Agent Atlantis

Chapter 1-Royal 1

A/N-Thanks for the support on this book! It's what made this early update happen :)

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Tusca, West Artena

1500 hours

Luke bolted up from his sleep, cold sweat running down his body.

He sighed in relief when he found himself on his bed in his room. It was just a nightmare. 

The sink's water was warm and soothing when he splashed it onto his face. But even it couldn't hide the truth:

No. It was not a nightmare. The Agency had tried to hide it for nine years. 

That he was working for the people who killed his family. 

However, that wasn't the worst thing that had happened to him. Not even in the top hundred.

And, in a bit, not even the top thousand.

"Royal One, please report to your handler. Royal One, please report." The order came from the speaker installed in his room, given by a monotonous voice.

Luke sighed; it was time to get ready.

It took him five minutes. Granted, slipping on a short-sleeved shirt and shorts for the temperate weather didn't take that long, but Luke might've taken his time. It was his way of rebelling.

He slipped out of the metal-reinforced door of his room—and was immediately blinded by sunlight.

For a secret agency tasked with the mission of ending the deadly war between West and East Artema with a victory, the Deployed Armed Agency was headquartered in an exciting building.

It was a facility whose outer walls were created entirely of glass.

As Luke walked through the hallways, he could see outside onto the campus lawn. A surprising amount of agents—numbering in the dozens—were playing soccer outside. Luke felt the urge to join in but reminded himself he was needed.

Even though the agents outside were less than one percent of the workforce, the interior of the Agency building was surprisingly vacant. He only bumped into three people on the five-minute trip to his destination.

"Sorry," he had muttered each time—he wasn't exactly the best at getting out of people's way.

The third person had it the worst: Luke'd just quickened his pace and turned the corner—right into a man carrying a bunch of documents. Manilla folders and papers went everywhere, a perfectionist's worst nightmare.

Luke was right there, grabbing papers and smoothening out their creases. "I'm so sorry. I was just in such a hurry. I'll make sure this doesn't happen again—!"

"Luke?" the man groaned, rubbing his head where they'd made contact.

When the two recognized each other, they heaved a big sigh of relief simultaneously. Then they burst out laughing.

"Mr. Adiola!" Luke exclaimed. "Thank God it's you! I thought you were a big executive—"

"That was going to beat you to a pulp?" the man finished. He gave Luke a piercing gaze. "Don't think I'll go any easier on you than them, boy. You better clean your mess up."

They both knew that he was anything but intimidating, however. The man's brown eyes were hidden under a pair of thick eyeglasses. He always had this habit of brushing his hair back to break eye contact during conversations. And whenever he was stressed, he ate. A lot. The beginning of a potbelly poked out of his button-up shirt, as if even it were afraid of being prominent. Furthermore, Mr. Adiola was a family friend—and the man had saved his life when he was an infant.