Under the Surface

He opened his eyes and looked into the faces of a dozen of people. They were wearing face masks and looked like doctors to him. He had no idea where he was or how he got there, but when he was eyeing his body, he realised that he was totally naked. He didn't recognize any of the faces that were staring at him. As far as he could tell, he seemed to be in a kind of lab or emergency room. The room was filled with the beeping and humming of medical machines. He couldn't see any windows, but the dominating light blue and white colours of walls, ceiling, floor and furniture created a bright, but not very comfortable atmosphere.

“He's awake, he's awake!”, some of the people shouted in excitement. A tall man with dark eyes bent over him: “How are you? Can you hear us? Can you talk to us?” He nodded his head: “Yes”, he answered, “I can hear you.” “You made it, you really made it. We thought, we had lost you. But now you should rest.” The dark-eyed man injected him with a transparent liquid and after a few seconds, his patient went to sleep.

He woke up in a new room, which was smaller than the room where he had been before. There was nothing in the room except for a small bedstand, the bed in which he lay and a mirror, which he was directly looking at from his bed. A very big mirror. Bigger than anyone would need it.
He felt dizzy and tried to remember how he got to this institution, whatever it was. But he couldn't. He couldn't even remember who he was. Not his name, nothing of his previous life. He slowly climbed out of the bed and looked at the mirror. His picture didn't ring any bell. He saw a man, barely older than 25 years, around six foot three tall. His eyes were light blue and his skin was of a perfect white. His head was bald and his face of an untainted beauty. He was wearing green pyjamas, which seemed to fit him perfectly.

While he was standing there, looking at his figure in the mirror, the door swung open and the tall man whom he remembered from the lab entered the room.

“Hello, my name is Dr Wirths and I am responsible for your well-being. How are you?”
“I am...I don't know how I am. Where am I? And who am I? I don't remember...”
“Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Your name is Michael and you can be proud to be the only survivor of the massacre in the Frozen Desert.”
“The massacre?”
“You are a soldier, Michael. After your rescue, you were brought to military hospital where you are right now. Here, you are perfectly safe. We are one hundred meters under ground. The terrible war has forced us into those depths.”
“Why don't I remember any of this?”
“Well, Michael, there are some possibilities. Most likely because of the poisonous gases of the desert or your traumatic experiences. But you should not think about all that now. We are taking care of you and your memories. They will soon come back. You should take some rest now. If you need me, just press that red button behind you.”

When Michael woke up the next morning, he felt stronger and more vital than the day before. He climbed out of his bed and looked into the mirror.

He was part of the reinforcements sent into the battle. He had been desperately waiting for the call and now the time had come. The smell of blood in the air was like a drug to him and he started fighting. After many hours, he had lost count of the number of men he had killed, but it must have been more than one hundred. To his disappointment, everything seemed to be over now. Through the red dust, hanging over the battlefield, the Colonel approached, shook his hand : “You've made yourself a name today: The Butcher of Jarisia”.

He was still in the same room, staring into the mirror. He couldn't tell how long he had been standing here, but it must have been some time. His pyjamas were soaked with sweat and he was totally exhausted. Dr Wirths had told him that his memories would come back to him, but he had not mentioned that he virtually would have to go through them again. Everything had felt so real.
Soon after Michael's experience, Dr Wirths entered the room.

“How are you, Michael?”
“Thank you, I'm fine. I think, I just...remembered something.”
“That's great, Michael. We didn't expect that you would make progress so quickly. I have scheduled you for some practice tomorrow. You should do some fighting, so you don't get rusty. What do you think?”
“If you say I should, I will do it, doctor.”
“See you tomorrow, Michael.”

*

When Dr Wirths came back to his office, the man in military uniform, highly decorated, was already waiting for him:

“How is he doing?”
“As far as I can tell at the moment, he is doing very well. We will run some tests tomorrow, but I think he'll be just perfect.”
“Very well.”

*

The next day, Dr Wirths brought Michael to a facility which he called the Arena. Michael was impressed by the sheer size of the room, which was more like a big hall. Big enough to accommodate a small army. However, the whole place was almost empty. The only things, Michael spotted, were some racks, loaded with various short-range and fire weapons, as well as a small stand which was equipped with seats for a couple of spectators. Michael could feel that something in him had changed when he had entered the Arena. He suddenly felt a burning desire to fight. And that was what the Arena was made for.

Dr Wirths was taking his place on the small stand and, by using a small communication device, started to send in opponents for Michael, which entered through one of the big gates. Michael had instinctively chosen the standard warrior sabre as his weapon and started to face man after man. None of them was a challenge for him. They were too slow and not skilled enough too keep up with his superb skill. Some of them were severely injured in their hopeless tries to defend themselves against the man who did not seem to know what mercy was. After three hours of fighting, Dr Wirths had not a single man left he could send into the Arena. Michael had defeated everyone.
Although Michael was disappointed that the practice was over already, he was glad to be able to take some rest.

*

The man in the military uniform was waiting in Dr Wirths' office again:

“How is he doing?”
“There seem to be no complications. Everything is perfectly well. Shall we proceed?”
“Affirmative. Proceed then.”

*

When Michael woke up the next morning, he had a big headache. He wanted to call for Dr Wirths to give him something to ease the pain.

