I.

Life in prison or 15 years as a Doll. That's the choice The Council gives him. A life sentence without the possibility of parole, or the next decade and a half as anyone but himself.

It's not much of a choice. Ward has spent so much of his life assuming other identities, what's another 15 years? He signs his name on the crisp sheet of paper without hesitation and just like that, his life as he knows it is over. In the end, this is what his existence amounts to - a stack of paperwork.

An agent ushers him into the operation room where Coulson and Skye are waiting. Her chest rises as if she's about to say something, but then a frown settles over her face and she pulls her mouth into a tight line. It's probably better this way. It's too late for words.

A voice tells him to take a seat and make himself comfortable, and Ward almost scoffs. He's sure his comfort is high on their list of priorities as they wipe his mind clean. Still, he has to admit that the chair is surprisingly comfortable. The power of ergonomics.

Skye returns to his field of vision as he leans back in the chair. He wonders if he'll ever see her again after this. Not that it really matters. In a few minutes, she'll be a stranger, and that's the thought that unsettles him the most. He doesn't want to forget the man he was when he was with her. And more than that, he's afraid, terrified, of the man he'll be without her. That man was angry, bitter, cruel. He doesn't want to go back to being that man.

The chair hums to life around him. It's time.

He focuses his eyes on Skye and wills himself to remember her. If not her face, then at least the way she made him feel. If not the sound of her voice, then at least the happiness he had when they were together. If not the feel of her lips, then at least the peace he found by her side.

His eyes are still locked with hers when a light explodes around him. He feels his body tense as pain spreads through his head, a blinding, throbbing ache deep in his temple. A soft gasp reaches his ears.

Then, nothing.