Therefore I Am - Billie Eilish

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          "SO..." I BEGAN UNCOMFORTABLY, cutting through the thick silence like a keen blade to tender flesh.

The hallway was dead—not a single soul in sight besides myself and the moody guard with the mustache next to me. Our shuffles were soft and scarce but enough to crack the unsettling silence and echo across the never-ending hall of blue and steely hues.

And despite my obvious glancing, the guard said nothing—he barely even acknowledged my existence.

Until now, that is.

"H-How long have you been...employed here?" I asked awkwardly, cringing at my pathetic attempt to break the ice.

And, reasonably so, the guard gave me a weird side-eye.

"Uh...a long time." He responded dryly.

His voice was deep, like a low rumble of thunder but rough with overused strain, matching his permanent grumpy glower.

Regardless of my strained attempt to spark up a conversation, his cold gaze remained forward and his bulky frame marched ahead like a programmed machine rather than a natural instinct.

Even just standing next to the man, he was a force on his own, radiating a jagged blend of apathy and intensity—practically the embodiment of "silent but deadly".

"Cool...uh, do you like being a...guard or whatever you are?" I asked, purposefully ignoring the tension.

"I'm security." He corrected curtly.

"Like a mall cop?"

"No."

I held back a huff.

Glaring annoyed holes into the side of his graying head, I restrained the urge to shove the uncooperative guard and break him from his detached stride.

I didn't necessarily have a goal, I just knew that there was something vaguely familiar about this guy and if I can find some answers just by pestering him enough to explode, then so be it.

But he is really difficult to crack.

"Okay, so you're a security guard?" I questioned, egging the guard to admit that I was right.

"I'm a soldier." His jaw clicked.

Now we're getting somewhere. I thought.

"What?" He suddenly asked, giving me another side-eye.

I frowned with confusion, before realizing that my unstable mouth didn't stay closed and, once again, I spoke my thoughts out loud.

For shuck's sake, I need to talk to Thomas about this. I thought to myself with an internal sigh. However, instead of acknowledging it, I pushed my concern for my uncontrollable mouth down into the deep dark crevices of my scrambled brain.

"Nothing," I brushed off, my vigilant gaze flickering to the soldier's peevish face and crabby frown, "Do you like being a soldier?"

The soldier stayed silent for a moment, his eyes glazing over in thought as he debated over whether or not he should converse with me—not like the guards aren't allowed, he just seems like the type that prefers silence.

"It's fine," The man grumbled, "But...it's not like there's many career options in the apocalypse."

Was that sarcasm? Dark humour? Am I actually making progress?

"That's...comforting. So...as a soldier, what do you do—aside from escorting children from room-to-room?" I asked, gazing back up at the tall soldier.

"That's classified." He shut down.

I furrowed my brows, "Why is that classified?"

"Because you're a kid, and I don't need you cryin' about how shitty the world has gotten." The soldier exclaimed firmly.

I almost wanted to laugh.

"Oh, you mean the zombie apocalypse waiting outside our door or the sun flares that munched on Earth's equator and toasted half the population?" I smiled dryly, mocking the soldier's censorship.

He said nothing at first, his cold gaze eyeing the hallway as his lips momentarily twitched upwards beneath his bushy mustache like he was actually amused by my sarcasm.

"They're called Cranks, not zombies." The soldier corrected, ignoring everything else I said.

"What's the difference?"

"Not much. Zombies don't think, they just know that they're hungry. Cranks...their brains are toxic. The virus chews out their sanity, leaving behind a walking-corpse that only eats people out of spite." He said.

A distant look fell upon the soldier's features, his pale blue eyes growing glassy as he simmered in silent thought, his eyebrows knitting with a haunted look that he seemed too proud to fully display.

I paused, pursing my lips as I debated whether I should disturb his thinking or not.

"...they don't sound very different." I muttered.

The soldier scoffed, his icy gaze finally moving from the dull corridor to glare down at me—his pace slowing but never stopping as he stared incredulously at my shorter frame like he wanted to say something.

