1 The Price For Invisibility

1.1 Chapter 1

It was a sunny day. I sat sleepily in the old white van, waiting for my partner who is still in the fastfood restaurant. Sigh…what's taking him so long? I switched on the radio and sat back. They're broadcasting the oldies…boring. I haven't been able to sleep at all last night all because of that wretched tap which was dripping the whole time. Now, my eyelids felt so heavy. As I vow to have the tap fixed as soon as possible, I shut my eyes, hoping to rest them for a second or two.

"Hey, Darien! Open up…DARIEN!!!" I awoke and looked around. My partner is back and he's banging at the door. By the look on his face, he's been doing that for quite some time. I craned my neck to see what he has bought, but failed. My stomach growled and at last, I unlocked the doors to let him in. "Hamburgers and fries?" I asked as my partner climbed in. The smell of food filled the entire space in our vehicle, making my mouth water. "Why don't you see for yourself?" replied my partner irritably, flinging the paper bags he's holding to me. Yes…I'm correct, hamburgers and fries…. yum…yum…Without hesitation, I sank my teeth into the still hot hamburger. "Hey, you had insomnia? Or were you partying all night yesterday?" my partner asked. "Hmm…?" I asked through a mouthful of hamburger, not knowing what he really meant. "Do you have any idea how long I banged at the door?" he asked. "Ah, what do you want it in? Hours? Minutes? Seconds?" I joked. My partner's eyes narrowed and I know I'm starting to get into his nerves. I chuckled and bit into my hamburger. "Okay, okay. My tap's been leaking again so I spent the whole night listening to its marvelous melody," I said munching, ketchup all over my hand. "Why don't you fix it then?" said my partner giving me a disgusted look. "Well, the problem is, I haven't the slightest idea how to fix it but fortunately I know someone who does…" I replied giving my partner a thoughtful glance. "Now, if you've totally forgotten, I fixed your toilet once and what did I get in return?" he asked. "Wet shirt, wet trousers and wet underwear…" I offered. My partner rolled his eyes. Of course I remembered the event. I even had a photo of him all wet and miserable, I recalled, trying to suppress a giggle. He almost succeeded in killing me when I put the photo up on the notice board at our office, the Agency.

Opps…let me introduce myself first before I carry on with the rest of the story. By now you must have figured out my name, right? It's Darien. Darien Fawkes. I have dark, brown hair, coffee brown eyes and an attractive smile to match my handsome face (Hey, it's true. I'm not trying to exaggerate here. You should see how the ladies stare at me at coffee shops near my place) What's so special about me? Well, you wouldn't believe it but I can be invisible in a split second. Okay, here's how it works. There's this stuff called Quicksilver. Some scientists made it into a synthetic gland and there's where I come in. See, I was facing life in prison for a crime I didn't commit and they were looking for a human experiment. So, we made a deal, they put the gland in my brain, I walk free. I was supposedly a military weapon but then the government decided to dump me under the Official's care, making me a Federal Agent. But being invisible has its shortcomings too. Besides making me undetectable to the naked eye, this gland also degrades my higher brain functions, unleashing my dark impulses and pushing me towards insanity. A counteragent, administered on a frequent basis by my Keeper can only partially and temporarily suppress the inevitable destruction of my mind. Consequently, I'm stuck with an uneasy deal: the counteragent in return for serving a clandestine government agency as a secret operative. In spite of that, it isn't so bad if you look at it in a different perspective and when you're used to it. It's been half a year I'm working for the Official and am starting to like my job.

I finished the last fry and licked my fingers, trying to ignore my partner. "You're disgusting!" he said, as I wiped my hands onto my trousers. "Hobbes, I do my own laundry so don't' worry," I said, putting on my sunglasses.

That's Hobbes. Bobby Hobbes, my partner. He's a former FBI agent but since the department he worked in closed down, he was transferred here to make sure I follow the rules made by our boss, the Official. Bobby has light brown hair, steel gray eyes and is usually seen in what he called his detective jacket. If he ever washed it before was a question I've asked myself for over a million times. He's loyal, determined and sometimes, a nosy person. I can't stand him when he's sneaking around, trying to follow me wherever I go. I know it's he's job to see to it that I didn't break any rules but…come on, I'm the invisible guy and he's not. Anyway, I have an acute sense of sight.

"Ready to head back to the Agency?" asked Hobbes. I simply nodded and put on my seatbelts. Sigh…back to the Agency means back to work and that's not my cup of tea. After about ten minutes, we arrived at the Agency and stepped rather reluctantly into the Official's office. The Official was already there, flipping through a large stack of documents. He looked up and stared at us for a moment before starting. "You're one minute and 23 seconds late," he said trying to give me the can-you-please-explain-why look. "Yes, I know, I know. So what's the case for today?" I asked, collapsing into an office chair in front of the Official's massive desk and putting my feet on his table. The Official look annoyed and I took in the joy of him glancing at my newly polished shoes. He took out a piece of paper from the stack he's holding and placed it on his desk. "A famous painting is found to be missing after just 24 hours it has been purchased by Harold Mishinger, a millionaire, from the Art Gallery Room of Oakwood Manor auction. Your job is to find out who stole the painting and where it is hidden" "What does the painting look like?" Hobbes asked, sitting down on the only chair remaining in the office. "It's the symbolic figure of Liberty that led the France to victory under the Tricolor, painted by Delacroix" replied the Official, giving each of us a photocopied picture of the painting. I look at the picture, a beautiful woman was holding a flag in what looked like a war scene and a young boy was running beside her. She looked so calm even in the midst of fear and fury. 'The original painting must be a chef d'oeuvre', I thought. "Alright, let's get to the victim's house to question him then," I can't wait to visit a millionaire's home. "First, get your shot then you can go there," the Official informed. "Yeah, how can I ever forget that…" I said glumly.

Hobbes and I exited the office but we stopped at the door. "Go on, I give you the honor to," I said. "Nah, you can do it. You've always done it," Hobbes protested.

"You do it,"

"No, you do it,"

"No, you,"

"Wait, wait, I've got a better idea. Let's both do it,"

"Hey, great idea,"

"Okay?"

"Okay,"

"One, two, three…."

Both of us pushed the office door with all our might and slammed it shut which gain us a curse from the Official. 'One day, that door would surely fall out of its hinges,' I thought grinning. Next, we headed toward the lab.

We reached a high security door, the type you see in a space ship on TV that opens upwards, and slide the pass card in the slot. The door opened with a whoosh. Keeper was standing with her back towards us and peering into a microscope. I winked at Bobby and quicksilvered my entire body. I crept towards the Keeper and readied to shout into her ear when she turned around and glared at me. "Just because I can't see you, does mean I can't hear you creeping up behind me," she said, pointing a scalpel at what she think is my nose. I laughed and shed my quicksilver, becoming visible again. "Aww, you're no fun," I said backing away as she threatened to dig my eyes out with the scalpel. "I've learned to keep my ears and eyes open while working with you guy…" Keeper said, retrieving a small bottle with silver-blue liquid in it and a syringe from a glass refrigerator. "Now you know what to do, don't you?" she said as she drew the liquid from the bottle with the syringe. I sighed and dropped onto what I liked to call the counteragent chair, which looks awfully similar to a dentist's chair. Keeper tapped the syringe to let the bubbles out and gently slide it into a vein in my arm. I tried to look relaxed but failed…I really hate this.