Smokescreen

2

The club looked dirty from the outside- nondescript, really, with faded and peeling white letters that boasted the name of biblical paradise- 'Eden'- on the dark green awning over the basement entrance. Bodies of half-burnt cigarettes littered the area around the black metal door, their only companions the crushed cans. Anyone would have just walked right by, and that was what plenty of pedestrians did on their commutes.

Ben was dropped off a block from his target location, and walked to the club with his hood over his head. He kept his hand on the strap of his backpack, hoping to keep attention off of himself by pretending to be a student. He melded into the traffic. He was invisible, a different person, and a regular seventeen year old instead of a government agent.

"What do you think you're doing?" A man emerged from the side of the building. There seemed to be a small crevasse between the old brick basement and the residential apartment beside them. Ben raised an eyebrow and held up his bag.

"I-I'm a friend of Eve's." He stuttered. His breath puffed into the chilly February air. The guard only gave him a moments look before reaching forward to pat him down. Ben had left his gun in the car for that reason. He had a .22 in his sock for emergencies, but his department issued handgun had stayed behind with his escort. He feigned nonchalance as the beefy guard patted his shoulders, and briefly remembered one of his only times going through airport security.

With a grunt, the guard gestured him through after finding nothing. Ben took a breath as he dropped the sheepish character. His face fell back into the cool and emotionless guise he normally wore, and his shoulders straightened up, giving him years. He walked cautiously down the hallway, keeping his senses open as he found the only open door and walked inside.

It was a gold mine of packages. He couldn't have said for sure what kind of drugs they were, but brown paper covered bricks were stacked up against the wall. Ben carefully took off the right strap of the backpack, swinging it around so it rested on his left hip, and removed an identically wrapped brown brick in his bag. He deftly placed it in the middle, keeping his face still as he left. Any sign of nerves would have him thrown out or placed under suspect. The tracker in his watch sang quietly once it had become activated. A crackle came from the communicator in his ear as the escorts confirmed that they had received the ping as well.

Reaching into the backpack, Ben took a deep breath. It had only been a year since his last mission. But, SPYDER was gone, and he had lost everything. He stared at his shaky fingers, the betrayers of his operation, refused to respond and grab the mask. His breathing became laboured as he remembered the last time he was in the field. Would she remember? He doubted it. The click of a security camera behind him brought him back to life, and he deftly pulled the medical mask on, placing the glasses on his face and pulling up his hood to further disguise his identity.

The hallway was eerily quiet. No visible patrols guarded the many doors that stood upright in uniformed rows like soldiers. Ben couldn't have said for sure how many bogeys were waiting to spring upon him at the sight of any weakness, so he kept his senses open and his posture tense. They could be waiting for him; this could be a trap that was set up by the moles.

The walls were a painting of different things. There seemed to be a remnant of old yellow wallpaper. Only a few scraps still clung to the wall, which was now a faded and aged yellowish-grey with strange spots and stains across it. Ben noticed a red streak that he inferred to be blood as he continued to move along, spying several doppelgangers down the hall that led to one room. A scream echoed down the hallway.

His hand shook slightly as he fought to compress his emotions. Was he really about to see her again? Why was she here? Who was keeping her hostage? The dented and dull handle leered at him as Ben prepared himself. He pressed down on the end, hearing the click that signified that it was unlocked. A tingle of paranoia ran up his spine, tickling like a spider. Pulling his gun out of his shoe, Ben clicked the safety off and checked the magazine of bullets.