Any feedback welcomed. To get it, you'll have to read the first two. *****************************

“Identity: recognised. Entry: permitted.” The vaguely female computerised voice said blandly as the silver door slid into the walls with a small hiss. The operative took a deep breath, and made himself enter the cold, metallic room. The woman behind the desk glared at him, as if challenging his right to be there. “Yes?” “I’m here to see the Elite General Operative.” “Do you have an appointment?” “Yes” “Rank and Number.” She knew better than to ask for his name. Anyone who came to see her superior would not have one. “Advanced Operative 3988AT” “Right.” Business-like, she put one finger to the small metal sphere in her ear. There was a moment of awkward silence as she listened to it. “The General will see you now.” Thankful to get away from the eerie, empty waiting room and the faint, vaguely irritating music drifting in from an invisible source, the Operative strode through the large silver doors, pushing his fear and anxiety deep down inside. He stopped short at the sight of the man who sat behind the desk, the only piece of furniture in the room. He was huge. Muscles rippled under his tunic, and the chair barely stood under his solid weight, He was old, too, though he didn’t look it. Only the creases round his eyes and the few white hairs, which sprouted from his baldhead, belied his age. “3988AT. I understand you wanted to see me.” His voice was deep and gravelly, emanating power and authority. The Operative bowed respectively, fighting a mental battle with the part of himself that wanted to ask dutifully for his next assignment. “Yes, Sir.” He took another deep breath, steeling himself for the words that would turn his world upside down. “I wish to retire.” The General’s expression did not waver. “Very well, you will be subjected to memory suppression. Do you still wish to retire?” The Operative nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Once an Operative decided to retire, they had to undergo a hypnotic treatment, which suppressed all their memories of their time with the Alliance, and implanted fake ones. They were given a whole new identity, right down to a new name. The Alliance did not want anyone learning their secrets. Unfortunately, the process was not entirely foolproof. A memory suppression patient could remember his true identity, but only if provided with extensive knowledge of his former life. “Which memory do you wish to keep?” “Sorry?” the Operative had never heard of this. “You may keep one approved, accepted memory, of what you plan to do after the suppression.” Replied the General, the smallest hint of irritation in his voice. The Operative thought back to the research he had done on the cortex the night before. He had found Southdown Abbey on Persephone. That was where he wanted to go, to start his new life. “When I leave here, I plan to go to Persephone.” He would keep the Abbey part to himself. “A Border Planet?” The General could barely keep the contempt from his voice. The Operative nodded again. “Very well. Dismissed.” The appointment was over, and the Operative turned to leave. “There is trouble brewing.” The Operative turned back, confused. “Sir?” The General’s severe mask had slipped, revealing what could have been called regret underneath. “These Independents will cause much trouble. You are one of our best, and I fear we may be in need of you.” The Operative coloured slightly. The Elite General Operative had never been known to complement anybody. Unfortunately, he would not remember it. Inclining his head in acknowledgement, he murmured, “Thank you, Sir,” before returning to the cold, empty waiting room. He glanced at the receptionist who pointed abruptly to a small white door on the other side of the room, without even looking up from her screen. He frowned, but not at the woman’s rudeness. He could have sworn that door had not been there before, but he shook his head, dismissing the nagging feeling that the door had appeared from nowhere, and walked hesitantly towards it. This was the biggest decision he had ever made; bigger even, than the decision to accept the offer of a place at the Elite Academy, all those years ago. At least then, he had known more or less what the future held for him. But now? Anything could lie in wait round the corner. Snapping back to his senses, he stopped just in time, to prevent from marching headlong into a very hard, very solid wall, not realising that the corridor took a sharp turn to the right, just like his thoughts. It soon became clear what lay around this corner, though: another small white door, identical to the one he had just entered. Sensing his presence, they opened, hissing slightly as they glided back into the walls. The room was small, and like all the others in the complex, sparsely furnished. A woman in a long white lab coat took his compact black holdall from his hand, containing all his worldly possessions and motioned for him to sit in the grey reclining chair in the centre of the floor, and he did so, sliding his head warily under the silver dome suspended above it. He closed his eyes, rolled up the sleeve of his tunic, and tried not to think about the long, sharp needle the woman was approaching him with, closing off his feelings as he did when on an assignment. There was a small prick in his forearm, and the Operative sank down into velvety, suffocating blackness.