Then, as if something clicked, the soldier's expression of genuine disbelief and agitation vanished, dropping into a blank slate—suddenly unfazed.

His eyes snapped forward before his body fell back into his previous stride.

"Yeah, well," The soldier began, his tone hard and bemused, "You've never had to face one, so you wouldn't know."

I blinked, unsure of what button I pressed to make the man almost kill me.

I observed the older soldier with a hasty glance, noting how his grumpy exterior returned as easily as it left—painting across his leather skin like a veil. He glowered at the long corridor ahead, his vexation disappearing into the shadows of his sunken cheeks and wrinkled creases aged from the aggressive sun and his stream of endless stress, I assume.

I gazed away from him, peering at my shoes as they scuffed the concrete floor beneath me, my blonde strands falling into view like rays of the summer sun.

Clearly, this guy has seen some shit—haven't we all.

Clasping my battered fingers behind my back, I cringed as I, unfortunately, had to prove the soldier wrong, again.

"I...I don't actually know that. My memory's been, you know, wiped...but who knows, maybe I was a real badass before W.I.C.K.E.D." I said quietly, timidly trying to be lighthearted while honest.

As expected, the soldier remained silent and expressionless—excellently concealing any and all of his feelings from poking through his hardened gaze and stoic guise.

But, beneath the dreary lights of the steel hall—for a mere wink of a second—the soldier gingerly peered in my direction.

"Well...now you have time to remember." He concluded, looking away when I turned to him.

Was that guilt or empathy?

Does he feel bad about my trauma or does he feel guilty about something else—perhaps, he's leading me into a trap or ambush of some sort?

Or perhaps, I'm looking too into it.

Suddenly, a voice shattered my overthinking, ringing across my eardrums like a taut alarm.

"Ame?"

My ears perked at the quizzical hum of the familiar voice, my blue eyes darting down the hall to track their whereabouts before honing in a single figure.

"Thomas." My voice was soft, airy with surprise.

Walking in the opposite direction of us and trailing after a guard of his own, Thomas plodded towards me, his brows furrowed with a puzzled twitch as he warily glanced at the stoic soldier next to me.

Pumping my legs a little faster, I sped past the grumpy guard as Thomas did the same.

And as we met in the middle, I gently latched onto his hand.

"You okay?" I asked.

What happened? What did they want? My thoughts reached out to him, clinging to our internal connection and humming through our woolly brains.

Thomas squeezed my fingers as his muddled honey gaze flickered across my concerned frown, his eyes glazing over with concentration while he listened to my mental message.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Thomas answered curtly, answering more for show.

Janson—he wanted to ask some questions. He asked what I remembered about W.I.C.K.E.D. and what side I was on. His deep voice frantically fumbled across my cranium as he glanced at our nearing guides.

Why does that matter? I arched my brow.

Thomas shrugged with one discreet shoulder. I think they knew I worked for W.I.C.K.E.D. but wanted to see where my loyalties lay.

Oh. Okay. So, I'm not in trouble?

Why would you be in trouble?

From the corner of my eye, I could see the sour soldier approaching my right, his broad shadow slowly swallowing my halted form with each steady step—his stride too sturdy to wait for me. And telling by the speed of Thomas's soldier—I can't imagine either soldier stopping.

Um, I may or may not have threatened a guard and called him "beefcake". I admitted, avoiding Thomas' gaze.

But even as I hid my cringe and searched the floor, I could still feel the raw shock and disappointment radiating from Thomas, our connection droning with Thomas's anxiety.

I glanced up.

His eyes were wide with panic as he aggressively pursed his lips together.

You—you...Thomas stammered with a mix of bewildered panic before closing his eyes and sighing, Of course, you did.

I half-cringed and half-smiled at my poor brother.

Then, on both sides, our soldiers passed—neither of them waiting for us as they trudged on, their march unfaltering as their hardened eyes pierced the hall ahead.

