Hidden Enemies | The Prime Archives #2 ✓

seventeen

Oscar really hated his phone. In fact, he had half a mind to throw it off the top of the mountain The Acropolis was built into. But that wouldn't solve anything. Ghost would just find some other way to contact him. He was sure of it. Plus, he didn't have any of his contacts saved. So, getting rid of the thing was out of the question.

He still hated his phone.

The pressure that had been building behind his forehead threatened to implode his brain. Ever since Ghost popped up in his sister's bedroom, he'd been walking on eggshells. Checking his shoulder, distancing himself from his friends. He was spending less and less time at The Acropolis.

Sooner or later, they would start to suspect his treachery. He just hoped it wouldn't come to that. He had too much to lose. More than they did.

The last forty-eight hours had been the most stressful days of his life. And he had survived a battle on a frozen island against a band of superpowered terrorists. After that day, he thought he could do anything. He thought he could be anything.

How wrong he was.

He desperately wished to go back to those days when no one knew who he was. Fame wasn't for him—and neither was being a hero, apparently.

Now everyone knew who the real heroes were—and who the frauds were. They had drawn a line in the sand for him and he was left standing on the wrong side. To make matters worse, he was now being blackmailed by Ghost. That line in the sand had turned into a massive, bottomless abyss that he had no hopes of getting across.

Sighing, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked aimlessly down the halls of The Acropolis. He had snuck out of the common room without anyone asking him any questions. It wasn't like he would have had any answers for them anyways. He wasn't a good liar, not in the slightest.

However, as he learned a few days prior, he was a decent thief. Years of being a prankster and overall nuisance had bestowed him with a unique set of skills—skills that included nabbing things from places he wasn't supposed to be in.

When he was twelve, he had nicked the answers to a math test the day before the exam. His thievery only got worse after his parents died a year later. He stole things from school, stores, anywhere he could sneak his way into.

So, when Ghost tasked him with obtaining a copy of The Vault's schematics and a schedule of the prison's patrol units, he figured it would've been a piece of cake. After all, he didn't even have to break into The Watchtower—considering he was of high enough clearance. He figured the files would've been in some file cabinet somewhere in the room.

How wrong he had been.

Everything was digital. After getting inside The Watchtower, he had found himself sitting in front of a computer screen for half an hour. He couldn't find the blueprints anywhere. Eventually, Dennis—one of the few Atlas agents he spoke to on a regular basis—asked him what he was looking for.

He never even got the chance to answer before the man checked the computer screen. When that had happened, he nearly dissolved into a cloud of smoke. Luckily, Dennis seemed to be just as dumb as he was.

The guy helped him find the blueprints, the patrol schedule, and even showed him how to print them out. He deserved a Nobel Peace Prize.

Now that Oscar was thinking about it, he was sort of indebted to Dennis now. Without his help, Ghost would've killed his family. He scowled at the thought.

Maybe that's why she had chosen him. He was the weakest out of his entire group of friends—both physically and mentally. He was easily swayed. Spineless, even. His sneer deepened.