Mission Impossible

Chapter 3~Torture

CLARA'S POV

  I started to regain consciousness, and my vision blurred in and out. I was in a bright, white room, facing a large glass mirror I knew had people watching me on the other side. I was sitting in a cold, metal chair, my hands bound behind the back of the chair and my legs tied to each leg of the chair. I heard faint voices, and knew someone was about to enter the room. I slowly turned my head to the door in front of me and to my right, almost fully conscious now.

  "She's awake," a large man informed the people behind the screen, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. When my vision had fully been restored, I glanced around the room a little more, noticing there was a tray to my right holding all of my belongings. I counted the blades set out on the table and saw I was missing one, but didn't remember using one. I quickly noticed a pain in my feet, and realized I was still wearing my heels. I grinned realizing I still had a knife tucked away in my shoe. Stupid boys didn't even bother to check.

  "What are you grinning at?" the large man said, now standing in front of an even larger tray then the one holding my things, holding serval sharp knifes and pointy needles that I knew were meant for one thing only: torture.

  I remained calm, however, since I knew panicking would only give him the upper hand. I quickly glanced back over at the table, noticing my ear piece laying out amongst my belongings. I stared at it for a few seconds, realizing they had turned it off before I saw a small red dot flash on, signalling it had been turned on back at headquarters. They could hear me now, maybe track me.

  I grinned wider but diverted my attention back to the large man in front of me so he wouldn't realize what I was staring at. "What's the matter? Can't talk without a gun in your hand?" the man mocked me. He turned to face me, and for the first time, I noticed a large blue and purple bruise on his temple. I laughed, realizing this was the the first guy I took on last night, besides Robert.

  Robert. Did he get away? Was the mission a failure? What is going on?

  The man looked at me, waiting for an answer. I just smirked at him, pushing back my concerns.

  "If I'm remembering it correctly, I didn't need a gun to take you out," I tilted my head, daring him to say something else. His jaw tightened, and I realized how young he was. He had to be about my age, maybe a little older, and not too bad looking either.

  "Lucky shot," he said, looping his fingers in his belt and standing in front of me, leaning in close to try and intimidate me. "Now let's start off simple. What's your name?" he asked me. My smirk deepened, keeping up the cocky facade I had going on.

  "Bond. James Bond," I said in a lower voice. The man shook his head and lifted himself away from me for a second before taking his fist and punching me in the jaw. My tongue darted out, and I tasted blood as it dripped from my lip. Still, I smirked up at him through my eyelashes.

  "While my colleagues and I appreciate your sense of humor, right now we really just need answers," he told me, impatience clear in his voice. His right hand moved up to touch his ear, where I'm assuming he had an earpiece in. He grunted and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. I took this as my chance to retrieve the knife in my shoe, and slowly lifted my leg up, careful not to make any quick movements and alert the people watching me.

  I carefully reached down and dragged the knife out of the bottom of my shoe, careful not to show any emotion on my face except for the smirk that had remained constant since my captors interrogation started. I flipped the knife around and lowered my leg as I started to try and saw through the bonds that tied my hands together. When I heard the door open, I stopped sawing and encased the blade in my hand, cutting my palm in the process. Still my smirk didn't falter.