Agent Atlantis

Chapter 6-An Old Friend

Luke and the escort guards reached the entrance of the main building. The leader pushed him through the glass doors into an entry foyer, with a check-in counter on one side, elevators on the other, and arches leading to other parts of the campus on the two remaining sides. Even at night, there were five receptionists behind the counter. One would think that they had just stepped into a hotel, but Luke knew better.

The "receptionists" were actually the entry guards. The counters could withstand a mortar blast, and the glass surrounding the men was bulletproof. Hidden from plain sight, there was a full armory of weapons—ranging from daggers to rocket launchers—that resided inside the cabinets, and the guards were authorized to use anything they felt was necessary for the situation. Furthermore, the arches led to the security guards' dorms and the official armories, while the elevators—the only entrance to the Agency's main floors—were locked with a complex password.

When nobody moved, Luke was confused. But then he saw the obstruction.

They must've radioed this in to inform the executives, Luke thought. A familiar young woman with red hair stood at the side of the counter, two more guards flanking her.

"Long time no see, Royal One," Scarlett greeted.

Luke tensed, then turned to his guards. "Get me the hell out of here," he ordered.

"I call the shots here," Scarlett informed him when the guards didn't move. "Your life is my property."

"This is exactly why I ran away," Luke muttered, shaking his head.

"You didn't have to! We could've talked about it. Only, you decided to become a traitor."

 I couldn't be manipulated by you my whole life. You didn't even miss me, right?"

Scarlett strode forward, close enough for Luke to feel her cool breath on his face. "Why would I?" she asked, stroking his cheek with a hand. Luke couldn't help but look away, a slight burn on his face. "A grandmaster in chess only cares about their pawns up until they can be sacrificed."

Luke chuckled drily. "I'm just a pawn to you? I'd imagine I would be more powerful—like a rook."

"That would mean you had some value," Scarlett said. 

And then she punched him in the gut.

"Take him away," the handler ordered as Luke doubled over in pain. The guards grabbed Luke before he could retaliate and dragged him toward the arch on the east side. Meanwhile, Scarlett prepared to enter back into the Agency—a guard armed with a keycard held the VIP elevator door open. 

"You can't kill me," Luke called out, struggling to break free. "I'm your best agent."

"I know that, silly," Scarlett giggled. "That's why you'll be killed by your past deeds."

Luke stopped struggling. My past deeds? He caught one last glance at Scarlett before the elevator doors closed. The guards quickly shoved him out of the room, and he didn't try to stop them.

As they traversed through the dimly lit hallways, Luke could hear his heart racing. There was one reason he left the Agency, and he met that reason when he stepped foot into the Agency once again. He expected Scarlett to try to bring him to her side again, but this behavior was unlike hers.

It was obvious she was going to kill him. But how? And did she have the authority to do that? 

Was there even a shred of remorse in her heart from when she manipulated Luke?

They reached the end of the passageway, a steel vault door thicker than a foot. This vault didn't contain valuables, however. Instead, it was the entrance to the dungeon. Two guards flanked it on both sides.

The leader nodded, and the two grabbed the vault wheel and tried to pull the vault door open. 

It didn't budge.

Luke watched in amusement as the guards struggled for a few moments, until four of his escort guards came to help. The door finally was opened, albeit as slowly as a turtle.

As Luke passed, he commented to the guards, "Do your one job properly."

Inside, Luke ignored the glares from the guards and noticed two other agents patrolling the hallway. There were dozens of prison cells, all equipped with modern facilities. Luke peered into one cell—and to his surprise, the two prisoners were sleeping on separate king-sized beds. They looked like they were in a dream.

The leader didn't pause, however. They wound around dark corridors, down a set of stairs, and then through two more heavily guarded vault doors. 

This is all for me? Luke thought sarcastically as he surveyed the scene.

This dungeon portion had only fifteen cells, arranged like a cube to face the inside hallway. Each cell door was basically a swinging wall, blocking Luke from observing who—or what—was inside.

But he could still guess the living conditions. This section had been carved right into the underground stone as though the Agency had run out of funding. Water dripped from the ceiling as though it was perpetually raining, and rats scuttled underneath his feet. There were only two bulbs to light the area—each looking at least half a century old and flickering as though needing to be replaced.

"You'll be spending the rest of your stay here," the leader told Luke. "Vice-President Scarlett will come to talk to you tomorrow."

"She got a promotion?" Luke asked. "I guess I'm going to die tomorrow."

The leader didn't deny it. "Enjoy your last day on Earth." 

Two guards unlocked Luke's handcuffs. Another opened the door to the first cell, and a fourth threw Luke in there. With the dim light from the hallway, the teenager only had time to observe stone, a small room with no furniture, and a crumpled shadow huddled into the corner—before the door slammed closed.

Luke sighed and pulled himself up from the floor. His shoulder throbbed from where he'd landed, but he had to survey the area. There was no point in staying still when his life was on the line. 

A deep but weak chuckle sounded through the room. "There's no point in trying to escape," a voice said as Luke ran his hands over the walls blindly. "The walls are made of stone, and the door is steel. And I don't think the guards would let you in with a pickaxe."

Luke paused. Why was the voice so familiar?

"What's your name?" he asked cautiously.

"I knew you'd recognize me, Luke," the voice responded, jolting the teenager.

Was it an ally? No—he didn't have any. It was probably an enemy with a whole list of unwritten agendas against him.

But the voice wasn't filled with anger. Instead, it seemed to be pitying—filling Luke with guilt.

"Captain Collins?!" Luke exclaimed worriedly. "Is that you?!"

"Right on the dot," the captain agreed.

I'm dead, Luke thought.