The Tests Of Special Agent Dash: The Case of The Fallen Angel

The Tests Of Special Agent Dash:

The Case of the Fallen Angel

Prologue

I hear the harsh scratching and agonized screams from outside my cell. It was animalistic, inhuman yells of mercy and release. Whoever it was, she made it clear that she was suffering immeasurable pain. I didn’t bother investigating it, since I had been hearing them the moment I stepped into this rat hole. They would usually die off rather quickly, with the sound of metal hitting bone and silencing their captive, or the yells slowing into groans as chemicals beyond my knowledge worked their ‘magic’ on her. I should know, since I was once a part of those voices.

The memory of my supposed ‘treatment’ sent chills down my spine, causing an unwanted reaction of spasms from the appendages that now graced my form. I forced myself to hold on to those memories, the feeling of my body shifting away from its blueprint, the yells of pain and agony that was muted only by the thundering creaks and groans that came from machines around me. The memory tortured me, to the point where once I could think of nothing but it. It was the instrument that threatened to drive me insane, but I soon embraced it as the instrument that kept me sane. They wiped my previous memories, I knew that. They made sure that all I could remember was that pain, that agony. It became my warden and guardian, making sure that I will never attempt to escape. But I was never one to accommodate to one’s expectations.

As I had expected, the screams soon waned into silenced groans. I frowned as I heard the familiar sounds of automatic doors opening and closing with the machines in that cursed treatment room shutting down. I heard wheels skidding across the floor, a stretcher that carried the subjects back to their cells. I remembered it; a sickly sweet scent of cough syrup mixed with the pungent odour of anchor rust was pungent within its fibres. Combined with the bright orange colours, it wasn’t a nice way to travel around here.

I opened up my eyes, staring into the spotless white tiles that graced the ceiling. The sheets was sterilized and had the smell of drain cleaner, which was how I had spent every single night in this abomination of a place. As I sat up on the bed, I could feel the cold air of the air conditioner wash over my body, ruffling the feather-like growths that graced my skin. I curiously felt the beige-tinged feathers, which sparked a nerve that told me its sensitivity. I pulled on one, which was easily plucked out and sent waves of pain coursing through my body. It was most certainly a feather, down to its stem. From where I had plucked it, I saw blood staining the skin. I ignored it and let the feather drop to the ground, my mind focused on something else. Time after time, they would kick open the door, forcibly strap me to one of those stretchers and pump gallons of chemicals and serums into me and from what I could hear; they were doing the same to the other ‘patients’. What could my captors, whoever they are, be planning?

I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and got up from the bed, allowing the alien limbs on my back to be released. To describe what I was talking about bluntly, I had wings. Literally. Ten foot, feathered and brown coloured wings that could extend and retract at my will. It took forever for them to grow and even more to learn motor function of them. I had to cut two holes in my white prisoner jumpsuit to give them leeway, which left so many stab marks in my back until they had send two guys to stand at my door and make sure I wasn’t trying to kill myself.

When I saw the first signs of them forming, masked men clad in white would bring me every day like clockwork to this huge room and force me to fly with electrified flooring. I used to come back to my cell with charred feet and forced to soak them in water buckets every day for what it seemed forever, until one day my incessant flapping managed to get some lift off and send me three inches off the floor. Three seconds later I flopped back on the ground and burnt off half of the feathers on my right arm and leg.

As I stretched my arms and legs, I heard the familiar rumbling of the dumbwaiter on the opposite side of the wall. I staggered over to the opening, where I found a plate of white mush. It gave off a terrible smell which I had no idea was made of. But by this time I didn’t really care anything about it after so many doses of it, but I deduced that it was a mixture of protein, carbohydrates and any weird serums that attributed to my growths. I assumed that they stopped inputting those serums after the wings grew, since I hadn’t felt low for a while.

I stared at it with contempt as I picked it up with the metal spoon and returned to the bedside. I placed the heavy ceramic plate on my lap and played with the goop. I took my time stirring and scooping it into my mouth, allowing the thick, mucus-like mixture to drool down my throat. My gag reflex attempted to activate, but I forced it down which sent a disgusted shiver down my spine. I felt it pool around my stomach, expecting a feeling of depression but instead just felt a rare feeling of fullness. Hmph. No drugs today.

