The Truth About Translucence | Teen Ink

The Truth About Translucence

January 15, 2011
By Monsterlicious BRONZE, Elizabethton, Tennessee
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Monsterlicious BRONZE, Elizabethton, Tennessee
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Favorite Quote:
"Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it, everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, never... never forget it." -Curtis Judalet

The silence of the night was unbearably piercing to my ears. It was dark and gloomy except for the lights from the streets below. People were walking down the streets, laughing without a care. However, I was tired and wet from the rain that had just stopped less than five minutes ago. I had to carry out my mission, though. There was no question to that. I looked down at the clock on the building in front of me. It was now 1:00 A.M. in the morning. This should have been done three hours ago, but thanks to misinformation, it was a no go. There was a pressure on my shoulder all of a sudden. I tensed up for just a moment before I realized it was Franky. Franky: sixty-five years old; strategy and American combat expert. He's an old mercenary from The Second Great War. He's seen things that 90% of the world's population today, would never ever want to see in a million years, but then again I could say the same for all of us. He looked down at me and then handed me a cup of warm, vanilla smelling coffee. He handed me the cup with his wrinkly, old, spotted hands. They looked like paper, but felt as soft as the softest feather. I suppose that was expected in his age,though. I took a sip of the coffee and looked around. There was a shadow near the entrance of the hotel. The shadow was Jem. Jem: twenty-eight years old; bombs expert. He knew anything and everything that had to do with bombs. He was pretty good looking with the height of 6''2', broad shoulders, dark brown hair that came to his ears, and piercing green eyes, but it was scary how excited he got about bombs sometimes. Inside and out of the cold air: that's where I'd like to be. Instead, I'm stuck on the roof top of a little, ancient coffee shop called “Le Café Qui Parle”, looking into the little hotel across the street with a scope to find our target. The Target: approximately thirty-five years of age; scientist. He went MIA a while back before the Company realized he stole a bunch of their experiments and planned on selling them to countries and “Perils”. (Perils are the “countries” that are left after The First Great War;districts around the world.) -1 Hour Later- “Finally,” I thought. A man walked through the bedroom. He was balding along the hairline. He wasn't fat, but he couldn't be called “skinny” either. He also had no physic. After closing the door behind him, he walked past the TV and the bed until he reached a small desk with a laptop on it. He opened it very tiredly while typing in what seemed like a password. “Take him. Now,” Franky said. There was no echo. There was no sound except for the small thud from the man hitting the cold floor. It was done. This job was over with, and so was this man's life. It was sad to know that he wouldn't be able to go home to his family. I don't like this job, but if it helps the system stay in balance and innocent people out of harms way, so be it. This is my life. This is assassination.

When trying to establish or maintain a country, structure is key. Structure is the key that is supposed to keep things in balance, but of course, you get half-cocked and/or hotheaded “big-shots” that come into the politics in dealing with the structure of a society. Those are the people who tend to become the most corrupted and mess everything up... and then, everything burns if you don't have the right people to extinguish that one little spark efficiently. This is one of the main reasons I am here- to keep the peace, if you will.
I'm not saying I parade around in my happy suit spreading love and joy and false assumptions, along with misquotes here and there, to the people who are “less fortunate” than I seem to be. I'm more like the backstage kind of gal. No one really knows my face, name, or anything else about me for that matter other than a few close friends or unhappy family members, but yet, the show wouldn't be able to go on without me just because I get handed the excess crap other people didn't want to deal with. Don't get me wrong. I'm not on a high horse here. I'm just spelling things out now, so there won't be any misunderstandings later; I am not a hero, nor will I ever be. I just do things because they need to be done. One things you need to understand about me is that I'm not subtle whatsoever. I never have been. If you want the truth, chances are I'll be honest with you 100% of the time (unless your working for other agencies, but that's a different story).
I work for an agency nicknamed “The Company.” The reason why it is not just called by its original name is because everyone knows it, plus the initials and name itself are too long. If you mention The Company to anyone, they know you are talking about this company, the company that is much like the United States of America's major military agencies from long ago, but a lot worse. This agency is sinister, sick, cruel, and not appealing in anyway unless you are power hungry. The Company is shown to be one of the major benefactors to almost every single Peril around the world. The truth, however, is that they are the only benefactor. Other smaller agencies are credited to be benefactors of several Perils, but it is just an image, a mirage that is so faulty people don't even see it. The Company has given credit to other agencies just for the sake of order and structure. You see, not many people favor The Company. They despise it, within good reasons, too.
I am here only because I do not know who am. No one does. Apparently, I just showed up out of nowhere with no identification cards or chips. A few policemen found me in a shed somewhere along the boarders of the Great Dessert, but whether or not this story is true or not, I do not know. When I awoke, I was in one of The Company's major hospitals with no memory of who I was. They even had to guess my age, which eventually they decided was around 7 years old or so. To this day, I don't really have a birthday. The Company states my birthday as the day I awoke in the hospital, but I do not claim it. That was the day I stared to rot away.
Soon after my awakening, I was informed that someone of the name of “General Graves of from The Company” would be adopting me shortly. A the time, this name meant nothing to me, but I should not have taken it so lightly. I knew the first moment I saw him, I was about to be put through hell. He was tall, muscular, and had the coldest eyes. They could make anyone freeze where they were sanding. He was the typical brainwashed army pawn with smarts and strength. He was a force to reckon with, and I wasn't to be allowed out of his site, well, not until his death, which was almost two years ago now. It's sad to think that if I were found somewhere else, like near the coast or in the middle of a city somewhere, I could have avoided the whole entire catastrophic life-changing epidemic that swallowed and diminished my very being to the core.
Ever since General Graves became responsible for me, I was put through tests of all kinds. It was to be apart of a special program The Company had so sneakily put together. They had a unit that they were so urgently putting together. I consisted of 120 orphans in the beginning. I was one of those “orphans.” This program was to designed as an experimentation only and was to last for five months. The Company never thought that there would be any success in it whatsoever. At the end of one month, there were only 65 orphans left. After three months, there were 15, and then, at five months, only three orphans were lefts. I was one of these orphans. After the five months, there were other little experiments performed to make sure we wouldn't start to “erode” and die. The scientists said that we had passed our tests, but there was still a chance that we might not make it, and sure enough, one of use died. Then, the three became two.

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