CHAPTER XIX

beep
beep
beep
beep
beep

"fuckin' alarm", said Tittoo as he slammed the snooze button. Hard.

In less than 20 minutes, he had shaved, showered, and eaten his weekly dose of fortified plasmoiodomethylprotein pills, referred to as PIMP by the latest pharmaceutical ad jingles. He would now be able to go several days without food. Normal human beings who had adopted PIMP as an alternative to cooked food would last 2-3 days before fatigue was writ on their faces, but Tittoo Unnikrishnan was special. With years of mental and physical training, he had pushed himself to a limit others could only dream of.

It was the most important day of his life. Now came the moment he had been trained for since he was 7 years old. As he splashed strong after-shave on his face (to neutralise the colour of the chemo-receptors implanted at several locations on his face so they were rendered impossible to detect), he said to himself "if I do survive this mission, I'll find the sonovabitch who designed the 9 minute snooze alarm and shove my alarm clock up..."

His thought was abruptly interrupted by a terse sounding ring on his telephone. He immediately forgot about the fact that he was eternally pissed that his alarm clock didn't give him a round number of minutes to sleep, like 10 minutes.

"Is it time?", he said.
"Not yet. Leave in 34 minutes...", said the voice at the other end. "And don't call me until the job is done."
"Fine", said Tittoo as he hung up the phone.
"Bastard...", said Mario, as he listened to see if Tittoo had really ended the call. "Bastard, but he'll do the job like no one can"

13 minutes later, Tittoo dialed a number from the unlisted phone that sat underneath his bed. He exchanged a few terse words and hung up.

***

Mario's fingers typed faster than they ever had.

Fat Bastard: Boss
Stan Da Man: What's it now, you goat brained wart?
Fat Bastard: We have Titan on board. He's ready to execute.
Stan Da Man: Hmm... Titan.
Fat Bastard: I've asked him to leave 34 minutes from now.
Stan Da Man: Fine. And don't piss me off no more, you slut.

***

Tittoo spent the next 21 minutes reflecting. This was probably the last chance he'd get to spend quiet time by himself. The past 24 years had gone by fast and his memory was just a blur. But he remembered every minute detail about the year before that. The year he turned 7. He used to be known as Tittoo Unnikrishnan to his friends. Now, the few people who knew he existed simply knew him as Titan. Like a machine. Manufactured to exacting standards. Designed to perform. Useless if broken, abandoned if there's a malfunction.

"Abraham"

"Yes sir"

"Arockyanathan"

"Yes sir"

"Babykutty"

"Present sir"

"Cherian"

"Yes sir"

...

"Unnnikrishnan"

"Yes sir"

He still remembered the bloody roll call. He wondered where most of the boys were today, whether they were alive, and what names they went by. He recalled the good times he and his best friend Rudra Rejimon shared together. They were a part of an inner circle of boys in his school, whose age and expressionless faces belied what their brilliant diabolical minds were capable of. They called themselves the Cybernetic Hazardous Ethereal Terror Agents. CHETA for short. They decided they'd rule the world when their time came. They had a good thing going. Until Tittoo was whisked away from the school with the inadequate explanation that he was to receive a special kind of education.

Tittoo wondered where the rest of the boys were. The CHETAs. He knew about the whereabouts of one of them, who today, was an important cog in the complex CHETA machinery. He had just spoken to him and informed him about what Bob wanted him to do. Tittoo had been trained by Bob's men. He was on contract to do as Mario instructed him to. But his soul still belonged to the boys... aah, the boys. - R.S.