Heads to the halfway house

The Habit OPCO Brockton. Living in the long term drug rehab treatment sober living residential program. Easy enough. A few meetings a week with a counselor. Runs that stuff automatically and pays attention to internal systems. Glandular output, overall health, but especially recall.

They really did a number on his memory.

Identity lost. Driver's license says "Name: Parsifal" underneath a black rectangle. It's never questioned. Must be pretty good tech. Never thinks about what name to give.

Call number lost. Thinks it started with a 3. Or a T. Agent of Department 224, but as to what that means or meant you may as well ask the rehab counselor at the Habit OPCO.

Easy living. Free food. Not sure where this wardrobe came from, but it's really quite fine. Exercise heats up the augmented glandular system, rapidly adding muscle and stamina to a somehow wasted form. Cleaning out the traces of alcohol and the regularly glanded psychedelic compounds gives an interesting mental diversion between deep internal probing. Seeking out the lost memories.

Finds money in the drawers of the room, bundled up and left on the sidewalk, taped to the bottom of dinner trays in the cafeteria. It's one of those strange feelings that becomes so easy to get used to.

"What is this training?" asks the face in the mirror. "Who were they?"

"I need a name."

"I need to start employing the reflexive tenses outside of combat operations."

Employing the reflexive tenses