He was running. Running towards the meeting point as fast as he could, with his short legs, which were not made for running at all. It was dark. Explosions, desperate cries of pain and flashes of gunfire behind him, his comrades engaged in a hopeless battle. But he had to complete his mission. He had to deliver the package that could bring his nation a huge advantage over its enemies. Suddenly he stumbled, a terrific pain in his right thigh, he fell. But he had to keep moving, it couldn't be far. He got up, another injection of adrenalin and he started running again. And there, not far, he could see the silhouette of the helicopter, two men shouting at him. He reached them, fell into their arms and heard their words: “Unbelievable! How did you get out of there? Unbelievable job!”

Dr Wirths was standing next to Michael's bed, carefully watching him.

“Did you remember again, Michael?”
“I guess...it was...”
“I know, Michael, it always feels real. It must. How do you feel now?”
“My head feels like it's going to explode. Can you give me something to make it go away?”
“I don't think that's possible, Michael. It wouldn't do you any good. It would just hinder your getting better. I would like to run some tests with you. Do you think you can cope with the ache for now?”
“Yes doctor, I think I can.”

When Dr Wirths had talked about some tests, Michael had not expected, given his condition, that those tests would be that hard. At the Test Centre, Michael had to spend hours running on the treadmill, swimming in the pool and using various exercise machines. Furthermore, Dr Wirths tested Michael's vision, reactions and reflexes and convinced him to take some shooting practice on the shooting range. Everywhere, Michael did extremely well and at the end of a long day, when they were back at Michael's room, Dr Wirths told Michael that he was very proud of him. But Michael didn't care about the acknowledgement. He had just done what he was told. And after that day, all he wanted was to get some rest. He went to bed right away.

*

Dr Wirths picked up the receiver of his ringing phone:

“Yes?”
“How is he doing?”
“He is doing very well. I thought it might have been too early. But it wasn't. From now, I would recommend to...”
“Can you proceed?”
“Yes, Sir, but...”
“Proceed then. We are on a tight schedule.”
“Yes, Sir.”

*

“With all due respect, Sir, we should surrender or try to get out of here as long as we still can!”, the Sergeant shouted at him.”Not an option!”, he shouted back, just seconds before another artillery projectile exploded close to the sergeant who, with a cry of pain and penetrated by shell splinters, sunk to the ground dead. He knew that they couldn't surrender. The strategic importance of this place was too high. The shellfire temporarily stopped. He looked back at his men, which, staring at his scarred face ,were awaiting the call to surrender. Instead, he gave a speech. One of those speeches, only great leaders give. Then, with a cry of rage, they launched their attack. He was leading, they stormed forward, driven by desperation and hate. Line after line was conquered, their enemies, surprised by the sudden assault, unable to match them. It was a great victory.

Michael opened his eyes. Was it a dream this time? Or was it another one of those memories? Something in Michael had changed. Suddenly, many thoughts had started to cross his mind. Why was it that he always remembered things about his experiences at war? What about the rest of his life? Does he have a family and are there any people that care about him? Why had Dr Wirths never talked to him about things like that? Eager to get answers to his questions, for the first time, he pushed the red button to call for the doctor.
Just a few minutes later, Dr Wirths entered the room. He was carrying a pile of thick books which he put on the bedstand next to Michael's bed, before turning to Michael.

“What's wrong, Michael?”
“What are those books? “
“I wanted to do you a favour. The last days must have been very tough for you. Those are some books about military strategy. You used to like them.”
“I don't feel like reading right now, but I need to ask you some things.”
“I'm very busy, Michael. I promise, I will get back to you. But I have to go now.”
“I said, I...”
“See you, Michael.”

Dr Wirths left the room. Michael jumped out of his bed, trying to follow him. But he didn't get far. The door was locked. He started hammering against it: “I said, I need to ask you something! Open the damn door!” But nothing happened. Michael realised that this would not help his cause and he started to examine the books which Dr Wirths had left for him. They were big, thousands of pages each, but when Michael glanced through them, he realised that everything he read in them was already familiar to him. Michael did not understand how he could know all of this and his anger at the doctor, who had refused to answer his questions, was growing.
“Why is he boring me with that stuff?”, he shouted at his reflection in the mirror. “What the hell are you looking at, Mr Perfect? Are you looking for trouble? You can have it! Take this!”. The impact of the first book, he threw at the mirror with all of his strength, caused a small crack right in the centre of the big mirror wall. “What? You still don't have enough? What about that?” Book number two was flying towards the mirror. Soon after, number three and four followed. The impact of number four was fatal. The book penetrated the mirror and, with the ear-piercing sound of breaking glass, the whole mirror wall collapsed.

Michael froze. He looked into the faces of Dr Wirths and a dozen of other people, who were staring at him, terrified, turning away from their monitors and consoles and complex machines. Nothing happened for a minute maybe. Michael was thinking. Thinking about what those people were doing there and why they had been behind that mirror. The more he was thinking, the more angry he became because nothing seemed to make sense. He could feel, how this desire was coming back. The desire he had last experienced in the Arena. He wanted to kill them. All of them. Furious, he rushed up to them. But he didn't have a chance. Seeing Michael approach, Dr Wirths moved a lever on the console in front of him. Michael could feel an insufferable pain in his head. He sank to the floor. Then another pain in his stomach and finally in his heart. “I'm sorry, Michael”, Dr Wirths murmured.

*

The man in the military uniform was not pleased when he entered Dr Wirths' office.

“How could this happen?”
“Sir, we knew the last one would be the most difficult. He was supposed to be a leader. And a leader is different. A leader needs personality.”
“I don't care what he needs. Just make sure he will be ready!”
“Yes, Sir...”