Agent Atlantis

Chapter 4-No Bullets

Portsmouth, Central Artena

Before anyone could move, Luke'd turned into a blur and incapacitated the other guard. Suddenly Burnt Cheek was on his own.

"H-how?" the lousy guy stuttered out. "You got shot . . . and you were on the ground! Are you perhaps a . . . spirit?"

"For a guy who deals in paper currency, you sure talk a lot about myths," Liam observed. He pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a Kevlar undershirt below it. "Level Three on the bulletproof scale. You could shoot me with a rifle, and I'll still be fine."

"And for the town's savior, you sure talk a lot," Burnt Cheek countered. Immediately, Luke felt something was wrong—but how could it be? He'd dealt with the guards, arguably the most dangerous people in the town; a crowd loyal to him surrounded him and his only enemy standing. There was no way something was amiss . . .

And then he understood.

There was a commotion behind him; the crowd parted as if they feared a bullet would go flying into their skulls—or to let a person through. Luke spun around, but it was too late. Massive arms encircled him in a bear hug—and then the third guard that'd been standing back squeezed the life out of him.

Luke cursed himself as he struggled to free himself. He'd let his guard down—and he would pay for it. In his defense, though, pretending to die and returning to life did wonders for a person.

Luke's gun fell from his hands to the ground with a soft poof as his ribs felt like they were being crushed. He grunted in pain and tried to reach his weapon with his foot—but the guard restraining him squeezed harder. The mercenary stopped his action, and the guard likewise copied him. It was clear: stay still, and everything will be okay. 

Well, okay for Burnt Cheek. 

"You've got the gall to stop me when this crowd knows better," Burnt Cheek observed. 

Luke smirked. "It's not courage; it's tamping down the slight fear you get once you see a gun. Kind of like squashing an ugly bug," he said—but more toward the townspeople.

"Let's see if you can talk that arrogantly when I put a bullet in your skull," Burnt Cheek snarled.

For such a confident statement repeated several times, Luke observed, I haven't seen anyone with a bullet in their skull.

The crowd around them began to murmur again, gathering the strength to step in. They seemed to mull over Luke's words, glaring at Burnt Cheek and his guard in hate. The murmurs turned into shouts: "Let Hellfire go! You're not leaving this town in one piece!"

"This will turn into a bloodbath," Burnt Cheek sighed. "Why don't we start with Hellfire here?"

"You can't," Luke stated when Burnt Cheek aimed at him with his weapon.

"And why not?" Burnt Cheek snapped. "Has your hopeless situation finally caught up with your mind and corrupted it? I have all the power here. You are my prisoner. Your pistol is where you should've died, and now I'll make sure you do. Even the might of the king won't be enough to protect you."

Something of his words struck Luke as odd. "You work for West Artenian's king?"

"Indirectly!" Burnt Cheek corrected hastily as if he'd let something slip. "Anyone living in West Artena works for the king. And right now, the king wants you dead."

His words were too hurried to be accurate, but Luke had learned what he needed to. "You have no bullets in your gun," Luke pointed out. "You'd do more damage to me with your fists."

"Why don't we test that out?" he snarled.

Luke smiled bitterly. It was like being in training all over again.

Burnt Cheek fired. To the surprise of everyone present, a muted firecracker filled the air as a bullet shot toward Luke. In the blink of an eye, the mercenary twisted so that his captor was a human shield between him and Burnt Cheek. It was pretty easy, as the guard had expected Liam to dodge out of the way—and not do something so risky.

The sound of an object burying into flesh came to Luke's ears, and he gritted his teeth in disgust. Since the guard was taller, the bullet had not gone through his head—but it still must've hurt a lot when Luke twisted out of the guard's grip and decked him.

The guard fell to the ground, unconscious and wounded.

Meanwhile, Burn Cheek was looking at the situation, his mouth agape, as Luke, unharmed, brushed a bit of dust off his shirt. "I thought you said that I had no bullets left?" he asked Luke in shock.

Luke scoffed. "And you would believe an enemy so easily? Let this be a lesson to you: never doubt yourself."

Anger shone in Burnt Cheek's eyes as he surrendered. He dropped his weapon and descended to his knees.

"Can I tell you something?" Luke said as he advanced. "You still had three bullets left."

That took a moment to sink in. Then Luke winced as a scream of rage pierced his ears. "You jerk!" Burnt Cheek raged, lunging for his weapon.

Luke sighed; he kicked the pistol out of range and set his foot on Burnt Cheek's neck. "What's going on in Central Artena?" he asked.

"I-I don't know!" Burnt Cheek stuttered out, clearly lying.

Luke applied more pressure, and Burnt Cheek hesitated, then cracked. "Alright!" he pleaded. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

The crowd murmured uneasily as they heard his words. I knew it! Luke thought. He's a Wartenian. However, I shouldn't squander this opportunity for information.

"You should know the infantry unit of Eastern Artenian soldiers captured a month prior," Luke said. "They're probably on the news every minute. Where are they being held?"

Burnt Cheek laughed. "That's all you wanted to know?" he said. "They're in the Agency headquarters—but what you do doesn't matter. Tomorrow at noon, they'll be executed."