Thomas slowly pulled away, his eyes flickering between his guard and me before carefully teetering in the direction of his guide, It'll be fine, just answer his questions and try not t'get into any more trouble.

I spun around, my gaze tracing after him. Wait, if they knew you used to work for WICKED, does that mean they'll know about me?

Thomas paused in thought, his eyes falling to the floor before flickering back to my curious appearance. He frowned, his shoulders briefly shrugging.

Maybe. I don't know. Just tell the truth, we got nothing to hide.

Yeah, you're right. I got nothing to hide. Just the magical ability to communicate telepathically with my brother and his girlfriend. I gave him a sarcastic look.

His eyes almost fell out of his head. Teresa? Wha—she's not my girlfrien—!

"Thomas?" His guard called, both our heads snapping in the man's direction, "Are you coming?"

Thomas paused, bobbing his head before gazing back at me.

"You'll be fine." He coaxed with a firm nod, his homey amber eyes swirling with as much comfort as he could muster as he flashed a small temporary smile.

Be safe. He thought softly to me.

I quirked a tiny smile of my own, sending him a sharp nod back, You too, please.

Then, with a lingering stare, we turned from each other, pacing farther from the other and diving back into our own twisted troubles—following our designated guards through the secretive fortress of steel and concrete.

My shoes slapped the floor as I sped after the grumpy soldier, observing his straight back and hard gaze as he took a sharp turn down the left corridor while I followed.

Then, with a slight jog in my step, I planted myself next to him, matching my stride with his.

I glanced at the grouchy man, looking for a reaction or an expression to clue me in on what he's thinking while breezing through the new hallway which perfectly resembled all the others. But the man simply stared at the end of the hall, his narrowed eyes glazed over with a blank look.

Silence festered between us, once again.

I held back a sigh, my fingers anxiously fiddling with one another as I mentally scrambled for a question.

"So...uh...do you got a name?" I asked, a shadow of a smirk twitching across my cheek. "Or do you also refer to each other as 'guard one' and 'guard two'?"

The soldier was quiet, barely fazed by my voice. For a few seconds, I thought he just wasn't going to respond at all. Then, he sucked in a slow breath.

"You can call me Sid."

I blinked.

Then, a slow stunned smile carefully drew onto my lips as I began repeating his name over and over in my head to see if it rings a bell and answers my taunting skepticism of whether or not Sid is familiar.

To be frank, I wasn't expecting him to actually answer.

"Sid," I repeated, testing how the name sounded on my tongue. His name was simple and plain, somehow fitting his burly and intimidating exterior like a glove.

But despite having the soldier's name, no memories came about.

"Is it short for something?" I asked curiously, scrambling for an answer on who this guy really is.

"No. Just Sid," Sid said curtly.

Damn. I thought, frustrated with my emptied mind and disappointed in the lack of answers to calm my internal storm of confusion and tangled recognition. I got his name, his work occupation—I even got him amused at one point—yet I still have no idea how I would potentially know him.

"Oh. Okay," I responded, hiding the disappointment in my voice, "You already know me, but I'm Ame."

Silence filled the space around us as my words hung pathetically in the air. I didn't really care if Sid responded now, he didn't seem to want to talk before and he's not giving me any answers that'll help my twisted mind now, so silence it is.

Until Sid cautiously spoke again.

"...is 'Ame' short for anything?"

His deep voice sounded uncharacteristically curious, rumbling through the dense cool air like a clap of thunder as his furrowed blue eyes briefly glanced down to me.

My dark eyebrows shot up, definitely not expecting the soldier to try and continue the conversation.

"Yeah, actually. I mean...there's a couple of options—Amelia Earhart, Amy—but I also don't have a good memory so it could be anything." I explained horribly, shrugging my shoulders at the jumbled mess that is my memory.

"Why go by Ame then?" Sid asked, naturally slowing his sturdy pace to a steady saunter as his stony gaze locked on a steel door to the left of the corridor.

I followed his lead, mirroring his slowing speed.

