Days have passed since I was told that I'd be training with the team, and I have, but there still was no sign of Isaac. Michelle states that she's been getting texts from him on the regular, and she shows anyone who asks to see them. The conversations begin with him saying that he was too good for that team and he's waiting for something better, and in the meantime, he's going to relax and do private training in a neighboring city with some friends. After that, they talk about normal stuff and wrap up the ending with a bow on top. I don't buy it, she could've just changed the name of the person texting, but that doesn't explain why they would be talking about the tournament, or why Michelle would be covering a trail for her cousin's kidnappers. Maybe Clyde is right and it's just my lucky break to take the lead, I did get into his head that he could be doing greater things, whether that's true or not is up to him.
"Today's the big day," Sasha explains to the whole team, "we've all trained so hard these past few weeks, and double-timed it on the last five days. Not everybody got the same amount of training, but just remember you wouldn't be here if you weren't on par. I believe in every single one of you, you've got hearts of steel and a fiery will to win! Isn't that right!?"
All of us crouched in the locker room echo in unison a thunderous cheer made even louder by the acoustics in the contained space.
"The crowds are out there waiting to see winners and champions! Are you gonna give them what they want!?" More cheering drones on louder than the last. "Greatness and glory await you all on the battlefield, all you gotta do is take it! Gimme one last roar of victory, make my ears bleed!" What follows next is the most inspiring battle cry I've ever heard in my entire life, and I get to be a part of it. We all get up and stomp around and chest bump each other, my head gets dizzy from all the flowing adrenaline radiating off of everyone. Our relay event comes before Clyde's javelin team does, so I get to flex my victory grabbing fingers in front of him first.
All the divisions receive a guide to be led to their designated waiting rooms. I give Clyde a thumbs up as we separate and go off with our own team. His smile is as big as mine, and I know that he's very excited for me. The area they put my team into seems to be a small room with a gateway leading to the track, almost looking similar to the one we were just in, but without the lockers. The team looks shaky, myself included, so they start to stretch out to calm their nerves.
"I'm not worried," says Abraham, "I spent a week training with the top athletes in the region. We got this!"
"Can't believe my cousin flaked out on us though. It's a good thing Michelle here is rock solid," Monica comments.
"I'm a bit nervous, guys," Cora says, "what if my knees lock up, or my stomach can't take the crowd?"
"We'll be fine," I assure, "trust me, if all that training winds up being for nothing, I'm going to get all of our money back." Abraham laughs and Monica and Cora smile. At least the joke relieved some tension. "So, when are we going out?"
Abraham looks out to the crowd from the exit. "First all these other divisions have to compete, I'm guessing we'll be on in two hours, maybe an hour and a half if there are no penalties."
"Two hours? That's an awfully long time, can we leave for a snack or something?"
"A snack before exercise and stage fright? You sure that's a good idea?" Cora asks.
"You can't really leave the area, but you can go as far as the bathroom and vending machines. Did you need me to show you where?" Abraham offers.
"No," I say, "I saw the signs earlier. I'll be right back."
Monica hops over to me. "I'll come with you to the bathroom."
We take the alternate walkway that leads back into the main building. The walls are decorated with previous champions and all their awards. Not sure who has the say-so to include certain athletes and their achievements, but they must be their favorites. Monica spots the bathroom door and heads straight in, and right next to it are the vending machines. I think I've spotted a problem: these shorts don't own pockets, and I have no money.
"Drat, my poor tum-tum will suffer." I look down the hall and see nobody, I turn my ears to the bathroom door but hear no commotion. The bottom rack has what I want, a bar of grain that's small and nutritious. I crouch down and stick my arm through the receiving slot and reach up for the package. Not my proudest moment, but it looks like it's just within reach. I stretch as much as I can, my claws graze the corners of the rough foil paper. I've almost got it, I just need to pinch the corner with my thumb and index finger. "C'mon, baby, the hunger must be slain."
"This isn't the way a top athlete behaves," a deep voice calls. I quickly eject my arm from the machine and whip around to see a big man towering over me. It's someone I've never seen before, and I'm surprised his size allowed him to sneak up so easily.
"Oh! Uh, the machine ate my money," I sheepishly say, standing up to meet his chest only.
He looks at me, no smile to be found for miles. "You're Michelle Hue, right?"
I fix my hair and my posture. "Yes, that's me."
"No, you're not."
I'm confused and paranoid about his retort. I'd back away more if the machine wasn't behind me. "Wha-what do you mean I'm not?"
"Agent Troy Hearth from Ispio. You're not so sly, fox, your story raised red flags as soon as you entered the tryouts."
