Nameless would now remember the original self. Jaidan the first of the collective the alpha soul so to speak. He was the nucleus and it all started with him. He was the one leading the pack and Nameless would remember delving deep into his own consciousness to remember. They all blend in. Broken and/or smeared windows, concrete floor with cracks and the occasional black streak mark, and metallic rust-colored beams that went from floor to ceiling. Hanging light fixtures that resembled an upside down bowl with a single light inside, It seemed like every warehouse on the east coast was made by the same contractor. Was there no room for style? wondered Jaiden as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Alas, they were wonderful interrogation spots.
Jackson Smalls - 220lbs, give or take. Buzz cut head, broad shoulders. 6'0, maybe 5'11. Tight fitting black t-shirt, jeans, work boots. Tattoo of a skull with a snake wrapped around it on right bicep. Currently trickling blood down right cheek, eye beginning to swell, handcuffed behind the back in an aluminum chair. Psionic combat was the best. His telepathic ability gave him an edge over the big guy.
Rubbing his knuckles as he looked around the room, Jaiden spoke aloud to the man, "I'm telling you - you're going to tell me where the rest of your boys are hiding her. One way or another, I will hear it."
Jaiden referred to the daughter of one New Jersey senator, being kidnapped in regards to the senator's stance on an upcoming bill. Of course, that proceeded into details that Jaiden didn't need nor care about - the senator wasn't budging on the bill. Hence, Jaiden's assignment to find and reacquire the daughter.
"You're going to die, whether you tell me or not," Jaiden said coolly, fully turning his attention back to his captive. The man spit blood on to the smooth, cold concrete before glaring up to Jaiden. "No sense in me telling you, then, is there? You ain't got no bargaining chip now, no reason to make me talk."
Jaiden smiled, giving no sign of concern to the man. "Oh, no. See, when you tell me decides when you die. The longer you're alive, however..." Jaiden withdrew an ink pen from his pocket and - in a single, swift movement - he plunged the pen into the man's right thigh. The man lurched forward, restrained only by his handcuffs to the aluminum chair. Snarling, Jackson said nothing.
Twelve year old girl, abducted by a half dozen men that looked as if they could place rather high in body building competitions. Little girl, innocent, uninvolved, and non-expendable.
"Again, where is she?" Nothing. Jaiden twisted the pen to an angle and pushed it further into the thigh. Jackson screamed in agony, rocking in the chair. Mid-yell, he cried, "Alright, al-alright! Chimmy's Bar, back... back room!"
Immediately, Jaiden released the pen and stepped away from the chair. Withdrawing a cell phone from his pocket, he held down the center button and allowed the phone to ring three times. Having signaled to the senator that he'd located the daughter, Jaiden replaced the phone in his pocket in time to hear the aluminum chair scrape across the concrete floor.
Addressing the noise, the man for hire turned to see his adversary advancing at full charge, handcuffs in the floor and aluminum chair overturned. Without flinching, Jaiden removed the silenced FN Seven pistol from under his coat and fired three shots - all of which met the center mass of one Jackson Smalls. All two hundred and twenty pounds of man dropped to the floor, skidding to a halt at Jaiden's feet.
Skirting around the body, Jaiden slowly approached the chair and handcuffs. How had the man escaped? Slipped out of the handcuffs? No - Jaiden had placed them too tightly around the man's large forearms. Picked the lock? No - Jaiden had covered his tracks; there was nothing on the man's person that could be used to unlock handcuffs.
Then what had it been? Heat. Kneeling to examine the handcuffs, Jaiden could easily see what the problem had been. The handcuffs had melted. But how?
Looking further - around the floor, even checking the man, there was nothing to suggest where enough heat had come from to melt the handcuffs. And the man's forearms and hands showed no sign of being burnt...
Tucking away the bizarre occurrence in his mind, Jaiden departed. Strange happenings or not, there was a task at hand and money to collect. Weird coincidences could be further examined later. Work and reputation were much more important.
When working as an agent for the CIA, many character traits are taught, tested, and strengthened. Key among those is patience. Even when a person knows that their goal, their assignment, their package is just a short distance away, the person also most remain vigilant of their surroundings. Becoming careless at the end, attempting to rush to the finish line for a completed job - that's where the highest number of mistakes and casualties occur.
Jaiden sat silently in his car, eyes trained on the bar three buildings down. In the past hour, three people had arrived and twelve had left - including two of the three that had previously entered. Jaiden glanced at his wrist watch one final time.
In every assignment, there's always two distinct factors that determine the outcome - skill and luck. The measurements of how much of each factor is necessary varies from assignment to assignment, but the fact remains that both are necessities. In an assignment such as fetching a protected asset, say... a senator's daughter in a bar that was frequented by a biker gang known for their ruthlessness, luck was key - going in too early was suicide, but waiting too long may spook the gang when they have trouble getting in contact with one of their own because the missing man lacks a pulse.
