Pain was the last thing she remembered, blinding, soul wrenching pain, but that was gone. She opened her eyes to the sight of a dim overhead light in what looked like the same cell she occupied before they started changing her. Was she an angel now? Her body moved with ease, an ease of youth. It was young. Not her body, and yet it was. She got up off the filthy floor, stretching to ease the kinks out of her back and then she felt an ache from her naked shoulder. Looking down, she saw the brand. They had marked her with her designation number 666. That thought brought home a greater and more terrible truth. She had no name, not for them and not for herself. However hard she concentrated, she could not find who she was, or even a trace of living family, aside from one memory; her murdered son.
Why leave that memory when destroying all the rest? Then the echo of her sentence resonated from the courthouse. The punishment shall fit the crime. She had to remember what she had done and why for the full force of everlasting punishment to take effect. They had sentenced her to be an assassin. The newly made number 666 didn’t like killing. Before killing her victim, she never hurt another person, or did she? How could she be certain? The memories of planning the killing seemed uneasy and the actual act, although driven by rage, provoked such nauseas that she had no chance of escaping after the deed. A sentence to kill others on command represented sublime cruelty.
Would anyone recognize her from her former life? With tentative hands, she reached up to touch her face; her young face. Number 666 had wondered if they cut off her head and grafted it on to a young body and yet no. All of her resonated with youth, which answered her question. Taking a few steps, something felt off. The muscle strength was there, and so too the coordination, and yet her body felt heavier than it should, although what they had given her appeared svelt.
As if her movement triggered action, the door of her cell opened to show guards waiting. They gestured for her to come with them. As she followed, she felt her neck, wondering if talking were possible, or they had decided to keep her mute? The skin appeared smooth and unscarred.