A loud thump instantly snapped Mr Smith back to life. Before even he himself knew it, he already had his gun trained straight at the door, his finger ready to pull the trigger the second it sensed even the faintest signs of movement.
But there was nothing. His room was as empty as ever.
He breathed out a sigh, letting the air he exhaled warm the cold finger wrapped tightly around the gun before slowly letting the tip of it droop then drop completely before he finally, with some reluctance, placed it back onto his bedside table.
He knew it was just his imagination playing games again. His stupid fake imaginations, wreaking havoc in his dreams, keeping him from having any peace of mind.
Take last night for example. By all accounts, that night had set itself up to be as typical of a night as it could be. Mr Smith by that point, had already been sound asleep for hours and had no reason to fear disruption.
Until it happened.
A sensation struck his chest. A tiny tingle, so small he thought he had imagined it, until it struck again, leaving behind sediments of unease. Something wasn't quite right...
Instinctively, he grabbed for his gun. His hands grasped empty air. Where is his gun?? Surprised, he opened his eyes, expecting to see his gun misplaced somewhere in his room. Instead, he found himself staring into the darkness, the vast nocturnal expanse looking back at him, equally confused. I am outside?
He glanced to his side. Here, any semblance of civilization had long melted away into the grass that stretched endlessly around him. He was all alone, surrounded by unknowns.
But somehow completely content, his mind feeling nothing but serenity. This was wrong. He thought. How could he be content? He tried to ‘kick’ himself into the mood again. Maybe this was just an error, a glitch in the system. Yet still nothing happened. His mind, it seems, had so thoroughly intoxicated itself with these corrupted feelings that it had broken down completely, and was no longer able to produce something even close to what his will desired.
His mood began to curdle. How dare his mind let itself fall prey to the allure of weakness! It was an indomitable fortress, far above the meddling of mere emotions! You were supposed to have destroyed these emotions eons ago, not join them! Remember? Feelings like these are a liability in my line of work. Any hesitation and you and I die. Both of us the end.
His mind remained silent
Fine then, I'll do it myself.
He concentrated, amassing all his willpower onto one singular point of his consciousness, the eyes of the storm. The enemy he reasoned was still scattered enough that if he were to act now, he could almost certainly deliver a fatal knockout blow on his enemy.
But even as he prepared, he could feel something rising just over the horizon. A storm was brewing. The sensation he had felt earlier multiplied tenfold, they were coming.
Still, he stood firm in his resolve, mustering whatever forces he had and immediately going on the offensive. The odds may be slipping ever further from his favour but he knew fortune favours the bold. If he struck now, he could preserve just enough odds to squeeze out an eventual triumph.
And that was to be the last thing that crossed his mind
As soon as thoughts materialised, the enemy struck. Wave after wave crashed into him, completely shattering the forces he had so boldly led. Any conviction he had left now lay in smithereens at the bottom of that ocean. Headfirst he was plunged, sinking deeper and deeper into this ocean of once-forgotten feelings until he finally reached rock bottom. His body, knowing all was lost, began to relax, muscles loosened. Water outside started trickling in slowly, then a stream. With the winds firmly blowing against him, Mr Smith relented, taking a deep breath.
The emotions rushed straight for his heart, laying themselves bare to it, dispensing all they had. Feelings like security, certainty, flooded into him, filling him with all they had, the good and the bad. Strangely there wasn’t any immediate gag reaction to it, in fact, quite the opposite. He wanted more of it, more.
And he was going to get his wish. The warmth they so willingly imparted to his heart radiated throughout his body giving even the furthest edges of his body a taste of these new feelings. He could feel his skin glow, a warm golden aura. A rebirth? No, a transformation. He could feel something, telling him to let go, to close his eyes, to fully complete this change. He complied, closing it shut and letting himself go.
His mind now no longer bounded by his will, let itself drift, absorbing the surrounding ambience readily, like a sponge. It felt nice being so at peace for once, and really he didn't mind it staying this way, just a little longer. He spread his arm apart, wishing for more of it to find its way to him. His eyes began to open up again, it had enjoyed the view of the night and wanted to further immerse himself in it, in the feeling that came with it, only to find himself lying in a puddle of cold sweat, back to reality.
Tonight, his dreams went up a notch. The vast, easy to imagine, humanless expanse of before was instead replaced by a bustling port city. One which he found himself strolling its endless streets. He could hear the screeches and yells of the various shopkeepers that lined it waging a bitter war over the attention of anything that moved. This din...It..It overwhelmed Mr Smith. His hands instinctively went to his collars, snatching the edges closer to him.
It was no use.
