She was no longer cold, at least not like she was before anyways. Her body had been violated, poked and prodded and photographed - she didn't want to be photographed. She couldn't remember why, only that the minute the first flash of the camera went off, incomprehensible fear coursed through her like a tidal wave. She couldn't refuse though, how could she? Why should they listen to her when she doesn't even know who she is?

The metal chair was painfully cold, the cool bite making her legs sit up, toes barely skimming the floor in an attempt to keep her thighs from resting against the seat. "My name is Kurt Weller," she stared at the man across from her, studied his features and let his voice wash over her. She didnt know him, and yet she did. "I am the lead agent on your case." More words, more questions, more statements. No answers.

"I didn't even dream," she whispers, staring at her clasped hands, struggling to keep from sinking into the cushions of her chair. A night alone in a run down hellhole, she had even opened a drawer to find a small family of mice living in it. "I was hoping," she continues, "hoping I would. Maybe… I dont know - I thought maybe it would tell me something. Give me something. But I'm still as lost as before. I have no idea what is happening. Someone did this to me," she pulled at her fingers, eyes refusing to rise to meet the dark skinned doctor before her, "they did this to me and I don't know why or how. I can't do anything."

Two cups were pushed into her line of sight. "I got you a coffee and a tea this morning," the doctor's voice was kind, soothing, "which do you prefer?" His lips quirked up in an amused half smile, a stark contrast to the incredulous look on her own. "Go ahead, try." She took both cups, taking a small sip of one, her face immediately twisted in disgust and she set it back down. The doctor's grin grew. She took a sip of the other.

"This one," she says firmly, taking another sip, "that one tastes like grass trimmings."

"See, you aren't helpless. You remembered what grass trimmings taste like, and that you are a coffee person." She gave a small smile, heart warming at the thought of knowing something at all. "Our lives are made up of choices, no matter how small. We are defined by our choices, you just don't remember yours yet. Keep trying new things, start with small stuff - chicken or beef, vegetables or fruit, water or juice. See what your body remembers, or make new choices. Keeping making them and the less helpless you will fill. We don't know if you will regain your memories - but even if you don't, you can reinvent yourself." He shut the journal on his lap before reaching down and pulling out a thick, leather bound book. "Try this. Just sit down, and let your hand move. You may not be an artist, but you might find that while your memories are hidden, they are still there. Draw whatever you can." She took the book with a small nod and another tentative smile.

"Thank you."

Jane Doe, that's what the 'team' had taken to calling her. She couldn't explain why, but the name left a sour taste in her mouth. She didn't know much of anything, nothing important anyways, but she knew that definitely wasn't her name. A name they branded her with, just like the bastards who branded her with these ridiculous 'tattoos.' She hated them. She hated the name. It wasn't her name.

Patterson. Reade. Zapata. Weller. They all had their own names, their own identities, and yet she had nothing. It wasn't their fault, she knew that, but it didn't stop the anger that flashed through her each time they called to each other. But then they were all looking at her with mixtures of distrust and awe, the world flowing past her lips with an ease she didn't quite understand. "It's a date," she supplies warily, her own gaze flickering from one to the next before settling back on the screen. "A date and a location. Today's date." And then they were moving, rushing perhaps was a better word for it. Fighting and running, constantly moving as they tracked down every lead but as the minutes ticked by, the hope she had felt diminished. The realization that today's trip would not leave her with any clue of who she was, other than that she could fight - that she could kill - causing her shoulders to sag.

But then it was like a bucket of water crashing down on her. She had her first memory back - the solid weight of the glock a familiar pressure. The calm silence that rang right before each press of the trigger. She knew this feeling well, she had been training for it her whole life - she couldnt explain how she knew that's what her life was for, but she knew it was.

"You missed two. Again."

hey again! went ahead and tossed this chapter up too. i dont plan to really focus on the tattoo missions but everything else, but while setting everything up I'll be mentioning it some more. I apologize for any spelling/gramatical errors. i am using my phone to type things up and unfortunately autocorrect isnt as smart as it thinks.

anyways, please leave a review, let me know what you think so far, what you want to see moving forward, ect!