User:Gammakid999/random story i made

Warning: This story isn't funny!

In fact, it's pretty dark!

I am leaving this here because idk where else to put it

The Agent stuck to the shadows, weaving past golden beams of light. The crackle of a radio sounded in his ear.

“Agent, this is control. Do you read? Over.”

“This is Agent M, I read. Over. ”

“Mission parameters have changed. Fourth freedom allowed. Over and out.” That would make things easier. It’s much easier to eliminate than to sneak past. He approached the vent entrance. This would take him through the facility and spit him out right next to the target. Suddenly, the darkness was replaced with an overwhelming light. The brightness beamed right in front of the agent, but he remained invisible. He was just far enough away to remain a shadow. A guard walked past, but stopped in front of the vent entrance. The agent struck like a shard of glass, invisible and deadly. He felt no guilt in this action, it was necessary, but for an odd moment he pondered. Who was this man, whose eyes drained of life as the agent watched? He quickly pushed such thoughts out, as they cause guilt, which causes error. Remember what you’re fighting for, he thought to himself. He pulled out a multitool and quickly removed all four screws on the vent, a thoughtless action that gave him a moment to rest his mind. He climbed into the vent, a cold metal cave that stretched on forever. He continued into the darkness as he began to reminisce about why he does what he does.

*    *    *

Everything took on a strange warm tone, as the memory took shape. The house, in desperate need of cleaning. The smell of toast echoing through the house. The shelves, lined with pictures and pictures and pictures. Around five o’clock, Michael’s dad called. I’ll be home late, he said. Feel free to start dinner without me. Michael, still a child, thought nothing of this. He continued on with his playing, oblivious to the fear in his father’s voice.

*    *    *

The sudden flash of red light snapped him back to reality. An alarm blared, and through a crack in the vent, he saw soldiers running down the hallway. He quickly patched into his radio.

“Command, this is Agent M. We have an alarm, what’s this about?” the response came quickly.

“We’ve been tracing their radio communications, it seems they found a body.” The Agent reprimanded himself for not hiding the lifeless soldier when he had the chance.

“Agent, they’re unlikely to find you quickly. Those vents are a maze, just keep pushing onward and you’ll make it.” and so he did. After he slowly tuned out the alarm, he began to remember again.

*    *    *

Around nine-thirty, red and blue lights shone through the house’s front windows. Michael couldn’t remember what was said, but he remembered his mother’s and his own response. Sorrow. An sudden pang of grief and regret and sadness and all the worst feelings. Over time, this Sorrow died down. It slowed its pacing. It turned into a nagging feeling, always there, in the back of his mind. His mother, or so she claimed, was over it, but he knew that every night she cried herself to sleep after spending hours with a now-empty bottle. His sadness turned to guilt. His guilt turned to anger. Anger at himself, for not recognizing the tone of his father’s voice, at the police, for not stopping it. But most of all, he felt anger towards the man who did it. He escaped. He was still at large. Not for long, though.

*    *    *

The echoed clinking of equipment rang through the vents. Shit, he thought, they’ve sent teams in. He would have to hurry now. If they found him, the whole thing would be a waste. His whole life would be a waste of time. He pushed onward.

*    *    * The Agent’s thoughts drifted now not to these distant memories, but to the Guard. There wasn’t resentment or anger in his eyes, but fear. Did he have a family? A wife? Children? Was he afraid for his own life, or those of people who depend on him? No, no, NO! The agent stopped himself suddenly.  He mustn’t. Remember the mission. The phrases from his training echoed around his mind. ‘Everyone you kill is a necessary sacrifice. The mission comes first, before everything.’ He knew these phrases well, he was told them millions of times. But still, he thought. He thought about his first mission. He thought about the woman, and her daughter. What would become of her, he wondered, will she be forced to become a ghost too? He thought about the bombs in new york. What command had said. ‘Get out agent, forget the bombs.’ He tried to fight it, to save them. ‘But there are still host-’ ‘we know agent, but you need to get out of there NOW!’ He thought about how he followed the orders, he thought about his bloody hands. The Guard. He was covered in blood, from the Guard. From the woman. From the people, still trapped in the doomed building. And then there was his father’s killer. The man he was there to kill. Leader of some terrorist organization or something, it didn’t really matter. He thought about his father. He beat her. Every day, he would come home and beat her. He had forgotten. His father. His father, whose death was the reason he even started on this batshit insane quest for vengeance or revenge or something heroic like that. He deserved to die. Why then? Why am I doing this? If not for my father, then who? He looked down, at his belt. Covered in weapons, tools to cause misery and death and destruction. No more. I’m done. He drawed the pistol from its holster.

*    *    *

The Team Leader crawled through the vents, oblivious to what was happening just tens of feet away. Suddenly, a hurricane. A noise louder than the screams of dead men. It was less than a second. A gunshot. He crawled much faster now. As he rounded the corner, he saw blood on the vent walls. A lifeless body lay there, gun in hand.