A helicopter was flying over the Atlantic Ocean, bearing a red cross on either side. The constant buzzing from the sound of the blades had kicked into action just over a day ago, and its passenger was already pretty sick of it. While she was conscious, at least. Only pieces of conversations and memories formed in her mind when she was awake. Nobody on board seemed able to help put them together, either.

One man, who she now knew as Secret Agent Ike, was sitting beside her uncomfortable bed in an uncomfortable chair. The paramedic, who was stationed close to her at all times, wore an uncomfortable red cross helmet and an uncomfortable frown. Simply put, the room had an uncomfortable feeling.

Not to mention the gray of it all. The walls and floor carried the same gunmetal gray as the rest of the helicopter. Gray cabinets full of medical supplies lined the walls, each labeled with some mumbo-jumbo from the medical field.

A second agent, who she later found out was Secret Agent Mike, opened the door to enter from the cockpit area. The noise startled her. She tried glancing up at him, but it caused pain.

"Slow down there, girly," Agent Mike said, slowly and cautiously approaching her. "I'm told you might not be able to understand what I'm saying, but if you can, nod yes."

It took a moment for her to muster the strength to nod, a slow movement that she struggled to do without hurting.

"Poor girl never saw the wave," Ike remarked. "It wiped her out in the blink of an eye." In his hand, he held a folder labeled as classified. He'd periodically flipped through the pages, and had even written on a couple of them.

"Yes, we're lucky to have gotten her that quickly," the paramedic voiced. "She appears to suffer from memory loss, and there is a fracture in her skull directly in the center of her forehead. However, the most worrying is some minor internal bleeding."

"I've seen worse," Agent Ike replied. "That said, you're a champ, kid. You're powering through something pretty rough right now."

"What I want to know is why two agents of one of the most covert government organizations are supposed to watch over a girl," Agent Mike huffed. Her foggy brown eyes scanned the room, desperate to piece together something understandable. Every word and every face seemed foreign to her.

"If I could tell you, Mike, I would."

-=[ ]=-

Six months passed. The girl was now sitting on a clinical chair in her doctor's office. She kicked her feet back and forth, waiting for him to finalize some paperwork that she was never going to see, anyway. Everything around here was classified. Beside her, the cast that had been over her head was now split open and discarded. It was a grim reminder that she couldn't remember anything about her life.

Finally, the doctor turned and handed her the closed folder. "Patient 24062," he said, "you're officially dismissed from rehab. Please retrieve your belongings and wait outside for your helicopter to take you to your new home."

He opened a cabinet right in front of her, revealing a mirror attached to the door. It was the only mirror she had peered into for the past six months. She blinked at her reflection and the blonde hair she had never seen before. Her foreign pastel-blue eyes stared in confusion.

"Doc," she asked, "how long has my hair been blonde?"

"You were born with it. You just couldn't tell with that cast on."

"What happened with my eyes?"

The doctor glared back at her. If she were to press any further, he would be caught in his lie. He could probably just tell her, but then he would be in trouble with that agent that brought her and might lose funding from the United States. As if he weren't already always one wrong step away from losing funding.

No, he thought, you mustn't tell. Despite how annoying she is.

"It's always been that way," he answered. "Now go pack your stuff."

"Doc," she repeated, "I'm hungry."

-=[ ]=-

Sandwich in one hand and bag in the other, the girl stepped into the helicopter. She joined Agent Ike, six months after their first meeting.

"Well, kiddo," he started, "this may be our last time seeing each other for a while. Let's hope this goes really quick for you. That way, we can see each other again soon."

"I hope so," she admitted. "I have a feeling I'll be pretty lonely in the meantime. I'm not sure how easily I'll be able to make friends."

"Nonsense, you'll get friends in a snap. As charming of a girl as you are, I guarantee you'll have no problem making friends. Besides, your friend back at the warden's place said she almost cried when you left, so you won't have to worry about people not caring."

"Cal and I were the best of friends," she reminisced. "I cried while leaving, too. Does she still talk about me?"

"Of course she does, and she's improved with her speech a lot. The only problem is she's picking up the warden's Russian accent. Soon, she'll be speaking just fine, but with an accent that absolutely nobody understands."