Jaiden finally stepped out of the car, leaving his suit jacket inside. Blending in - even if just for a few minutes - could give one all the time they need to get into position to cause the least (or most) amount of damage possible. Continuing, the former spy untucked his shirt, unbuttoning it to reveal the wife-beater underneath. Tossing the gun holster - and weapon - back into the car, Jaiden moved towards the bar, adding a fake stumble to his walk. Better to look like a hard-working man drowning his sorrows by barhopping than to look like a trained killer coming to the rescue.
Just before opening the door and entering, Jaiden rolled up the sleeves of his shirt - one marginally higher than the other, just to add to the ruffled look - and then the former CIA stepped inside. Despite the dim lighting, Jaiden quickly took inventory of the bar - four men total, at least in the front room: the bartender, a man at the bar, and two men shooting pool just a few feet from the bar. Putting on a stupid grin, Jaiden stumbled across the room.
To the right, a sign for bathrooms. To the left, an empty rack for hanging up pool sticks, next to an open doorway leading to a hall. Passing between the occupied pool table and an empty one with two extra cue sticks, Jaiden sat down on the bar stool, offering a fake hiccup to the man behind the bar.
"What it be?" the bartender asked, turning to Jaiden. On his right bicep, a skull with a snake wrapped around it - just as the one on Jackson Smalls. Likewise, the man sitting on the adjacent bar stool with a bottle of beer in front of him and the two men shooting pool behind Jaiden all had the tattoo.
Confirmation.
"I'll hava... I'll have..." Jaiden said slurring his words as he soaked it all in for a final moment. "I'll have whatever he's having." And with that, Jaiden reached over, grabbing the bottle of beer from the adjacent man and shattered it against the man's skull, knocking him to the floor.
Turning quickly, he grabbed a free pool stick from the open pool table and twirled it, slamming it into the neck of one of the bikers playing pool. Immediately following this move, Jaiden jabbed the end of the cue stick into the other pool player's belly, following up the move with a slam to the back of the head.
Jaiden dropped the stick, turning back to the bartender just as the familiar click of a shotgun being pumped into action came to his ears. Extended over the bar, the bartender leveled a pump-action Remington Model 870 shotgun at Jaiden's chest. From four feet away, Jaiden instinctively turned to the side to present a lesser target. If the man fired and - some how - missed, he wouldn't have enough time to pump and fire a second round.
"Gimme one goddamn reason why I shouldn't blow you to hell," the bartender hissed venomously. Jaiden slowly took in a deep breath before taking action. Aiming for the man's weaker arm (which was difficult to pick out, given that the man's arms were almost as big around as Jaiden's head), Jaiden pushed the weapon aside, wrenching at the man's wrist and flipping the shotgun away from his grip. Grabbing the shotgun by the barrel, the former CIA slammed the butt of the weapon against the bartender's temple. The man slumped to the ground. "Because I'll return the favor now," Jaiden said, taking the open doorway to the left - shotgun still in hand.
Left door - kitchen. Right door - storage. Second left door - back exit of the bar. Second right door - storage... with a little girl sitting on a filthy looking mattress, legs pulled up to her chest and her sobbing face pressed against her knees.
Jaiden left the shotgun leaning against the wall, moving in to take the little girl - Sarah - into his arms. "Shhh, shhh - it's alright. I'm here to take you back to your dad, he's been worried sick about you." The girl flinched at his touch, but did not draw away as he lifted her from the bed and returned to the front room of the bar where everything (and everyone) was right where Jaiden had left it all.
Placing the little girl in the passenger's seat of his car, Jaiden slid into the driver seat. Sarah was safe, the job was finished, payment would come... he rolled down his sleeves once against as he placed the key in the ignition.
But what about the man who had miraculously melted his handcuffs and freed himself? Jaiden had no answers as he drove off into the night.
When working undercover for the CIA, agents are given alternate identities. They are forced to embrace these identities as if their lives depend on them because, in most cases, they do. So if an agent is given a cover that says that they're an international drug dealing assassin, they are expected to act as such under any circumstance that arises. If they're hit in the face, they're not expected to flinch and say "Ow!" - they are expected the break the jaw of whoever hit them first. Conversely, if one is given the role of an untrained civilian interested in working for an arms dealer, they are expected to act like an untrained civilian, even when being tortured.
Jaiden spit the blood from his mouth, looking up at his aggressor with a false, horrified expression on his face. "No.... comrade, please," he panted in an equally fake Russian accent. "I just looking... for work..." Between the metallic, bullet-proof door and Jaiden stood an armed sentry and the man's leader: Aleksei Gorchakov.
