Agent X

xx| 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚒𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 |xx

I sat in my damp cell, my head against the cold, stone wall. My skin felt sticky with blood and pus, oozing from the wounds WAOIC had inflicted on me. In the pale light streaming from the dim light outside my cell, I could see that my hands had turned blue from the cold.

How long have I been here? How long are they going to keep me?

I had so many questions that repeated in my mind, like a neverending playlist. It was exasperating to be sitting there—so useless, so much time was being wasted. It felt wrong. It was wrong. I hadn't spent a day of my life in such a feeble, useless position.

The most human interaction—since meeting with the man on the cheap throne—was with a guard who had stopped by five times to feed me. I had made a mental note every time he arrived. I assumed that WAOIC wouldn't be feeding me three times a day, they probably didn't have the budget for it. Besides, it would give me a better sense of time. I anticipated that they fed me exactly twelve hours apart, once in the morning and once in the evening, meaning that I had spent two and a half days in prison.

Then again, I hadn't been eating the food that they had provided. I would have preferred one, decent meal everyday opposed to two mediocre ones. Some protein and Vitamin C would have been appreciated to prevent muscle atrophy and scurvy. But alas, they insisted on feeding me white bread, not even whole wheat bread. They didn't seem to have the slightest care for my physical well-being.

Of course, they probably were planning on disposing of me. In my boredom, I had calculated the probability of various ways that I left the prison—whether I be alive or dead.

Leaving by WAOIC killing me: thirty-percent chance. They likely were planning on starving me, beating me, and interrogating me to extract information, with the ultimate goal of killing me when I was no longer useful. However, there was no way for me to know how long they would hold out before disposing of me.

Dying of malnutrition and starvation: thirty-percent chance. Based on my current diet, this had a rather high probability. I could actually pass away before WAOIC found me useless. For some reason, I had the most peace about leaving the Earth in this manner. It was strangely satisfying to foil their plans.

Being rescued: five-percent probability. I wasn't trying to be pessimistic, but the chances of the IIA finding WAOIC headquarters and getting past security was on the lower side of the spectrum.

A door opened and slammed shut. I forced myself to remain still, to not perk up my head and see who had entered. Surely, I would know momentarily. If anything, it was likely the guard bringing my food.

Much to my surprise, the bearer of my meal was Agent Smog.

"Hello, Agent X," he said with a smirk.

"Ah, Smog. Are you bringing my second, bi-daily meal since your agency had another budget cut?"

His eyes flashed in annoyance. I wasn't remotely surprised by his visit, I had insulted WAOIC's low budget, and I had figured out my feeding schedule.