Agent (Book 1)

Chapter 2-Nolan

2

Nolan Hood

Agent: 21

Mission: Not Applicable

Date: August 22nd

Time: 0600

You'd think I'd been at war.

That's how it appears, anyway. I can't remember when I grew so appalled at my own reflection, but I can't meet my eyes in the mirror. It's probably for the best.

I've got a broken rib and too many cuts to cover. The doctors tell me I shouldn't worry—that I'm young and fit and sure to make a full recovery. They assume that's where my irritation comes from.

Not the fact that maybe the Commander's right.

After minutes of washing away the blood on my knuckles, I wince as I readjust the cotton on my chest. Every movement is a constant reminder, a constant sign of the failure I've grown so accustomed to. I keep my eyes averted, but I can just make out the swollen skin and red creases.

I'm pathetic. Sometimes, I wonder what the Commander ever saw in me.

She won't want me going to training, of course. Not because I'm a valuable asset, and she can't risk injuring me further. I'm supposed to meet with her this morning, though approaching her in this condition reminds me of the first time we met, when I was feeble and weak. It pains me to remember it.

I leave the bathroom and tear a random selection of clothes from my dresser. I wince a little as I pull the jacket on. Look to the computer monitor but turn away when I see my face in its inky reflection.

Grateful for the excuse to leave, I start down the hallway, absently turning the corner to the Commander's office. She requested my presence yesterday after I returned to Headquarters. Probably to thank me. According to Pyle, hosting a Mission Trial is "exceptionally important."

When I reach the door, I knock once and then twice, slumping against the wall. The Commander's always been a distracted woman. Often loses track of time. I check my watch with a sigh. 0600. She always goes out for a stroll around 0700. I've found myself following her, sometimes. As clever as she is, I find it hard to believe she isn't aware of me. I trail her anyway, like some sort of stalker.

A few more moments pass before Commander Pyle opens up. As always, she's dressed in her General Agent uniform: a gray silver buttoned coat, black pants, and polished silver boots. A stitched insignia makes up the material over her right shoulder. The American Eagle, poised and ready to fly. Her pale face looks old in the dim light, older than I remember, and her smile seems forced. I know she's been contemplating something important.

"Agent Hood," she says, nodding. She steps back to allow me inside.

I've been to Commander Pyle's office many times before, but something seems strange about it this time. Despite the lack of windows, it's always felt bright and alive. Now the overhead seems to have been dimmed. Her swivel chair is pushed away from her cluttered desk, stacked with misplaced files.

"Commander," I say when she closes the door. "Was there something I could help you with?" Of course there isn't. Not when I can see that edge of sympathy hidden beneath her steady, placid gaze.

She doesn't hear me at first, flattening back a loose piece of her bronze hair. "Commander?" I ask.

"I wanted to thank you, Agent," she says slowly. "For assisting in the Mission Trial. I couldn't have done it without you." She smiles and again, it's only half-genuine.