Aleksei Gorchakov. 5'11. 210lbs. Short black hair, short black beard, thick Russian accent. Suspected confirmed terrorist; high priority target. Armed with standard 9mm Beretta. Agitated.
Gorchakov's fist caught Jaiden's cheekbone with enough force that Jaiden had to fight to keep the chair from being knocked over. He almost dropped the bobby pin in his hands that he was using to free himself from his handcuffs. "You lie. You take Gorchakov for imbecile?! There are no records of 'Dimitri Sokov.' Who sent you?!" With a feigned sense of desperation - which was quickly becoming an actuality - Jaiden shook his head. "I come over in '03, big jet plane... please, I go and I not tell the police. I just want... I just want to go home..." Jaiden faked a sob, mumbling to himself. Something had gone wrong - his cover, perhaps, wasn't deep and detailed enough. Either way, it was time for him to leave.
The mumbling worked. Gorchakov leaned in, attempting to hear Jaiden's mumbled response. Using every ounce of strength his legs could muster, Jaiden kicked off the ground. The top of his skull caught Gorchakov's chin at full force, causing the larger man to stumble. Hands free from picking his handcuffs, Jaiden grabbed hold of the man as a shield as the sentry opened fire with an AK-47. Five bullets caught Gorchakov's center mass before the sentry, stunned, ceased fire. Grabbing the larger man's Beretta from his waist, it only took Jaiden a single shot to drop the sentry.
Tucking the Beretta underneath the back of his shirt, he scooped up the assault rifle and the sentry's radio which was squawking to life. "Shots fired, shots...." On the other side of the wall, Jaiden could hear running footsteps and then...silence.
Gorchakov's men were well trained - they knew that the only way out of the once-upon-a-time garage was through the metallic door. Jaiden, assault rifle slung over his shoulder, pressed his fingertips against the wall next to the bulletproof door.
Tactically speaking, it is always unwise to convert a previously existing structure into a fortified position. Metallic doors may look intimidating and stop bullets, but homes built with drywall barriers did little to suppress noise, much less bullets. Taking the AK-47 in one hand, Jaiden raised the radio to his lips and said, "Marco."
A radio, directly across the wall from Jaiden chirped to life. Polo. Immediately, Jaiden opened fire on the drywall, emptying the entire clip in a spread from where he stood all the way to the edge of the door. Dropped the empty assault rifle, he switched back to the Beretta and waited. Silence in the hall. No footsteps, no running, no return fire.
Carefully, Jaiden unlatched the metal door, keeping his full body protected by its cover. Still nothing. Peeking his head through the space, Jaiden quickly pulled back as a single assailant - the final survivor in the hall - opened fire. For some strange reason - adrenaline, rage, fear - the terrorist rushed the door; and it worked. Catching Jaiden off guard, he managed to knock the 9mm pistol from Jaiden's grasp and it skidded across the floor.
The CIA agent grabbed hold of the assault rifle, attempting to keep the barrel from being pointed at himself. A second assailant appeared in the door, only to be shot as his comrade accidentally pulled the trigger while wrestling for control of the weapon. Putting his own body weight against the gun, Jaiden rammed the man backwards into the drywall and followed up the attack with an elbow to his attacker's face. The rifle dropped, skidding across the ground and out of reach.
With nothing between them now, Jaiden threw a fist into the terrorist's gut. Grabbing the doubled-over man around the waist, Jaiden spun his weight to pull the man to the floor in order to throw off his equilibrium. Finally, placing one hand on the man's jaw and the other on the back of the man's head, Jaiden wrenched it. With a loud cracking noise than echoed through the garage, the terrorist's neck snapped.
Breathing heavy, Jaiden recovered the Beretta and moved towards the once again, cautious as ever. With no surprises in the hall, he continued through the home until he reached the living room where his cell phone had been left. Jaiden quickly dialed a number.
"Hey, mom. Business was taken care of, they're all sold for what we had in store. I'm going out to dinner at seven, maybe I'll see you then?"
Supervisor: Mission accomplished, success. Will be at extraction point in seven minutes.
Jaiden hung up the phone, took final cursory glance around the living room, and departed the home; one more act of terror averted for Uncle Sam.
"Lieutenant, if you'll just have a seat right here for me," said the eccentric man in the business suit and wire-framed glasses that had called himself "Mr. Campbell." Jaiden took a seat where he'd been asked. It was a small room; ahead of Jaiden was a glass mirror - two-way, he assumed - and a camera in the corner looking down at him. On the table to his left sat Campbell, fiddling with a machine that Jaiden knew to be a polygraph.
