Agent Rogue

Chapter 7

            I heard it again. Coming from deep within the lab.

            The back of the lab turned into a corner I could not see without investigating. Swallowing my fear, I approached the shadows, touching the central table as I went by.

            I startled as my finger scraped against a metal tray, upon it neatly placed surgical tools ready for use. For what, I did not know. But it did make me shudder to think about it. And pairing that thought with the screams I had heard throughout the night...

            The stench hit before anything else, and I gagged as I turned the corner. It was damp and metallic, like rusting iron but mixed with vomit. I covered my mouth, eyes stinging as I fought to see the source through the darkness.

            No light reached this corner of the lab, but there had to be a switch somewhere. Marcus would not abandon any resource if he thought he could utilise it, and this small space had to be no exception.

            Something buzzed in front of me; a still, mute presence I could not see through the black abyss. I reached for the wall, sliding my hand across the tile to feel for a switch. I cringed as my fingers dragged through something wet and of a thick consistency, but still... warm. I cringed, and swiftly flicked on the switch as I found it.

            The room spun as the shadows vanished.

            Pressed up against the wall, prisoner to the ropes binding his wrists above his head, was a man around the same age as Marcus. His body drooped to one side, his head hanging low. If it was not for the faint wheezing coming from his open mouth, I would have thought him to be a hanging corpse.

            Scarlet poured from his mouth in a puddle on the floor, which trailed along the tiles. It surrounded him too, smearing on the walls all the way along. I held my breath as I removed my shaking hand from the light-switch, retching at the sight of it coated in sticky, crimson blood.

            Tears sprung from my eyes, the air becoming toxic as it choked me.

            Marcus was a cruel man, but he was no killer. I racked my brain for anything that could justify this – any excuse to label him as anything but a madman – but found nothing. Nothing could justify this... monstrosity. No matter how much I wanted to unsee it, I couldn't. The scene in front of me was real. No amount of wishful thinking could change it.

            The man gasped. I stepped back as he coughed and spluttered more blood, clamping a hand over my mouth so not to scream. His head raised meekly, and he almost seemed relieved to see me; a stranger.

            "Little girl..." His voice was broken, hoarse. "Please. You have to help me."

            Tears streamed down his red cheeks. A sign of weakness, Marcus had told me. Yet a grown man, a symbol of pride and strength, was begging and crying for a young girl to help him. It hurt to see how broken he was.

            "How do I...?"
"Just undo the ropes," he said, his voice clearer than before. I imagined he had not spoken a word for however long he had been strapped there. From the look of his beard and dying eyes, it had been a long time.

            "Hurry," he ushered. "I don't know when they'll be back."

            I nodded, holding my breath as my small, shaking fingers fumbled with the ropes to free him from the nightmare.

            He blinked away tears and spoke, "What's your name?" he said.
He was kind enough to distract me from the horror I had found, but it was of no use. Every sharp detail of the scene would appear vividly in my mind for years to come.
"Amber," I croaked, biting back a whimper. The ropes had been tied tightly, the friction burning against my fingertips.
"My name's Lucas," he said.
I nodded as one of his wrists fell free and began work on the second, trying my best to ignore the blood dripping down his torso. He wiped his mouth with his free hand and groaned.