Agent Atlantis

Chapter 10-The EAUD

"What are they taking . . . " Luke began to ask Pietro, but he'd disappeared. Luke spotted him in the east of the room, where he sat at an empty desk and began working on the paper set there. He must've been skipping some time, huh? I'm surprised the librarian isn't doing anything about it.

However, forget about regulating the tests. The man in charge—a squat man that looked like he had the blubber of a whale—sat with his head in his hands, a permanent scowl on his face as he slept. Luke could've probably asked someone what was going on, but he beat the awkwardness and decided to take the chance with the man. I've killed people, for Artenians' sake. I shouldn't be this nervous.

Here goes nothing. As he strode to the front to the room and tapped the supervisor on the shoulder, Luke heard hushed whispers and curious stares burning into the back of his head. He tried to ignore them.

The man stirred. "Go away," he said, waving a hand lazily. "If you have any questions, ask someone else. I don't care what you do."

"Sir—"

"Go away."

Taking a breath, Luke tried to calm down. A lot of people were now paying attention. If he made a ruckus, it would only get him into trouble—not good for an undercover operative. "I'm a new student here."
There was a moment of silence, and Luke thought that the man had dazed off once again. But then, not raising his head, he reached into a drawer beside him and pulled out a test booklet. "Do your best—or don't. You won't fail it."

A written test?"Luke thought. He'd been expecting something physical—like fighting against five full-fledged agents or something. Since when was theory a part of protecting a country? It can't be too hard. It's an entrance exam, right?

"Um . . ." Luke said. "Could I . . . have a pencil?"

The rustling of papers grew silent, and Luke could hear his skin turn red in embarrassment.

"Here." The man slammed what looked to be the bottom half of a Victorian-era pencil onto the table. "Need anything else?" His voice was oozing with contempt.

"No, I'm fine."

As Luke took the materials, the man was already fast asleep. He walked toward and empty desk in the back, where no eyes would be peering at him, just in case.

There's no way I fail, right? Luke thought as he began reading over the first question.

~~~
The red pen made circles, squiggles, and dashes around Luke's answers. He didn't know what it meant, but it couldn't be good.

He waited in awkward silence as the man graded his test. Each stroke of the pen correlated with a nasty cough, and Luke wondered if his answers were really that bad.

Even worse, the other students were still working on their tests. He'd spent twenty minutes on his—and that was after triple-checking his work. The contents of his stomach swirled in trepidation. This was not good.

The man finished the grading, placing his pen down and reclining back into his chair. Luke looked at him expectedly. "Can I know the lowest someone's gotten on this?"

"Fifty percent. And you . . . got two."

"Two . . . wrong?"

"Two right," the man snapped. He rubbed his temples. "A four percent. Never in my life have I ever had a student score this low . . ."

I probably would've done better if someone had told me that there was a test in the first place, Luke thought as the man scolded him. He kept his head down as the eavesdropping students behind him began to snicker under their breath. Keep cool, Luke. The more they underestimate you, the easier it'll be to stay undercover.