The cacophony of sounds, even in it's reduced form, was still too much for his brain to handle and any more of his assaults would definitely take down anything he had left.
In a last ditch attempt to save himself from outcome, he widened his nostrils, hoping that the influx of smell would distract his mind from the ongoing audio assault on his ears. This however would be a mistake.
The moment he widened his nose, the smells that previously hung still in the air rushed into his nose, trying desperately to fill every cavity made by its expansion. Scents like fish, sea salt, washed up boots, took his olfactory components completely by surprise. Theoretically, these smells shouldn’t be at all foreign to him, let alone cause as much of a reaction as they did right then. It was as though he had been transported into a body that had spent most of its life in a Barnhouse instead of travelling the world the likes of which Mr Smith did. Strange.
His state of confusion would not last long, however. Out of nowhere, a pair of burly hands reached out and grabbed Mr Smith's abdomen from behind, sending him spiraling into a panic. What…No…How?? He gripped the man’s hand and pulled but it didn’t budge. His hands couldn’t stop fidgeting, fear was setting in, paralysing him. Helpless, he could nothing as men scooped him up and shove him out of the streets.
It was only after a good 15 minutes of being manhandled by them did Mr Smith finally regained enough composure to begin frantically struggling for survival. He kicked and screeched, hoping this would be enough to be noticed.
This wasn’t enough.
The people that lined this bustling street were simply more concerned about haggling for a lower price than to care about the cries of one more. The metaphorical walls were quickly closing around him.
In the meantime, the men continued to drag him along the dingily lit alleyway they had shoved him into. In his ear they began to whisper a flurry of words, CSA, Clinton the Committee of Revolutionary Intelligence. What? Why are you doing this? I don’t understand, what are they supposed the mean? He never voiced out his concerns. The figurative walls that surrounded him were getting closer, the noose tightening around him.
But even approached the last stretch of his journey, his end destination, an ominous-looking wooden door ahead. Mr Smith struggled to the last and let out an ear breaking screaming. This show of defiance was, predictably, muzzled by his captors. Now he was truly done for. Turning Mr Smith around, Mr Smith got one final look at the world outside before his captors threw him back first into the darkness that lay beyond the door.
It was at this point that a loud thump thankfully woke Mr Smith back to the world of the living, and thus bringing us back to the start of the story.
Forcing his back back onto the bed, he tried hard to get some sleep. The forces seeking to threaten his mark presented a clear and present danger. Therefore, he wanted no needed the sleep in order to operate at full capacity the next day to prevent his failure. It was a dog life yes, but it was worth it if it prevented the unthinkable…...
"Don't move"
Mr Smith instantly froze. On his temples, he could feel the cold tip of a gun pressed against it, a very physical reminder for him to obey or get his grey matter splayed all over the bed for the world to see.
Heh, he didn’t care anyway. If he judged right, the man needed him alive regardless, otherwise, his brain matter would have left his body. Going on this assumption, he started to wiggle a bit. Not so much that the man might notice, but not so little that all his efforts would be for nought. Just enough to get himself into that marginally more advantageous position. Enough to allow him to take this man down. A little more Mr Smith thought, just a little more…
"DON'T MOVE" the man growled, noticing his movements, his gun pressed deeper into his temples.
No.
With his left hand, he grabbed the man’s wrist and threw it toward the ground, using both the angular momentum he had gained and his already advantageous position to launch himself into the air. Occupying much of his well-deserved air time with admiring the pure shock that presumably hung on the assailant’s face before he pivoted his elbow right onto the assailant's neck. The effects were instant. The gun he had already dropped smashed right into his face as his whole body came hurtling towards the ground. He landed hard, kissing the ground with a resounding crack.
Now with the assailant was subdued, Mr Smith could finally do as he pleased. He began to carefully remove the man of all his weapons, making sure to leave no stone unturned. The unconscious squirm of his body really told it all, but Mr Smith ignored his discomfort. Results were all he cared about, decency came a far second. This is why Mr Smith then had the man roughly bound to the chair to prevent his escapes. Admittingly, this might have been a little too rough, the ropes bounding him had been tight enough, pulling them any further would have just meant more unnecessary pain for the victim. But matters like this are for… personal security, a necessary evil… probably.
Best stay on the task, finishing up the last bit of thread, he began on the next phase of his project. Using his pocket knife he carefully relived the wire within the wall socket of its rubber lining before stabbing it into the man switch on. In a second, 5W of electricity surged into the man’s vein, tazing the living hell out of the assailant. He didn’t care, he was not going to stop until this man was fully conscious.
