this is where it started for me.

[Even though this Paris is different - this Paris has changed - it's still Paris to him, and he hates that the Admiral's forced him to be here. He could do without the memories this place dredged up, the ones since his awakening on the fishing boat off Marseilles. Even the ones before then, the dim ones that were half-present, still hurt.

He half-considers visiting his old apartment, visiting what used to be Treadstone's Parisian base of operations, but dismisses the thought. No. He has no need to.

So he walks, keeping his eyes peeled as he inspects the city, and letting the crisp October air clear his head.

He tries not to dwell on the dog-eared paperbacks in his room, the ones that almost make sense but don't quite. He tries not to dwell on the arbitrary capriciousness of the Admiral and the loss of one of his only friends.

And he tries very hard not to dwell on why in the hell he got stuck with another goddamn kidnapping, body-snatching Animorph for an inmate.]

[There is strong static, and for once there's something like fear in the assassin's voice.]

This is Jason Bou-- [Loud burst of static.] --uck in a ce-- [Static.] --an't get ou--

[Sustained static for about twenty seconds. Ghosts have come out to fuck with his mind play.] --o, you're not Mar-- [Static.] --t awa-- [Crackle, crackle, low wailing in the background.]

[Loud burst of static.] NO! Oh, God, no, you're not--

[Screeching interference. Then silence.]

(OOC: Bourne's in the West Wing. Y'all have fun now.)