Spy School - Salvation [3]

04: Death Fodder

Medical Bay

Academy of Espionage

Washington DC

May 14

2000 hours

I awoke in a suspiciously lumpy bed. The sheets were scratchy and the pillow was flat as a piece of paper. The cold, rusty railing of the hospital bed pressed into my right side. I was still in my clothes and shoes, and they were soaked in sweat and reeked terribly. I moved one of my arms to feel my throbbing head, only to find out that it was now numb.

The school had a medical bay, but surprisingly, despite all my life-threatening encounters, I never had the opportunity to become a patient there. The medical bay was contracted to be built back during Nixon's presidency after a nasty shrapnel accident, but it had only been finished two months ago. Honestly, I was surprised that it had ever been completed; the student dorm toilets had been dysfunctional since the presidency of FDR.

There were rumors. Not about the medical bay itself, but the nurse who worked there. The nurse was a very short and plump man, with beady eyes and a receding hairline. He spoke in a gruff voice, and while he was competent, (unlike most other employees at the academy) he didn't have any qualms about student pain. He would wrap the bandages on someone's arm so tightly it would cut off blood circulation, rip the bomb shrapnel out from someone's leg instead of pulling gently, and so on.

The nurse also happened to be the source of my waking. As I opened my eyes, I saw him banging two pots together to wake me up. He was wearing an overly large medical coat which had a name tag reading "Nurse Wetchly." Once he saw that I was awake, he stopped banging the pots and scowled at me.

"Get up. Now!" He yelled the last part, making my head kneel in pain, which was already hurting from the fall and his banging with the two pots.

I took a moment to gather myself, dizzy from the noise. When he saw that I wasn't moving, he grabbed my forearm and yanked me off the hospital bed, pulling me out of the med bay.

"Hey- where are we going?" I exclaimed.

"I'm not going to waste my breath explaining to you," he said.

I wanted to point out that he was wasting his breath explaining to me that he would waste his breath if he explained it to me, so he was wasting his breath anyways, but I didn't see the point in angering him when his hand was firmly gripping my arm.

Nurse Wetchly dragged me outside the building. It was already completely dark outside, and the cold spring air made me freeze in my thin t-shirt.

We entered into the foyer of another building. It looked familiar, and I quickly realized that we were in the Nathan Hale building. The last time I was there, I was standing trial with my friends after SPYDER framed me. I swallowed nervously, wondering what possibly could be the reason to go in here again. I was sure nobody would frame me again; I hadn't done anything that they could possibly accuse me of, but I wouldn't put it past someone to try to frame me for something again.

The two secure steel doors to the lecture hall opened, and Nurse Wetchly dragged me in.

Once again, just like last time I was in the Nathan Hale lecture hall, there was a stage with a long table on it with five people sitting at it. There were seven people at the table last time- what happened to the missing two? The lights were so blindingly bright, that they were mere silhouettes. To make it even more intimidating, there were hundreds of empty seats in the lecture hall. It was just them, me, and Nurse Wetchly staring at each other.

Everything was exactly the same as last time I was in here. I had a nasty feeling that was crawling up my spine like icky goo, and it was whispering to me that an unpleasant trial was about to begin. Nurse Wetchly left, steel doors closing behind him, and my anxiety grew.

"Sit!" one of the voices boomed from the table. I sat in the back row.

"In the front row," the same voice clarified, not sounding very pleased. I obediently walked all the way to the front row and sat in one of the seats that was on the left side of the room.

Someone banged a gavel on the table. "Benjamin Ripley, you stand before this tribunal as a witness to the events that occured in the Smithsonian Institution between 1000 and 1300 hours on this day, May fourteenth."

I felt a sigh of relief. No one had framed me; I was just a witness to the attack that happened. I was slightly concerned that the attack was so important that the CIA had to investigate it, but it was nothing compared to my previous exploits. I could rest easy and let the CIA agents do their work.

There was another gavel bang. "You are also being investigated for possible collaboration with the attacker."

Of course. I clenched my hands, my fingernails digging into the wooden armrests. At least I'm not being accused, only investigated, I said to myself, but it didn't help much. I was still lost and confused, suffering a concussion, and wondering what happened at the museum. Had anyone else been hurt by the gas? Where was Erica? Wouldn't she have been with me during the trial, since she was also at the museum? Where was she when the attacker, well, attacked? Who was this person conducting the trial?- they weren't Cyrus, like last time.

I had a million questions that I wanted the tribunal in front of me to answer. I wanted to yell out, What happened? Where's Erica? and if they refused to tell me the answer, I would jump up from my chair and throttle them until they told me.

But I couldn't move from my chair. Their authority scared me too much, so I sat, my hands clenching the armrests.

"We will conduct today's-"

I interrupted the figure. I felt fear, and I thought, contemplated how I was scared of my own organization that was designed to protect the nation. But that was exactly the point: they protected the nation, not me. My life would instantly be deemed death fodder if it needed to be.

"Where's Cyrus? And Alexander?" I asked the tribunal, referring to the last time I sat in front of the tribunal.

"They were removed from the tribunal because of possible bias," the stern voice of a woman said.

The gavel was slammed again. "But you aren't to ask questions. We're asking the questions here."

My mind was racing. Possible bias? Could the trial have to do something with Erica? Did something happen to her, or did she do something?

"Describe the events that led up to the attack."

"Uh, so Erica spotted Murray Hills and Ivy Brown-"

I was interrupted. "According to both you and Ms. Erica Hale, Murray Hills had died from a fall in Havana, Cuba, is that not correct?"

"Yes, but-"

"So you admit that he died, but you also say that Erica spotted him?"

"I thought he had died, but-"

"It is clear that he is compromised, whether mentally, or by Erica Hale." The gavel was slammed again. "We no longer require-"

"Hold on," I interrupted. "You can't possibly think that I was compromised by Erica Hale! Not after everything Erica and I did. Remember the last time I was most wanted in the country? Remember when Erica was blackmailed into assisination? This is all a setup, you can't, you can't-"

"Just because Erica Hale was framed once doesn't mean she can't be compromised now," the leader of the tribunal said. "You are dismissed."

And like that, I fell into despair.

1325 words

usually i don't do ben-angry-at-society but sometimes it can be done

also, i'm on ao3 now. i go under tehImpossible