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Injustice for the Insane

The clear liquid in my glass magnifies the dirt that sets at the bottom. I swirl it around a bit, thinking of a way to get out of here. The rope chafes at my wrists and ankles. Various doors slam down the hallways. A few moans and wails escape from different rooms. It’s the same every day.
Roland’s Asylum for the Mentally Troubled. I have been here eight months. Everyone tells me I’m crazy, but I know I’m not. I was sent here because I murdered someone.
Eleven months ago on May 7th, I was walking around the rainy streets of Chicago. At the time, I had been working for the CIA as an undercover agent. My name was Miles Wade. I was looking for a man. I had worked with Lukas Avery for two years before we found out he was part of the Justice campaign to wipe out the criminals off the street. Justice was the complete opposite of what they were doing. They were simply murdering in cold blood. It was revenge, not justice. My job was to find him and bring him in, dead or alive. The CIA didn’t care how I did it, as long as it was quick and clean.
I stopped into a sad excuse for a café. Sipping my coffee, I noticed him jogging across the street, trying to call a taxi. I got up as quick as I could without being conspicuous and left a small tip on the table. Probably too much for the watered down, boiling liquid they called coffee. Nonetheless, I tailed Lukas’s cab in my own car, making sure not to follow too close. I pursued the taxi until it paused long enough for him to step out. We had arrived at his apartment building. I parked around the block so that he wouldn’t notice, and entered in the back way. The door was jammed and wouldn’t lock, so I slipped in easily. I checked the list of people that live in the building and found naught but my own. Miles Wade apt. 79. I went up to that floor and checked apartment seventy-nine. Lukas was just slipping through the door and closing it behind him. The bolts clicked as he slid the locks into place. The clock down the hall ticked away the minutes I had waited.
“It’s Miles, open up.” I waited for a few minutes and nobody appeared. Checking for a spare key, I slid my hands over the top of the doorframe. The key tumbled to the floor. Before entering the room, I screw the silencer onto my Glock pistol. Shooting him may be necessary. I slid the key into the lock and opened the door. A familiar picture greets me at the door, a picture of my dog and I. It is my picture, of course. The only thing different is the man in the picture. It’s not me at all, but Lukas. I carefully creep in further, my pistol held before me. I study the living room around me. Everywhere I see my pictures, but instead of me I find Lukas. My hands tremble.
“Miles Wade. Good to see you. How long has it been, three years? Well, of course, you aren’t Miles anymore. You’re Lukas Avery.” I turned around and saw Lukas, also holding a gun up.
“Avery, what are you doing?” I didn’t lower my gun.
“What are you doing? This is my apartment.” He said. “I know why you’re here. But you aren’t taking me with you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie, Lukas. You were sent here to kill me and take me back so the CIA can do what they please with me. I’ve been waiting for this. All those people that you put in jail for murder, they should be dead for the countless lives they’ve wasted. You were wrong. I’m Miles Wade now. I’ve changed your history.”
“You can’t go back to the CIA with my name.” I said.
“It isn’t your name. Your name is Lukas Avery. You worked with the Justice campaign after you were fired from the CIA.”
“I wasn’t fired! They sent me here to kill you!” My voice rose. He smirks.
“They want you killed, Lukas.” He said.
“I AM NOT LUKAS!” I shouted. He fired his gun, shooting me in my right shoulder. I fired too, hitting him right on target. His smile disappeared as he looked down, realizing what I’d done. He looked back up, before dropping to the ground. A pool of blood spread beneath him and his eyes stared, uncomprehending. Tears began running down my face.
My name is Miles Wade. I am twenty-seven years old. I have a dog named Juju. I have been in the insane asylum for eight months for killing a man that claimed to be me. Nobody believes me. They think my name is Lukas Avery.



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