Chapter 97 Please use an iris to commemorate my past that cannot be retrieved
Marshall: ...
That last sentence is a threat, right? Absolutely, right?
He sighed again.
He found that he sighed frequently ever since their actions encountered Punch.
What a headache... He began to regret for the Nth time accepting the mess given to him by the CIA branch.
But sighs aside, this deal—let's call it a deal, although the initiative of this deal is entirely in Punch's hands—still has to be completed.
In other words, you have to go to this address to pick up the person before 8 o'clock.
Punch didn't say who this person was, but just emphasized: this person has nothing to do with the organization.
Someone very important to Punch?
Why give it to them?
Is it because you are in the organization and you are afraid that this person will be harmed?
Marshall's imagination ran wild.
So could they...that is to say...take advantage of this person a little?
Full of curiosity and questions, Marshall and the CIA rushed to the address given by Punch.
It is a residential building with its exterior walls painted red.
He pushed the door open half-heartedly, not forgetting to pull the safety of his pistol.
The door was ajar.
There were no lights on in the room.
Fortunately, Marshall had worked at the CIA for many years and had never had the habit of completing tasks on time, so it was still some time before eight o'clock and it was not dark yet.
The light streaming in from the window, the last rays of the day's sun, cast a dim yellow hue across the room. In the center of the living room sat a red sofa. The young man sat there, facing the window. The light fell on him, casting a heavy shadow on the sofa behind him.
He lay on the sofa with his eyes closed, as if he had fallen into a peaceful sleep.
A white cat was also curled up on the sofa.
It heard the noise, raised its cat eyes to look at Marshall and the others, meowed listlessly, and looked a little listless.
"Boss," the CIA employee behind Marshall couldn't help but say, "Is this the person Punch wants us to take away?"
He looks only fifteen or sixteen years old.
Marshall nodded.
The good CIA operatives were already looking around the room, trying to mentally reconstruct the situation before they arrived.
The dust on the ground and in the air indicated that no one had lived here for a long time. Perhaps Punch had simply chosen an unoccupied residential building and trespassed.
The boy was brought here, perhaps he was already unconscious at that time and was held in the arms - because there were only messy footprints of adult men and women on the ground.
To the right of the sofa sat a water cup. Marshall opened it and looked. There was no water inside. If there had been water before, it had been consumed. He handed the cup to the employee behind him. Perhaps there would be fingerprints and lip prints left, he thought.
Despite the noise they made, the boy showed no sign of waking. His expression was so peaceful that no one could bear to disturb him. Marshall hesitated, then waved his hand, ready to have the CIA take him away. But the boy opened his eyes just as their hands were within an inch of him.
The blue eyes stared at them with a little confusion.
Coconut cried out and jumped into his arms, and the boy subconsciously hugged it.
Taking a deep breath, Marshall broke the silence first: "Hello."
When you don't know what to say, a polite greeting may be a more appropriate opening remark.
The boy was stunned for a moment, then smiled and said, "Hello."
A good start. The boy seemed perfectly normal, able to communicate normally, and even sympathetic to small animals—Marshall glanced at the cat he was holding in his arms.
Following Punch's text message, Marshall didn't mention Punch. He just said, "Are you all right? We're getting ready to leave. Have you received any... instructions or anything?"
Boy: “Hmm…”
He hugged the cat tighter.
"……No."
He began to get a little uneasy.
Marshall noticed him staring at his gun.
Does the weapon scare him? Well, that's understandable. Japan is a country with strict gun laws, but the boy in front of him seemed to be well aware of the power of that small metal object.
He put the safety back on and put it back at his waist.
"What's your name?" he asked cautiously.
The boy was stunned for a moment.
From his expression, Marshall smelled a bad smell.
"I..." The boy opened his mouth, as if trying to pull out his name from the depths of his head, but he tried many times, but it was still in vain.
Who is he? What is his name? Where is this?
There was not a single question for which he could find the answer in his memory.
So he could only stand there, holding the cat, searching in vain through his memory.
He couldn't remember his own name.
Marshall and the teenager realized this at the same time.
So Marshall put forward a new temptation:
"Do you remember what happened today? Before you fell asleep?"
The young man still looked bewildered, and then he lowered his eyes:
"I don't remember. Sorry."
He seemed to feel a little guilty for not being able to provide them with information.
