I became aware of agony again. It got worse every time I woke up – my head, my body – every part of me felt used up and transparent. I pushed the clear, arched glass device that blocked my view down toward my feet and sat up. Blood ran out of my nose and onto my lips, tasting salty as I gasped and shuddered on the slightly curved surface of the table I was on. The door burst open and the familiar, reedy, hunched assistant came hustling in. I scrambled to get off the table and lurched toward my quarters but he caught my upper arm.

"Not yet, 22." He smiled like a predator, pinched the neckline of my thin hospital gown and used it to wipe the blood away, adding another stain to the others that had collected there during this endless day.

"We're getting closer." He said quietly, almost as if he cared about me. I'd been incarcerated here for days. These nameless freaks had injected me with something and taken me in the subway while I'd been waiting for a late train out of the city. I woke up here, naked except for a hospital gown, and I was surrounded by a group of suits and lab coats.

In the beginning, they'd pumped me full of drugs to make me compliant and then strapped me to this table. They forced me to relive what they called "Ancestor Memories" or some such bullshit. It was confusing at first because they put me into different people but then they let me stay in the one that was the easiest for me to settle into, if that makes any sense. They keep saying that the woman whose body I've been primarily inhabiting is a gold mine of indirect information and they were lucky to have me because I have a strong genetic link to her. They keep telling me to find her husband's secrets because they no longer have "viable direct assets," whatever that means. Strangely, the more time I spend as her, the more I feel connected to her. I have a small family and I've never bothered trying to learn about relatives farther back than my great grandparents so... maybe what they're saying is true, as crazy as that is to believe.

The deafening click and screech of the intercom turning on rang in my ears and made my head want to detonate. The harsh voice of the boss-suit-man came on and the sound of him made me retch.

"No more wasting time! Get her back on the table and plug her in. We're manually moving several years forward and switching generations. Perhaps the firstborn can lead us to what we seek." Another screech and click and that was it. The assistant was his usual, cold self once again. He pulled me back toward the table by my arm and turned me to face it. He stood watching as I started to climb back on. More blood ran from my nose and I watched as it fell off the edge of my lip. It seemed to drift slowly downward through the air until it dashed against the corner of the table, splashing outward in a crimson explosion and speckling the IV pole there. Somehow I managed to turn onto my back but when I reached down to pull my hospital gown over myself better, the assistant impatiently knocked my hands away and slid the glass device back up into place.

"Leave it! Back to work now, 22." As the familiar darkness started to overtake me, I fought it with the same words I always used, repeating them in my mind like a chant.

I'm not a number. I'm Kristin. My name is Kristin.