It’s not necessary to kill them like this.
We have among our ranks some of the best medics and scientists in the world; we possess far more advanced and humane ways to kill the rare spies who manage to breach Ark Island.
Of course, murdering them isn’t meant to be humane.
“Do you care how I kill them?” I ask, and my voice is mercifully steady.
The electric hum of the helicopter pulls my attention skyward. Clara will see it. She’ll know what it means.
“I don’t care how you do it.” Soledad smiles now; a real smile. “You’ve always been creative.”
James
Chapter 3
“Okay. All right. This is fine. You’re fine,” I say, pacing up and down the short length of my prison cell. I hesitate, then look around for the hundredth time.
I mean, I’m guessing this is a prison cell.
It’s clean, which is weird. It’s also well-lit, fully illuminated by a light source I can’t identify. The walls and floors are made of gleaming steel—so glossy I can see myself from every direction—and the warped reflections keep freaking me out. I have no idea how long I’ve been in here. Every once in a while a weird mist is released into the room, and each time I lose what feels like a few hours.
My brilliant plan is not exactly going to plan.
“Look,” I say, pointing at a melted blur of my face. “There’s no reason to panic. You’ve still got your own pants on, plus all your original body parts, and if you were supposed to die here, no one would care if you had to use the bathroom, okay? They’d let you die in a heap of your own shit—”
As if on cue, a mechanical whirr precedes the reveal of an aperture in the ground. I’ve been here long enough to have learned that every time I say the wordbathrooma panel slides away to reveal a bottomless black pit,the opening of which is lined with metal teeth that all but promise to bite off your dick. I’ve never been so terrified and relieved to take a piss in my life. I fucking hate it here.
I tried shouting other things, too; things likeGet me out of hereandMotherfuckerandIce cream sundae, and all I got was more mist in my face.
I wonder if anyone back home has realized I’m gone.
“Of course they have, moron,” I mutter.
Adam is going to be pissed. Warner is going to be super pissed. Juliette might already be crying. If I survive this, Kenji will probably kill me himself.
A week ago it seemed like a good idea, trying to break into Ark Island. This shithole is the last refuge of The Reestablishment—the last gasp of a fascist psychopathic government that basically wants to enslave the world—and no one’s ever been able to penetrate their defenses. Back in the womb of home and family, where I’m still treated like a baby who doesn’t know how to wipe his own ass, doing something like this seemed genius. If I could do the one thing even the famous Aaron Warner Anderson couldn’t do, maybe they’d finally respect me. Maybe they’d finally look at me like a man and not a ten-year-old boy who used to cry for his big brother every night.
“Great job, idiot.” I bang my head against the wall.
If I ever make it back home, they’ll never let me do anything again. My own half brother is basically running the world with his wife, and I’ll be reduced to desk work.Back in diapers. All my security clearances revoked.
I let out a nervous laugh, then push both hands through my hair. I don’t know how Juliette did solitary confinement for nearly a year. Before she single-handedly orchestrated the downfall of The Reestablishment, she’d suffered in ways I could never imagine. Now, looking around this gleaming hellscape, I realize I’ve never appreciated her enough. I thought I couldn’t love her more than I already do—hell, she and Warner helped raise me—but imagining how The Reestablishment tortured her—
Nah. I can’t go there. Not here. Not now.
“Shower!” I shout at the wall.
Nothing happens.
“Piece of shit!” I shout at the wall.
The toilet hole opens again.
“Listen,” I say angrily, “if you’re not going to kill me, the least you could do is offer me some snacks—”
The words have barely left my mouth when I’m startled by memory. Propelled into motion, I search my pockets until I find it—a little plastic pouch of gummy bears, half-melted.
I can’t help but smile.
