Michael awoke with a jerk. His hands were clenched onto his blanket like a child. For the second time in the night, a dismembered Langdon had usurped his dreams and would not give him peace. Michael could feel his heat resonating off the moist, heavy blanket. He dragged and kicked it, its weight slivered off leaving a ruthless cold that sent shivers at him as he tried to ignore it.
‘For @#@# sake,’ he hissed, seeing it was only 6 a.m. on his phone.
He slivered onto the cold floor and rolled up the blanket into a ball. He lifted it onto his shoulder and imagined himself as Hercules carrying a boulder. With beast-like strength he slammed it onto the bed which responded with an uncomfortable creak. As his belly grumbled his fantasy gave away. He navigated through the dark into the kitchen and sat in darkness as he ate left over dinner. That way he didn’t have to waste it.
Michael’s apartment was in spectacular fashion. Even in the darkness he could see the kitchens design. He felt the silver fridge was a good mix with the black cabinets. The black table contrasted the white marble floor. But most importantly, he was proud of its cleanliness which was wrought by his hand.
He pondered and smiled at the thought of him living here on a waiter’s salary. It couldn’t be done. Only Hydra could support his glamorous lifestyle.
‘@#@# me,’ he said, laughing as he dumped the black plate in the sink.
He face quickly sank at an instinctual thought of Langdon. It made him feel unclean. He slipped out his clothes on the way to the bathroom and dumped them in a basket. Here he would lose all sense of time. Water burst from the disk-like showerhead in heavy outpourings and pelted his body. He scrubbed and lathered his body with soap. He tried to ignore its softness by scrubbing harder. He ran his fingers through his hair like a lover and massage with soap until it felt dry.
Michael’s face grew lighter as he felt refreshed. However, he refused to believe his soul was clean. Tears dripped and were instantly carried away by the shower. He stood stone-like regretting the day he decided to join Hydra. It was Langdon who convinced him. And it was Langdon who introduced him to the underground world. He told him they were working for the benefit of mankind.
His eyes reddened and his hands became wrinkled from such exposure to water. It was the Beetle armour that did it for him. He had never seen anything so beautiful before. He was in love. Every moment in it felt alive. But then, when Hydra felt he had enough experience, they assigned him with assassination tasks, to kill runaway projects and traitors. It is only now with the death of Langdon that Michael realised he had no choice, less he suffer the same fate. But for his sake and the sake of his family, he would always be the Beetle.
By the time Michael was dressed, his phone hit 11 a.m. and a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up outside the building. He peeked through the blinds instantly knowing who it was.
‘Go time,’ he said.
He unzipped his leather jacket and slipped on sunglasses to conceal his identity. Kind of like Clark Kent, he thought as he locked the door. His head turned to the ding of the elevator bell. Michael lived on the tenth floor but got into a habit of steadily walking down all flights of stairs to keep his driver waiting.
‘You’re late,’ the driver said. Michael could tell he was in his forties because his face looked like it was made of leather. He wore all black and ushered Michael into the back seat. ‘I don’t like to keep them waiting.’
‘Then you better hurry up,’ he teased.
‘Frigging smartass,’ he said slamming the door on Michael.
Ten minutes into the drive was accompanied by a rather hostile silence. Michael chose to ignore the driver completely by observing the streets and people. He turned his head as the driver flicked to a song on the radio.
‘You like this,’ he said.
‘Yeah, it’s not bad. I didn’t know you listened to this type of music.’
‘I don’t, but when your kids play it fifty times it grows on you.’
‘You have kids?’
‘Two girls and one boy,’ he said pointing to a photo in his wallet.
‘What did you say your name was again?’
‘Eric.’
‘I’m Michael.’
The journey took a little over two hours, but Michael and Eric had been so deep in conversation it passed quickly. When they arrived at the car park they continued talking despite the engine turning off. A man in a lab coat had come to the front of the car and stared hard at Eric. He hesitated while finishing his sentence and stopped all together.
‘I’ll see you later,’ Michael said as jumped out the car. Eric did not reply.
‘You’re late,’ the man hissed through his teeth. He was bold but thin strands of hair continued to protrude from his head.
‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t his fault.’
‘Tell me, when you were waiting on tables for a living did you make a habit of being late.’
‘No sir.’
‘Then if you can show a disgusting restaurant such respect. You will give Hydra ten times that amount.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Now come with me,’ the man said, glancing back at Eric.
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