Title: This Must Be Who I Am
By: Missa
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Okay, so, I know, I know. Update my others fictions. I'm sorry, but this idea SLAMMED into my head. It's just a one-shot (possibly two shot, I do like the way I left this, however, if I was going to write more... it would be in a ... different fashion. But I doubt I will.) So, if you've ever read the book The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, you will be able to tell where I got the inspiration for writing this. And if you haven't read the book, I highly recommend it. Anyway, without further ado, here you go.
Disclaimer: I lied. One more thing. I don't own anything in this story... aside from "them". Which are figurative characters of my imagination. Basically, that's about all I own, unfortunately. Maybe one day when I rule the world...
Summary: Even the best of us can become susceptible to the most vilest of evil.

***

I sit in the window, and stare out at the moon in the sky. Maybe once it would have caused my mind to race with a million different thoughts. But not now. Not anymore. Thinking is prohibited.

The moon is always something I've loved to watch, I remember that. I was always fascinated at the way it hung so pristine in the night sky. I think it has lost some of its beauty now. It has lost that mysterious allure. Now it remains as the smallest token of a memory. A past that I've lost touch with. Or perhaps, it just never existed.

This is my life now. That's all that matters.

I can remember... I can remember being told not to miss what I left behind, the people I used to love. I can remember it being hard, but I always had the option to leave – I never wanted to.

I'm told to go to sleep. They can hear the sound of my breath against the glass, they know. I nod and I do as I am told. I know better than to disobey them, it would result in death. Or worse, it would result in me not being healed.

Morning comes too quickly, as it always does. I was having the dream again. Two men come into the gathering room and break down the doors. The men are trying to rescue me. I feel that I should know them, but I don't. Perhaps they are from my non-existent past life. I scream and protest, but they take me away anyway. I feel alive... I think.

I don't have the dream that much anymore. I used to have it all of the time a while ago. But I suppose that I'll stop having it once I can't remember what the faces of the men look like.

"Isaac. It's mealtime," I hear a voice say. I have always had the feeling that they aren't calling me by my real name. However, I don't argue. Perhaps I had a different name in my non-existent past life. Perhaps I was someone different. I don't remember what that name couldn't have been, so I acknowledge what they call me.

We sit at the table. They sit at the head, as always, and let us know what we're supposed to eat in what order. Today we eat the rice before the eggs. Something must be different about today. We never eat the rice first. I sit patiently and wait for further instruction, and perhaps and explanation for why today is so different, all though it's wrong of me to expect one.

After we finish, we are informed of the reason why today is different. Today is The Day of Cleansing. The day we've been waiting for. The whole reason we are here. Today is the day we drink from their sacred cups and become clean, we become healed. We become perfect.

I can hear the sound of someone saying that this is to kill us, and I resist the urge to blurt out that they are a non-believer and should be killed like the others. Sent to the field where they will be tied up until it is time for us believers to stone them to death. However, no one else notices this voice. Perhaps I imagined it. Perhaps it is all in my mind, a fragment of my old self seeping back.

They would never hurt us. Only heal us of our imperfections. We must trust them.

We walk to the gathering room and take our seats. The same seats that we always sit. Usually, this is the time for prayer. This is the time where they preach to us about how The Day of Cleansing is coming soon. About how we need to be ready to do as we are told so that we can be healed. Today is different. Today is The Day of Cleansing.

I try to listen to what is being said, but it is hard. I hear something in the back of my mind. It's a buzzing type of noise. Nothing but utter gibberish, but maybe if I continue to listen, it will start to make sense to me.

I draw my attention partially back to the room in which I am in. A cup is being handed to me and I look around to see that everyone else has already received a cup. We're told to drink on the count of three, but the numbers are clouded by that buzzing noise. I can almost make out what it is saying. Everyone around me drinks, yet the noise is getting louder.

The sound of the door to the gathering room being slammed open is enough to jolt me in the direction of the living. I understand the buzzing.

"Reid!"

It is the sound of a person screaming. They've got a gun. Doesn't this person know that guns are prohibited here?

Another one enters, carrying another gun. I recognize them. They are the men from my dream. But this time is different. This time I'm not dreaming. I know I'd remember if I had looked at the moon or not.

It doesn't matter anyhow. I'm being told to drink the contents of the cup that has been handed to me. I'm being told to ignore the screaming men. They are outsiders, they are unclean. They are poison. I must drink now. The others have done it, and now they are sleeping. Or perhaps I'm asleep as well, perhaps this is just another dream.

I bring the cup to my lips, as one of the men rush to my side and push it away. What is he doing? Doesn't he know we'll both be killed for this? They are right, he must be poison. He doesn't want me to be healed, to be cleansed.

He grabs onto my hands for a moment, he's holding them tightly. So tightly that I finally realize how much I am trembling.

The other man has already gone over to them, but it's too late. They've been cleansed. They are sleeping now. Everyone but me is sleeping.

"It's going to be okay, Reid," the man who had been holding onto my hands says.

Why are they here? Why have they done this? I want to sleep, I want to be healed. I close my eyes and I can feel myself being moved. I see no point in fighting, not anymore. I have been infected with their poison of the outside world. I'll never be healed now.

When I finally do open my eyes, I see a white room, I'm lying in a bed. I'm frightened, and I do not know where I am. Where is the moon?

"Reid... it's me, Morgan. How are you holding up?" one of the men who took me away ask, but the other scolds him for "crowding me" too quickly.

The two men then step aside and whisper, but I can still hear them. They say the word "cult" many times, but I don't know what this word means. I feel that I should, but I don't. I wish to ask, but I have been taught to remain silent.

They are telling each other that I'm not myself, they are saying that my reality has been altered. They say the word "brainwashed" but I think they really meant to say "re-educated".

They call each other Gideon and Morgan. That must be what their names are, but I don't remember. Still, it somehow sounds right.

The one called Morgan scoffs a bit and then leaves the room, while the one called Gideon comes over to me again. I almost think that he is going to reach for my hand once more, but he doesn't. I want him to – I want him to call me Reid again, and I'm not entirely sure why.

Maybe that's what my name was. It sounds right, but then it doesn't. Who's to say.

"Do you know where you are?" he asks in a quiet, calm voice, but I shake my head. I think he's doing his best not to startle me.

He smirks, just slightly. If I wasn't looking directly at his face, I wouldn't have seen it. This time, he does reach for my hand. His is warm and full of vibrant life in comparison to mine. Maybe mine used to be that way, but I can't remember. Now I want to, and maybe I will – someday.

For now, I close my eyes again, and Gideon lets go. I listen as his footsteps make their way towards the direction of the door. He stops.

"You'll remember," he tells me before leaving.

I don't see the moon right now, but I'm sure it's time for me to sleep. So I do.

I have a new dream this time. I can hear someone whispering the name "Spencer". It sounds right when I put it with the name "Reid".

Spencer Reid.

Spencer Reid.

That must be who I am.