I quickly cleaned the plate, wanting to have no further interaction with the pathetic excuse of food. I was just about to put it back in the dumbwaiter and send it back down, before my spoon hit something hard. The impact sent a peculiar sensation up my bones, like metal hitting rock. I looked down at the plate and saw two particularly peculiar items. They were taped to the plate, tight and like clear cellophane tape.

A red-coloured pill and a piece of paper.

I cut it open using my fingernails, which had grown far longer and sharper than just a few inches during the time I had stayed here. I cut the weak plastic carefully, the small pill being hard to catch should it roll off the plate. Playing with the pill in my fingers, I stared at the paper which had messy, thin-lined handwriting scrawled all over it. It was hard to see, but easy to make out nonetheless.

Cogito ergo sum

“I think, therefore I am,” my hoarse voice translated out loud.

I couldn’t remember how I knew this strange sentence, nor do I know why, yet the intent of it was clear. Whoever gave me this, was trying to help me. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I knew the sentence was some type of code. A code that told me of escape. Of release. Of sanity. I had been in the facility for so long, to the point where I couldn’t even tell the time anymore. They keep me in this clean marble cell and experiment with my body for days on end. I was kept in the dark from everything, my vision cloudy and my mind scattered. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t focus and I couldn’t do anything, in my own and personal mental cell with a lock whose key was tossed.

But now I have it.

Quickly, before ‘they’ could realise what was going on, I put the pill to my mouth and swallowed. I felt it rub against my oesophagus, its hard shell dissolving from the stomach acids and releasing the chemicals within. The effects were instantaneous. In one single strike, like a gushing river, memories started to form back inside my head. The throbbing soon intensified into pounding, memories of my childhood and present started to reveal themselves, the information driving me nuts.

Against my will, I slumped onto the floor and held my head in a futile attempt to ease the pain. Faces ran by my vision, friends and family that I had forgotten. Places began to reform, my experiences becoming an intensifying crescendo that battered my head back and forth. I knew I was screaming, but the noises in my head were far louder. Life began to flash before my eyes, of days past. My training at the flight academy, my initiation into the FBI and the cases I had solved in my past started to surface, a symphony of voices of life and death, friends and enemies slapped my brain in its sockets. The memories soon started dying down, back to the point of where I was now. The pain then went away as quickly as it came.

When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself heaving with recycled air and looking at the ceiling. I sat up and stared at the ceiling. Dreamily, my thoughts started to clear and the fog surrounding my brain lifted and thrust me back into reality, giving me a feeling of refreshment from my head to my toes. I looked to my right, where the empty plate and the piece of paper lay. Staring at the message once again, I quietly whispered it back to myself as my breathing calmed.

“I think, therefore I am.”

I finally remembered what I needed to do.

I got to my feet, crumpling the paper and putting the plate onto the bed. I stuffed the paper into my pocket as I heard footsteps running outside my door. I had no doubt that they were watching me, which means that they will be here soon. I broke into a smile, something that I hadn’t done for a while. This time, I won’t be somebody which they can put down and carry away. This time, I’ll fight. I took the plate and threw it at the wall beside me. With a crash, the plate shattered and sprinkled the floor with its remains. I grabbed the largest and sharpest shard I could find from it and faced the door, my wings outstretched and my body energized. The door was then kicked open, the shock sending a surge of adrenaline through me and sending me flying towards the armed men, the sharp edge of the broken plate aiming straight at them.

Right at their cold-blooded hearts.

I flew around the facility, avoiding the bigger guns and taking down the weaker ones that stood in my way. Amidst the shrieks of pain and anger, I could hear a soft cheering, No doubt by the other cellmates. I didn’t pay much attention to them, my focus centred on escaping this vile place. To my luck, I managed to find an exit, through huge bay doors. By now, I had lost the plate shard and was now attacking them with my elongated fingernails, but it wasn’t as effective as and more than once did I find myself getting a lead bullet through my wings. But it was too late.

I was free.

I flew out of the facility, not once did I look back. I kept on flying and flying, the wings on my back flapping profusely with blood streaming down and staining the feathers with its colour. It was what I perceived to be in the early hours of the morning, the warm orange sunlight peaking over the horizon. The fresh spring breeze blew past my face, the scent of fresh grass and the warmth of a brand new day.

