"Tactical One: Do you know how your preferences files were damaged?" i asked.
*Thinking...*
*Unknown...*
*Thinking...*
*There is evidence of other damage to my system files...*
*Most likely cause, exposure to electromagnetic radiation...*
*Recommend Soldier-1 seeks medical attention.*
*Electromagnetic radiation is harmful to biological lifeforms at sufficienty high power levels.*
"Well that's just great," i muttered to myself. Not only had i been captured and memory wiped, i'd also been microwaved.
I wondered if that explained Number 50's comment about being sunburnt on one side of his face. Had we all been exposed to high levels of radiation?
*You're welcone.*
"Output off," i said, preferring to think aloud without stupid commentary.
The writing on the opposite wall dutifully blinked out.
Okay, so what next?
I could conserve my energy to best make it through my solitary confinement.
Or i could talk to Tactical One again in the hope of finding out something useful.
Given the current situation, i had nothing better to do than try to find out as much as possible about my capabilities.
Perhaps i could work out things about myself.
The sound of something small and hard hitting the chicken wire netting at one end of the cell caught my attention.
I looked up and was just in time to see a small object strike the netting and fall inside on the floor of the cell.
Someone was throwing stones at the netting.
I decided to stay silent while being on guard.
Then i heard a faint male voice say, "I'm Number 45."
After another moment's silence he continued more quietly. "I can't talk very loud because i don't want anyone to know i'm here."
"What do you want?" i asked, keeping my own voice low.
I strained to hear his answer: "I can't hear you."
"What do you want?" i shouted.
"Too loud," he said quickly. "I don't want the guards in the towers to hear you."
Guards in towers? So, Camp Amnesia **was** some sort of prison camp, like right out of the movies.
"I recognised your team," he said. "I think i can help you break out."
"My team?" i asked.
There was silence for a moment.
"Yes," he said. "Nobody could miss The Unstoppable Force, and Fox Woman's skin colour is a dead giveaway."
I was confused. Was The Unstoppable Force the name of the team, or the name of a person.
Fox Woman sounded like an Native American name. Could he mean Number 47?
"I have no idea what you're talking about," i said, but was intrigued...
Just thinking of those names was making my head ache.
"They've suppressed your memories. They've done it to all of us. That's why i think i can help you."
"So, how come you know about me?" i asked.
"They're not personal memories to me, so i've not been conditioned to forget them," he replied.
Maybe this man could be useful.
"And so who are **you** to know so much about me?" i asked.
"I don't know. But i think i must be an American who worked in Nicaragua," he said.
When i didn't say anything, he added, "The labourers working in the fields outside the camp fence sing in what sounds like the Creolo they speak on the east coast there."
I conceded him the point. My knowledge of the country was just enough to know that it was in Central America.
"Do you know who am i?" i asked Number 45.
"You must be Soldier of Fortune." he said. "You certainly aren't Fox Woman, Ms Monopole or The Unstoppable Force."
"You're the leader of the Challengers."
"So, if i'm some sort of a superhero, what are my powers?" i asked, confused.
Just thinking about all these names was bringing me all sorts of head pain, which only confirmed what Number 45 was saying.
"No idea," he replied. "I know you're a tactician and a good fighter, but if you have any other sort of edge, it's not known to the general public."
Damn conditioning! The pain in my head was excruciating now.
I'd have to give up soon, but just one more question.
"What about Number 50? What do you know about him?" i asked, but then my surrounding starting to get darker.
I woke some time later. It was dark, and my muscles were cramped from lying on the damp floor.
What on earth had happened?
If Number 45 had answered my last question, i couldn't remember it; I'd obviously blacked out from the pain.
Pushing myself up onto the rump, i leaned back against the conrete wall and proceeded to rub some warmth back into my arms and legs.
It was night, and the only light was the occasional reflection of what i assumed was a spotlight coming in through the gaps of the end of the roof space.
At least i could remember some of what Number 45 had told me, despite how bizarre it sounded.
Me, a superhero? I wasn't feeling particularly super at the moment.
The beginnings of another migraine-like headache reminded me try to think of things other than myself.
Getting to my feet, i began to do some exercises in the darkness to warm myself up.
It wasn't particularly cold, but i'd been lying on the damp ground and it had leached most of the heat out of me.
While moving about, my feet nudged the metal drum the commandant had given me.
The drum was empty, but my bladder wasn't.
There was no use of me holding it in, the body can't abosrb water back from the bladder.
I used the the drum, and then i pushed it as far from me as i could to advoid having to smell my own urine.
In an extreme emergency, i could perhaps recycle it later.
Doing my exercises again was one way to warm myself, but i realised i would be losing water quicker by doing them.
Sitting back down, i brought my knees up to my chest for warmth and thought about what i could do until morning.
"Tactical One?" i said, not bothering to do it subvocally and half expecting i was talking to myself.
*Listening...*
I breathed a sigh of relief when i saw the white lettering superimpose itself against the blackness of the night.
At least that hadn't been a dream.
"Who is Number 50? And why was he wearing a neck band? i asked.
*Thinking...*
"Unknown...There is a strong possibility that he is also a superhuman like the rest of the Challengers.
"Who are the Challengers?" i asked.
*The Challengers are a US government sponsored group of superhumans based in the United States."
A strong pain started up behind my eyes.
I took this to mean that what Tactical One was telling me was true.
Despite my uncomfortable position, i tried to sleep...
Dreams...
Dreams of falling forever.
Dreams of spinning uncontrollably.
Dreams of a coldness that hurt the skin.
Dreams of people screaming soundlessly.
Dreams of gasping for a breath that never comes.
Dreams of thick-bodied monsters with one eye.
Dreams of misshapen hands reaching out.
I woke with sunlight shining in through the triangular hole on the right side of the cell's roof space.
Cold and thirsty, i looked around the dismal cell.
My eye was drawn to a flash of vibrant green: a small frog, that had obviously squeezed itself through the gap under the door, was looking at me with its big black eyes.
I reached out to try to catch the frog, but i was far too slow because of the chains on my wrists.
It avoided my grasp with ease and moved beyond my reach, where it sat and started croaking at me while looking at me with its big eyes.
Unusual behaviour to say the least, especially since its croacking took an unsual form.
It was like it was trying its full repertoire of croaks on me.
I refused to have anything more to do with it--I, for one, wasn't crazy.
Instead, i spoke to the voice in my head.
"Tactical One?" i said.
*Listening...*
"Why is this frog trying to talk to me?" i asked.
*Thinking...*
*frog--noun: a tailless amphibian with a short squat body, moist smooth skin, and very long hind legs for leaping.*
*Access to external databases not possible...*
*Input error... Frogs do not talk... Resubmit the question.*
"Well, you're no use, go away," i said.
Dutifully the line of text disappeared and i was left looking at the frog, who had stopped making its racket, and was just looking at me again.
I gave in and tried to talk to the frog, but the frog appeared not to be interested in further conversation.
I licked my dry lips as i watched it hop over to the door and squeeze out through the gap beneath it.
What little entertainment i had in this cell was now gone.
Which left nothing but my thirst.