It was thus unfortunate then that the assailant woke up after only a few jolts from the wire. His eyes fluttering open to the sight of Mr Smith's gun pointed squarely between his eyes.
"Who do you work for?" Mr Smith asked in the most polite tone he could muster. No matter the situation, he always liked to think of himself as a gentleman. Small things like these goes a long way to help him sleep well every night.
The man remained silent, staring blankly back at him.
"I say again," Mr Smith said, his facade of courtesy slowly melting away "who do you work for."
Silence, the man refused to speak a word.
“Oh I see, you are the quiet type, aren’t you. Well, guess I’ll just have to loosen your tongue for you…”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Mr Smith took a step back, staring one last time at the feeble man before him, before stabbing the two wires right back into the base of the man’s neck. As expected of a now conscious man, he immediately began howling in pain from the touch of bare wires.
Thankfully, Mr Smith didn’t have to suffer the effects of this audio bombardment, as he had thought ahead and had proactively stuffed the man’s mouth with a piece of bedding. If he hadn’t, oh, this would surely have become much more than a minor nuisance to him. Noise or otherwise this whole charade, could not go on forever. Mr Smith did still need the man alive, sadly. So with in minute on the clock, Mr Smith with much reluctance cut the electricity supplying the wires. His curved lips reverting back into a thin line.
“I ask again,” Mr Smith said firmly, having already taken out the wad of cloth “who do you work for.”
“Please… I am just a front man... I got a family man.. They’ll kill me if they know I tell you.”
“Either you tell me their name or I’m going to taze again, choose.”
"But…but."
"Say but one more time and I might be so inclined to turn on the switch again" Mr Smith said as his hand fondled the switch.
"Please no anything anything but that." The man says, glancing nervously over to the switch and back "Ok..ok I'll tell everything , everything you wanna know man, just pls not more tasing ok g?”
Mr Smith nodded, “Carry on”
“Okay.. weow. I know it might sound crazy to yall but I work for this organisation ok ,names Providence. They like some sort of private military organisation, illuminai science institute mish mash, think Blackrock meet the Mason meet CERN. I joined them cause I ain’t got a job and they said they were looking for vets said they'd give me good money for doing what I do. I agreed and I've been working for them ever since."
"Well done," Mr Smith said, drawing his face closer to the man " That wasn't so hard was it?" He said, cheekily squeezing the man's cheeks. "Now tell me everything you know, names, location, motives anything you think would be worth something to me. And that excludes your life story thank you."
"I.." the man said before taking a huge glup "that's all I know."
"Tch," Mr Smith grunted "you really want me to taze you again don't you."
"No no please that's all I know I swear"
"Want to reconsider that statement,” Mr Smith said, his hand hovering dangerously close to the power socket.
"Geez man if I knew I'll tell you man I...I am just the front man ok ain’t nobody tell me shit. As long as they gib me the money, ain’t gonna ask questions man..." the man said before suddenly stopping. He was perking his ears up as if he was hearing something. Mr Smith ignored his motions and concentrated all his attention on the man. This innocuous action could easily be a distraction, a ploy for the man to take advantage of his carelessness and make a break for it
As if to confirm this, the man turned his head back. A show of defeat. Μr Smith smirked, nice try but you gotta do better than this. So confident he was in his assumption that it was only when Mr Smith took a proper glance at him did he realise something was terribly wrong. His face revealed a man in full blown panic. His body was shaking, terrified. "They…y’re here" he stuttered.
Hold on what is this man talking about? Whatever could he mean by... Then everything clicked.
Fuck
Mr Smith ducked down just in time to feel his very door scrape right past his skull and straight into the wall behind him. Before he had time to recover, a group of heavily armed men stormed through the room and began to fire towards Mr Smith.
He cursed. How could he have been so careless as to fail to notice men setting up charges right outside his door? His thoughts were however rudely interrupted by two bullets whizzing a hair’s breadth away from his head, forcing his body to the floor.
The message it sent was clear, right now what's important is for him to survive and by the looks of things, Mr Smith wasn't doing a particularly great job at that, having quite a few near misses even after laying flat. Realizing he needed some proper breathing room, Mr Smith slid back to his bed and propped it upright, forming a makeshift cover. This he hoped would be enough to block the tsunami of bullets headed his way.
Luckily for him, the bed did indeed live up to its moniker of the Iron Sofa and easily shrugged off any bullets that met its steady metal frame. With the parameter secured he could finally do the one thing he needed to do the most now, think.
