**TRIGGER WARNING - SUICIDE & MENTAL HEALTH**

"Don't fear me for who I am. Fear me for what I'm capable of."

Sydney's POV

The five billionaires that decided to fuck with me and 4,999 other kids deserved what was coming to them. The 1,125 that never made it through training, the 261 that have been killed on assignments, the 87 that didn't want this life enough to take their own lives, and 3,543 that still work under them. I'd tell you the names of each member of the big five but I much prefer the affectionate pet names we agents had assigned each.

There was the Paedo, Micro-Penis, Skeletor, and Dickbag. Those four took care of general running of the agency, but then there was Shitface. He was more of a behind-the-scenes sort of guy. And, as I learned more, it became evident that he was the one pulling all the strings and making the hard decisions.

My plan was to take out Skeletor first since he was old as fuck and his death wouldn't arouse too much suspicion.

"So, what's the plan?" Cole asked, "How are we offing Skeletor?"

"We, along with a handful of agents that have a particular deep hatred for him, will have a little fun," I reply simply.

"Fun?"

"What else does a guy his age value most?"

"I don't know, viagra?" Cole shrugs, not grasping the lengths at which I'll go.

I let out a low chuckle before a smirk crosses my feautres, "No, his mind.

01000001

Yvette, Kyle, and Helena had been watching Skeletor to learn his schedule while I checked in frequently. Once we knew all that, the real fun could begin. It started small with moving around items or switching the date and times of events in his calendar. We watched as he'd pause after discovering something that contradicted his memory. His brow would wrinkle with worry as he'd raise a bony hand to his head. This look of fear would fill his gray eyes as he began to doubt himself.

Then to enhance his experience, Helena had the honors of formulating the perfect drug cocktail that'd she'd slip into his evening cup of chamomile tea. The dosage was enough to interrupt the transfer of new memories to long term storage while being flushed out of his system. It also had the added side effects of causing some nasty headaches, nausea, and temporary effects on cognitive function. Soon enough, Skeletor decided to go to the doctor.

After a week of small differences, we altered photos that he'd had for a long time so Skeletor would start to believe that his long term memory was now beginning to deteriorate. Sometimes we'd add a member or remove one. Skeletor began to notice, and when we heard him call his personal doctor, we took action. Kyle had infiltrated his cooking staff and ensured his meals were extra salty so Skeletor would drink more water, as added insurance, to flush his system of the drugs between them and now.

Still, on the off chance that any traces of drugs showed up in any tests run, Helena was an expert hacker and computer programmer. After a few appointments, some tests, some MRIs and CT scans, that Helena altered, the doctors had to deliver the news: tumor. Specifically, glioblastoma multiforme.

Skeletor returned to his home, horrified. Technically though, I should be calling him Dr. Skeletor. At the age of 16, Skeletor graduated high school valedictorian and went on to eventually his PsyD from Stanford. The government later recruited him to conduct research similar to that of the Stanford Prison Experiment for use in the continuously changing art of war. His knowledge and experience was vital in the development and training of the agents. Skeletor threw himself into his work, loving the endless, new data.

In a way, I could understand. The pursuit of knowledge was seductive. Math was one of my greatest passions in life. I expected my body to deteriorate with age. I already had enough old pains and scars, but the thought of losing my mind was unthinkable. Maybe karma would come visit me later on, but I figured I wouldn't live that long.

Instead, I focused on Skeletor's almost manic search for ways to cure or at least slow the progression. Surgery wasn't an option so he began his first round of treatment. But, since there wasn't really a tumor, it just made him really sick. He was meticulous in recording himself and taking extensive notes when he wasn't suffering the effects of chemo or the drug cocktail meant to simulate the progressing disease. Helena took care of that. Within days of no sleep, he was on the brink of insanity, propelling himself to his own downfall. All he needed was a little push—a push we were all to happy to offer.

Kyle applied special effects makeup to Yvette in order to alter her appearance. Yvette showed up at Skeletor's house.

Skeletor was heading across his cavernous foyer, with medical textbooks in hand, to his office when a set of rapid knocks interrupted him. He nearly shit himself, before scurrying to set down his stuff and shoo off whoever had the audacity to interrupt him while he was in the depths of work.

The front door aggressively swung open allowing fresh air to circulate in and sunlight to shine into the cluttered entryway. Yvette stood there with a suitcase. Her raven hair was left in soft waves and she switched out her usual cargo pants and snapbacks for a peach sundress that contrasted against her caramel skin. A wide smile was pasted on her face, and her eyes sparkled with a slightest hint of malice.

"Who are you?" Skeletor snapped, "What do you want?"

