Page 85 of Hunted to Be Mine

“What about the dates? Do they match when Kruger said the orphanage incident happened? What does it say?”

I skimmed the first page. “Multiple operatives deployed. Target elimination and evidence removal. Testing confirmation. Mentions a primary asset designated…” I stopped. “JD-24601.”

“JD-24601,” I said again, the numbers dropping like stones. Ripples spreading. “That’s… me.”

“How do you know?”

The sequence pulsed in my head. Pressure built at the base of my skull.

“I just know. It’s like muscle memory. They repeated it again and again during conditioning.”

I ran a finger down the report. The designation repeated: deployed as primary; breached containment parameters; showed autonomous decision-making against mission objectives.

A second form was clipped to the back. “There’s something else. Asset Containment Failure Analysis.”

“That sounds promising. Read it.”

“The asset abandoned primary mission parameters and redirected to unauthorized removal of tertiary subjects.” The ache sharpened as I read. “Severe conditioning fracture noted. Non-target extraction prioritized. Lethal force used against secondary assets to get twenty-three minors out of the site.”

“The children,” Selina said, voice lowered. “You were trying to save them.”

“Says I returned after engaging three other operatives. Injured but alive.” The words blurred as a sharp spike hit my temple. “Recommended for full reset and enhanced suppression protocol.”

“That’s what Kruger meant. Your conditioning cracked that night. You chose those children over orders.”

Pressure climbed. “There’s more. Medical notes. Post-adjustment evaluation.”

“Read them to me.”

“Subject displayed unprecedented resistance to standard wipes,” I read. “Implemented experimental neural mapping to identify pre-condition response triggers.”

Next page: scans, pathway maps, chemical compounds, dosages.

“Notes on chemical suppressants. PSI-317 dosage increased by forty-two percent over standard protocol.”

“PSI-317? Are you sure?”

“Yes. Administered daily.”

“That’s a specialized memory suppression compound,” she said, faster now. “Experimental. I read about it in classified SENTINEL research. It targets neural pathways linked to core identity while leaving procedural memory intact.”

The ache throbbed behind my eyes. “Meaning?”

“Meaning they couldn’t erase you completely without ruining what made you useful. So they tamped down your core identity chemically instead.”

I turned the page and froze. A small photo was attached, grainy black and white, pulled from surveillance footage. My face, but the eyes were different. Longer hair. Harder look. Beneath it, a handwritten note: Subject’s civilian identity confirmed as primary trigger for conditioning failure.

The room tilted. Heat flared behind my eyes.

“There’s a photo,” I said. “And a name.”

“What name?” Selina asked, urgent now.

I tried to read the handwriting, but the letters warped and slid. The more I pushed, the worse it got. Black specks crowded my vision.

“Can’t… read it. Something’s wrong.”

“You’re panicking,” Selina said, voice gone soft. “The conditioning’s blocking you in real time.”