Super Secret | Half Hero Book 2 [ON HOLD]

Chapter 7: Hypothetical Advice

The toxic smoke was starting to make my room look like the set of a White Snake video, and I bore down to push the compounding energy out of my chest. My skin lit up with the delightful blue glow I hadn't seen in weeks and I licked my lips with satisfaction.

Leaning down, I grabbed at my least favorite accessory. The ankle cufflet beeped erratically for a few seconds, then dissolved into a sweltering puddle of oozing plastic and fused microchips. Unlike the guys outside my door, my tracking device was dead as a doornail. Hopefully it managed to ping someone and backup would arrive soon. Until then, I was on my own.

Moving quickly, I placed my open palms on my window to transfer the blistering heat I inexplicably generated. My skin was being scorched raw by the smelting material, but I was able to push through once the glass was malleable.

The hole created a slow gas leak, but when I used my fists to smash the edges, the fumes tumbled out in slinky heaps. Smiling at my handiwork, I concentrated on driving the energy back into my body. As soon as my hazardous glow receded, my arms lit up with agonizing burns. The particles of heated glass had singed most of my forearm fuzz clean off.

"Dang it!" I complained, examining the bright red angry skin on my fingers and ruined manicure. "Well, that didn't last long."

Using extreme caution, I unwound the second secret service guy's device to discover that it too was dead. The phones had been cut and it appeared the network they used to communicate was down too. I didn't know who I was up against, and they wanted to keep it that way.

Sneaking out into the hall, I looked for the source of the smog. They were flooding each floor using the elevator shafts. The fumes were still pouring through the door slits like curling wisps sent to snatch you up and carry you away.

Backtracking to my room, I decided I'd have to use the only other exit I'd seen during my time in this building. Above my bathroom was a grate protecting an air vent. For whatever reason, they weren't using the aeration system to deliver the poison, though it would be a tight fit (even for me.)

A simple dinner knife was all it took to unscrew the cover and I climbed inside.

My fleece pajama pants made scooting through the metal box a little tricky, and super-duper sweaty. Painstakingly, I edged along taking deep and even breaths to keep from feeling like the walls were closing in. Without that stupid mask, I could have tasted the air for sensory indicators, but that was too risky.

The cramped pitch-black space was sturdy enough to support my weight, but I had to rub my socks off my to get traction for my feet. Like a fuzzy caterpillar, I was inching along using my elbows to hoist myself forward in short bursts when suddenly, there wasn't any more floor.

Plunging headfirst, I shot down a cavernous shaft. There wasn't enough space to flail, but I could force my limbs against the shiny surface of the walls to slow my descent. The friction against my already injured hands was enough to bubble a scream to my lips. I bit down to contain the sound, tasting a spurt of tangy blood on my tongue.

I was dangling tits-up in a ventilation shaft, which made it very hard to think. It made sense to let gravity take over and slowly slide down the chute, but the tender flesh on my palms made the execution clumsy. Gritting my teeth, I slithered downward trying to suppress my anguished cries.

One of my hands caught on the ridge of an intersecting passageway and I folded myself inside to advance on the reflection of a dull light in the distance.

The next vent I found was screwed into the wall from the other side, but the room through the slats appeared vacant. After a couple of painful shoves, it dented enough to push the rest of the way off the frame. The poisonous mist undulated like an ephemeral sea over the floor when I dropped onto the carpeting.

Scanning the perimeter of the elegant office, my eyes landed on a guilt-framed picture next to the only door. A small light above the snapshot illuminated a grainy photo in black and white of a bright spherical object among a sea of tiny dots. 

The closer I crept, the more I could see of the curious oblong shape, which was floating (or maybe hovering?) at an upsetting angle over the outline of a mountain range.

There wasn't time to linger over the weird photo, so I darted into the hallway. As I crept out into the moss-colored mist, the door latched shut loud enough to make me jump around.

Right behind me was a ninja in dark footie pajamas aiming a big gun at my chest.

"Don't shoot!" I cried, right as his finger tightened around the trigger. 

Welp! Looks like Ella's gotten herself into a little trouble! For some reason when writing these particular bad guys, I kept picturing The Foot, which are the henchmen of The Shredder. Whoever these ninja baddies are, they're after something (or someone!) in that building.