The helicopter, now flying along awful quick, looked nothing like the paramedic one she vaguely remembered. Instead of a red medical cross, it bore an American flag. The inside remained a gunmetal gray but was situated more like a transport than anything else.

It was also a lot faster than the medical helicopter, if the sound of the wind was anything to go by. "We're five minutes away," Ike announced, checking his watch.

"Already five minutes away? How long have we been flying?"

"Just over an hour. I told you it wasn't going to be that long of a trip. Are you going to behave while I'm gone?"

"Of course I will," she answered. "That's how I've been taught."

Five minutes later, the helicopter landed on an airship she would later find out was called the Globetrotter. As the blades slowed down, he stretched out his arms and asked, "Well, girly, one last hug?"

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They hugged for a good twenty seconds until Ike released his grip. She stepped off of the helicopter as the blades activated again, tossing her hair around in the draft.

"Bye, Dad," she said, her heart melting inside her. He wasn't her real dad, but he took it upon himself to fill that role, and although she couldn't remember her real dad, she was sure he was doing a good job.

"See you later, kiddo. Don't forget, you can't tell others about any of this. No mentioning me, or the doctor, or anything. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," she confirmed.

Someone walked out on deck to retrieve her as Ike lifted away. He was wearing blue from head-to-toe. It seemed out of place compared to the darker wood of the ship, but his apparel matched with the afternoon sky almost poetically.

He approached her, arm outstretched. "Welcome. My name is Amp, and I'm the pilot. Come inside, and we'll get you situated. I understand you're from Louisiana?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. His pace was brisk, and she was rushing to keep up with him as he walked.

"Same. What a great state it is. All of your paperwork was already filled out, so there's no need for you to sign or do anything. You'll also get this pair of goggles, but you'll have to wait like ten minutes for that."

The goggles were, to say the least, stunning. A pair of gold goggles with green lenses wasn't found at your local store. Not that she remembered ever going to a local store.

"What's your name, dear?" he asked, snapping her attention away from the goggles. "It appears that has been left untouched in your file."

Her name? She couldn't remember. No matter how far back she recalled, the two things she'd ever been called that could possibly relate to a name were "girly" from Agent Ike and "Coggles" from the speech-impaired Cal.

"Cog, sir," she finally decided. Short and sweet.

And charming, she thought, remembering Ike's comment.

"Well, Cog, welcome aboard. We're about to have lunch, but first I usually go through announcements. I'll walk you to a table afterwards if you want."

"Yeah, that'd be great," she said. In reality, she didn't know what she wanted. Her heart was still aching, thinking about Ike and Cal. It would be a while until she saw Ike again, and she didn't know if she would ever see Cal again.

"Well, let's go then." He offered his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, she accepted. He seemed genuine. Maybe Ike was right, and life on the airship really wouldn't be that bad.

Together, they walked on stage to face the crowd. The entire lunchroom watched them approach the microphone, and most of the noise died down. Rumors spread fast, and the rumors about a missing first-year spread even quicker.

So many people, she realized, feeling panic bubble up. Too many people. She examined Amp, who was smiling at the crowd in front of them.

"Wow, I didn't even have to tap the microphone this time," he joked. "Improvement." When nobody responded, he continued.

"Obviously, I have someone here with me. Her name is Cog, and she completes the seventy-five kids in our new first-year class. No, she hasn't been on board the ship hiding somewhere. That helicopter you heard just a few minutes ago was her arriving. Let's quell the theories now. Also, I've got the pair of golden goggles to hand out this year right in my pack."

Amp opened up a mail bag he'd had draped over his shoulder, revealing an additional pair of golden goggles. The lenses were different from her own, but just as pretty.

"This year, our government was gracious enough to give us a pair of golden goggles, which we will now raffle off. This year's lucky winner is Crank, a second-year. Congrats, and would all goggle winners please come up here."

Only two people went up, a third-year and Crank. He received the goggles with a grin, and the two showed them off like they were crowns.

"Now, this fine gal, Cog, was lucky enough to also receive a pair specifically for her, as a sort of apology for what's happened." He pulled her pair out of the bag, along with a folded piece of paper. He carefully unfolded it and held it out in front of him.

Odd that they mention a patient name and not her actual name, he analyzed, giving it a quick glance.