It had been less than two weeks since Jaiden had turned in his resignation papers to leave the SEALs. His commanding officer had been near hysterical, but had finally seemed to see the light. "Seemed" was the keyword - within twenty-four hours, Jaiden had received a phone call from a woman that he imagined to be an attractive brunette. She'd insisted that he come in to be interviewed for an available position. Only after being questioned did she mention it was for the Central Intelligence Agency. But Jaiden had obliged.
"Now, as we made you aware, we're going to be hooking you up to a polygraph test. But before we begin, I'd like to finalize a few things. First off, Lt. Alexander, this entire meeting will be taped. Do you understand?"
"Yes," said Jaiden without hesitation. To be fair, he had never actually seen a real polygraph take place, let alone be part of one. He had only seen them on television. Even so, Jaiden wasn't sure what all of the fear was about - if anything, all he felt was curious: curious about the polygraph and curious about where in the building the attractive brunette worked.
Without speaking, Campbell placed devices on Jaiden's right hand, chest, and forehead. Despite the uncomfortable closeness of the man, Jaiden refused to comment - military training had taught him not to question superiors and, as long as Jaiden was the visitor here, he was the one with the lower rank.
"So, I was curious - the woman that called me..." started Jaiden. Campbell smiled, interrupting as he placed the final suction-cupped meter on his temple. "Oh, Anya? That's our computer system. What about her?" Jaiden's voice caught in his throat for a moment. "Computer system? Aha - I wondered."
Campbell returned to his seat, examining his clipboard one last time as he prepared for the test. "Alright. We're going to start out with a few basic questions. Nothing too intrusive. Please just answer with a yes or no..." When Jaiden didn't reply, Campbell continued, "Is your legal name Jaiden Alexander?"
"No."
"Alright," said Campbell, taking notes on his clipboard. "Are you currently twenty-four years old?"
"Yes."
"Is your birthday December 18th?"
"Yes."
Campbell leaned forward, adjusting his wire-framed glasses as he looked over the spreadsheet being printed by the polygraph. "Let's see... did you serve in the United States Navy?"
"Yes."
"The Navy SEALs?"
Jaiden had half a mind to point out that it wasn't exactly a question, but instead said, "Yes."
"Have you ever been convicted of a felony?"
"No."
"Have you ever committed a felony?"
Unable to help himself, Jaiden smiled at the change in questions. "No."
Campbell examined the printout a second time before sitting back into his seat. He flipped over the page on his clipboard before continuing the questioning once again.
"During your time as a Navy SEAL, were you taken as a prison of war?"
"Yes."
"And you were able to escape with the help of a fellow prisoner?"
"Yes."
The interviewer scribbled on his clipboard for a moment. Jaiden remained silent until Campbell began questioning once again. "While in captivity, did you release any information to your captors?"
Jaiden reflected back to his time underground - the two had survived by telling stories and singing nursery rhymes during their torture. "No."
"Are you or have you ever been married?"
"No."
"Are you or have you ever felt that you were in love?"
"No."
The questions continued for some time, asking about things varying from drugs and alcohol to Jaiden's martial arts training. The whole questioning took just over twenty minutes. Finally, Campbell stood up, switching off the polygraph machine. He proceeded to step around the table and remove the measuring devices from Jaiden.
"So, how do you feel, brother?" asked Campbell, moving the wires away from Jaiden. "Like I'm ready for the trial," said Jaiden, only half-jokingly. For some reason, Campbell - in his eccentric state - seemed to find the statement absolutely hilarious. "The trial?! Bahaha, you're golden, boy."
Moving back to the table, Campbell ripped the printout from the machine, folded it up semi-neatly, and moved towards the door of the interrogation room. When Jaiden stood to follow, Campbell raised a hand in caution. "No, no, lad. If you'll just wait here, shouldn't be more than a few minutes at best."
Reluctantly, Jaiden sat back down, staring at his reflection in the two-way mirror before him. Little did he know, Campbell and a man calling himself "Mike" stood on the other side of the glass, looking right back at him.
"What are your thoughts, Campbell?" asked Mike, flipping through the mess of print out. Campbell stood, comparing the questions on his clipboard to the readings on the printout sheet. "I'd have to say he's clean as a whistle or he's a damn good liar. Either way, I think he'd be an asset."
"You do, huh?" asked Mike, not actually expecting an answer. He shot one final glance over to the stack of documents detailing the life of the man known as Jaiden Alexander and nodded his head once again.
"Then it's official. Jaiden Alexander is the newest recruit for the CIA," said the Director of National Clandestine Service as he stood to leave the room to congratulate the newest member of the team. After that Nameless eyes would snap open. Again he had trapped himself in his subconscious.
(For those not reading Nameless trains by gaining fragments of his former power(him being a collection of souls). This is done by remembering the souls that could perform said abilities. This one is Jaiden the original Nameless.)
Wed Jul 08, 2015 1:11 am by 