Once I realized that I was actually away from the place, I slowed down my pace and landed in a clearing of the surrounding forest. There, I stumbled on the landing as I was still not too used to the feeling of flying. I sat myself down on the grass, my body finally registering the feeling of pain from my wings. It was a strange feeling, like somebody stabbing an arm. I forced myself to extend one of my hurt wings, allowing me to see the damage caused to my wings. But what I saw was completely different from what I felt. What I felt I thought was a simple stab, there were gushing holes of blood that remarkably, didn’t hinder me flying at all. I sighed as I stroked my hurt wings.

“Let’s get that out of you first, hm?”

I gnashed my teeth together as I used my fingers to dig the high calibre bullets out of the wings, my elongated fingernails unintentionally scratching up the insides and leaving cakes of blood and red meat left on them. The more I dug, the worse the pain got, my heart pumping the blood out of the wings like any other normal wound.

“Damn.”

I counted at least six dented bullets, which I stuffed into my jumpsuit pockets together with the crumpled paper. Once they were out, I used my hand and some fallen leaves to apply pressure to them and tied them with some tough tree vines that I had found in the area. Once they had been attended to, I retracted the wings and relaxed into the field grass, pondering out loud over my new-found freedom.

“The vine should hold until it heals…… Well, I’m free, at least. I don’t give a damn that I look like a damn eagle, or that I just killed like tens of people. I’ll head for the road when more light shows. Maybe something good can come out of this after-”

A shot suddenly rung through the air, exploding the soil right next to my head and forcing me up from the floor. My instincts forced me to head to a tree, hiding my head in its shadow as another shot hit the tree behind me, sending shocks along my body. It was a sniper rifle, I recognised the sound. Maybe one of the men back at the facility managed to track where I landed and tried to finish me off. But that theory evaporated as fast as it came when I heard the singing.

“Three Blind Mice… Three Blind Mice…!”

It was coming from where I was before, but I didn’t dare to look.

“See How They Run…See How They Run!”

More shots at the back of the tree, this time faster and quicker, which meant that the girl was getting closer with a faster gun.

“They All Ran After The Farmer’s Wife…”

I heard a chop. She was close. I knew that she was now right behind me, behind the tree and I knew full well what she was using. She had an axe. A FUCKING AXE.

“Who CUT Their Tails Off With A Knife!”

I heard one more chop, but I felt that she had stuck it into the tree. She was going around the tree. I know it.

“Hee-Hee. Did You Ever See A Sight In Your Life…?”

It was now or never. I pivoted myself around the tree, my finger into claws and attempted to strike. But all I hit was air.

“Hee-Hee. As…”

The voice came from right behind me. She was pressing a gun to my back. I closed my eyes as my mysterious killer sung the last lyrics in her annoyingly sing-songy voice.

“Three Blind Mi-CE!”

Three shots. I felt them enter my back. A huge hole formed on the back of my wings, piercing through them and piercing my lungs. I slumped onto the ground, rolling onto my side as I choked on my own blood. Through my eyes, I saw her prancing around my body and humming the tune. She stopped in front of my eyes.

“Looks like we’ve got a little Rat in my Trap! Let’s see how she looks!”

Without any warning, she brutally kicked my face to flip me onto my back. She let out an excited giggle and started prancing around me.

“Oh, looks like we have a little Griffin on our hands! Weird how, Griffins are supposed to be half-lion and half-eagle, but they’re allllllways so grumpy! Are you grumpy, my little Grif-Grif?”

She bent down and forced my paralyzed mouth to move with her hand, mocking me with her child-like eyes.

“No Pinkie Pie, I think you’re swell. Well thank you Grif-Grif! But you see, my boss doesn’t like runaways, and it’s MY job to make sure they won’t escape! It’s so exciting!”

My eyes started to close as air started to run out of my body.

“Aw… is little Grif-Grif sleepy? Well it’s not sleeping time yet! I need to make sure that you don’t escape, right?”

She forced my eyelids open with her fingers, forcing me to start drowning in my own blood again. I saw her take out a huge knife, long enough to be considered a sword. With a smile on her face, she forced my right wing open and onto the ground. Humming a tune, she thrust the knife into my wing and pinned it into the ground. My vocal chords could only let out something akin to an agonized groan, but the bitch instead put a finger to my mouth.

“Shh… it’s time to sleep, Grif-Grif. It has been fun, but I have to tell my boss that I caught you. Goodnight, Grif-Grif. Or at least in this case, Good Morning! Hee-hee!”

The last thing I saw and heard before I blacked out was the muddy skipping of her boots dancing across the soil, singing that dreadful song.

“Three Blind Mice…Three Blind Mice…”