Agent (Book 1)

Chapter 30-Nolan

30

Nolan Hood

Agent: 21

Mission: Not Applicable

Date: September 11th, 2089

Time: 900

I frequently rise from a dreamless sleep, only to stay for mere moments before the drugs regain their hold on me. It's peaceful, like I'm suspended in mid-air. Nothing but my own thoughts to break through the barrier. I see several people in this time, like shadows they go, but I simply wish them away, and they're gone.

Only one manages to work their way through the mist, one I haven't the courage to push away. A memory.

"You didn't think it would be easy, did you?" She whispered, squeezing my shoulders hard. A younger me, standing before my opponent, sweat creasing my forehead. The Commander was close, so close now, and her eyes were insistent.

I turned to her. "Of course I didn't! Maybe I just thought...that I was ready..." I shook my head and turned back to the boy, clenching my fists. One for two. And probably one for three in a few moments, when he finally worked me to the ground. Already, my body was giving in. It was the Commander's presence keeping me upright now.

"You remember what I've told you."

Yes, I remember. She's said it so often, it's got to be her official motto. Control your anger. I control it. Unleash it. I unleash. Focus. I focus.

And I work him, just barely over the edge, until he's finally forced to give in. When I've stood, the Commander is smiling. "I told you," she said.

And then her figure disappears.

What must be the fourth time I reawaken, I finally muster the strength to sit up.

There are voices here. My hands absentmindedly stroke the linen sheets of the mattress, sliding the fabric around beneath my fingers. For a moment, I fight to bring back the fuzziness of my vision, the weight on my eyelids. To return to those better times. It doesn't happen. I study the room as I push myself up a bit higher, wincing.

Though I cannot see the source, the voices have not gone amiss, growing louder as I regain my senses. "—traitors here. We've got worse things to worry about."

Followed by a, "Let's just see how it all plays out. The Commander's sure to hold trial in only a few days time."

I flip back the covers and slide forward. Tubes, dozens of them, and a clip on my finger for pulse. Ignoring the consequences, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I push off and rise, falling but a moment later, putting a hand to my head to staunch the dizziness. The bed jostles and creaks as I collapse back onto it, and to my dismay, the voices in the hall cease at once. I can hear the sharp click of shoes on tile before the door parts for a woman. She bustles over in a rather motherly fashion and puts her hands out to push me back under the covers.

"No, no, no get back in bed. You need rest," She says, clicking her tongue in a disapproving way. I tense my muscles, refusing to do as she commands. Every occurrence in my most recent memory has come back to me, until a wave of questions escape my lips.

"What happened? How'd we get back? Where are the others? Are they okay?" I say. The nurse pulls back the covers, enough for me to slip back into their enclosure.

"Everything's okay, alright? You just need rest now," she says. In that moment, her chin tilted slightly downward, her face is masked with shadow. The boy who interrogated me,—tortured me—Tenor, replaces her gentle features. That wicked, half sadistic smile. The deadly blue eyes like a blade sliding through my chest.