I shrugged again, "It was the only name I remembered when entering the Maze. I only recently started having vague memories of people calling me Amy, but...I prefer Ame."

"Really?" Sid arched a shocked brow, finally gazing down to me.

I cocked my head at him, my brows knitting at his quizzical nature, "Yeah...?"

"It's just...it's not like normal names." Sid said, his furrowed brows creating a deep line above the bridge of his crooked nose, "Isn't it...weird?"

I blinked, "Are you judging my name?"

Suddenly, Sid's curiosity was gone—replaced by a stony façade

He grew silent, his curious gaze flickering from my face to the floor before immediately detaching himself from the conversation and facing forward like a tense robot, once again.

That's no fun.

Sighing, I realized that if I wanted Sid to open up then I needed to do the same.

"Maybe that's why I like it—because it's weird," I could feel Sid's heavy gaze return to my frame as I faced the floor, "It's the only thing my brain could actually remember after my memories were wiped, so it must've meant more to me than plain ol' Amy—not that that's a bad name either. But...I wouldn't have initially thought it was my name if it wasn't somewhat important, right?"

Sid was quiet for a moment longer, slowly bobbing his head in my peripheral.

Then, after another beat passed, he asked, "So, Ame's a nickname then?"

I could sense the earnest curiosity in his tone and a part of me wanted to believe that he was genuinely enjoying our conversation—but he could also just feel bad for me, or he's just trying to pry more information out of me.

We approached the door, his hand sliding to his pocket before unclipping his security card and slicing it through the security pad.

"Kinda..." I trailed on, the door buzzing unlocked as it automatically slid open with a squeaky swish, "I think it's a joke actually."

I peered into the room, meeting the cold gaze of more concrete as well as the somber set-up of a steel table and two steel chairs. From the bland hollowness of the small room, I figured it was designed for interrogating—oh, goodie.

"What do you mean?" Sid seemed genuinely invested.

"It's a play on my name," I answered, brushing past his bulky frame and entering the frigid interrogation room. My eyes flicked across the space, scanning for any danger before turning back to the curious, grumpy soldier with a small smirk, "Believe it or not, Sid, I have remarkable aim."

Sid's lips twitched upwards but he barely reacted, his eyes glazed over in thought as he zoned out on my grin—probably still trying to decipher the pun.

Then, the door released an obnoxious clank before beginning to close.

The rectangular slab of steel slid, slowly separating the mysterious man from my warped mind fed only with my endless curiosity. Though I didn't find any direct answers, I made a new ally—hopefully.

Rising my two fingers to my forehead, I saluted the soldier just as the door was about to close.

"See you on the flip side, Sid." I smirked.

Then, just as the grouchy soldier opened his mouth to say one last thing, the door sealed shut, leaving me utterly alone in a locked interrogation room.

Oh shit, I'm locked in here. I realized with wide eyes.

Internally coaxing myself—after all, Thomas said they just wanted to ask some questions—I began tip-toeing around the room, inspecting every tiny thing to ease my racing heart and anxious thoughts.

The room was as somber and dull as the rest of this shuck fortress, matching the grey and silver hues reflecting from the lifeless steel and impenetrable concrete.

The space around me was smaller than I thought, almost as small as the Box.

The steel furniture stood in the centre of the room, hogging most of the space enough to confirm my theory that this was, in fact, an interrogation room.

Why they have one—that's beyond me.

Ingrained in the right wall, next to the table, was a mirror, and above that, protruded a round black camera.

I frowned at the strange set-up before cautiously teetering towards the mirror. I gazed into the narrow blue slits of my inquisitive eyes as I approached the small window-like mirror. My gaze followed the frame, searching the mirror for any flaws.

Then, with a firm hand, I pressed my finger to the glass.

As expected, there was no space between the reflection of my finger pad and my actual finger—meaning, I was right.

This is a two-way mirror.

Which also means, there could be people behind the glass watching me trail around the room without me knowing. I don't like secrets. If they wanna study me and see what