*Wordcount: 353 words.
Crusoe sprinted down the steel hallway; the entire underground bunker awash in pulsating red warning lights. Blood poured from a bullet wound in his arm, and his running gait carried a slight limp.
The adrenaline kept him from feeling the worst of his injuries, though his heart beat a drumline and his head throbbed. None of that mattered though:
he had to save the world.
He had saved the world a few times before; the life of a globe-trotting super-spy was rarely dull. Of course, his reputation never preceded him and hardly anyone knew his name.
Crusoe was a damn good spy.
That being said, this whole mission had been one failure after another.
First, Crusoe had let his primary target get away.
Second, his backup had been killed.
Third, he had been captured and detained in this bunker.
Fourth, they were about to launch a nuclear missile and plunge the world into warfare.
Unfortunately for them, Crusoe was a damn good spy.
Crusoe reached the control room and swiftly took care of the remaining security that hadn’t gone out to find him.
Technicians and engineers streamed out of the room, and Crusoe ignored them: he didn’t have much time at all.
The control panel had a failsafe to stop the launch: two keys had to be turned simultaneously, on either side of the room.
Crusoe also had no keys.
Well, that wasn’t good.
The controls for the massive doors that opened to allow the missile to fly free of the bunker were nearby. Hm, this could help.
Crusoe, using his spy expertise…
And his experience with similar systems,
Started the doors’ closing procedure.
They weren’t very fast, but they would clip the payload.
Crusoe sat on the floor, his eyes closed, and listened to the roar of the missile and the blare of the warning systems.
Everything went black.
Far below a deserted wasteland lies an underground bunker, extensively damaged and littered with skeletons.
Ghost sirens blare, and an ethereal red glow fills the bunker.
Crusoe sprints, to the backdrop of a countdown…