Double Agent

○ seven ○

When my eyes open the next morning, he's already there by the door, dressed in a suit tailored to perfection. I sit up abruptly, caught off guard.

"You're late. I have things to do."

I stare at the clock.

"It's the asscrack of dawn."

"I don't care. Hurry up."

"I don't have clothes."

"Not my problem. Figure it out later. I'll leave something for you to wear now."

My shower is warm and quick and the soaps melt into my skin. When I exit the bathroom, a plain black shirt is draped over the bed. I wear that and the shorts I wore the day he found me.

He's in the kitchen, eating a sandwich. My stomach grumbles. It's been a while since I last ate. Last night, I barely managed to snag a chocolate bar before bed. I couldn't really eat, I'm not sure why. But other than that I haven't eaten for two days. The fact hasn't been that much shocking since I turned 8. I'm used to struggling for food, and even if I get any they don't really look good, or they're stale.

I swallow and walk to the door, where I put my shoes on. My relationship with food is bad. I don't really trust what I put in my mouth anymore; I don't really trust that it'll keep me full.

He walks to the door, handing me a sandwich wrapped in saran wrap. It looks good, neater than anything I've had the past few years. He puts on his own black shoes over a pair of black socks and leaves through the door. Maybe he expects me to walk through or maybe he doesn't, but either way the door slams in my face and the warmth of the sandwich bleeds into my palm and suddenly I have the urge to cry. Like really ugly cry.

When I push past the door again, he has one phone to his ear as he reloads a gun, tucking it into the waistband of his suit. His cool eyes drop to the sandwich.

I clutch in desperately in my hands.

When he notices my hesitance, he says, "It's chicken, mayo and cucumber."

"From when?"

"From... today?" his confusion is valid. I didn't realise I'd even asked the question.

I stare at it tentatively before unwrapping it. It smells so good, like the kind my father and I would make together when he actually had time. The first bite is heaven, the flavours complementing each other. Then I was off, barely giving myself time to chew before I had the next bite. I was so hungry I thought that if I didn't get the next bite into my mouth the sandwich would disappear. The elevator arrives and I don't bother to lift my head to enter.

He purses his lips, seemingly in disdain, as he looks at me.

"They starve you or something?"

He doesn't expect me to nod my head as I chew, eyes still on the sandwich.

The first part of the drive is silent.

"What's your name?" I ask suddenly, realising I didn't even know it.

"If you think we're suddenly friends and we're going to braid each others hair and paint our toenails, I suggest you get a reality check," he clips.

"Yeah, no shit, but what do I call you? Calling you Mr Ford is lame."

He sighs in irritation, "Ezra."

I raise my eyebrows and avert my eyes to the front, not bothering to comment. It's an interesting name. Sounds fancy. Like everything else.

Silence, again, until we reach the restaurant once again. He turns into a road and drives straight ahead.

"ECHA, open."

The road dips down into a carpark I recognise and he parks the car smoothly. I watch it sink into the ground with us still in it, the tarmac above enveloping us in darkness until we settle into a garage. A high tech one, as can be expected from these people. More screens and contraptions that beep under glowing fluorescent lights. Machinery and guns I haven't seen or imagined. He tosses the keys to a man in a simple pair of overalls. Even the mechanic smells rich.

"Car needs an update."

"Yes sir," the man nods.

"ECHA, charge."

The car backs itself into a charging port and lights up next to the other black, white and silver cars.

"Is everything you own called ECHA?"

"Each high ranking agent is appointed a personalised assistance system that controls most of their tactics," he answers, nodding to another agent as we walk out into the pristine halls of the building.

The man, also dressed in a suit, looks at me oddly. It's because I most definitely do not look like I belong here. He approaches Ezra, passing him a tiny device.

"Chagrin wants you to test this."

Ezra weighs the thing in his hands, weaving it through his fingers.

The other agent pauses,"Do you know how to use it?"

"You'd expect so, Hopkins, since I developed it," he responds coolly, tapping the device thrice. A red laser shoots out and he aims it right between the agent's eyebrows, pausing slightly.

Hopkins stands rooted for a second, blinking almost in fear as he observes the laser.

Then, without any word Ezra walks away, and I trail behind him, nodding my head to the agent. The confused agent has enough audacity left to glance down at my clothes, raise his eyebrows, and walk away.

I turn back around.

"What'd you do?"

"Placed a radioactive tracker in his skull."

"Does he know?"

"No."

"Oh. Cool."

He continues his fast pace, barely acknowledging my presence.

"Where we going?"

He ignores me.

A few minutes later we approach brown oak doors. The doors open inwards as we near them. It's a training centre of some sort. Most of it comprises traditional equipment, punching bags, weights, a few targets. A few agents spar each other, ducking and jabbing with a speed I envy. I see a woman in the corner, her eyes closed, back to a large board. She wears a bodysuit, her hair tied in a single braid. A man picks up a gun, aiming it at her. The gun clicks as a sign of reload, and she angles her head towards the sound, moving before he fires, the bullet hitting the spot she was at a few seconds ago. This continues for a while before she opens her eyes and smiles, nodding at her partner.

Ezra approaches her, getting all up in her face.

She sighs, before plastering a sarcastic smile on her face.

"What do you want?" The same British accent.

"For you to run a diagnostics test. With simulation and intuition training."

"Man, that does sound difficult," she contemplates, "maybe if you said please I'll consider not drowning you sometime soon."

"Please," he grits.

She narrows her eyes then smiles, displaying a row of straight white teeth.

"Who am I doing this on?"

He turns to me, and her eyes assess me.

"Who's she?"

"No one important. Diagnostics test, now."

She gives him a deadpan look, before approaching me.

"Hi," she smiles, "I'm just going to ask you a couple questions, do a few medical and blood tests and then test your aptitude. Follow me."

I turn around to widen my eyes at him. He observes me quietly and sviwels, walking away.