He knew that he was a cornered fox. If he did nothing, he would almost certainly perish. A fact that the enemy seemed to think was all but certain, seeing that they hadn't even bothered to use any of the pyrotechnics they most certainly had at their disposal. Instead they were taking their time ‘clearing the room’, or in other words, ensuring a slow and steady death for Mr Smith.
He grunted. He was definitely not going to go down without a fight. He had promised himself from the getgo that he would overcome any obstacles he faced, and a few bullets weren’t going to change that.
With his conviction tempered to hardened steel, Mr Smith put his hands to work, using it to scrounge around his pocket to find anything of use. Turns out he had 3. A bottle of baby powder, a lighter and last but not least his gun. Thinking fast, Mr Smith chucked the lighter over the wall and trained his gun on the tiny silhouette soaring gracefully through the air. Two second later he pulled the trigger.
A fireball the size of a melon instantly erupted where the lighter once was. The soldiers, over-reliant on their fancy night vision goggles, reeled back from the sudden burst of light, only to be almost immediately, hit by 30kg worth of bedframe, immobilizing them. Mr Smith had planned all of this of course and seeing that they were down, Mr Smith rather nonchalantly, strolled over to them, snatched up their weapons and fired. The three men dropped to the floor, unmoving. Mr Smiths lips turned to a smile, everything was going according to plan but still, he couldn't rest on his laurels for long.
The mark, he was in danger! Without giving himself even a moment's rest, Mr Smith began to swiftly expropriate the equipment of the dead man for himself, taking particular care to cover his face as much as possible with the balaclava. Once that was done, he rushed out of the door with an MP5 in hand and swung right at the nearest corner.
He thought he could catch an unsuspecting enemy around the corner, but for better or worse, there were none. Flicking the muzzle right and then left one last time, Mr Smith made his way over to the holding area, slowly.
Each time he reached a junction he gave it the same treatment and still without fail he wouldn't find a soul. Where are they? Where is everyone? Why haven’t they appeared? Were they aware of his survival, purposely avoid them? Had the agency been compromised? More and more these troubling thoughts filled his mind, worrying him greatly.
To be clear, this didn't mean he thought Interpol B was completely watertight, nobody was immune to leaks of information, especially in this age of free-flow information. Assuming this was just stupid.
There would always be that someone out there that knows and lets on more than they should. Maybe a cleaner gossiping to her family about the things she saw behind that mysterious door in the basement she cleaned once and never again, an admin officer that had one too many drinks rambling on about his life story with a cabby who couldn't really care less but still passed it on to his friends as one of those 'crazy passenger stories'. Tiny action like these snowballs and before you realise it, you’ll have the whole wide web bearing down on you, demanding to know what you are.
Information spreads, yes, but not like this. Warehouse 1 isn't some Walmart you could enter willy nilly. No one is supposed to know it exist, let alone an extra state entity with non-benign intents. There was something else at work here, he could feel it, something much deeper than what they were telling him.
Or maybe this was reading too much into this whole situation. Maybe the attack was instead, a mistake on their organisation’s part. The boy and his condition only mattered to those bigwigs at CERN at not much else honestly. His condition had implications on the world sure, but nothing outside the scientific world. Calling him a high-value target was admittingly a bit of a subconscious exaggeration on his part to make himself better about this assignment. All these thoughts were his paranoia, surely. But still…. He scoffed at himself. Don’t be silly, he could deal with that much later, right now his main priority was the Mark.
His footsteps quickened, morphing his slow and methodical pace into a brisk stroll before turning it into a straight on run. He needed speed, fast. Running through Warehouse 1's long and winding hallways until he finally reached the entrance of the corridor.
Before he even stepped a single toe into the corridor proper, he had already unconsciously slowed down his pace, reverting back into his slow walk, his gun in high alert at all times. Carefully, he peeked over the edge, gun first. Nothing. With his sight set squarely at the door, he started to creep towards the mark's location, keeping his footsteps as inaudible as possible. Once he had the tip of his barrel at the edge of the door, he stopped and slid foward, pressing his ear against the door. Still silence save for a constant beep. Taking a step back, he steeled himself for the sight to come.
There were two scenarios waiting for him beyond the door, an empty bed or a trap. A trap, he didn't mind. Signing up was always his choice and his choice alone. He was willing to bear the consequences of his actions, whatever that entailed. But an empty bed on the other hand.... Mr Smith hesitated a little, his hands lingering at the door handle. An empty bed would mean more then just a lost boy, it would mean he failed. It would mean he is indeed the aging agent everyone makes him out to be. It would mean he was weak. He clinched the handle hard one last time before finally pushing it past the frame...