I press against the machine fully. "Wow, you guys really need to stop recognizing me. It's only fair that you tell me your name since you already know mine."
It's a hard no from him as he swiftly throws a massive punch aimed at my face. I quickly duck and let him hit the glass of the machine behind me. I slide between his legs and kick him forward, his head slamming into the glass and hard-to-reach snacks. It doesn't do much as he quickly recovers and starts wildly swinging at me. He misses them all as I redirect his punches with small parries using my palms. It doesn't take long for him to connect a hit to my ribcage, and I go down in one blow.
He wipes the specks of blood off his forehead. "You made me bleed, little one, that's more than the others can say. Playtime's over."
I'd like to stand back up, but I knew that one punch from him was going to do a lot of damage. "All that secret spy training to help me fight bigger foes...what was the point?" He walks up to me, ready to go for the kill. "Hey, if you're going to knock me out, do you mind avoiding my face? I've got someone who likes looking at it." My wish is granted as his heavy fist knocks into the back of my head. Everything gets extremely shaky, and then calmly fades to black.
*** *** ***
Waking up is never a good feeling to have after a wonderful sleep, but it's even worse when it's accompanied by a throbbing headache and a painful ribcage. I'd already expected to wake up in unfamiliar territory while being restrained somehow, and it seems I'm not disappointed. It's a dark room covered in standard lab equipment and a few pieces of technology I'm unsure of, and I'm strapped to a dentist's chair with added wrist and ankle cuffs. Too bad I don't have the ocular upgrades, I could document these for Ispio's files.
"Clyde? Can you hear me? Hello?" I ask out loud, but the only response I get is static. Typical Ispio quality signal, but at least contacting HQ is guaranteed. "Amy? Amy, please check in on us. I need aid, the other team can wait. Amy? Amy...? Amy!" I retract my voice when I hear a loud bang come from the dark. I figure it was a door opening and closing when the man that attacked me enters the limited light that I do have. "Oh, if it isn't King Ugly again. Did you get those glass shards out?"
"The mouth on this one, huh?" he says, "Why are you talking trash when you can't even move? That's stupidity, not confidence." He walks closer to my chair and puts a hand on the headrest, pushing me further down for an intimidation factor.
"You don't scare me, I wouldn't be here if your goal was to hurt or kill me. You won't dare to even ruffle my fur, guaranteed." He smiles and moves his hand to my arm and gives me a good pinch. I whimper and squirm, but I can't go anywhere. "Ow! That's just childish! Stop it!"
"Alrighty, I think that's enough," says another, feminine voice from the same door. It sounds eerily recognizable. She enters the light and joins the big brute who has stopped pinching me. "My oh my, you are a boy?"
I groan in my chair. "Of course, it's you, Sasha. Access to the statistical records of all athletes that try out for your team, that should've been enough to tip me off."
"That's not just any boy," the brute says, "this is Special Agent Troy Hearth, master of disguise and persuasion."
She shrugs her shoulders. "Hmph, persuasion is right. That little female voice you do sounds so innocent and unimposing. I would've never guessed, honestly. You sound nothing like that now."
"Yes," I say, "that's the whole point. That voice is so limiting, but now I can tell you what I really feel, you sociopathic f--" the brute wraps his hand around my muzzle, stopping my mouth from moving and talking.
"Oof, I don't like this new voice of yours, it sounds like it has a lot of hostility in it," she says. "I'm going to go check on the other guest, and luckily I won't ask for you to be gagged, I know you're not the type to scream in uncontrollable situations." Sasha and her muscle walk into the darkness and leave through the door they came in, leaving me to my thoughts once more.
"Amy? Amy, are you there? Goodness woman, are you changing the other unit's diapers!?"
"Wha-huh?" she finally answers.
"Amy! Listen, I've been captured and my signal can't reach Clyde. Send him my location, ASAP."
"Oh wow! Yessir, sending coordinates now." She goes silent for a while, I assume she's explaining to Clyde the reason for the beacon. "Clyde has been alerted, Troy. Are you in immediate danger?"
"Not right now, I'm strapped to a chair and my captors have left me to attend to another victim. I'm not sure how much time I have until they get back."
"Do you have any gadgets that can cut you free?"
I look down at my wrists and notice that it's only simple leather keeping me still. "If those nerds-- I mean people at tech support packed the right tools for the job, I could've easily been free minutes ago."
"Right-o. If they come back with mal intentions, you're going to need to do what you do best and stall."
"Really? I was gonna ask them to speed up my execution, thanks for the advice."
