Mask of desire

This was not a place you stayed in for too long or the darkness, like a parasitic worm would eat into your subconscious, working its way till you didn't recognize the person in front of the mirror anymore. This much, Simone Banks knew.

She unscrewed her bottle and took big gulps of the lukewarm water gratefully, her dry throat quickly soothed. It was a personal rule not to drink between exercises but it was so damned hot, she knew she'd pass out if she didn't.

Her break came to an end as the shrill blast of the barracks' alarm signaled the start of another grueling training session. With a resigned sigh, she rose from her spot, the fabric of her black, form-fitting bodysuit clinging tightly to her frame. The material offered little in the way of comfort, designed instead for maximum mobility and durability in the heat of combat.

She slipped on her combat boots again and with practiced precision, she stretched her muscles, feeling the familiar burn of exertion as she pushed her body to its limits.

The barracks buzzed with activity as Simone joined her fellow recruits, their faces set in grim determination as they prepared for another day of relentless training. Despite the brutality of their surroundings, there was a sense of camaraderie among them, forged through shared hardship and mutual respect.

As the instructors barked orders and the sound of gunfire echoed through the air, Simone braced herself for the challenges that lay ahead. In this world of black ops and secrecy, there was no room for weakness or hesitation. As she stepped out into the fray, she knew that she would need every ounce of strength and determination to emerge victorious.

"Time for round two," Simone said, getting up and stretching to no one in particular

There was whistling below and huffing–preparing for another round of running.

"Hey, where'd you go?" Dol, her bunkmate asked, wide-eyed.

"To catch a fucking break," she hissed, jogging up to join Dol.

Another "Fewer talk maggots! Drop and give me 250 now!"

The training was the only thing that had a life here and Simone put her head into it, she wouldn't survive 2 weeks here otherwise.

The black unit training site sprawled across a vast expanse of rugged terrain, hidden deep within the heart of a dense forest. From the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than a nondescript military training camp, with rows of identical barracks and imposing watchtowers looming ominously against the horizon. But beneath its facade of normalcy lurked a brutal and unforgiving environment, where only the strongest and most determined survived.

As recruits filed into the compound, they were greeted by the sight of grim-faced instructors barking orders and enforcing strict discipline with ruthless efficiency. The air was thick with tension, each recruit acutely aware of the fierce competition that awaited them.

The grounds themselves were a labyrinth of obstacles and challenges, designed to push recruits to their physical and mental limits. From grueling endurance tests to simulated combat scenarios, every aspect of training was carefully crafted to weed out the weak and forge the elite.

But it wasn't just the physical demands that made this place so formidable. The atmosphere air hung heavy like tar on the tongue–one could almost taste the denseness of it.

Hidden cameras monitored every corner of the compound, ensuring that no infraction went unnoticed. The consequences for failure were severe, with punishment ranging from harsh disciplinary measures to expulsion from the program altogether.

But beneath the facade of unity, recruiters were forced to display an undercurrent of cutthroat competition, each recruit vying for the coveted top spot in the rankings. Here, they made sure to break down everything you've ever believed in, your hopes, and dreams, and burn it to ash.

It was a two-year requirement that Simone would put up with before being granted her first rank.

Every day as night fell, this place took on an eerie quality, the harsh fluorescent lights casting long shadows across the deserted grounds. In the darkness, whispers of whispered rumors circulated among the recruits, tales of secret challenges and hidden agendas that only added to the sense of unease.

Simone did not understand some would want this life for the sake of power. But she supposed all kinds of people existed.

"Simone, State your mission"

"Schutz". "Vor allem." Protect. Above all.

"For what reason?"

"Ich bin der Schild und Speer." I am the shield and spear.

"Excellent," Madame Tuss adjusted her spectacles again and made a note in her little green book.

"Mhmm mhmm," the throat clearing by her patient broke the heavy silence and indicated her impatience and nervousness.

Madame Tuss couldn't blame her first month in camp was always hell for the new ones. Still, Madame Tuss cocked her head at the ungainly interruption, she detested unnecessary noise.

The source of the noise seated opposite her was the fresh agent- or "mewling" as Madame preferred to call them Simone Banks.

With gray walls and no decor, this room was sterile, devoid of any warmth or personality. Much like their therapist. Simone sat stiffly in the chair opposite her therapist, her posture rigid and her expression blank. There was a reason they referred to this as "the iron box," its unappealing looks went beyond expressing the character Madame Tuss. Here, every sound was blanked out. This room was 100% spy-proof. Why wouldn't it? It was Black Unit's property. Black Unit was one of the few secret military arms of the government that maintained only 50 members at any given time. Yet the identity of each agent is unknown even to themselves. The retired agents live on as instructors. They are sponsored by the government in tune with billions of dollars for operation.

Everything about their activities is washed out of government. They, in turn, produce ruthless agents every year. The screening process was less than 0.001% of the population, a covert task force that worked in the shadows.

