Thursday, October 18, 2007

The Hunters

Dale was shocked into wakefulness by a cacophony of sound. “Get the hell out of my head,” he screamed but the wall of noise drowned him out. Only when he opened his eyes did the chorus finally fade away. He felt a prickly sensation at the base of his skull. Bastard was still inside. At first he couldn’t see, his vision blinded by a row of intense spotlights, until a man, his interrogator, stepped in front.

“Miller,” Dale spat. “I should have known it was you.”

The thin, pale man just smiled. They’d never liked each other, and clearly this was a moment he intended to savor.

“Yes, I dare say you should have. Doesn’t say much for your abilities as a spy does it? Perhaps after all these years of relying on them, your instincts aren’t what they used to be.”

After a moment’s pause to see if his captive had anything to say, Miller added, “Or perhaps they were never that good to begin with.”

Dale just regarded him with cold, calculating eyes. While he may have bungled into this warehouse alone and gotten himself captured, his nerve didn’t seem to have left him. Miller looked into those and saw no fear there.

Dale spit blood on the floor, “Traitor. When the company finds out about this…”

Miller just smiled again, “Ah but they won’t, because you’ll be dead. It’s always a shame when an agent can’t handle the stress and needs a little… chemical help to get him through a long stakeout. Sometimes those agents even wander into the wrong neighborhood looking for their fix and get murdered.”

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