The Lyon Who Escaped

Chapter 1

Click. My eyes widen at the sound I am all too familiar with. I don't dare turn around. I quickly scan my surroundings. Dim light flickers above. There is a door to my left, a five meter tall brick wall to my right. Behind me my fingers clasp around the ridge of the cold metal. I flip the table over, and sprint towards the wall. Bullets whoosh past my ears. My pulse quickens, as does my speed. I leap up and grab a red brick. My feet scramble against the rough surface until they get a grip. I am almost at the top now. Stupidly, I ignore the loud yelling of the massive men. Focus, focus you idiot I tell myself. I try and remember my training, but my mind's blank! Panicking, I push off and jump upwards. My fingers scrape the top of the wall, my left hand slips off.

"Et ez over Agent Stilinski" a gruff French voice threatens. Gunshots go off. Staying as low as humanly possible I swing myself up and over the wall. Just as I dismount the wall a searing pain shoots up my arm. My arm feels like it has a red hot iron rod thrust into it! It hangs limp, flopping at my side. Unwillingly, I glance down at it and see the black chunk of metal has buried itself deep in my flesh. The skin around the wound shrivels up. A burnt blackened eye, with a pupil of silver. Crimson seeps into my black clothes. I attempt to tear off my left sleeve, but it just pinches the cloth tighter around the puncture, causing me to hiss.

Suddenly a blinding light flicks on. White light everywhere I look. My uninjured hand instantly goes to my eyes. Squinting, I make out the silhouette of three people walking towards me. I attempt to scramble to my feet, only to fall back down again. Clap. Clap. Clap.

"Well done Agent Stilinski" An unfamiliar voice mocks "You probably haven't heard but I am the new director here, my name is Myron Ayre" he informs me, business-like. He opens his blazer and flashes his ID with a smug expression.

"So can I call you Director MA for short? As in Mama" I ask cheekily. He is wearing a black suit and tie, but he has a strange broach on his tie. A gold scorpion with its tail poised above its head, it looks like the tail is stabbing a miniature globe. The Director has shades covering his eyes, so I can't see what colour they are, though I wouldn't be surprised if they were blood red.

"I have read your profile Agent Stilinski" the Director says ignoring my previous comment "and your last mission was quite spectacular. You remember, the one where you busted those thugs who disguised Cocaine as Climbers' Chalk, and smuggled it into the country."

"Sorry to interrupt" I cut him off "but can you cut to the chase. My arm lost all feeling in it about a minute ago" I gesture to my flaccid left arm.

"I beg your pardon but not even an agent such as yourself is allowed to address me so informally and rudely" He reaches into his inside pocket of his blazer, and pulls out a black bricklike object which I immediately recognise.

"Is that a walkie-talkie?" I snigger, then pale at his creepy, calm expression. The director slides the antenna up. Though, come to think of it I haven't ever seen a steel walkie-talkie with a swirly pattern in carbon fibre.

"I like to call this baby a Kanima, you will soon see why". He presses the center button -usually used for talking-and the antenna sparks, a bright coil of blue shoots down the rod and straight at me. As soon as it touches me, my body randomly collapses and my injured arm smacks the floor. My eyes well up, but I refuse to let them spill. I have no control over my body, and my new boss just laughs.

"Don't worry that's not all it can do, it can also paralyse the victim for an hour, as well as electrifying them. Clean up, get some rest. I'll see you in the briefing room tomorrow 0600 hours for your next mission" and with that he leaves me lying immobilised on the cold concrete. The two guards rush forward when the new director passes them.

"Oh my gosh! Are you ok?" gushes a male agent whom I do not recognise. He comes from the Code Cracking division of the organisation though, judging by his badge - a brain with a pen stabbing it, the initials CC at the bottom of the shield.

"Let me help you. I have the cure in my pocket" the other boy says fishing around inside his jacket. I feel a prick in my right arm and warily look over at the green liquid penetrating my pale skin. My muscles untense and I collapse -yet again-onto the hard floor. Slowly I manage to get up, the boys both help me up -somehow without injuring my arm further.