Splits

Jack Trevelyan is a kid with problems. One, he can't remember his past. Two, he has another, different personality in his subconscious. Three, he's on the run from the most powerful organisation, known as the Network. And now, he has to run, gun, kill, blackmail and do whatever he has to do to destroy the Network. Oh, and Four; he's decided to fall in love with a girl. One that has a few secrets of her own. The question is, can Jack and the girl survive as they cross the continents, with one of the most powerful assassins on their tail, and the voice in Jack's head?

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2. Three Months Later

Jack woke up with a start, and for one terrible moment, he was convinced he was back in the facility, and he had been woken up to get engaged with the testing, which inevitably involved  computer controlled bombs, massive blades of titanium, and a number of other test subjects that would be trained to kill him. He would be expected to kill them, but he never did. Killing wasn't in his nature, natural or controlled. Sitting up, he stretched his arms, and noticed the scratches on his arm. A sudden pain ripped through his side, and he lifted up his blood spotted shirt. There, running down the side of his rib cage was a thin cut, which had opened as he had moved. He winced as more blood leaked out of it, but as he watched, it sealed itself up, leaving behind an ugly grey scar. He got out of the bed, and as his feet pressed down on to the plush carpet, he felt exhaustion sweep through his legs.

 

"Free running again?" he spoke aloud, before shaking his head, and moving into the bathroom. It was a shiny, bright affair, with tiles galore and silver trims. He turned on the shower, and stepped inside. It was scalding hot, but Jack could survive with that. It might also wake up the other one. Teach him a lesson for throwing his body around like a rag doll all night. He lifted his face, and opened his eyes, where the other could look through them. He heard a scream in his head, and a moment later, he heard a grunt as the other woke up. Jack laughed, and the other asked him if he enjoyed waking him up in such a fashion.

 

"Well," Jack announced to himself in a clear voice as he stepped out of the shower, "I think I can, provided what you did to me. Do you have any idea how long it will take me to heal that? Besides," Jack's face suddenly clouded into concern, "You haven't stirred for two months, and suddenly this happens. What were you up to?"

 

"So curious," the other taunted Jack, "But you can't reach for the memories, can you? I guess I'll let you know, just this once. I was running around Harlem, chasing after a gang, actually. The scar came from when one of them tried to slice me in two when I was leaping. There, satisfied?"

 

"Not really," Jack replied as he started to dry himself, "Why the hell were you running around Harlem? Do you have a death-wish?"

 

The other didn't reply. Jack sighed, and opened his wardrobe. He slipped on a loose grey jumper, and combined it with a pair of black knife crease jeans. He looked in the mirror, and looked at his reflection, when the other started speaking to him. It was slow, macabre, and chilling in its way and manner.

 

"Why? Let me tell you, Jack Trevelyan, why I was out, running in Harlem. I am getting bored with the routine of things. I'm fed up of doing the same thing, day after day. I want fresh air, clear running space, even people shooting at me for just one second to relieve the boredom! It's getting difficult to stay cooped up in your brain, Jack. I need freedom."

 

Jack rolled his eyes, and when he was staring back at the mirror, he saw his eyes had changed colour, into a dark bronze hue. He licked his lips, and blinked twice. The bronze faded, and his normal green eyes came back to the surface.

 

"Look," Jack hissed, "They are still looking for us; I know that, and you do. We need to hide, otherwise they'll trace us, abduct us, and do who knows what to us. I don't think we could possibly try something ridiculous. But, I think I know what we could do. I think that we could go and do some target practice in the country. Or, we can people watch."

 

The other mulled it over, as Jack slowly packed his bag. He filled it with his laptop, mobile phone, and finally, he placed a notebook inside. It was a battered old thing, with the covers peeling and yellowing pages, and stuffed with lots of scraps of paper, all of different colors and patterns. He also picked up a few sheaves of paper, and bundled it inside the bag. He then sat on his bed, placed his hands on his knees, and waited. Finally, the other's voice filtered through into his mind.

 

"I can go target practice with any of the lovely gangs in Harlem. People watching, however, sounds a lot more interesting. I haven't actually practiced doing it, so it could be cool to do. Sure, let's go people watching. Where should we go?"

 

Jack was already on his way to the door. He looked back into his room, as if the other was stood in the middle. He then smiled to himself.

 

"I know the perfect place."

 

***

 

"Serial Killer."

 

"I was thinking more millionaire's playgirl."

 

They were sitting on a bench in Grand Central Station, sipping on a coffee, and watching the variety of passengers that walked on past them. Jack looked at an elderly man in a pinstriped suit, and whispered to himself.

 

"Embezzler, who's making off with his client's money."

 

"No, I think more like-- Hang on a second, I know what I'm thinking for something else!"

 

Jack felt his head move, and he caught a glimpse of a girl, dressed in a white vest top and leggings, walking swiftly through the crowd. Behind her, just off to the left, was a middle aged man, with scars on his skin, and a broad appearance. Jack was already moving, almost on castors, and proceeded to follow the girl and her strange companion. The other was chattering excitedly to himself, people watching to the max. But he suddenly snapped back to attention when he saw the man open his jacket, briefly revealing a holster of a gun. Jack moved quicker now, getting closer, just as the two of them left Grand Central Station.  The other was now terribly excited, and he told Jack that he was going to take over, and leave it all to him. Jack nodded to himself, and closed his eyes. The other broke the surface, and he fell back inside. The other clicked his neck, and then began to hunt the two professionally.

 

The girl was starting to panic. They had been going for just a few moments, and yet she had already weaved past several groups of people, and had suddenly switched direction. Yet the man kept hounding her, and the other, in turn, hounded him. At last, the girl gave the man an opportunity to attack; she raced down a deserted street. The man pulled out his gun, making sure it was invisible to almost everyone else, except the other. He watched as he silkily moved down the street. After a second, he started to silently run, quickly and cautiously, invisible in sound. The girl suddenly whirled around, and her face bleached white, even her lips. The man snarled, even though the other couldn't see him. He drew up his gun, and aimed at the girl's head.

 

"Your father says 'Hello'." he grunted, and just a second before he could pull the trigger, the other leaped on him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Before the man could react, the other karate chopped his neck, knocking him out. He then stood up, and Jack suddenly took over, and he staggered towards the girl. She moved back, and her fear was still evident.

 

"Look," he gasped, "It happens, okay? I can't control it, but it helps. Now, hurry, and run!"

 

Barely even waiting, he grabbed her hand, and started to run, until they lost in the maze of New York.

 

 

 

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