"Wow! Okay I know you're in a stressful scenario right now, but, rude."
I struggle more in my bonds, but my string bean arms and legs don't stand a chance against leather and a buckle. The only thing they left free is my head, and that won't do much at the moment. I'm too late to think of something as Sasha comes back in alone with a vial attached to a big needle. "What is that?"
She approaches me and I squirm. "This is to draw some blood from your veins, silly."
"What? Why would you want my blood?"
"I thought you were some sort of special agent. You haven't figured out that it's been top-quality athletes that go missing around here? I need their DNA, your DNA, to try and birth the best, genetically enhanced war baby. You see, when I--"
"Alright I'm going to stop you there, that's all I need to write my report. By the way, you are insane, does anybody ever let you know that? I feel like that's something you should be aware of. Try and work on bettering yourself."
She dismisses me. "No matter what you say, it doesn't help you here at all, and you sound like a real bully, it's not appreciated, thank you very much." She aligns her needle to my arm, it looks thick and painful.
I struggle in my bonds frantically. "Wait wait wait! Why would you want my blood? I'm not as good as you think."
She pulls away. "What do you mean? You scored an almost record-breaking time in the relay tryouts. I was so sad that Isaac stole your spot with his influence, you totally deserved better."
Still cheering me on? Weird. "No, that was all cheating special agent gadgets and whatnot. If you do a full body analysis, you'll find out that I'm actually part machine."
"Part machine? So that wasn't your natural time?"
"Not at all, I cheated, and have very bad genes to steal. I'm short, I have psoriasis, I eat no protein, and I'm pigeon-toed."
She seems skeptical, but it's hard for me to put on the charm without the use of body language. "I don't know the first thing about cyborgs, but I have seen a lot of natural athletes while coaching, and you didn't look fake to me." She aims the needle once more. "Besides, your skin looks fine, protein diets can be enforced, I saw you run and you don't have pigeon toes, and being short isn't an inferior quality."
"No! Wait, don't you want to throw in some smart people in the mix too? I mean, a soldier needs to learn how to think quickly on the battlefield and adapt to the environment."
She scoffs at me, some spit landing on my face. "Ha! You're an undercover agent who has a comprehension of how unusual technology works. You're plenty smart, you little thinker, you." She carefully pierces my flesh with the needle, and by carefully I mean shoving it in roughly because she couldn't bother to take care of her patients whom I assume she kills afterward anyway.
"Yee-ouch! You're going to collapse a vein! I don't believe you have any medical education at all!" She interacts with the plunger, drawing away a massive amount of blood and filling the vial fully. I immediately feel dizzy, there's no way I should be losing this much blood.
"See," she says, "practically painless. I'll be right back to put this away and get the next tool ready." She walks away while carefully holding her filled vial, slamming the door behind her and locking it tightly.
I try and get back to Clyde. "Clyde? Can you hear me?" No answer still. "Amy, where is Clyde?"
"He is about 880 yards away, closing in fast. Just hang in there. What did they do to you?"
"They hurt me, Amy, need I say more? Did you find out where I am? Must be somewhere underground or something because my signal isn't reaching Clyde at all."
"Yes, I've got you on satellite. You're not underground, just in a private building not too far from the stadium. I think you're just carrying crappy comms."
"Ispio sure does give its best for their field agents. Sasha said she's coming back with more equipment, I've got a feeling it's a tier of pain type of deal."
"You think it's gonna be worse?"
Sasha rushes back in through the door and wheels in a shiny, metal table with more tools sitting on top, one of which is an actual bone saw. I thrash around some more, but I don't even move the chair I'm sitting on, it must be bolted to the floor. "Sasha, what's with the tubes and the... bone saw? Does anybody ever survive these undocumented procedures?"
"Oh, now you're asking the right questions, Troy. The short answer is no, the body loses too many valuable liquids and pieces to be able to support itself. As for the tools, I'll explain as we get to them." She picks another needle and attaches it to an intravenous. "This is for your bone marrow extraction."
I roll my eyes. "Lovely. You've already ruined one of my arms, you're gonna go for the other?"
She smiles a toothy grin. "Actually, this one will be inserted into the back of your pelvis bone. It's with a heavy heart to inform you that we're all out of anesthesia, but you seem really tough, I'm sure you won't pass out." She clicks a button underneath my chair, making it change its parts and take a different shape, one that hovers me in place rather than having me sit down. My back is now exposed.
"No! No please don't do this, I can't stand the whole 'hospital' environment. You're freaking me out!"