She was clad in her black unit OP uniform, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the room. Her therapist, a retired military woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, regarded her with keen eyes.

"Simone," the therapist began in a monotone voice, "how have you been feeling this week?"

Simone shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond the therapist's shoulder. "Fine," she replied curtly.

The therapist raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Just fine?"

Simone nodded, her jaw clenched tightly. "Just fine."

The therapist sighed softly, reaching for her notepad. "I see. And how are things going with your training?"

Simone's facade cracked slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "Fine," she repeated, her voice tinged with irritation.

The therapist leaned forward, her gaze penetrating. "Simone, you're one of the best agents we have. But sometimes, the missions can take a toll, especially on someone as young and inexperienced as you."

Simone's grip tightened on the arms of her chair, her knuckles turning white. "I can handle it," she snapped, her tone defensive.

The therapist nodded slowly, jotting down a few notes. "I know you can. But it's important to remember to take care of yourself, both physically and mentally."

Simone's jaw clenched even tighter, her frustration boiling over. "I don't need this," she muttered, pushing herself up from the chair abruptly.

The therapist watched her impassively as she stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. She sighed softly, shaking her head slightly before returning her attention to her notes.

Alone in the empty room, Simone's mind raced with conflicting emotions. The therapist's words echoed in her head, stirring up memories she had long tried to suppress. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she was missing, something important buried deep within her subconscious.

As she made her way through the sterile corridors of the facility, Simone's thoughts were consumed by the cryptic dream that had been haunting her for weeks. Images flashed before her eyes: a dark alleyway, a figure shrouded in shadows, and a sense of impending danger.

She shook her head, trying to push the memories aside. But they lingered, stubbornly refusing to be ignored. She knew she needed to confront them, to unravel the truth hidden within her mind.

But how?

Even while Lost in thought and barely registering her surroundings, Simone never could shake the feeling that she was being watched. That someone, or something, was lurking just beyond the edge of her consciousness, waiting to strike.

She supposed it was a psychological issue that would never go away and given the kind of agents she'd met, she had lucked out, mentally speaking.

The fluorescent lights buzzed an oppressive counterpoint to the therapist's monotonous voice. Each week, Agent Simone Davies found herself in this spartan room, facing the retired Colonel Jackson, her gaze tracing the cracks in the peeling beige paint rather than meeting the steely blue eyes reflecting. Every answer was practiced, and every response was calibrated to fall within the acceptable parameters of "mission stress." But tonight, beneath the calm surface, a storm brewed.

The same dream, vivid and unsettling, had plagued her nights for weeks. A faceless figure, a guttural chant, a flash of searing pain – then darkness. It felt like a memory, something buried deep, clawing its way to the surface. Colonel Jackson, her weathered face betraying a hint of kindness beneath the brusque exterior, sensed the shift. "Anything else troubling you, Agent Davies?" she asked, the gruffness softening ever so slightly.

Simone hesitated, the words caught in her throat. Revealing this dream felt akin to surrendering a piece of herself, a vulnerability she couldn't afford. Yet, there was a gnawing suspicion, a feeling that this recurring nightmare held the key to something she desperately needed to remember. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a deep breath. "There's... a dream," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "I keep having it..."

The sterile room suddenly felt stifling.

"Simone?"

"I'm sorry but it's just a dream of me being chased. I'll get over it."

"Repression is–"

"Thank you, Madam Tuss. I invoke my right to pass for the day. I'll be leaving now."

"Suit yourself."

Her heart pounded as she saluted. However, Simone tried to make sense of it, talking about her dream always resulted in palpitations, clammy palms, and pin vision–all telltale signs of a panic attack. She recently started having those dreams

It was the same dream again. She found herself running through a dark forest, the trees towering over her like menacing giants. The ground beneath her feet was uneven and slippery, and the air was thick with fog. She could hear the sound of something chasing her, a low growl that echoed through the trees. She ran faster, her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs burning. But the growl grew closer, and she knew she couldn't outrun it. A silent scream jerked her out of sleep to her unfamiliar surroundings.

"What the hell?"

Simone Banks blinked owlishly, trying to adjust to the glare of a yellow flashlight in her face. It was the nun staring, expressionless as usual.

"Rendezvous in 5 minutes. You have a mission in Headquarters." If the nun asked you to jump, you asked how high. Despite her demeanor, almost wooden and inhuman, her orders were ultimate.

The gray, scratchy sheet rustled as she sat up slowly, looking around. She rubbed her pounding head as the waves of nausea and bile in her throat assaulted her.

Impromptu missions were never good. But then again, they were never called in for good news. Simone did not expect to be asked this early. At least she was leaving this dull place.

As Simone repeated a mantra, tying her combat shoes, what she wasn't aware of was the kind of mission she was getting into.