Spy: Reborn

by Angie A Huxley

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One: Stage Fright

  Chapter Two: The Hapless Bard

  Chapter Three: Antelope Number Two and an Ultimatum

  Chapter Four: Breakdown

  Chapter Five: A New Path

  Chapter Six: Infiltration

  Chapter Seven: Sneak Attack

  Chapter Eight: A Strange Opportunity

  Chapter Nine: New Duties and an Unexpected Message

  Chapter Ten: Respite and Reflection

  Epilogue

  SPY:

  REBORN

  Actor’s Method: Book 01

  A LitRPG Adventure

  By Angie A. Huxley

  Copyright © 2019 Angie A. Huxley

  Cover Design © 2019 Angie A. Huxley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

  The characters and events portrayed are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Chapter One: Stage Fright

  “I know that virtue be in you, Brutus,” Argo began in an overly high-pitched and strained voice, “as well as I do know your outward favor. Well, honor is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men think of this life; but, for my single self, I… I… erm…”

  Tomi, who was playing Brutus opposite Argo, rolled his eyes when he realized the other actor had once again forgotten his lines. Rather than try and help him remember though, his mouth became a thin line of impatience and he gave Argo a hard, unforgiving stare.

  Argo gawked back at him helplessly, the situation made worse by Tomi’s expression of annoyance. Like a drowning man, Argo tried to grab hold of his lines that tossed around like broken wreckage inside the tumultuous ocean that was his brain. “But for my single self,” he stammered, “I had as… life not as live to be in… in…”

  He broke off, completely at a loss again. What came next? He tried to remember but now the nerves had kicked in and it was useless. Sweat plastered his forehead and his stomach was squirming like a nest of eels. Tomi gritted his teeth and mouthed something less than complimentary that the audience couldn’t see but which Argo knew was directed straight at him and that made him feel a hundred times worse. He abandoned all efforts to remember his lines and went into complete shutdown. All he wanted to, now, was shrivel up and die.

  “In awe of such a thing as I myself,” hissed Mr. Collaban from his prompt box at the center-front edge of the stage. Mr. Collaban was the perpetually harassed owner of the Nightingale Theater where Argo performed, and he’d taken to sitting in the little prompt box during all of Argo’s performances to help him after all the other actors refused to do it anymore. Though not as hostile as Tomi, the look of weary irritation on Mr. Collaban’s haggard face did not help matters one bit.

  “In pour of such a ring as I myself,” Argo repeated dumbly, mishearing what Mr. Collaban had whispered.

  This slip up sent a ripple of laughter through the audience. Tomi huffed and Argo felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He stared helplessly at Mr. Collaban seeking his next line. Before the theater manager could continue, a head of lettuce came hurling out of the dark to hit Argo square in the nose.

  More laughter erupted, followed by calls to get off the stage. Argo stared at the lettuce where it had landed at his feet and then looked out at the braying audience, blinking against the glare of the footlights.

  In the gloom, he could make out a petite, elderly woman smiling up at him. He recognized her straightaway as Mrs. Okeke, one of the members of the Ladies’ Cultural Society, an organization of wealthy genteel widows which regularly attended the afternoon matinees at the Nightingale. In fact, they were the only people who attended the afternoon matinees. Though, ostensibly, it was to enjoy the many highbrow works Mr. Collaban liked to put on; now they kept coming back for the sole purpose of heckling Argo’s terrible performances.

  He made eye-contact with Mrs. Okeke, who waved politely at him before taking out another lettuce from the woven shopping bag resting on her knees. She hefted it in her hand and raised her arm to hurl it straight at him, urged on by the other ladies. She never missed her mark, and Argo had to admire her accuracy, if nothing else.

  “Drop the curtain! Drop the curtain!” yelled Mr. Collaban to one of the stagehands who was watching the debacle from the wings. The owner had half-climbed out of the prompt box and was waving his arm frantically, which only added to the audience’s enjoyment.

  Tomi put his hand against his face in despair and stalked off stage. “I’m sorry,” Argo called after him. He turned to Mr. Collaban, his eyes perfect O’s of desperation. “I’m sorry, Mr. Collaban, really I am.”

  Mr. Collaban merely shook his head and the curtain descended, but not before Mrs. Okeke’s second lettuce hit Argo straight on the forehead, prompting loud cheers from the audience.

  * * *

  “That’s it!” yelled Tomi as he stormed towards the dressing room. “I’m not working with him ever again!”

