Agent (Book 1)

Chapter 18-Nolan

18

Nolan Hood

Agent: 21

Mission: Not Applicable

Location: Unknown

Date: September 1st, 2089

Time: 0600

The pain has risen steadily since the morning.

Keeping my food down isn't even the worst part anymore, because I've finally had to confront myself with the severity of my wound. It's much worse than I'd thought it'd be, and for a moment, I struggle to recall just how much preparation I've had for this very thing. Not nearly enough.

The skin surrounding the bullet is a sickly shade of green and swelling to twice its normal size, despite the heavy wrapping. I've tried several times to recall the proper tactics to healing a gunshot wound, but without any medical supplies, there's nothing left. Applying pressure is the one thing I can be sure of to stop the bleeding, but there's so much pus and inflammation, I can't make out any blood flow anyway. I'm lost.

I guess it's just fit that I go along with this, because The King's had to have planned it. Let me die a slow, painful death for the ACA's screens. So that they know that their time to save me is slowly dwindling. Of course, they wouldn't have wrapped it at all if they really wanted to speed things along, but they have to buy the ACA some time. Otherwise, why waste their resources on me if I'm already rotting? It wouldn't make much sense...

If I'd had the strength, I would've pushed myself up. Instead, the only indication of my new idea is the look in each of my bloodshot eyes. If I was correct in assuming that The Kings want the ACA to launch a rescue attempt, then that means that The Kings have to keep me alive for the cameras.

The ACA will only come for me if I'm alive, I think. Which is why if I'm not...

-v-

Over the next day and a half I deny any food they try to give me, even when my belly has twisted in desperate hunger. Infection has begun to spread, and I know that for the time being, food and water is the only thing still keeping me going. Take that away, and I'm afraid I don't have much longer.

While I lay there, I pride myself in feeling particularly unwell, and refuse to accept the next tray of food (yet again) that slides under the door flap.

Oh how strong the urge is to shove down everything I can hold, but I refuse, and bring a hand up to my nose to block out the smell temptation. More potatoes and dried pears. Even that, seems way too appetizing.

What could have been hours, or only minutes, I lay there, when the door parts to display a new figure. I had expected Scar Face again, but this time it is a woman dressed in casual clothes; a white shirt and black pants. An apron is tied behind her neck, and she holds a cup of liquid in her hands. She doesn't attempt to close the door when she enters (probably figures I'm too weak to try for any escape plans) and gives me the slightest hint of a smile.

A smile? A sympathetic smile. If I'd had the energy, I would've scowled, but all I can do is open my eyes and watch her kneel down in front of me. She holds the cup out to me, leaving it hovering only inches from my lips.

"I don't want any," I whisper, throat so dry, I can barely understand what I've said. My head is foggy and for a moment the entire world runs black, before the woman re-enters my field of vision.

"You need to keep your strength up," The woman insists, pushing the cup even closer. I would've tried to swat it away, but all I can do is frown.

"That's the trick," I cough, triggering one of my signature fits. I end up heaving into my lap. Thankfully, I don't have much left in me, so all that comes is a bit of nasty bile and a round of unpleasant convulsions.

The woman bats her eyelashes, but doesn't make a move. "The trick is that you need me alive..." I say, barely managing to choke the words out. I shouldn't be saying this. I shouldn't be tipping them off. But it's too late now. A bit of saliva drips off of my chin but I don't wipe it off. "The ACA isn't stupid."

At once, the woman's dark eyes grow to the size of bowling balls and she pulls the cup back in astonishment. "Nonsense," she says, though I doubt she intended to say it aloud.

Recomposing herself, she rises to her feet and excuses herself from the room. A few minutes later, the door parts once again, but it is not the woman returning. Scar Face saunters in, and I can just hear his chuckle of satisfaction when he sees me.

"May I ask," Scar Face starts, a grin pulling at the diagonal line crossing his face. "What it will take to keep you alive?"

The mention of my life doesn't seem to faze him in any way. In fact, he still seems to find the situation quite humorous. Clearly, he doesn't expect a response.

"I can't let your plans pull through," I grunt, seeing black spots yet again. It takes more effort to make them fade. Each time, it only grows more difficult.

"Well I must say, you're a remarkably smart young man," Scar Face says. Only now does he lose the amusing facade.

"And to answer your question, you can't force someone to live whose lost the will to try," I spit.

"Oh, but there is always a way."

I give my head a shake. "There isn't."

Scar Face grins and crosses his arms. "Watch me."