Page 6 of A Cyborg for the Alien Mercenary

She stopped in front of a photograph where she held a trophy, her smile wide and happy. It was her face, her eyes… yet, no… that wasn’t her at all. She reached up to brush gentle fingers over the glass, and a shiver ran down her spine. It was like looking at an imposter.

“Pretty cool, huh?” a voice broke her thoughts. Jesh turned to find her sister Penny leaning in the doorway to the family room.

“Yeah, it’s just… weird looking back at all this,” Jesh mumbled.

Penny stepped closer, a full head shorter than Jesh as she looked up at the wall of images. She was in a lot of them as well, but not as many as Jesh, almost as if she were just a minor character in the story of Jesh’s life.

“You’ll get used to it. They said the memory loss might make things seem off for a while, but you’re home now. Things will start feeling right again.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they will.” She nodded, but something in Penny’s manner made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. There were no cameras in here. Had they sent Penny in to see what she was doing?

“I’m gonna take a shower. Catch you later,” she said and headed up the stairs.

Energy flowed through her as she took them two at a time. She felt better than she had since she’d first woken up in thathospital bed days ago. The first few days she’d felt like she’d had to get used to her body again, but now she felt like she could leap tall buildings in one bound.

Walking through the lilac confection that was her room, she headed to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and leaning against it briefly, trying to catch her breath.

Cameras… were there cameras in here? She leaned against the back of the door for a moment and extended her senses.

Yes… these were more subtle, just a faint buzz at the back of her mind, but one was above her head and one by the window. Shit, did these people even want to perv on her in the damn shower?

Pushing off the door, she snapped the shower on, leaving the stall door open so steam billowed out and filled the room. She grinned as she stepped under the hot water. They thought they could spy on her, did they?

The hot stream pounded against her skin, thousands of tiny needles. She closed her eyes and groaned softly, feeling the hot water massage her sore muscles. Of everything she was being told, the idea that she’d been in a flyer crash was the most plausible. She certainly felt like she’d played chicken with a shuttle… and lost.

She stayed under the water until her skin started to prune, and she sighed. Okay, she couldn’t stay in here forever. Turning off the water, she stepped from the stall. As she reached for the towel, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze. Straightening up, she wiped the glass clear and studied her reflection.

Yeah, she’d definitely been in an accident.

Slowly, she traced her fingers over the myriad of scars crisscrossing her body. Injuries from the crash followed by weeks of extensive treatment for the radiation exposure. So why did some of them look like bullet wounds?

She squinted at her reflection, wishing she could just reach inside her mind and pull out the truth. Bits of information teased her, flitting just out of grasp. She knew deep down in her soul that her name was Jesh, and this life of Elena Hargrove was a lie. But why? Why was she here in this picture-perfect construct of a life? Why were they lying to her?

What did they want from her?

Her fingers traced a jagged scar on her forearm. It was older than the rest, flat and silver, and a fragment of memory flittered to the front of her mind. Of her yanking her arm back, shouting at someone as she pulled the armor off her arm to treat the wound… the whiteness of bone and something else as she?—

The memory disappeared and she hissed, closing her eyes as she fought the urge to chase it. She’d learned not to. If she pushed it, the memory would disappear for good. If she just let it wash over her, it might come back later, and she could get more details from it.

Wrapping herself in a towel, she left the bathroom and went back to her room. For now, she had no choice but to play the part these people wanted her to play. She would find the truth, even if it meant tearing apart everything and everyone around her to uncover it.

After she’d dressed quickly, the small journal on the desk caught her eye. One of the counselors helping with her recovery had suggested that journaling might help her recover her memory.

She wrinkled her nose as she picked it up and rifled through the pages, their blankness mocking her. How would writing help? She couldn’t remember the accident or anything before waking up in that white-on-white hospital room.

Her fingertips stroked over the cover, the smooth texture oddly pleasing to her. She didn’t want to give her family anything to go on, but she needed to do something.

Picking up the pen, she balanced its metal weight between her fingers. It was solid and one piece, which meant it would make a good weapon in a pinch.

Shaking her head at her own thoughts, she sat at the desk and turned to the first page. Then she frowned. What did she write?

Took a shower this morning. Energy levels are good…

Her pen paused and she sighed. Was that it? Was that all she could think to say?

“This is stupid,” she muttered but didn’t move, still staring at the page. The counselor had said to start with normal, ordinary things about her day. She leaned forward and continued.

Family are being nice. Helpful. Mom…That felt weird to write…made pancakes.

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