The expression was genuine and didn't seem fake.
Marshall was silent.
Amnesia is a complex condition.
People don't realize they have lost their memory directly. Most of the time, they only realize they can't remember anything when others ask them about it.
Memory is the anchor for people's deep-sea voyages. Without memory, a ship sailing on the sea cannot anchor safely in a storm and can only drift with the current.
Further observation is needed to determine the type of the teenager's amnesia and what the cause is.
But Marshall was certain that his amnesia had something to do with Punch.
Why did she do this? Did he know some secret, and in order to nip the risk of him leaking it in the bud, she simply made him forget everything?
But even so, Punch was still willing to let the CIA - the official power - take him in.
He admitted that their reputation was better than the FBI's, but not much better, especially when it came to being unscrupulous.
Isn't he afraid that they will learn something from him?
"Meow—" Punch's cat seemed to sense the threatening thought in his mind and raised its tail towards him. The boy hurriedly comforted the cat and stroked its head.
Marshall sighed.
Regardless of what the officials at CIA headquarters think, he himself - and the branch staff behind him - are adults with conscience.
No matter what, they couldn't do anything to this duo faced with a boy who was obviously underage and had lost his memory and a cat whose only means of attack was waving its claws.
"Come with me. If you can't remember, it's okay to think about it slowly," said Marshall.
"Perhaps you can still find some social common sense information in your memory. I mean, about various countries and their official agencies, such as the CIA?"
"Central Intelligence Agency—that's its full name." Marshall straightened his back subconsciously as he introduced the organization he served.
Although their reputation was not very good, Marshall always regarded his identity as a responsibility and honor.
"You can trust us. If you're interested, I can show you my credentials," he said.
The boy shook his head subconsciously.
"Need not……"
"Don't be afraid. You're safe, kid." The man behind him came over and patted the boy on the shoulder. The boy didn't dodge.
He just subconsciously retorted when he heard the word "child": "I'm not a child anymore."
This childish remark was met with good-natured laughter from the CIA personnel.
The boy realized from their laughter that they regarded his words as the impulsive words of a minor who wanted to be looked at as an equal and respected.
He lowered his head and thought, this is not right.
A voice in his heart told him that he was indeed an adult and had already reached the age to take on social responsibilities.
The voice came from the deepest part of his buried memory, reaching his ears faintly, but with a weight that could not be ignored.
but……
He looked at his hands holding the cat.
Much more immature than he thought.
A feeling of confusion came over me again.
In a trance, he seemed to hear a voice again - it also came from the depths of his memory, and that voice made him feel very familiar...
"Go forward and embrace your new life, ■■■■. Don't look back..."
...and it's so familiar that it makes me want to cry.
His nose felt sour.
This emotion came out of nowhere, plucking at his calm heartstrings and stirring up ripples in his heart.
Welcome your new life and don't look back.
The voice said.
What about you? He asked in his heart.
He got no answer.
The memory was locked mercilessly, and he wandered outside the door, at a loss as to how to unlock it.
Tick.
Tears fell from beautiful blue eyes, landing on the cat's soft fur, and were shaken off by the cat's instinctive movement of its ears.
"Meow." Coconut looked over with cat eyes.
It was not until then that the boy noticed that the white cat had a collar around its neck.
A coconut-shaped pendant hangs in front of the collar.
"I'm fine. ...Coconut. That's your name, right?"
He spoke gently to the cat.
But that's not what he actually wanted to say.
You are as sad as I am, right? he thought to himself.
Coconut meowed and rubbed the boy's arm gently with its tail.
Yes.
Compared to humans, a cat's life span is not very long. It had only been less than a year since it met the red-haired girl, and the day of their separation was already far away.
But it didn't matter. Coconut put his head back into the boy's arms.
Before she left, she touched its head and told it:
As long as you follow this person, you will meet her again.
Well then, Maomao thought, let’s follow.
As for how long it will take until we meet again...
Cats don't care.
Marshall noticed the boy's mood swings, but the adults considerately pretended not to notice.
"Come on, you, and...your cat."
He glanced at Coconut and wondered, "Is there a bug in this kitten's collar?" They had to check everything carefully before getting on the plane.
"Okay." The young man responded in a light voice.
The past cannot be retrieved.
In that case, then as that person said—
Let's move forward.
Be firm.
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