Yvette's smile faded into a look of hurt, "It's me, Grandpa. Don't you remember when you spoke to Aunt Kendra last week?"

Ah beautiful! Kendra was his daughter-in-law and he did speak with her last week. She had a daughter that was about Yvette's age. A little bit of truth sprinkled in made this all the more believable.

Whatever color was left in Skeletor's face as he gazed down at his so called granddaughter.

"Of course," he began with a shaky voice, "I'm just having fun."

He turned around and Yvette followed. From this angle, we could see his face in the camera. His face was slack as pure, absolute horror swam in eyes.

"So...Lauren. I've spoken to Kendra. How is Eric?" Skeletor questioned, though the hesitation in using "Yvette's" name was not missed.

"Uncle Eric?" Yvette looked up concerned. Kyle, Helena, and I burst out laughing as Yvette's act.

"Grandpa, he died three years ago," Yvette whispered.

01101110

Yvette innocently slipped in a few other bombshells to shatter Skeletor some more. Eventually, Skeletor settled in for an early night. Yvette stayed for a week, and on her last night she offered to make him tea as a guise to slip some sleeping pills into his drink as well as some maple syrup. The point was to mimic later symptoms and just all around create the same innate fear Skeletor evoked in thousands of kids. Skeletor had a minor allergy to maple and the syrup would be enough to cause a minor reaction making it difficult to swallow and talk when he wakes up.

Skeletor fell asleep quickly and Yvette got the hell out of there. She headed out and came bounding out to the van where we had set up. She high-fived us upon her entrance and volunteered to take first shift along with Tyler. Cole had been pretty quiet, sitting in the driver's seat. I crawled up and landed on the cracked leather and dilapidated foam of the passenger's seat.

"Hey, what's up? You've actually shut up," I said to lighten the mood.

He turned to look at me and grabbed my hand and entwined our fingers, his thumb gently brushing back and forth.

"It's...this punishment. Don't you think...I just... Sydney, it's pretty cruel, don't you think? I mean...we're making an old guy think he's dying and going crazy. Isn't that a bit...much?" his thick brows furrowed.

I pulled my hand back liked it was hot brand, "Nothing is too much when it comes to these monsters, Cole. They ripped 5,000 kids away from their families and made us their fucking lab rats. They put us through brutal training and send us into deadly situations everyday without blinking an eye. The worry of crossing that line disappeared the night I was taken."

"I know, Syd. But there has to be a better way," his gaze earnest, "It's not like we didn't get anything in return. Look at how our families live now. Look at your brother--still alive. They did that."

"Cole, I'm more than grateful that my brother is okay. But I shouldn't have to be taken away from everything and everyone I love for two and half years and almost die a a hundred times and watch other kids my age get slaughtered for that to happen," I hiss, "They used my family as leverage. They did the same to you, how can you be okay with not getting even?"

Cole sighs, "It's because of everything that's been taken from me and all that suffering that I don't want to see anymore."

"I'm sorry, Cole. But I'm seeing this through. You want to escape this nightmare, we have to end it."

Cole shifts closer to me, leaning his head to one side, and gazing into my eyes. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, "It's not paradise, but it can't be complete hell when you're here."

I lean into his touch. The warmth from his hand hums throughout my face as his calloused skin slows my breathing.

"Cole, I don't think I'd still be here if it wasn't for you, and I want a life with you outside of the agency."

"I want that too, Syd."

01110100

I woke up with a start, enclosed in warmth. Cole's giant hoodies swallowed my body as his strong arms wrapped around me. Somehow we'd managed to curl up together on the passenger seat.

"Syd, wake up! I think it's finally happening," Helena exclaimed.

"Mm," I mumbled still inhaling Cole's cologne and relishing in his embrace, "Too early."

"I could make a comment about that number one rank going to your head, but I'm in too good a mood," Helena sings and I hear movement, "Here."

She had brought one of the monitors over for me to see. Yvette, Kyle, Helena gathered around as we watched hysterical Skeletor pacing throughout halls of his house like a wailing ghost. His once tailored wardrobe now hung loosely and his once gray eyes that once glowed with vibrant intelligence now flickered his delirium. The white stubble and matted hair only enhanced the whole crazy vibe.

He yanked at his hair and scratched at his skin. Desperation emanated from his wails. His once immaculate manor had fallen in disarray with medical journals and empty bottles covering every surface and all the windows covered. Skeletor stumbled into his room and out onto his balcony.

His breathing picked up as he took a final swig of his finest bourbon and climbed onto the railing. Clutching his APA Award for Lifetime Contributions to Psychology, Dr. Leonard Klinger closed his eyes and stepped off, falling six stories to his final seconds.