiastically opens a compartment that I did not realize was there in the first place, and revealed a moderately sized TV. Maxwell pressed a button on the lower half of the TV and the TV turned on to a bunch of loud static, “Sorry about that,” Maxwell apologetically said, and pressed another button. Suddenly all the white specs from the static began to dance and form words on the screen.

“Oh A…my burning desire…let go”

    Before I could react, I felt like I was bolted on to the chair. Maxwell seemed too intent on watching the screen than to realize what was happening to me. My eyes got very heavy and this loud tone began to engulf everything, burning every sense and synapse making it almost too painful to even attempt to move.

    “What the hell! WAKE UP! This is the absolute WORST TIME to start dozing off? Seriously, how the hell can you faze out at a time like this?” The red haired woman to the right of me yells at me in a loud whisper as she nudges me painfully in the ribs with her elbow.
    “I guess that is one plus about having amnesia,” the Asian man with the dark, thick glasses on the left of me remarked.
    “I don’t…” I was about to say but with my headache, I decided I didn’t actually care, “Where am I?”
    “We are in the middle of a warehouse, behind a box, with a heavy loaded smart turret aimed right at us, and unless we can think of something, that guy is about to kill the guy we are hired to protect!” the red haired woman yells at me, no longer in a whisper.

    I guess I was about to find out first hand how an anti-assassin works.

Compartmentalization (Part 3)

Part 3: House of Maxwell

    “Like the coffee?” I say as I stumble out as the driver steps out of the car.
    “We had to change our name about two years ago because of a copyright infringement, so no, not like the coffee. Not anymore, anyway.” The driver remarks then leads me down a winding path through all the trailers. Since there is such an expansive desert, the trailer park seems sort of sad and almost abandoned. The trailers all look dirty, rusted, and haven’t been moved in years. I counted 6 trailers altogether, with 5 normal sized ones, and a huge double-decker one near the back of the place. The only thing that makes me think that I am not just going to some trailer graveyard is the relatively new looking fence that surrounds about eighty percent of the park.  
    I continue to walk down this winding path that leads to all the trailers with the driver leading in front of me. I wonder why we don’t just head straight for the big trailer at the back of the place, but the walk allows me to stretch out a bit and check out how my body is really doing. No broken bones, and my suit seems to have gotten the brunt of all the cuts, with the exception of the dried up gash above my eye. I decide to finally take the sheared suit off, leaving only a somewhat cut up dress shirt, dithered black pants and shoes, and a almost perfect condition red tie, the only flaw being the point at the end being cut off making the tie look rather square. I use the suit to wipe up all the blood off my face. I figure if I am meeting somebody, I should at least give the impression that I tried to look nice.
    The driver leads me up all the way to the door of the big trailer before turning around and holding his hand out.
    “By the way, the name’s Dan,” the driver Dan shakes my hand with a firmness I wasn’t expecting, despite having rather big, brown hands and figure, “Here is Maxwell’s office, see you later.” Dan walks way right after the ‘you,’ and looks like maybe he is in a bit of a hurry. I find myself standing alone, in the middle of the desert in front of the door of this big trailer. The door, upon closer observation, seems to have a nice wooden finish and a 4 color stain-glass window in the shape of a diamond near the top. It is probably the nicest thing I have seen in a while. I stare at this window, not entirely clear if I really want to go in or not. I wanted to ask Dan some questions first, he seemed nice and approachable, but I began to wonder if the pleasant demeanor was just an act for me. I didn’t even get to introduce myself. Though I suppose since I don’t even know who I am, would be rather pointless.
    “YOU CAN GO TO HELL!” I hear suddenly from the nice door, and a man in a black leather outfit (which for some reason, reminds me a lot of my unidentified crashed black vehicle a while back) suddenly rushes out of the trailer and we almost both go crashing down. “Goddammit!,” he looks at me and gives me a look I don’t quite understand, then yells back into the door, ”BEN! GET OUT OF THERE! WE’RE LEAVING!” the man waits for 5 seconds then rushes in and drags out an almost pure white man, with a white t-shirt, white pants, and even white hair. “Whaaa?” I can hear the white man say sleepily as he is being dragged away, seeming completely oblivious to the black leather man that is dragging him across the sand. Despite the rush, he also avoids going off the path, and has to wind around until finally ending up to what I can only assume is his trailer and slams the door behind him.
    I am left standing there, with the trailer door open, wondering if I should just leave, when I hear another voice coming from the trailer.
    “Hello? Is that you Josh? I have been expecting you come in! Come in…” the rather business-like voice beckoned me. I decided I have came this far, and I have nothing else to really go back to, and I enter through the wooden door.

    I am taken aback about how different the room looks, feels, and smells from the rusty, old desert scene outside. The wooden door with the stain-glass window was just one piece in a room ensemble that resembled an office from a prestigious college than a typical trailer park. It wasn’t big, but it had 3 wooden chairs with red cushions, book shelves filled with big black books labeled “RECORDS,” a wooden drink cabinet with liquors with languages on them that I couldn’t place, and a giant wooden desk with a man standing behind behind it. The man also looks like a sort of college professor, with his brown corduroy pants, long sleeved dress shirt, and red vest. His shoulder length brown hair looked a little like it clashed with the vibe maybe he wanted to create, but his black gloves and gold wire rim glasses that were perched on his head made up for it.
    “Josh I presume? Or is it Joshua? You didn’t send a last name in your letter, so I wasn’t quite sure,” he quickly shook my hand (not as strongly as Dan, but decent), and sat down putting his glasses on is face and reading a piece of paper. “I was not even sure until a month ago that I was even going to go through with your plan, but I admit I was too curious to let someone of your stature slip out of my fingers,” he said, and then looked at me.
    “My stature?” I asked.
    “Yes, your letter also mentioned that you would not remember anything, including what made you famous in the first place. I am a busy man, and I honestly thought this was some sort of elaborate hoax, but seeing as business has been a bit slow lately, I decided to take a risk. It looks like it may pay off, but I must ask,” he looks into my eyes while passing me over the paper, “Can you really remember nothing?”
    I took a look at the letter he passed over and what was written was a time, a date, what I assume to be some sort of latitude and longitude coordinates, and a little note that said:

‘If you come at the specified date time and place, you will see me in a crashed black car in a suit. I will not remember anything, but if you save me, I will save you. Your friend,’

then it was signed with a signature I recognized. I asked if I could borrow a pen. The man across from me gave me a fancy pen while interloping his fingers together, and I put down my suit beside the chair. I close my eyes and try to unconsciously sign my own signature right below the one on the paper. I write it, and then when I open my eyes, I see that it is is exactly the same. I can only read the ‘Josh’ part, but what I assume must be my last name is unreadable to me, despite writing it myself.
    “Hmm, is this the way you verify whether something is from you or not?” the man said as he took back the paper. I wasn’t quite sure, it sounded reasonable, but the only reason I did that, I assume, was just out of dumb curiosity. The more I look at at it though, the more it unnerves me how completely exact the signatures are. To do something so exact without much thought gives me an uneasiness I can feel in my stomach.
    “Not really a great system, to be honest,” the man says, “Oh yes, and as I am sure you have already deduced, I am Maxwell, of the house of Maxwell, pleasure to meet you.” Maxwell says as he goes to shake my hand again. We both sit down in the fancy red cushion chairs, and he offers me a glass with what I think is just water.
    “So,” Maxwell begins, “What do you remember about the UWG?”
    “The UWG?”
    “Yes, the United World Government.”