Agent Atlantis

Chapter 7-Information

"So you murdered a ton of civilians in cold blood? What about wasting eleven years of your life on the wrong side of the world?"

". . . I had the same headstrong and stubborn attitude you're sporting right now. All for a girl . . ." The nostalgic look in his eyes made Luke focus on the conversation.

"She was the first person to catch my eye when I joined the East Artenian Agency. Beautiful, smart, and capable. I really wanted her attention, Luke." His tone turned dark. "As an agent, I only had one strategy in mind: violence. I broke the bones of her suitors, hoping I'd look strong. But all it did was horrify her into hating me. And soon after, I hated myself."

"But you realized your mistake, and now you're together?" Luke finished, rolling his eyes. He knew how these stories went.

"Well . . . no," Collins said awkwardly. "I'm still working on it. But you are too. What I'm trying to say is: we're humans. We can't change our past. But we can use it to influence our decisions in the future. It's never too late to change paths."

"Change paths, huh? That's nice and all, but it's going to be kind of hard when my brain isn't gonna be attached to my neck tomorrow—"

From outside came the sounds of shouting and gunfire. Then it went silent. Luke concluded that it must've been a big commotion—the soundproofing on the cell doors was no joke. "What was that?"

Collins grinned weakly. "That's your escape into your new life. A shared path."

Then the cell door exploded off its hinges.

~~~

Yellow. Orange. Some red. Luke felt like his five-year-old self again—in that burning house. Where he lost his family—his humanity.

He blinked. The cell door crashed down, crushing his memories. In the threshold were a dozen shadows.

"Captain!" the people rushed forward, and Luke recognized them as the soldiers under Collins' command. As prisoners, they probably had their belongings confiscated. But now they sported weapons—rifles, pistols, and even hand grenades.

"Good job with the escape, boys," Collins praised, then burst into another round of coughs.

A dwarf pushed past Luke to support the captain—Sergeant Zeke Laption. "Just relax, Captain." He pulled out a familiar-looking black box the size of Luke's palm. With the press of a button, a needle came out—and Laption stabbed it straight into Collins' thigh.

"What are you doing?!" Luke exclaimed when the captain started convulsing. He'd seen many die from poison—mostly his doing—so he should've been fine. But his stomach tightened at the thought of the Collins in pain. 

The soldiers whirled around; in the dark light and their adrenaline, they hadn't detected his presence. Now Laption approached threateningly, snarling. "It's you, boy. Maybe it's fate. Boys, pummel him. But leave him alive. Barely."

Luke gulped as eleven soldiers turned on him. He'd probably win. But with no obstacles to hide behind and their weapons, it would be close.

"No!" The voice was stronger than ever, ringing off the stone walls. A strong hand gripped Laption's arm, and then Collins pulled himself to his feet. His face had returned to his normal brown complexion. "He's changed. He's on our side now."

"You said that last time," Laption accused.

"People make mistakes, okay?"

I can't tell if you're talking about me or yourself, Luke thought.

"We're accepting him," Collins ordered. And that was that. "What's the situation outside?"

"We've taken control. But . . . it's not going as planned."