The Foreign Legionnaire

You look at Yvonne, outrage burning in your eyes. You're beyond angry. Hot spit flecks out if your mouth as you bark your response.

"Damn right I am." You stare at Yvonne, then cradle Jessica to the sofa, taking a blanket and placing it over her.

"Good. But you should not do... Wait!"

It's too late. You fire then pen and watch as Jessica returns to normal. You watch as she stirs.

Then, looking around, she screams.

"Jessica! Calm down! You're OK! You're OK!"

"Who the fuck are you! Where the fuck am I?" She's breathing heavily, clearly panicked.

"It's Dav..." For a moment you forgot your new identity. The zipper really is an inferior method. "Uh... my name is Marie. You're safe."

"Where's safe, you bitch? The last thing I remember is... Is... That douchebag Jimmy coming around and asking for me. Where the hell am I?"

You realize there's no point to explaining what has happened in the past six months. For Jessica, only seconds have passed. Some intruder has been living her life, stealing her precious minutes and seconds from her. They enjoyed her 18th birthday party, graduation; you wonder if she's in college now. It's all pretty hard to explain, and you're not sure if it's even best to do so. You pause, then reach for the zipper.

"No!" Yvonne barks. She holds out her hand commandingly. "Pen, now." You don't know why, but you obey instantly. Jessica returns to her state, and Yvonne turns to you, shaking the black device at you. "Why don't you think, hmm? She does not know this face of yours! She does not remember what has been done! She needs to be brought out of this state by someone far more expert, who can help her recover. This will be traumatic, she has lost months!"

You look down, sheepishly. The white pen solves that issue, but you're not sure saying as much would help. Yvonne casts her petite shoulders up, the blonde locks rising and falling dramatically.

"They need to pay for what they've done to her."

"To others in your family, too. But this takes time, David. You need to take time. It is like bursting a blister, sometimes you have to wait for it to settle, hmm?" She lightens, smiling and rubbing you on the arm. "I know how much this hurts you. But use it. Together we can tackle La Dissumuler. Once we are on a level playing field with the technology, they will not be able to stop us."

You wonder if anyone should have this technology. Who created it, and why? Where did it all start? Your mind is a mess of questions and queries. For now, though, you think it's better to listen. "What do you plan to do with the pens?" You begin to scratch at your stolen skin, feeling disgusted and ashamed just to be living like this. But it's the only way you know, now.

"Study them," Yvonne shrugs. "They are more advanced than our prototypes. We suspect the Americans may have more developed technology, but they are too tied up in their own bureaucracy to use it. French Intelligence does not have this problem. We use our zipsuits for active and counter operations, including wet work as necessary. I will take the pens, now, and your girlfriend. She will be restored, monitored in a secure hospital facility, given a story she can believe until the truth is made known to her. It's a difficult life, the one you have chosen to lead. Such an initial shock must be dealt with by professionals, no?"

You sigh. "I guess."

"Good. And the pens - ha! they do look like stylos - will go to research. You will not get them back soon, if at all."

You suddenly feel a little more apprehensive about the deal. The whole point of the pen was that you had a significant advantage, the person's memories. That prevents any really deep integration. Perhaps you could only give up some of them, and keep the memory pen for yourself. "I understand Yvonne."

"Poesy. Do not call me by my first name, we are not friends, recruit."

"So I'm a recruit, now?"

"D'accord. You have survived a long time. But those skills are not enough if you're going to work with us. Normally membership of my particular section requires, obviously, French nationality. With you such a condition does not apply - your current body is French, is it not? So, then, training."

"My accent will give me away. I'll need a disguise." You try and be pragmatic. The current disguise was meant to be temporary, after all.

"Of course you do. We will provide a suitable candidate. Her name is Rochelle Tanzir. officer, Police Nationale. Selected for training but, unknown to her, washed out. Determined woman, though. Orphan, French-Algerian, grew up in Lyon, no close family. No friends, she just studies. A shame she is not the right material. But she has agreed to take part in a programme, and she is not close enough to her classmates for any to spot a switch."

"And I start right away?"

Yvonne pauses, and thinks. "You do not need to do so. You can wait until Jessica is recovered. She will not be part of our team, but she can stay with you. It would mean our research team would be more likely to upgrade from our zipper, too. That would be an advantage."

"I'd still be out of the fight."

Yvonne taps her lips. "Not necessarily," she muses. "You could do what you have been doing since you came to France: live the life of another. We have information that leads us to connect a string of robberies with group of individuals travelling the country in their professional capacity. It would be low enough risk, I feel, to substitute you in. We suspect this group does not contain any La Dissumuler agents, although the funds from their robberies are being directed to them. Your disruption, or participation as a sleeper agent, would be of great benefit to us."

You wonder what professionals travel the country. Actors? Some kind of sports team? A circus? Yvonne has been vague. It's a distinct option. Alternatively, the sooner you pass this training, the sooner you can fight back properly.

(Author: Collider)