There was someone. Something living inside of him other than himself. How could he have been so stupid as not to see it?

His heart ached for something. Tears eroded his eyes. What was going on? Was he going insane? Had his emotions been mysteriously tapped into?

It was like a separate entity was scratching itself out of him, itching to reveal itself.

Mission Report #3, start.

~~~~

Trace woke with a start in the dark room he'd visited before, but he was all alone. His breath was visible in the room, a sign of the cold atmosphere. He sat up, puzzled, that he was force-teleported here.

"Trace," a grave voice sounded from behind him. It was heavily Russian and female.

He instinctively twitched around, only to see nothing. A ball of saliva clouded his throat, but he quickly swallowed it. There was nothing to be afraid of, right?

The woman appeared before him. "Trace." She repeated his name, as if trying to make him understand something. "Are you confused about forced teleport?"

Trace nodded nervously, breathing heavily. What was she trying to make him understand? He dreaded to know exactly what...

A devilish smile crept across her lips. "Good. I think what you did was confusing as well."

Trace's eyebrows curved inward, confused. What had he done that was confusing? "What do you-"

She hushed him with her inclined hand. "Trace, I have been watching you carefully. You're a death machine. That's how we programmed you. Yet, somehow, you've managed to retain human feelings. How is this possible? We don't know. All we know is that you feeling anything for anyone is terrible dangerous thing." She walked across the room, flicked on a random switch, and slowly made her way back to the center of the room to stare at Trace.

It was too late before Trace noticed the switch activated a random strap system that held him into his chair. He struggled for only a few seconds before giving up. The restraints were far too readily adjusted for him to have any chance of escape.

"So, please bear with the pain. I'll remove your Modifier and replace it with new gadget. It's called a Refiner. To tell you the truth, I'm little hesitant to use it on you. It's new experiment, so it's very possible you may die. However, we've strongly refined the device. You'll be able to work efficiently."

Trace wanted to complain. Could he? Could he reject her offer, or was it being forced on him?

He sharply contoured face glowed in the dim light, and her smile never faded. It was evil. No good would come out of anything she did.

"Now close your eyes. This'll pinch little bit," she laughed, whizzing around him. He couldn't turn around. The chair held him in place, and whenever he struggled it tightened, getting closer and closer to crushing his bones to pieces.

Trace squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the pain to arrive. It's coming. It's coming.

~~~~~

The little girl smiled up at Trace, her rosy cheeks shining wondrously in the bright sunlight. The meadow was filled with daisies and lilies, and they reflected the sunlight brilliantly.

The girl's hair was light brown, but in the sun it looked blonde. Her skin glowed, her eyes sparkled, and her crystal-white teeth looked almost too perfect.

Trace reached down and stroked her soft cheek. She shut her eyes gently and reached up to hold his hand.

He got on one knee, and, tears pouring out of his eyes, he planted a warm kiss on her small forehead. She giggled and pulled away from him to spin in circles. He laughed and started spinning as well.

Just who was this wondrous ball of laughter? She seemed so perfect, so happy, so carefree.

Trace blacked out and woke up in the meadow, dark now. How long had he been unconscious?

His clothes rubbed on him strangely, and he discovered he was in his cloak. Involuntarily, his hand raised to his lips. His tongue slipped out and licked up the fresh blood on his gloves.

Trace wasn't doing this... Was there some kind of monster trying to prevent him from stopping himself? He strained to, but he couldn't stop feeding on the delicious liquid. Salty. Different. Addicting.

He looked to his right, and the little girl lay mutilated, covered in her own internal organs. Blood everywhere, tainting her pale skin. Her smile was still rested on her face, even as she was killed. How could he have killed her? The nice, innocent, beautiful girl...

A scream of rage broke free from his mouth, but at the same time the monster that possessed him yelped in triumph.

It was finally his turn.

~~~~~

A sharp tool plunged into the nape of his neck and he grimaced, holding in a yelp of pain. The woman dug deeper, as if she was trying to poke through his neck all the way. Was she trying to kill him?!

"Does that hurt?" She asked sadistically, seeking a masochistic answer.

"Y-" Trace tried to answer, but something like a hook popped through his neck, slicing through his vocal chords. The pain was inevitable. He couldn't scream. Tears strode down his face. Warm blood trickled down his neck. Was he dead yet?

~~~~~

"Good morning, Trace!" Shallomar's voice sounded from somewhere in the room.

Trace stayed immobile in his bed. He was not to get up until he was told to do so by the Phantom Ambassadors.

"Hey, Trace!" Shallomar's voice was directly over Trace now, and her breath huffed gently on his face. "Wake up!" Her voice was giggly and friendly. Disgusting.

[Meet in breakfast hall for team orientation]

A voice ticked in his head. It hardly sounded familiar at all, but it was an order. So Trace shot upright in his bed and his eyes shot open, glowing bright purple.

Shallomar looked wowed as she quickly backed away. "Trace! Wow, you're really weird-looking!"

Hayley looked up from the peculiar thing she was in the middle of knitting and squinted at Trace as he walked out the door, snapping his fingers to let his cloak reappear over his pajamas.

As he made his way to the breakfast hall, his Refiner left him a suggestion. [Teleport here for best teleportation reaction speed]

Trace pressed his robotic fingers to his lips and the system ran through his veins. In less than a second, he was in the breakfast hall, seated at a table, and eating a steaming pile of scrambled eggs.

Once he was almost finished, other members of WP7 fizzled into chairs, rubbing sleepy eyes and stabbing aimlessly at their food. Trace paid no attention to the mindless people around them and instead pushed his plate to the center of the table, respectively, before leaving.

Hayley chased after him, grabbing the arm of his cloak. "Hey, Trace, what's up?"

He slowly looked back at her, glaring. What business did she have with him? "Yes?" He growled, obviously annoyed. He had business to do with Phantom.

Hayley, looking slightly surprised, took a step back. "What did they do to you?"

Trace stared at her, his purple eyes focusing in on her. "By 'they' I suspect you mean Phantom."

Hayley nodded, like it was obvious. "Yeah. Trace, you need to understand that Phantom is evil. There's no use working for them."

Trace turned around, not giving her words any thought. Phantom was his ally. Everyone against Phantom was his enemy. Later he would probably kill her for going against his vows, but he had no time currently.

Mission OP 567z0 START

Trace disappeared from the room and reappeared in a dark room. His vision lit the room up for him---night vision. The person glowing red would be the one he had to kill.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see the outline of a lamp and a bed, along with scattered toys across the floor. A child rested peacefully under the covers of his bed.

He glowed a brilliant, guilty red.

Was this a test of Trace's morals? If so, he wouldn't back down. The kid probably murdered someone, or committed some horrible crime.

Without hesitation, Trace drew his Tool from within his cloak. The weapon flickered brilliantly in the dark---a royal purple.

The kid turned over, yawning. His face turned pale when he saw the sword, but Trace swung down hard. Blood spattered across the walls, as if the boy had completely exploded. Perhaps he did.

Quickly hiding the sword into his cloak, Trace pressed his fingers to his lips. He teleported to Phantom and made his way to the Ambassador's office, as he was ordered to.

When he reached the door, he crossed his hand over his heart and bowed. The door opened and invited him in, closing abruptly behind him.

"Now, tell me Trace. How did your first mission go?" First Chair's voice rang expectantly in the dark.

"Quite well," was his response.