G-Man

Gave myself a challenge to write a short tale under 1000 words. This is the result. Enjoy!

 “I will support and defend the Constitution of

the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith

and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental

reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties

of the office in which I am about to enter. So help me God”

***

Concrete. The cold on Agent Grayson’s back had confirmed to him that he was laying on concrete. On his back, meaning he was horizontal. Lying down. The warm, throbbing in his leg however showed him that this wasn’t for comfort.

He had been hurt. And couldn’t remember how.

His head groggy, he manages to move his injured leg. A sharp stab of pain moved up from the back of his thigh, through his bruised ribs, and vocalized itself as a sharp inhale through the teeth. Hairline fracture of the femur. It's said to be the most painful damage you can do to your body. Grayson had felt worse.

Locating injuries was the first step. According to the handbook he studied front to back during his training, the second step was locating environmental damage, both to gather bearings, as well as any other injured personnel or citizens. After this, was step three. Locating if the enemy was still active.

He hated step three.

Grayson begins to shuffle. A slow, methodical shuffle, as not to cause more trouble for his already injured femur. He rests upon his hands, positioning himself to a leaning, sat up position, which made him yearn for the comfort of the concrete floor. He laid his eyes upon the environment around him. The concrete was all-surrounding, not just on the floor. However, the walls to the north had been broken. Grayson noted how the rubble lay on the ground, sprawled towards him leading away from the hole. Excavated from the outside, and it must have been a very heavy blow, these walls were four to five inches thick, at the very least.

A cell. He was in a cell. Grayson theorizes it was an empty one. The bed towards the east was still empty, apart from an uncovered mattress which was lightly sprinkled with dust and concrete rubble.

Had he been thrown in by something? Not possible. His back was bruised, as was much of his body, but apart from his damaged femur, there was nothing to support that theory. Considering the thickness of the walls as well, it would’ve taken multiple throws before he went through, and by then, he would’ve been dead. 

Explosion then. Also not possible. The jagged edges around the newly made hole showed no burn marks or any indication of heat damage. This was caused by something.

Step three. Grayson took a deep, hesitant breath, before hobbling up onto his good leg, and limping towards the broken wall. He shouldn’t have been able to put even an atom of pressure onto his injured leg.

But again, Grayson has felt worse.

Bodies. Moving towards the hole revealed a small hallway, leading towards rubble. A broken exit sign hangs from a single thread, and the warm flashing hue of red flashes from the emergency lights. That's when Grayson saw the bodies. Security guards, both probably in their mid-thirties. One lay face down, his spine contorted under the skin, breaking it at the top of the neck. The other was missing his arms. Clean cuts. The deaths were sudden. Quick. They didn’t stand a chance.

There had been a breach.

God f*****g damnit, Grayson thinks, I was really looking forward to retirement.

He reaches for an old 2000’s flip-phone, and calls an unknown number. A man with a gruff voice answers, asking to state their business. Must be a busy day, he sounds cranky. This isn’t going to help

“Director, this is Agent John Grayson. A breach has occurred at facility Z-77 ‘Paradiso’. I am trapped at what seems to be the basement level of the facility. Two known victims so far, but the numbers could be much higher. My exit is blocked, and my leg is injured. Requesting a full facility shutdow-”

Crack. His uninjured leg snaps like a twig. The pain, unlike before, was unbearable. Grayson drops his phone, and collapses, releasing a banshee-like scream of pain, froth begins to form at the ends of his mouth.

A being, humanoid in looks, but matte black all over, hovers over the agent. Its head tilts, as if curious.

This is it. Grayson’s mind went numb. He could hear the screams of the director, asking him to repeat. He goes to speak, but as if it wasn’t there to begin with, his tongue has been completely removed. No pain. No cut. It was just gone. Like it hadn’t existed.

A reality bender. Powerful at that.

Its hand hovers open above him, and he feels something clutch his heart, and squeeze. Gentle at first, as if it was toying with him. Then harder.

Blood splatters from Grayson's mouth, his vision begins to get blurry. He knew this was the inevitable fate of a G-Man. Either full service and a memory wipe, a comforting final few years in retirement. Then death. Or this, a mind bending, painful death.

Or a third way. A way only someone of his status could do.

As his heart begins to finally stop, he keeps the entity busy with his gargled screams as he gathers the strength to pull out another phone, a number dialled in automatically as it's opened. The director was always the first to confront over a facility's destruction. But if the times become desperate, or the director cannot be contacted, the decision is drafted onto the agent.

Onto Grayson

He dials the number.

He really wishes he could’ve just retired.

He hates step three.

Author's Note

any feedback welcome