2. Agent Fourteen's Betrayal

Anastasiya Van Houten

“That’s your problem Agent Twelve, you never know when to quit”

Was that his villain monologue or his epic reveal speech? Should I fall to my knees and curse the heavens because a totally irrelevant Brutus finally showed his true colors—the same ones I spotted a mile away? Honestly, the audacity of filler characters these days.

I hadn’t even gotten to the forest and here I was, bleeding, bruised, and cornered by someone I once fought alongside. I might’ve laughed if I wasn’t trying so hard to stay conscious. The thick sack over my head smelled like King Kong’s diapers, and my arms were tied behind my back at an awkward angle.

We weren’t stationary; that much I knew. I had smacked against hard surfaces more times than I wanted to count. I could also feel the vibrations of the damn vehicle reverberating through my bones. I must have been stuffed into the trunk.

I had seen this coming.

I knew there was a mole in Nova Command.

And it just had to be Richte—sorry, was it Rickler or Richmond?

Nova Command didn’t belong to the government, nor was it a non-governmental agency. It just existed. No one truly knew the creator or the real owner. It existed to bring down those who thought they were above the law. We received assignments and information anonymously.

Three days ago, I stumbled across intel on a new target.

Malcom Reece.

The fucking prime minister of the United Kingdom.

The list of his crimes was definitely the lengthiest I had come across. Each offense painted a disturbing picture of corruption and depravity, but one specific crime stood out above the rest.

Child trafficking.

It wasn’t just the sheer scale of it that made my stomach churn. It was the cold, calculated manner in which it was executed, leaving hundreds of innocent lives shattered and irreparably scarred. It made my blood boil, and in that moment, I knew this mission wasn’t just business—it was personal.

I definitely wasn’t a hero, and I obviously didn’t join Nova Command to save lives and protect mankind. What am I? The guardian of the galaxy? The pay was good, and honestly, I got to kill people for fun and get away with it. Win-win, if you ask me. I was never once committed to apprehending any of the previous targets, but this… this felt personal.

Maybe it was because I knew what it was like to be ripped from a safe, peaceful life and thrown into a world of brutality and sadistic torture. That kind of trauma leaves a wound that never heals.

There was no coming back from that, and Malcom Reece—the fucking prime minister—had successfully smuggled over 300 children to the worst and most despicable countries ever, when it came to brutality—Russia and Germany.

I didn’t need a sorcerer to tell me that as of this moment, half of them weren’t alive.

That very thought fueled my determination.

I’m sure you must be wondering how an insignificant and irrelevant member of an even more insignificant organization wanted to go against the prime minister—alone?

As karma would have it, it seemed I wasn’t the only one who actually had the balls to stand against Malcom Reece. That person was someone closest to him.

His very own fiancée—the princess and the only surviving member of the kingdom of Heledir.

I had never seen her in person, but I could tell even from behind the screen of my century-old television, she was different. There was something about the cold and detached yet heartbreaking sorrow in her eyes as she stood alone, surrounded by the remains of her family, cast in stone beneath her feet. I watched her with a semblance of pride as she stood before hundreds of media personnel who didn’t understand the fucking meaning of a funeral. She never once let a single teardrop.

It was because of that very fact that when I saw her initials, boldly printed at the far end of the envelope that contained everything I needed to bring Malcom Reece down, I wasn’t entirely surprised.

A cough escaped my lips as the air around me seemed to saturate—thick and heavy. It was suffocating. My lungs burned, and the rag around my face felt tighter as if it was fed up with my inner monologue and was on its way to shut me up. Permanently.

My heart lurched in my throat as I felt the car jerk to an abrupt stop. With bated breath, I tried to use my hearing to figure out what was going on outside.

I could hear the subtle chirping of birds and the crunch of dead leaves under a person’s weight. This entire situation felt all too familiar.

Before I could conjure up more ways to dissect the situation, I felt the blissful whisper of the night breeze across my face, a serene feeling before it was totally washed away by a bold and sneering grip on my lower limbs.

I could barely keep the curse words from spewing out of my mouth as I was roughly dragged out of the trunk. Hard surfaces and jagged edges scraped my skin, each scrape igniting a flash of pain that reminded me just how vulnerable I was. My heart hammered in my chest. Would this be the moment everything fell apart? For a brief, surreal second, I was floating in mid-air, my arms bound tightly behind my back, before I crashed ungraciously to the ground with a sharp hit and a mouth full of broken twigs. The taste of dirt and splinters mingled bitterly, but it was nothing compared to the sinking dread settling in my stomach.

,

“You dumb fucking—”

I was cut off abruptly as the fabric obscuring my vision was yanked away.

I flinched away from the blinding light. “What— Can you get that fucking light off my face, please?”

My very polite request was met with a sneer, but he obliged nonetheless.

I took a much-needed moment to assess my surroundings. Not only was I in the middle of a pitch-black unknown forest, but I was defenseless and surrounded by four men armed to the teeth. My gaze settled on Agent Fourteen’s empty eyes. Not a sign of remorse or even regret. Not that I was expecting any—remorse was a cowardly emotion.

“Who would have thought the untouchable Agent Twelve would be seated beneath my feet, just right below my balls?” He laughed cruelly, his blonde hair waving around him like a halo.

A proud smile adorned my lips. “Come on, I’m not all that. But would you like an autograph? All I need is a knife, and we’re good to go.”

His eyes bore Into mine as he crouched down to my level. “Don’t worry. By the time he’s done with you, I will personally request an autograph from your grave.”

“Take her.”

The men surrounding the car rushed to grab me by the underarms. My mind wasn’t on Blondie anymore. There was only one ‘him’ in this situation.

The tips of my toes dragged roughly through the dirt, kicking up dust and loose pebbles as I was hauled forward. My captors moved with mechanical precision, their grip unyielding and their expressions unreadable. Shadows stretched between the trees, dark and foreboding, swallowing the path ahead as though it led straight to hell.

Deep down, I knew it. My chances of survival were below ten percent.