[One week prior]

After reporting his information to Murphy, 32 was finally dismissed. He was led off to his [i]own[/i] holding room, as he was as much a prisoner here as Campbell was. His, however, was a bit bigger. The door was reinforced, although he could still tear it from its hinges should he ever decide to. The room was filled wall to wall with lab equipment: an exam table, file cabinets, a couple computers, a small shower stall, a large tube shaped tank filled with mysterious, greenish fluid. And the centerpiece was a very frightening looking chair. It looked much like an electric chair, but made of metal. It sported cuffs on the arms and front legs for restrain, and a headpiece that looked like a helmet lined with nails. It had been wiped down many times, but there was the lightest hint of blood lingering here and there. 

32 went and sat in the chair without even having to be told. The doctor in charge of his treatment came over with a clip board and sat down in front of him. "Subject: Experiment 32," The doctor said to himself as he wrote on the first form. "Your mission was a success, I've heard. Tell me, were you injured during this mission?"
"Yes." 
"How so?" 
"I was shot in the face." 
"Care to show me where?" 

32 lifted a hand to point to his lower right forehead, where the wound had long since healed. The doctors wrote on his paper and checked a few boxes. "Did you experience any effects of reset withdrawal this past week?"
"Yes."
"Explain." 
"My head hurts." The doctor wrote and checked. 
"Anything else?" 
"I've been...having memories." 32 wasn't sure how to explain it. This whole procedure felt familiar; he'd done hundreds of times before. Yet he never remembered any of it. "I think it was my last mission. There was a man; he was important somehow. I had to make it look like an accident, so I forced him to swallow all of the sleeping pills he had on his dresser. He cried." 32 wasn't sure why that last part was significant; [i]most[/i] of his targets cried.

The doctor wrote furiously. [i]'Subject remembering previous mission in vivid detail. Subject has gone past the recommended limit of time between resets. Signs of attitude change have been noted.' [/i] The older man looked up from his clipboard.
"Is there anything else?" 
32 stared at him blankly. 
"Okay then. The evaluation is over." He turned to the other scientists in the room and nodded to them as he stood. One came over and flipped a switch on the chair, making it hum to life. 32 tensed. All emotions had been beaten out of him, except for two: anger and fear. Anger to make him the ruthless killer he was, and fear to keep him under control. 32 remembered this chair, and he was afraid of it. However, he didn't dare budge from it. 

The headpiece came on, the screw-like probes inside the helmet whirring. 32 trembled, his chest heaving with panic. Electricity buzzed off of them as they slowly lowered down on his head. The screws slowly drilled into his skull, through the skull, into his brain. The screams of agony that came from his mouth were practically inhuman. Blood trickled down his face as the treatment progressed for three full minutes, and then to electricity stopped. The screwed wound themselves out and the helmet rose off of his head. his short hair was wet with blood, his eyes wide and empty. 32 snapped back to reality when the scientists came back over to remove his restraints. His skull quickly began to heal, but his memory was fogged. Why was he in the chair? Had he defied orders? Had he failed a mission? He couldn't recall. It hurt to try and fight the fog inside his head, so he quickly gave up. 

"Clean it up and give it its meal," Said one of the scientists in charge. The lower ranking white coats did so. One came over with a wet rag and wiped the blood off his face and head. Another came over with a bowl of what looked like greyish slop. 'No waste food', they called it. His body would use everything in it, seriously reducing the need to create bodily waste. From the way it tasted, it very much [i]could[/i] have been bodily waste. But 32 was hungry, and the food was almost luke warm. He made short work of it, and gulped down the glass of water offered without questioning. 

"Get it in the shower, then put it back to sleep." The head scientists said before leaving. The bowl was taken from 32 after he finished, and he was taken from the chair and led over to the shower stall. 32 stripped off his uniform and got in, the water cold. The blood that was missed from the wipe down tinted the water for a few moments before it ran clear again. 32 only stayed in long enough to wash off the sweat and grime from...whatever he had been doing before they reset him. Once he stepped out, he was taken to the tank of greenish fluid. They called it a 'stasis chamber'. It was where he slept. 

32, although very capable of sleeping on his own, rarely ever did so. He was kept awake for days on end to complete missions, and then put into a medically induced coma in between activity to keep him from thinking too much outside of work. 32 held out his arm for the needle that held the sleeping agent. The moment it was injected, he could feel the effects starting to hit him. He managed to stay awake while monitors where attached to his chest, and a breathing mask to his face. He was then led up the steps to the top of the tube, where he slipped into the slimy substance. And there he slept: floating in green slime until someone else needed to be killed. His bionic heart glowed through the green substance in an almost surreal way. 

=======================================================

[Current]

32 was awoken by the green slime being drained out around him. His eyes opened groggily to peer out of the glass. He was in a different room than before, but this one was also familiar. He couldn't remember why. Scientists in a different uniform came to get him out, and 32 considered fighting them. But then he saw his handler there, watching him being awoken. He then became completely passive, waiting for his next order like the good soldier he was. 

Once out of the tank, 32's mask was removed, along with the monitors. He was ushered into yet another small shower stall where he washed off the green slime. When he came out, a scientist handed him his typical [url=http://antonymarcano.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/playnpose-44_2.jpg]black uniform[/url]. 32 began to dress as his next mission was explained to him. 

"Weapon-X has found yet another enemy to be taken down," Explained his handler. That jogged some memories. 32 was like the child of two divorced parents: he was shipped back and forth between Weapon-X and FOH whenever he was needed. "FBI agent Gary Stronghold visited our facility a day ago as part of routine inspect. However, it was rather unfortunate that he stumbled upon classified projects. He needs to be silenced, and it needs to look like an accident." 

