I begin keeping this journal by order of Dr. Arista Goldstein, Head of the Psychiatrics and Psychology Department. I have been made aware of the fact that all journals are guarded with maximum security, that they may only be viewed by Dr. Goldstein and other high-ranking members of the department, and that they as well as I know of the happenings at the American National Bank offices.
          My name is Joana McDowall. For ten years I have been a subject and special agent for the Front Lines as well as a participant of Project Deciphre. I am a hydro-psion who still has a rather long way to go before fully mastering my abilities. In order for this first entry to make sense, I�ll have to go back in time. It may or may not take a while to give all relevant details. Truthfully, I�m still in a bit of a daze from the last few days, but the details are still with me. They can�t leave � not when your vocation involves knowing the secrets of your government and those of other nations.
          I have lived in the Trillium Complex for nineteen years now. (Previously I lived in Seattle, Washington.) When I graduated from high school I was accepted at Academy Americana, which is where I�m still taking linguistics classes. I used to share my appartment with a friend of mine, Lainie Damon. We were three best friends, and still are: Lainie, Jordan Botchley, and I. Now the only difference is that Lainie and Jordan are living together as a couple. I met Lainie in junior high, Jordan in college. I lived with my father until I began taking classes at the university.
          My relationship with my father is of relative normality. I have several vague and several other vivid memories of my mother, who passed away when I was seven. She was sick with an immunologic disease which, to the best of my knowledge, was systemic lupus erythematosus; the disease in itself does not kill, but I remember her having caught a cold on one of her lower points in health, and since the disease weakens the immune system, that killed her. My father is also a subject and special agent of the Front Lines. He is a very serious man who I know tried his best to make me feel loved and accepted as I grew up. He was with me on my first day on Project Deciphre, when I was sixteen. He�s been supportive ever since. Now I have a partner of my own whose name is Ethan Taylor.
          Recently an article of direct interest to me and my relations was published in the Trillium Daily which is less than a mere fragment of the truth. I would like to clarify and verify its contents, even though you probably already know what happened.
          I�m certain you�ve heard of the robbery attempt at American National three days ago. The article in the paper said that someone had been caught before anything had been stolen, that he escaped, and that he was caught after being pursued.
          That person was me. No, I was not caught stealing, nor did I attempt to. I simply found out something that was meant to be kept a secret for goodness knows how long. I acted on it, and I got caught. You most certainly want to know how I found out, so I�ll tell you.
          I was helping Joshua Erickson, one of the most brilliant technicians with the Front Lines, last Tuesday when he was working on something new. He needed me to access a few files on the network for him, which I did. I must have typed in a code or some sort of password because after I found what he needed I encountered a classified file, one that was meant for those with the highest security clearance. After giving Joshua what he wanted, I read the other file quickly. It was rather short, but concise. It stated the truth behind the project.
          � �The Power-Blessed shall bring forth the Purification of the World. Destruction will come upon the Earth; Woe, Grief, Sorrow shall prevail. The one with Wings shall lead them; the one with Wings, she leads them Far and Wide.� This is part of the actual prophecy made in 1163 by Rarimmande Bethshemeq of Catsuria, a place which does not exist and has never existed. It is possible that it is code. The power-blessed are to be brought in NOT BEING TOLD of this. This is the SECRET of our One and Whole America, and we will keep it like this. We must not let this come to pass.�
          Though only a fragment of the entire contents of the document, it�s all I can remember because I stopped reading there. I was so stunned that I closed it, excused myself, and left. Oddly enough, I couldn�t find my father anywhere so I could ask him if he knew. After a few days of brooding over the matter, I decided I would see one of my superiors about this, and I did so the following Sunday night.
          I stood there, in Director Garrison�s office, waiting for him to answer my questions about the matter for what seemed like forever. I was aware of the passage of time � I knew the pause to think had only lasted a few seconds and would only last a few more �, but I didn�t feel it. Strange how whenever you both want to and don�t want to hear something, time does exactly what you want it to do. It speeds up and slows down. It�s so irritating.
          Garrison eyed me gravely, alternating his vision to me and to his desk, almost as if he were considering whether or not he should keep lying. I thought up an array of colorful insults I should throw at him, most of which are begging to be written here right now. It�s the most predictable reaction of a person in a situation such as this. The only exception would be that I had much more riding on the answer my superior was about to give me than most people do in their daily lives.
          He stood, taking a deep breath, walking steadily toward me. Once again time became my enemy and made his every move sluggish while accelerating the rate at which my heart would beat and my thoughts would surface. The way he was looking at me was what made it all the more bitter. I felt like if he didn�t tell me soon I would spin kick him down and force him to. Fortunately � and I say this for both of us � he told me before I could do anything.
          �Everything you�ve found out � about the prophecy, the lies �� He met my eyes slowly, gravely (I use this word again because it best describes everything). �It�s all true.�
          I pause here to better explain the repeated use of �gravely� in this entry. One synonym for the word is �dull�. Given the word�s other meaning, or rather, connotation � a grave, which is a place to lay a dead body � I would have to say that �dull� here is more of a dead-like dull. That was how I felt. Like everything around me was gone. Like I didn�t really exist.
