Disclaimer - I do not own the Secret Saturdays. The show and all its characters belong to Jay Stephens.
Please forgive me if any of this seems a bit out of character. This is the first time I've tried working with a character other than one of my own.
"Victory goes to the Graymen in the middle because you never know how they might surprise you."
The drab ceiling of the building was riddled with cracks both large and small. Without further examination aside from a quick glance, it was obvious that hairline cracks – invisible unless one bothered to look closely – crisscrossed the entire surface. It was even more unstable than it appeared, and it was dangerous to be within thirty feet of the structure – much less inside it. Still, it wasn't as if Francis had a choice in the matter. He was risking his life in a last ditch effort to prove he was capable of obeying orders, and partially mend his shattered reputation.
His change of heart in Istanbul had cost him more than he had suspected it would. The Graymen had been keeping an exceptionally close watch on the young agent, waiting for him to show another sign of disloyalty. The consequences of going against the rules were not something Francis was familiar with, but he was certain they would make sure he regretted every thought, breath, and step that led up to his betrayal. A shiver of what he hated to admit was fear would have made its way down his spine at that moment, had he allowed it. Doing so might have jarred the container he was currently carrying with careful hands, and the result of that was also unknown to him. All Francis knew was that it contained some manner of explosive, and that was enough knowledge for the time being.
The purpose of his mission had not been revealed to him, and it was a thought that concerned him greatly. His subconscious nagged at him that this was a trap; that the Graymen were going to ensure his mission involved a fatality. Considering he had been the only one assigned this task, it was obviously implied that no one intended for him to survive this.
But there was where they would be wrong. Even if this was a set-up, he would survive. This would be his chance to escape the training, pressure, and a hundred years' worth of high expectations. Let them think he had been killed; it would only work in his favor. Francis had known that any efforts he made at trying to convince them of his loyalty would be futile. They had already deemed him a traitor. Still, there might have been a slim chance that they would change their minds. It was doubtful, but – no matter how much he wanted to escape the life they had planned for him – it was the only life he had ever known. How could he just throw something like that away? What would he do if he did?
It was Zak Saturday's fault that all of this was happening to him. If Francis hadn't allowed his emotions to get the better of him, he would be somewhere else right now. It was likely it would have been a training camp, and he would be engaged in a series of vigorous training sessions with the person who had once been his memory. Of course, to Francis they would have been nothing out of the ordinary, but there was no doubt that Zak would have complained. He had said that he would rather have eaten his own foot than be stuck dealing with the Saturday boy for the next decade. But dealing with him might have been better than the situation he was in now.
All these thoughts had left Francis second guessing himself. Had he really made the right decision in letting Zak go? Had it really been worth it to go against the rules and his people? Had all this really been worth it?
Francis paused, clutching the small, dark container with hands that quivered slightly. His gaze slowly panned upwards towards the ceiling, and he found himself tracking the random patterns of the cracks. He would have welcomed any sort of answer as to what he should do right then, but the thought was shoved away a moment later. He knew what he was going to do.
Light filtered into the building from somewhere ahead, and a rough blueprint had placed that as being the location of a second doorway. With his jaw set in determination, the agent started towards the faint glow. They weren't going to control him anymore. He was going to make his own decisions, and those decisions started right now. They started with doing something he never thought he might do simply because he had never expected that he would have the chance. It was a mere yard or so before he rounded a corner and was confronted with a rectangle of light.
Had his eyes been visible, they would have reflected the anxiety and uncertainty he was now feeling. The landscape outside was arid, and he questioned whether his next actions were really what he wanted to do. If they weren't, there would be no going back. Francis glanced down at the box in his hands, expression twisting into a scowl. His people no longer had use for him. They were going to try to eliminate him. Who was to say this would be there only attempt? If he didn't comply and ultimately blow himself up, then what?
The explosion that shook the surrounding area was one that would attract the attention of everyone within miles around. Desert nomads traversing the landscape would see if from the backs of their camels. Their families would see it from their temporary camps. The few birds, animals, and cryptids that were able to survive in the harsh climate would see it.
…And the Saturday family would see it from their airship.
Thank you for reading! Please, leave a review! I'd love to see what everyone thinks of this. I apologize for the rather mysterious ending, but I'm not entirely sure where I wanted to go with all this anyway. But, let me know if you catch any errors!