"Yes sir," 32 said as he finished pulled on his black field coat. He pulled his mask on over his head, followed by his goggles. 

"This mission shouldn't take long. The target information has already been gathered. You will be briefed on it in the helicopter." His handler began to walk, and 32 followed behind him.

============================================

[i][Equipment tally:

Hand gun: 15 rounds
K31: 6 rounds
Two knives
Explosive][/i]

The city lights shined beneath them like stars. If 32 had been a more poetic man, he may have cared. Instead, he was going over the mission in his head: the target lived in a condo on the 41st floor of a highrise building. The mission was to be in and out; as little damage as possible. He was to leave no trace, nothing to track, and no evidence that an assassination had actually occurred. He'd done it a hundred times.

The helicopter dropped him off on a rooftop a few blocks away, and 32 began to make his way towards the highrise. He was swift and agile as he moved from building to building, like a liquid blot of ink against the night sky. He had light gear on today: a hang gun, his K31, ammo, grappling gun, thermal imaging goggles, two combat knives, and a small explosive in case things [i]really[/i] went south. 

It wasn't long before 32 was across from the highrise and pulling out his goggles. He turned on the heat seeking function and zoomed in on the corner condo. It didn't look like there was much life in there; it was pretty late. Then, there in the bedroom, his target was laying in bed. He was propped up, probably watching TV. 32 put his goggles up and pulled his grappling gun off his back. He aimed steadily at a billboard on top of the building, then shot. The grappling flew across the way and locked on to catwalk of the sign perfectly. Having enhanced vision really did a guy good. 

32 tugged on the line to test it, then clipped it to his belt before swinging over. His feet landed against the solid concrete, hard. Had he been a weaker man, he may have hurt himself. His boots absorbed most of the shock, and his legs could handle the rest. 32 began to scale his way to the top of the building. Once there, he unwrapped his grappling from the sign and continued on. 

There was a door that led to the stairwell, most like meant for maintenance, but it was locked. 32 was able to fix that fairly quickly. He hurried down the steps before anyone could see him, getting out at the 41st floor. There were cameras in the halls. 32 took out another one of his little gadgets: a small signal scrambler. For just a few seconds, it would loop the image on any security cameras he walked by, and a few seconds was all he ever needed. With the device activated, 32 continued on. The door to the condo was a card-swipe access. He took only a moment to open up the lock and pull a wire loose, making it beep with approval. 32 carefully closed it back and let himself inside. 

He was surprisingly quiet for a commando dressed in nearly 70 pounds of equipment. 32 silently snuck towards the bedroom, then paused outside the door. The target was watching the evening news, making several comments about the mutant protest that had gone on that day. 32 breathed in, then out, then bust in. His gun was already aimed when he came in the door. 
"Hands up, don't move!" He barked. The agent jumped, but put his hands in the air. 32's eyes landed on the handgun on the bedside stand. He made his way closer, then quickly took it away. 
"Alright buddy, what's this about?" The agent said coolly, trying to hide his genuine surprise. He'd been caught off guard and they both knew it. 32 didn't offer any answer. His gun remained aimed at the target's head as he silently observed the room: bed, bedstand, tv, dresser, picture of target with two other men, all dressed in military uniforms, shoes off in the corner, bathtub filling up in the bathroom, bottle of vodka on the nightstand- ah, there it was. 32 motioned to the bottle. 
"Drink that," He said. The agent furrowed his brow, then laughed. 
"Hey, if you wanted to get me drunk, you could have just taken me out." 32 did not find this joke amusing.
"Drink all of it." 
"Are you fucking crazy?" 
32 cocked his gun as an answer. 

"Alright, alright, shit. I can't say it's the worst thing I've been told to do." The agent leaned over towards the bottle, then pulled a handgun out from under his pillow. He was quick, but it did him no good. The shot he landed right on 32's forehead didn't even phase the killer. He took a step back, then reached up in his mask to pull the bullet out. The agent raised an eyebrow. 
"Mutant, huh?" He kept his gun raised. 
"Shooting me will do no good," 32 said. "Now drink." The agent cursed something about mutants and picked up the bottle. He'd only had a couple shots of it tonight, and was still fairly stable. He knew what 32 was telling him to do would more than likely give him alcohol poisoning. That was more than likely the plan. The agent took his sweet time pouring himself a shot before knocking it back. 
"Want any?" He dryly offered the shot glass. 32 didn't respond. "Not too friendly, are we," The man muttered. He went through a few more shots while 32 stood with a gun aimed at him, waiting for him to reach his limit. It wasn't too long. The drink was strong, and the agent had skipped dinner. Without thinking, he got up and hurried to the bathroom to puke. 32 stepped aside to allow it, then followed him in.

The agent hunkered over the toilet, puking his guts into it. When he was done, 32 grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck and forced him over to the bathtub. The man was too drunk to even fight back. 32 shoved the man's head under the water and held it there while the agent thrashed helplessly. He would have to make it look like the man got drunk and accidentally slipped under the water while taking a bath. He'd have to set up the scene once the man was dead. The bathtub was overflowing, and right now, there was evidence laying all over the bedroom: the fired gun, the tiny drops of blood on the carpet from 32 being shot, the bullet he'd been shot with...

The man finally stopped struggling. 32 held him under a bit longer for good measure, then pulled his limp body out. He shut off the water and was about to start undressing the man when he paused. He'd heard something out in the main room. He had company.