July 14, 5478

Present Day Los Angeles

The Metropolis

Four days in the city and nothing bad has happened.

Well, that's only if you exclude the rest of my first day here that is.

Gerry had continued the registration process, asking me about any fellow travelers, how long I had been moving, and how many lives I had. I had told him 18, hoping he would take my word for it.

He didn't...

"I need to see the number" he had insisted. I had sighed and stood up, thankful for the idea I had concocted of adding a fake tattoo to my body upon regeneration. This tattoo looked exactly like the number tattoos only it didn't change. I made sure to place it on my left rib cage.

I had rolled my shirt up slowly and shyly, or at least that was my attempt, and when he accepted it I had put it back down.

"Alright. That's all good. 18 is a pretty good number. That gets you in housing pretty close to The Penthouse. We try to put people in communities based off of their life counts, to avoid jealous feuds. Do you want a job?" he had asked as we walked to a vehicle.

"Yes please" we got in and he proceeded to drive us to my future home. We had pulled up to a little house at the end of a culdasac. It was one story, small, and quaint.

"Well I've got the perfect job for you" he had said, but hadn't explained further.

"Now every new civilian is given a home, some money, some groceries, and their choice of a vehicle. What do you want?" I had told him a truck preferably. He quirked a shocked eyebrow at that but nodded and continued "You work to earn money for things like electricity, food, gas, clothes, etc. Every month each house gets a stipend of electricity, basically enough to keep a fridge going. You want more, you buy more. No one lives in this house right now but you might get a house mate eventually. Just depends. Not many people come here with as many lives as you though" he had explained, letting me into the house and handing me the keys.

"It's all yours, open the windows for some air circulation but make sure you close them at night. Don't want burglars" he had explained. "If and when you need something, come find me. I'm always at the gate. I'll be back with your truck later" he had said as he walked out the door.

"Wait" I had stopped him, "what's my job?"

"The boss needs a new secretary" a smile had touched his lips as he looked me over.

....

Hence how I ended up at the base of The Penthouse in a green blouse and pencil skirt, a combination I hadn't worn since before the time of Conscious Dying. I missed my cargo pants and button down...

I had tried to get another job but Gerry insisted that I needed work here. Gerry basically explained that I would get better pay working for "The Boss" than anyone else and that because I was pretty he would be less likely to fire me.

"That is, if he ever notices your appearance" Gerry had said vaguely.

I stared up at the ten story building, amazed that it had stayed standing. It was easily the tallest building in The Metropolis. Apparently, The Boss lived on the top floor, entertained on the ninth, worked on the eighth and let high numbered individuals and his trusted men lived on the floors below that.

Unfortunately, Gerry had taken a particular interest in me, admitting that he snuck me more money than most so I could buy appropriate work clothing. Probably why he insisted on this specific job as well.

"It's even more impressive if you go inside" Gerry said from behind me, making me jump.

"Oh, yeah" I replied with a nervous chuckle. Had there really been a time when I had been this weak, stumbling girl?

"Come on, I'll show you where to go" Gerry gently placed a hand on my lower back, a hand I wanted to smack with all my might, and led me into the double glass doors. We walked to elevators, which shocked me when they worked.

"Where do you get the electricity?" I asked curiously.

Gerry put his finger over his lips with a teasing smile "trade secret" he whispered.

We reached the eighth floor and exited. The first thing you saw as you stepped out of the elevator was a large, gray desk stretching across most of the room. I was confused, as I knew this was a whole floor but only a quarter of it was visible. Large, wooden, double-doors lie to the right of the desk, which was The Boss's office, I'm assuming. This must be his receptionist area, a foyer of sorts.

"This is your desk. You take meeting requests, sort paperwork, make sure he eats. And anything else he says to do, which won't be much. Don't steal, snoop, or lie and you won't be fired like the last one" Gerry explained casually. I slowly walked around the desk and sat down. There was a legal pad, a Rolodex, and some pens.

Gerry sat the cup of coffee he had down on the counter top and peered down at me.

"All good?"

"Umm yes, I'll be fine. Is he... uh, in there?" I asked.

