Chapter Three: Identity

I look at her hand, then at her, then her hand again.  It seems an odd gesture, shoving her hand in front of my face, though I feel as if I've seen it before.  But you never know with a name like that.  I can't tell why, but I know that 'Fleet' isn't generally a name.  But of course I have nothing to compare it to from my lack of communicating with others.  I wonder why she even goes by a name when she's been alone all this time according to her story.

"you're supposed to shake it"

She looks at me amused at my uncertainty, so I take my hands and wrap them around hers and begin shaking them hers in all directions.  She laughs, and then her eyes widen in what suspiciously looks like concern as I flinch from the pain shooting through my shoulder.  I'd almost forgotten I'd even injured it considering how the rest of me is so burnt and out of shape.  I release her hand and lean my head back against the wall.

She remains silent for a moment, probably watching me to see what I do.  When I make no effort to say anything she maintains the conversation herself.  She's very good at that.

"I picked it out myself.  My name.  I don't think anyone here remembers what they were called before the start zone, so everyone just picks their own.  I went with Fleet.  You like it?  I thought it was unique, particularly when its why I've survived this long.  I'm able to move quickly no matter the situation, and everyone else here that I've talked to seems to pick more violent things.  I've met maybe 5 different "Predators" already out of the dozen or so people that I've acctually had a conversation with.  We're all so obsessed with killing that I decided to take a different note.  What is it that you call yourself?"

Every time she speaks she just gives me more to think about.  First on the personal side of my memory loss and this world, then the rampant killing, and now this.  I've never even considered what to call myself, it never really struck me that I was 'supposed' to even do such a thing.  A name seemed like such a foreign concept, and yet it now feels like a necessity.  But what could I possibly be?  That nagging feeling on what a name is supposed to be won't go away, and yet I don't think I'll ever be able to scratch that mental itch, so maybe I should just pick something.  But a name is so personal, its how anyone that I talk to will think of me.  It is a description of my very identity, who I am.  Where could I even begin with all of the words in my mental dictionary at my disposal, what one fully represents me?

She notices my mental struggle and apparently decides to leave me to it as she comes next to me and sits against the wall, whereupon she begins to idly draw on the dirt floor with her fingers.

At my core I am an observer.  Or am I?  What was I before I lost my memories?  How can someone be identified with only one piece of the jigsaw of their life?  Yet my shattered existence can't possibly be pieced together so easily into one name.  Perhaps the very fact that I am broken should be considered in my name.  So what is it that I would say defines me?  What is it that I've done since I've been here?  More importantly what is it that has driven me to do anything and everything so far?

I question everything, constantly seeking new information and answers to the mysteries around me.  I've done my best to dissect every piece of information in whatever form it appeared.  Everything has been for myself, should that be a consideration?  How is it that others chose their names?  Maybe I'm putting too much thought into this, considering so many others choose a name like "Predator".  But I'm not like the rest, I haven't lost to this world yet.

And then I realized it.  I'm still fighting this place, I don't want to bow down to the rules that this place enforces.  I may have to obey the rules, but I don't have to accept them.  I want to remain better than this hell hole, I want to be able to say that I only did what I had to and never enjoyed it.  I'm going to have to kill others, I can see that now.  But I'll never have to do it because I want to.  I am someone who cares, someone who, though broken already, refuses to bend.  I will fix the rules, I will change the system, I will survive and HELP others, not just come out on top.  I will take this anarchic state and put it together piece by piece.  And who else could do that but someone who is themselves already segmented?  The world may be shattered, but I will be the one to take the time and put everything in its place, microscopic part by microscopic part.  I am but a shard, but a shard is all that I need to be.

"Shard"

She jerks at the sudden noise.  I suppose I've been thinking for a while, and I wonder how much time has passed.  Looking at me she sees my eyes, and accepts my identity.

"Good to meet you Shard.  I like your name.  Its certainly original.  Doubt there's anyone else with anything remotely similar to it"

I look at her, and then shudder from the cold.  I'd forgotten I'm not in any position to change the world when I'm in such a sorry state myself, barely clothed, starved, dehydrated, and almost fatally injured, without any credits to get anywhere in the world.

Fleet sees me trembling and immediately goes to her backpack and starts digging through it.  She apparently doesn't find whatever she's looking for when she begins to check in the pile of supplies on the ground, but she doesn't take anything from there either.

"I'm going to get you some warm clothes.  Don't you dare leave here on your own or else I will hunt you down and leave you tied up for several weeks.  I can't afford to have you abandoning me after all the effort I've put in you.  Here, take this.  I hope its enough to hold you until I return"

She peels off her shirt and tosses it at me.  I'm not going to question her, so I put it on, relieved by the comforting warmth it provides.  She nods at me, then heads out, crawling through the tiny entrance and putting the door back where it was once she's outside.  I wonder where we are, but I'm definitely not going to find that out on my own for a while.

She said all of that about not being able to afford me leaving and yet I don't think that she's quite that cold.  She knows fully well she could have found someone who was in better condition than I was who would be her survival buddy and who would be able to pull their weight sooner and with a lot less investment, and yet she chose me.  I wonder why it is that I'm the one she decided to save.  I wonder who she thinks she's fooling with that tough act, I mean she probably can kill when she needs to but I doubt she'd ever touch me even if I angered her.

Time passes by, and minutes turn into hours as I wait.  I wonder just how far away the closest shop is, or how dangerous this area is.  She mentioned something about where I started from, so maybe that’s what she meant, certain parts may be more deadly than others.  But in any case, there isn't anything I can do just sitting here, worrying won't make her come back any faster.  I curl up and lay my head on her backpack.  I start drifting into the realm of dreams as I realize the shirt has held her smell.  Such an odd thought to have as I slip into unconsciousness.