The asset

“I have to go back,” were the first words the soldier said.

He had spent months trying to get him back, trying to find a way to see him again. But now he had him, bruised and covered in dried blood – he wanted to go back.

And he knew why.

The time he had spent there wasn’t a holiday. He knew that more than anyone. Yet he wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t happy to be out.

He was. But he had left something behind.

“I need to go back.”

So they did.




There is a second tank, already filled, as the asset is pulled away.
The asset notices and then the asset is put to sleep.
 
 
The new handler was different.
There is no pain. There are no harsh words. There are no threats.
 
Something pulls in the assets arm; he twitches. There is no punishment.
The handler’s face does something the asset doesn’t recognise. The handler apologises.
“Does that hurt? I’m sorry it should have done. Is this better?”
 
The asset stares. The asset doesn’t know what is expected. The asset doesn’t know how to react.

This is different.
Different.
 
“Simon?” The handler asks. The asset looks down at the hand, small and trembling, that the handler has placed on his chest. But not to restrict.

The asset doesn’t understand.
Hands hurt the asset.
The asset doesn’t have a name.
This is different.
 
The handler curses and pulls away, and the asset waits for the pain that never comes. The asset watches, fearful, as the handler mutters, eyes wide and equally fearful and angry, and slams his fist against the metal tray.
 
“I can’t do this. I don’t care, its wrong.” The handler looks at the asset with a look he doesn’t recognise. But the asset watches as the handler’s chest rises and falls in quick recessions, waiting…
 
“I’m going to call you Simon, alright? I need to call you something other than… Simon is good.”
The asset doesn’t understand, but he obliges. The handler keeps talking, his soft, gentle voice hardly filling the desolate void of the room. The handler kept touching, inflicting no pain.
And the asset sits and listens.

The asset doesn’t reply, but the handler doesn’t seem to mind.  
 
It all comes to an end when the handler takes his hand, and squeezes. Gentle, not meant to hurt.

“I’ll do everything I can. I promise”
 
The asset doesn’t know what he means.
The asset doesn’t understand.
The asset knows this handler is different.
The asset likes this handler.
Likes.
Likes.
Likes-
 
The handler is always nice.
When the handler touches the asset, it is kind, it is to calm and to soothe.
The handler is nice; the asset feels different.
 
The handler tells the asset stories and laughs.
The handler talks with his hands, and the asset follows the movement, transfixed, fascinated, obsessed.
 
The handler is different. The asset likes the handler.
 
 
 
The asset is sent to the handler.
When the asset arrives, the handler is shaking, his face damp and discoloured. The asset reaches out and the handler makes a strange noise as he approaches, flinching.

The asset hesitates. Then the asset continues. The asset places his hand on the handlers chest, as the handler often does for the asset.
 
The handler falls forward and wraps his arms around the asset. The asset copies, holding the hander, and it is good.
 
Different.
 
Good.
 
 
The asset is allowed to remember the handlers so the asset doesn’t attack.
The handler is always close when the asset is awake.

The handler is always gentle and never angry.
 
A lot of things are bad. A lot of things hurt. The handler is good; the handler never hurts the asset.
 
Everything around the asset is grey, and bad, and painful.

The handler is bright, and good, and soothing.
 
The handler is different. Good.
The good handler tells the asset to call him Michael.
Michael calls the asset Simon.





He knew when he found him, it wasn’t going to be easy. He knew Simon wasn’t who he used to be. He knew, and he expected what was coming.

But when they found the body on the ground, beaten and broken, he didn’t know that nothing was going to be the same.

So when the solider in front him, desperate and afraid, begged to go back, he knew he couldn’t say no. But in the end – he wished that he had.