          My suspicions confirmed, my world crumbled before my eyes. Everything that was still true was foggy, and everything that was now a lie was the dense fog. Apparently my superior did not fully comprehend what his words encompassed. He had just admitted to me that he was lying, that all the higher ups were lying to those of us who willingly participated in the project to, as they so eloquently put it, �employ your incredible abilities in a noble cause.� That was what hurt the most. The fact that we�d been lied to.
          I was falling, and I was sure it showed in my expression: Director Garrison�s eyes were rather easy to read then. I felt hollow and numb. I didn�t know where I was, what to say, where to go. Slowly, I crept to the door, never giving my superior my back, hardly aware of the movement of my legs or of my arm stretching out and my fingers touching the panel which opened the door. And then I did the only thing that came to my mind.
          I ran. I ran as fast as I could go: out of the office, to the end of the hall, around the corner, past the elevator waiting area, to the stairwell. I must make it clear that the directors� offices are on the ninetieth floor, and that taking the stairs in a state such as mine, where I had no clear idea of where to go, was truly insane. The logical side of me kept reminding me that I had made a mistake. I should have just stayed at the office and waited for Director Garrison�s instructions. But I couldn�t. I wouldn�t let myself, even though it wasn�t as if I entirely wanted to leave.
          Here I pause to state how grateful I am that this is being read and reviewed by people whose vocation involves the study of human behavior. The fact that I am being understood is comforting, regardless of the apparent senselessness of the descriptions I offer.
          Even though my steps echoed rather loudly as I ran down the metal stairs, I could make out several other pairs of feet not too far behind me. Also faint barking. By then my adrenaline levels had risen substantially and I didn�t feel tired. I kept running at the same pace at which I had begun to, possibly even a faster one by the time I was at the forties. I can�t remember whether I encountered obstacles along the way. When I reached the lobby I slowed down, gasping for breath, as I reached the doors. The guards in pursuit � who, as I had suspected earlier, had brought dogs with them, which frightened me somewhat � came closer.
          Once outside I kept going, recovering some lost speed as I passed the tree at the center of the four buildings. But I was fooling myself. I was too tired and I slowed down again. One of the dogs jumped at me, knocking me down. I felt its front paws firmly supporting its weight on my back. Two others placed their jaws around my upper arms. I didn�t resist them because I knew they were trained to attack upon feeling resistance. Soon the guards� voices made them disperse and something thin and metallic made quick, fleeting, yet painful contact with my back. I was seized by the arms, lifted up, and literally dragged away.
          So tired was I that when I closed my eyes in an attempt to regain lost energy I probably blacked out. I deduce this from the fact that I can�t remember what should have been a long trip back upstairs. When I did open my eyes we were already at the Front Lines facilities. A door opened in front of me and I was shocked by two things: first by the brightness of the lighting in the room, and second at having been roughly shoved into it. Two men were at either side of me. Still my senses were cloudy and I could only hear murmuring where there were, in reality, words. When I was awake enough to perceive at least something with coherency I found myself leaning forward, my hands � which were tied behind me and the chair by my wrists � being the only things which kept me from falling forward.
          It now seems amazing to me how with everything that went on I didn�t snap to attention, and that the one sound I heard next brought my alertness to full capacity. It was a familiar crackling that sent shivers up my back and made me suddenly feel very cold.
          It was the sound of an electric current produced by a manual device.
          Suddenly a few words I had heard came to my mind. �Disciplinary procedures.� I mentioned that my power is of water. Simply stated, my weakness is electricity. It affects me far more than it would a normal human being. The pain is indescribable. My skin tingled when the device got close, and I imagine you understand why I can�t remember much more about my short stay in that room. Other than the fact that I screamed, of course.
          One thing I do recall is that at one point someone came in unexpectedly. I tried to see who it was, but all I saw was a blur. He looked like someone I knew. He said things to the man inflicting pain on me; he said them angrily. But then the man who held the terrible item in his hand came back, and from what I can tell now I assume he lifted it up and hit me with it while it was on. I remember having felt the air knocked out of me. But that memory is brief. I blacked out there.
          When I woke up forty eight hours later I was in my room and my father was sitting by my bed. He told me that the deadline for my first journal entry had been extended. I tried to ask him about the prophecy, my mind somehow more clear then than it is now, but he would only tell me that I was to meet a man named Noah Bacall that Thursday afternoon. He said he was going to help me with the situation. I tried to ask him again, but he just told me to sleep. And I did.
          I slept twenty one hours and woke up around an hour ago. I deicded it was as good a time as any to do this, and that since I would have to think up several excuses for a few people, I should get this out of the way soon so I wouldn�t have to worry about it. Telling you this has been mentally exhausting, as I�m sure you understand. Writing about it, getting it all out of my system, and knowing that this is kept safe will surely help me these next few days, which will surely be tiring in their own right. Actually, I had better eat something. Sleeping doesn�t leave much time for doing anything else.