Chapter 18: Satisfaction is Not Joy

My whole life flashed through my eyes when I sat in that chair, with a device strapped to my head. And I saw every moment in my memories that I kept because it defined who I am.

From seeing my mother with that man in the playground, to pressing that small button, to killing 500 other people with only a gun and a dagger, to being sent into days and days of mental torture, to everything else, leading up to this moment right here.

They wiped every memory they thought wouldn't be of use to them. All the good ones kept me going.

The bad ones, they kept. Because they knew it was the only way that they could control me, by fear.

In the end, I could barely remember a time when I was happy unless that joy is more of satisfaction.

Satisfaction was what I felt when I killed those 500 people with my bare hands. But it didn't make me happy, no, I fear I have been mistaking joy for satisfaction all my life. And satisfaction is not joy.

In the end, all I was was an agent.

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