Bang Bang Bang
3 bullets flew out from his behind and directly into Mr Smith back in quick succession. Imbued with their momentum, Mr Smith could feel his body's centre of gravity starting to tip dangerously forward. He was falling.
Knowing better than to fight the forces of gravity, he instead spun around and fired, letting gravity provide defense against any retribution. An audible cry rang out from behind, followed by the sounds of a gun clattering to the floor. Good, but this was no time to celebrate. With the last ounce of energy he had left, he lumbered into the room and slammed the door shut. The lock clicking shut behind him.
Now safely within the confines of the room, Mr Smith took a deep breath. He was in the clear, but not for long. The assailants already had a proven track record of breaking doors and didn’t seem like the kind that wouldn’t bring extras. As such Mr Smith was very aware that he had to act fast and get the mark out before they could go through with their plan.
However, the moment he took a single step forwards, he could feel something was wrong. His legs felt sluggish for some reason, wet also, an uncomfortable moistness spreading throughout his body.
He was shot.
Taking off the vest as quickly as he could, he started to swiftly pet down his body, trying his hardest to find the bullet. He was acutely aware how much blood could be lost from a simple wound like this, and was eager to not let that happen.
It was supposed to be simple, a single entry point. But the size and his level of fatigue complicated the matter. Overall, he took an embarrassingly long and agonizing search did he finally find the culrpit. A tiny almost invisible opening south of his thigh, unremarkable if it wasn't for the buckets of blood seeping out of it.
Thankfully, it was a clean wound as far as he could tell. The bullet likely having passed straight through his thigh and out through the back. However, it had cut through quite a few muscles tendons along its way, and he still needed something to stem the flow, besides his hand. Looking around the dimly lit room, he squinted hard, trying his best to find something like that. Darkness had all but consumed the room, save a dim circle surrounding the boy. Tch, emergency light, they had cut the power.
It was then that he eyes spotted a line of drawers tucked right beneath the table. He hobbled over to them, remembering that the nurses had gotten gauze from it before. Despite all the shady things that happen in this room, it was still a nursing room at it’s core and thankfully the staff here still stuck by that ethic. The drawers themselves were stocked with an ample amount of gauze, which he used to make himself a tight loop around his ankle, preventing any further blood loss.
Finally, he could get on with his mission. Grabbing the edge of the table, to used it as a support to hop his way toward the mark like he did with another nearby tabletop when he'd opened the emergency exit.
Except that didn't happen. He had overplayed his hand, overestimating both his strength and luck. When he pushed himself up, his sleeve wound up getting wedged in between a metal tray and the table. He ignored this, naturally but when his arms eventually gave way, he found himself staring at the same metal he had ignored, right above his forehead, accompanying him as he fell to the ground.
Knowing there was no escaping the forces of gravity in his state, he let it drag his body to the ground. Mentally, it was a warzone. His head was pounding hard. He had been too late, too much had already been lost. His vision started whiting-out, stars were making themselves known causing difficulty to discerning, not a good sign.
Everything he saw seemed in slow motion. The metal tray once plummeting with increasing urgency toward him was now gracefully hurtled toward him. In this haze, he even tried to swipe it away in some dying act of self-preservation but found his arm barely able to move. Like the tray it was so desperately wanted to hit, it too moved painstakingly slow, on track to hit the tray sometime within the next thousand years.
Mr Smith closed his eyes, trying his best to reassert control over his mental faculties. He exerted his power on them in a bid to hold on to them. But each time he grabbed one of them, they simply phased out of existence before reappearing again, his efforts as effective as trying to catch air with a hand while being light-footed at the same time.
It was futile.
Yet, his mind was actually accepting of this quagmire of a situation. It was fine, isn't it? The metal doors are 10 inches thick they'll be able to withstand any bullets the enemy throws at it. He had all the time in the world here. With him, himself and the boy.
A smile slowly creeped into his face. He was happy? Happy! Happy. Hahahaha.
Mr Smith laughed. What was happening to him? Was it bad, did he care? Hahahaha.
At the back of his mind, he felt something tugging the edges of his consciousness. What? Who’s that? Hahahaha. This tug slowly morphed into something more like a firm pull, causing his consciousness to further slip from his mind.
He was losing it. Literally
By the end of it, he was only a strand away from being completely pulled out. The force tugged again as if to ask it if he was ready, his consciousness refused immediately resisting. It didn't want to leave the body just yet. It liked his world okayyy. Hmph. But its dogged persuasion finally won it over and with one last pull, it completely untether itself from its last worldly possession. Now floating freely in limbo, it let itself be guided by the Cosmic Forces and followed it over the edge of our reality and into the world beyond.