11
Smoke huddled in the corner of the airlock.
He grasped the piece of paper Florian had given him.
He'd finished his mission.
He'd killed a man.
An innocent man.
But in return, he got a piece of his life back.
A piece of his life that he should have been angry about. But he didn't know how to be angry. Every time he wanted to feel the emotion, his mind shut down, steered him in another direction.
What would this paper hold?
Would it tell him (again) that he was a super soldier?
Would it tell him who he was?
His palm was sweating. The paper was wet from his palm.
His handcuffs jangled against the pipe that Florian had chained him to.
Slowly, he unfolded the paper.
Unlike the last paper, this one only had a few lines of text on it.
A photocopy.
Of an address.
G. Mariano and
