Work Text:
Desperation
by Lopaka Tanu
One of the first things you learn after becoming a spy is: when things start to go wrong, that is the worst possible time to panic. Nothing good ever comes from losing your cool. A calm, rational mind gives one an edge necessary to aid in survival. Anything less and you cut your chances of getting out of a bad situation by more than seventy percent.
"Okay, so the power is out." Eyes to the ceiling, or where he thought it to be, Michael flicked the switch one more time to be certain. When there was not even a spark from the switch, he sighed. This definitely put a crimp in his plans for the evening.
It wasn't the end of the world, though. This just meant he would have to log on at another place. His apartment was a stupid place to do it from anyways.
Reaching in to his jacket pocket, he grabbed the cellphone. It's familiar weight felt a reassuring in the complete darkness. Pulling it out, he flipped it open.
Nothing.
He frowned in the general direction of the phone. Turning it over, he began to push all the buttons with his thumb. Only the sound of the keypad being crushed could be heard above his own breathing. A prickling began at the back of his neck. "That is not a good sign."
His harsh breaths echoed in the dark room. Closing his eyes, he focused his mind and body. The training instantly kicked in and he was soon feeling much better.
"All right, think out the situation. You awoke in an apartment with no lights, no power, and a non-functioning cellphone." It was a good place to start. Licking his lips, he rolled his eyes on instinct, trying to locate a source of illumination. There was nothing.
He absently remembered that there was no moon out tonight. Even if he knew where the windows were, he wouldn't be able to see out them. There weren't any working street lights.
Bad things were about to go down out there if they hadn't already started.
"This is okay. You've trained for this." Hand moving to the small of his back, he reached for his gun. It wasn't stashed there because he had taken it out when he laid down.
Frowning, Michael turned to face the direction he thought the bed was. His gun must have still been on the nightstand. Why had he forgotten it? The first thing he should have gone for when the lamp hadn't turned on was the gun.
Something was wrong here. Taking a step back, he found the wall immediately behind him by slamming in to it. This knocked the phone from his hand. Sucking in a quick breath, his hands went immediately out to his sides, palms flat against the bricks.
Feeling his pulse begin to race, Michael stared blindly out over his apartment. This was not a problem. He could deal with this. He had been trained to deal with this. It was just a little darkness.
A noise to his left startled him. Jerking his head to the side, he squinted in an attempt to make out what it was. There was nothing but more dark. So, he listened instead.
The noise did not come again.
Sweat started on his brow, itching the skin just under his hair. It sent a shiver down his spine. Reaching up to scratch, he paused.
What the hell was he doing? This didn't make any sense. None of this was typical of him. His palms were damp with sweat, for god's sake.
Anger, hot and burning, coursed through him. If his reactions were off, then there was a good chance that some outside source was to blame. What method of influence would decide his possible retaliation.
Licking his lips, he sucked in a quick breath. He wasn't light headed and he had no trouble swallowing. Focusing his thoughts was more trouble from panic than any chemical agent. That didn't completely eliminate that possibility though.
Growling through clenched teeth, he shook his head in annoyance. There were entirely way too many ways to mess with a person's mind. Not all of them were recognizable by someone under their influence, even with his experience. Half of all of those were lethal. He would be dead long before he noticed any of the symptoms of half of those.
Michael could have slapped himself. "You are not helping yourself here."
Closing his eyes eye again, he dropped his head back against the brick wall. "All right, start over." He shivered at the haggard pitch of his own voice. "Take a deep breath and count back from ten."
Mentally, he began to count down in every language he knew. By the time he reached uno, he was more in control of his faculties.
Once he was certain of his rational mind, he decided to focus on the next task. Identify his situation. He was alone in his apartment in the dark. Michael frowned. That wasn't right.
It was an assumption that he was in his apartment. He had awakened on the bed and crossed over to the light switch. Yet, he didn't remember doing either. Some how, he knew that he had done those. The knowledge was just there.
This was another dangerous assumption on his part.
For all he knew, this was some prison that he was left in. That explanation would cover a lot of the problems he currently faced. There was one sure fire way to find out.
Heart pounding, he began sliding his hands along the wall in either direction. He inched towards his right on a hunch. Much to his relief, his fingers found an indentation. His entire hand went over the edge and he gasped in surprise.
His fingers reached for and found metal. It was the door. He had found the door.
Sucking in a deep breath, he shuddered with relief. There was a way out. This was his apartment after all. The power was out and he was alone. That knowledge was worth all the world to him at the moment.
That was when the truth hit him. The power was out and he was panicking because he was all alone.
Shaking, Michael felt his facial muscles begin to twitch. His breathing grew heavy and they came quicker. Drawing his limbs up close to his body, he slid down along the wall until he hit the floor. Resting his forehead on his knees, he clenched his eyes tightly shut.
"It's dark outside."
The greatest threat to any operative in the field is not the bad guys and all the many weapons at their disposal. It's not the odd chance that their cover will be blown or being out of their depth. They're trained for all of these, it's often expected even. No, it's a simple thing that every spy fears to the point of neurosis.
The knowledge of one's self is the last thing we hold on to. Lose that last shred of our identity, that tiny piece of who we are, and even the strongest person will cease to function.
It's the one thing they can never teach you how to overcome.
THE END..................................