"It has a note from Gerald Ford, our current president, as well: 'Dear Cog, we at the White House are deeply saddened by what you have gone through, but are also proud of how you've recovered. For this, we grant you this one-of-a-kind pair of green-lensed golden goggles. Yours truly, Gerald Ford.' What a guy."

Murmurs filled the mess hall. Everyone was just as confused as Cog was. Amp, however, wasn't going to answer any questions. "That's all I've got. Go back to eating. Peace."

Still hand-in-hand, Amp walked Cog to a table with two empty chairs at it. Most of the eyes followed them all the way to the table, but people were already less interested than earlier, and many resumed their interrupted conversations.

"Here you are," he said, gesturing towards the table. "Best of luck, Cog. My advice is to make some friends you can trust." He removed the mail bag from his shoulder and handed it to her. Inside was the letter from the president, sitting lonely in a pocket.

"Thank you, Amp."

He idled nearby a little bit longer before wandering back to his office. Along the way, he talked to and fist-bumped a few of the other students, leaving a smile wherever he went. He and the doctor were almost polar opposites. Amp seemed to walk through the room with positivity following behind him, not fear.

Two upperclassmen approached the table, seizing the strange situation as a chance to bother her.

"Well, hi, Miss Cog," one greeted.

"Quite lucky of you to get those goggles," the other commented. She didn't like something about the two of them. The way they sounded reminded her of the other kids back on the Island. Their voices had almost a sneer to it.

"Leave her alone, you two," another kid demanded, sitting alone at a table nearby. He seemed to be a little nerdy, but was also very calm about how he talked to the upperclassmen. "The last thing she wants is to be harassed by the likes of you."

"What do you mean, chap?" one asked, walking towards Cog. "What on Earth would we possibly do?"

"C'mere gal, stick with the cool kids," the other offered.

She decided it was a better idea to shoot the idea down. "No thanks, I'll sit alone."

"Good choice," the nerdy kid called out. "These two can hardly tie their shoes. Treating a girl right is way out of their comfort zone. Plus, what's with the funny talking?"

"What do you mean, funny talking?" The upperclassmen weren't happy with any of his criticism, but that bit seemed to hurt the most.

"To be honest, you're speaking like you're British gang members," he replied. "You're all like, 'pip pip cheerio, I do believe I would like to harass a girl two years younger than me today. Tally ho!'"

She instinctively laughed, but caught herself when she saw the two angrily approach the other kid.

"Well, nerd," one growled, "since you're so smart, I'll let you choose which knuckle you want imprinted on your face."

"How about neither, ya scumbags," a different kid, who had gotten up from his own table of friends, chimed in. He was built larger than the two upperclassmen, and as he walked towards them, they suddenly removed themselves from the situation. He sat down at Cog's table, and beckoned the nerd to come sit, too.

"Sprocket," the stronger kid announced, offering his hand.

"Cog," she responded. She assumed he was going for a high five, but realized it wasn't one way too late.

"Handshake, silly," he teased, laughing.

"And I'm Gogs," the other proclaimed, his hand actually up for a high five. It worked effortlessly.

She glanced around, studying the massive cafeteria. There were so many faces. She couldn't remember ever seeing so many people in one place. Her mixed reaction apparently showed.

"You don't get out often, do you?" Sprocket noticed, gazing at her awe-filled face.

"Not really, no."

"Well, Cog," he said, "this is going to be an interesting year." He smiled at her.

-=[ ]=-

She blinked, and was no longer in the same populated lunchroom she had just been in. Instead, her surroundings slowly faded to dark red, then dark gray, and finally pitch black.

A man was hiding in the shadows in front of her. He walked closer, and she could feel panic bubbling inside her chest.

Not again, she stewed. It's just a dream.

The man appeared out of the shadows. His red armband stood out more than his brown clothing, but his ghostly white figure was the most haunting. Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest.

Thump, thump.

Just a dream.

A drill began lowering, its sharp point centered on her forehead. The man smiled menacingly.

Thump, thump, thump.

Just a dream!

He spoke with a thick Austrian accent. "Well, here we have another victim of the war."

It's not Hitler. It's a dream. It's not a drill.

Thump, thump.

"Soon, Marie, it'll be over."

The drill! My forehead!

Thump thump thump thump.

Just a dream!

Thump thump thump.

My name's not Marie!

As the drill came closer and closer to her skull, a sickening noise left her mouth.