"Probably not, he's not a morning person. His hours are usually ten a.m. to seven p.m." he answered right as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. I immediately ducked my head down and looked at my desk, but before I did I caught a glimpse of blond hair and a charcoal gray suit.

"Morning Boss, got you a new secretary" Gerry said, picking up the coffee and setting it on the edge of the desk. The Boss, Brock, grunted and grabbed the coffee, never looking up from the file he was reading. He walked into his office and shut the door loudly behind him.

"See, not a morning person. He likes his coffee black and hot. Honestly, he probably won't notice you're here for the next few weeks" Gerry said, then turned and strolled to the elevators with a whistle. As the doors closed, he waved bye and gave me a wink.

Creep...

One thing Gerry wasn't wrong about was how little Brock would notice me. For two weeks I came in ten minutes before ten o'clock, sat out his coffee and took a seat at my desk looking down. Everyday he came in, grabbed the coffee and went into his office. Every time he walked by a chill ran down my back. It felt as if all the hate and anger in the world rolled off of him in waves. No where near the man I remembered, the man who had been a strong, willful leader.

Hopefully I acted different enough that he would not remember me. But then again he had not even acknowledged my existence since my arrival.

At that moment, the door opened and he walked out while holding a file.

"I need Hanniter" was all he said. His voice was deeper and gruffer than I remembered, and one hundred percent emotionless. When I didn't answer he looked up from his file, piercing me with his blue eyes.

"Ah- yes sir" I said, quickly hopping up and looking away, mad that I let myself make eye contact with him. He never looked up. Ever. He was going to figure it out.

Shit shit shit.

I tried to walk quickly to the elevator but his voice stopped me. "What is your name?"

"Constance" I said after a hesitation. I didn't turn around.

"Thank you, Constance" he replied calmly with a tone that made me scared beyond belief. It was too calm. Too calculating.

"No problem sir" I said and quickly punched the elevator button.

In my truck, I slammed my palm against my trucks steering wheel.

"Fuck fuck shit fucking shit fuck!" he was going to figure it out. Damn it, I'm dead. I'm dead 85 times over. I had a routine that was flawless. Wake up, work, home, bed, repeat. Sometimes I trained in my spare bedroom and occasionally Gerry came to harass me, but other than that I had been golden. Now, Brock was going to figure it out and kill me.

"Fuck!"

___________________

Fifty years ago

Las Vegas, Nevada

"What the hell are you, some sort of machine?" I snapped, wiping blood from my mouth as I popped my unhinged jaw back into place.

"No" was his only answer.

"No" I attempted to mimic his low, dulcet tones.

"You have to learn to fight without weapons, and the best way to teach you is hands on."

"Doesn't mean you have to break my bones, Brittock" I snapped.

"What does it matter, they heal" he responded in a blasé fashion.

"They still hurt!" I quipped bitterly. We were circling each other.

"You need to toughen up or you will die out here. Krav Maga is a defensive, quick, and powerful form of fighting that's beneficial for your smaller frame. Learn it and you will be unstoppable. Your ability to heal should make you the most deadly mercenary in the world" Brittock explained coolly. "Again" he instructed.

I came at Brittock full sprint. I managed to land two blows before he put me in a rear choke hold. As we had worked on, I attempted to break it, which I did, but as soon as I got out of his grip he round house kicked me to the face. I fell to the ground and before I could get up he reached down and broke my neck, everything going black.

_____________________

"Ahhhhhh...." My breath came out in a vicious hiss. I sat up, placing my hands on my neck. I felt the last bone pop back into place beneath the skin. Thank you healing abilities, or else I would have burned through all my lives today just training.

"Seriously? You have to stop killing me" I said, getting up slowly.

"You have to stop letting me kill you" he offered back.

"I'm not letting you do anything. I get out of your choke hold and you inevitably screw my shit up. Everytime. Every. Single. Time." I said exasperatedly.

"Defend yourself better and I won't get the opportunity" he chastised.

"Where did you learn to fight?" I asked.

Brittock gave me a calm and collective once over then said, "again" commandingly.

I sighed and prepared myself for another beat down.