She walks behind me with the table, and I hear her messing with the tools, the metals clanking, and random clicks here and there. She says nothing but hums a happy tune instead.
I try and calm myself down, getting emotional would only ruin my chances of persuasion. "Sasha, what happened to Isaac? Did you take him?"
The clanking doesn't stop, but she answers me. "Isaac? Keep this a secret, but I never really cared for letting him in all those years. He's a good athlete, but there are so much better. Still, his genes are something to behold, he's sitting in the next room over with Milo."
"I take it Milo is that big brute?"
"Mm-hmm. I know all about his personal life, I took his phone and texted Monica as him. I think I got his ego right because they never put out a search party for him."
"Right is an understatement."
"Someone heard you talking to him when I was with the other team, they told me that you put that strange idea in his head that he could be in a bigger, better team. I figured, 'Wow, what a good way to cover up his MIA status'. I guess I have you to thank for that."
I grunt. "If I could facepalm myself, I would." Suddenly I feel my shorts slip down slightly and a cold pair of scissors cut away at a patch of fur. "Eeek! What are you doing!?"
"I'm prepping you for the needle, silly, you know that already." She finishes with the cutting and swabs an ice-cold alcohol patch onto the freshly bared skin.
"No, please! I've been nothing but a good fox! I like my fluids! You're gonna give me a serious ouchie!"
She rubs my back with a gloved hand. "Aww it's okay, little one, it'll be over quickly and you'll even get a lollipop at the end." Her hand goes back down to the bare patch while the other picks up the needle. "Gotta aim this just right, don't wanna have to reinsert over and over again, right?"
I thrash the hardest I have before, but it still doesn't do anything. I let out whimpers and tears, and I know that she isn't going to listen to anything I have to say. I can't tell how far the needle is, but I can feel the wind on my back changing, maybe she's getting closer.
A loud bang coming from the door startles us both, and then another, and then another. We're frozen in our muscles, staring into the void of darkness that wails deafening bangs, until finally, Clyde steps into the light carrying Milo over his shoulder. He throws Milo's unconscious body on the floor in front of him, asking Sasha to gawk at it like how a domestic cat brings a dead vermin to its owner as a gift.
"Wha--what? There are two of you?" She asks, stepping out from behind me. Clyde cracks his knuckles once, and before she has any time to explain herself, she is engulfed in a grey blur as Clyde throws his massive body into her tiny frame in an aggressive tackle. I hear the familiar crackling sound that signifies that maybe some bones are now broken.
*** *** ***
Clyde and I sit at Carlotta's desk watching her read Amy's records of our case notes. She's been wearing a frown for the past few days, but she now seems to be relaxing her shoulders, still no smile though.
"Wow," she says, "that must've been a scary situation for you, Agent Hearth."
I puff my chest out. "Ha! I wasn't scared at all, it was... just an act to drop her guard. I knew Clyde was close already." Clyde pats me on the head and tussles my hair. I swat his hand away.
Carlotta continues, "Of course. Maybe we shouldn't trust the tech wing to pack your gadgets for you. I'll revoke the amendment due to poor results, it'll be up to the agents to decide what technology they bring for their mission."
"Thank you, ma'am, I'm glad that's back to the way it used to be," Clyde says.
"Did you read the part about how we rescued Isaac Holdridge?" I ask.
"Of course, the technical wing reports success in his memory wipe, and the cleanup crew has fixed the story in Vergennes for you. None of the bodies have been found, it's a shame they'll forever be a cold case." She puts the paper down and interlocks her fingers on top of her desk. "Agents, boys, I know you don't receive much praise for your thankless job, but I want you two to know you did a fantastic job. This quadrant needed a win after such a bad streak in cases."
"Happy to be of service, ma'am," Clyde says.
"Yeah, we're all for giving you a good name," I say. "I do wish that I could've competed in the tournament though, I really missed my chance at having a normal, civilian experience where all eyes being on me was a good thing."
Clyde laughs, "Ha! The team's eyes were on me when they saw me walk out of the stadium to go rescue you, I'm sure they'll never let me back in."
Carlotta reaches under her desk and fishes out a bottle. She gently sets it on the table, and I can clearly see that it is an expensive bottle of scotch. "There hasn't been a reason to pull this out in a very long time. Would you boys care to celebrate a job well done with me?" Clyde hasn't handled alcohol in several months after I pointed out his drinking problem. I start to detest it, but he beats me to it.
"I'm happy to celebrate with you, ma'am, but I don't drink."
"Oh," I stutter, "y-yes, me neither." Ah, so he does listen to me.