Fight, Fight, Agent, Fight
This is based on a dream I had earlier today. Completely, and accurately.
Okay, well, I did adapt the dream to actually let it have some kind of a plot, even if it was one of the suckiest and shortest plots in the world.
I followed her down the never-ending set of corridors. They were like the ones back at my father’s old university – which he took me to visit once – long, straight, narrow, and blindingly white with doors set on either side.
Around me, my friends were all following her nervously. Even now, she had a sense of authority come out of her. We barely knew what we were doing – and so we started to fall back, trying to start a conversation, but not daring because of what she might do.
Once in a while, the corridor would branch open into a large reception area of some sort. Some were empty, unlit – others were completely bright, packed with people – and then the commander would be occupied for a few minutes, signing sheets or giving instructions, whatever.
It felt like this walk would take ages.
And then, once we’d passed the forty-second reception area – I counted – I saw a stack of blue folders on the floor. My companions, including the authoritative female commander, simply stepped past it – but I felt a yearning of compassion come over me and scurried to pick them up, hurrying to the closest open door next to it to see if it belonged to the occupant.
Even before I entered, I knew that the items belonged to a woman. So when I knocked and entered her room, I was surprised to see that it was some kind of bedroom – with two single beds, one pushed against the far wall under a small window and the other in the middle, next to a large wardrobe and desk. Closed suitcases and bags were littered around – the evidence of someone packing to leave – and there was a clunking noise coming from somewhere in the room.
“Hello?” I asked, looking around. “Is anyone there?”
There was no reply, but the clunking noises grew louder and more hurried. It sounded like someone was banging metal against wood – but as I scanned my eyes across the room, where was the wood?
The wardrobe! I approached it timidly, reaching out with my free hand… and opened one door. Inside, I saw a woman, her hands handcuffed to the empty clothes railing and looking at me with panicked eyes – then I felt a sharp pain take over my right ankle and yelled with horror once someone pulled themselves out from underneath the table.
I should have been utterly confused and shocked, but instead I knew what to do. He had pulled me to get out, upsetting my balance – but I simply executed a flip I could not have done consiously and dropped the folders onto the floor, spinning to face the attacker.
It was a man dressed in full black – from head to toe – which made identification impossible. But yet, from his stance and the way he attacked me, I knew I was not facing anyone normal. This was a highly trained assassin, or something of the sort.
Another instinct came over me as he threw out his arms to attack. I defended myself, wincing internally as my arm took most of the pain, and started shouting.
“Fight! Fight! Agent, agent! Fight! Fight! Agent, agent!”
I repeated those four words as he thrashed against me, none of his punches making contact, but I was unable to attack him. I did not know how. So instead, I followed all my instincts, sidestepping his lesser flails and blocking his better ones. I was exhausted – I had no idea what I was doing – but I preserved with my instinctual defence.
Then, suddenly, it stopped. I blinked, focusing my eyes, and saw that the black man had gone – and standing in the doorway was the commander, her face full of rage and concern.
She opened her mouth, presumably to scream at me, but I pointed at the woman chained in the closet and fell back onto one of the beds, completely exhausted.
After the woman was freed, the commander turned on me. I braced myself, ready for the verbal lashing.
“How did you know about the voice protocol? How did you know?”
Well, that was unexpected.
“I don’t know,” I said hoarsely. “It just felt like something I should do.”
I looked up to see her face contorted between concern, anxiety, and fear. What was it? What was wrong?
“I think,” she said slowly and importantly – something, I thought, nobody else could do – “that there’s a lot more to you than you know.”
I could scarcely have realised what she meant at that time.
So yeah. See you guys – and girls – soon!