  “Come back here, Tomi,” Mr. Collaban said as he followed him. “You’ve got to go back out in a minute. We’ll start the scene from the top.”

  “I don’t feel very well,” Argo said, trailing behind him. “Maybe I shouldn’t go back on.”

  “Nonsense, Argo,” Mr. Collaban said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “It’s just a little attack of nerves. You’ll be fine on the second run.”

  “Ha!” exclaimed Tomi, coming to a halt and rounding on Argo and Mr. Collaban. “He’ll never be fine! He’ll always be awful! In fact, he’s the worse actor in the whole world! And that’s a fact.”

  Argo cringed under the onslaught but said nothing. Tomi was temperamental at the best of times, and it was wiser to just weather the storm when Tomi was having one of his legendary blow ups. Aaheli—Argo’s roommate and an aspiring actress herself—always berated him for not standing up to Tomi. She thought he was a bully and an arrogant jerk, but Argo looked up to Tomi because he was a much better actor than himself, and he wanted desperately to learn from him.

  “I’m real sorry, Tomi,” he mumbled. “I just froze that’s all. I’ll not do it again, I promise.”

  Tomi’s handsome face creased into a sneering mask. He went back to Argo and towered over him. “But you will do it again. You always do. You freeze up more than an ice rink, and you forget your lines, all. The. Freaking. Time!” Tomi emphasized each word with a sharp jab to Argo’s sternum with his finger. “Not that that really matters of course, because when you do manage to remember what you’ve got to say your delivery is more wooden than the stage. Well, I’ve had enough. I’m not going out in front of those rotten old hags to be made a fool of!”

  “Now, now boys no need to get over emotional,” Mr. Collaban cut in quickly, trying to calm the situation down like he always did. “You know what that lot are like after they’ve had a couple of sherries. We just have to grin and bear it. The show must go on remember, and they’re starting to get restless out there. I don’t want them ripping up the seats like last time.”

  Tomi folded his arms across his muscular chest and set his mouth into a firm line. “No way. I’m not working with him ever again.”

  “Don’t be like that,” Mr. Collaban said wearily. “We all have to work together, that’s how it is.”

  “No, that’s not how it is!” Tomi snapped. “Not for me! I’m going to be a big star someday and I won’t need to waste my time with a shabby little outfit like this.”

  Mr. Collaban was taken aback. “Shabby little outfit? How dare you. The Nightingale Theater Company is the most prestigious acting troupe in all of Orchid City. We’ve had packed houses nig
ht after night made up of the most illustrious and wealthiest people in all the Diamond Nations! Why, I performed Hamlet in front of the Crown Prince of Rujastant himself. I received more standing ovations than I care to remember and a medal of honor for services to the Arts. There’s nothing shabby about us, young man!”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard that story a million times before and it was like a million years ago when all that stuff happened as well,” Tomi sneered. “Things have moved on and you haven’t, old man. This whole dump is falling to pieces around your ears. It’s only kept going thanks to the donations made by Argo’s father. That’s the only reason you haven’t fired him yet, and you know it, so don’t pretend that he doesn’t drive you as crazy as he does me! Either he goes or I quit!”

  Mr. Collaban was about to say something back but Tomi turned dramatically on his heels and strutted away. A few moments later came a loud bang as he slammed the dressing room shut as hard as he could. The theater manager deflated, as if the heated exchange had sapped all of the life out of him. Shaking his head, he looked over at Argo, who was stood with his eyes fixed on the ground, and let out a heavy sigh.

  “Come on Argo,” he said, mustering a half-smile. “Tomi will calm down, eventually. He always does. The show must go on. Grainger can understudy as Brutus.”

  Argo nodded. “Thank you Mr. Collaban, and again, I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Collaban patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry about it, my boy. We’ll make an actor out of you yet. It just takes time and perseverance.”

  He hurried away to find Grainger, so he didn’t see the pained look on Argo’s face. Though he’d been trying to be kind, Argo knew the sad truth: Tomi was right. He was a terrible actor and Mr. Collaban would have fired him from the troupe ages ago if it wasn’t for the fact that it was his father’s money that was keeping the theater afloat.

  As he followed the manager to the wings, he could feel the tears misting his eyes, but he stopped himself from crying. No matter how lousy his skills, he still had a show to do, even if it meant getting pelted by more vegetables from elderly critics.

  “The show must go on,” he muttered to himself, but that maxim didn’t take away the pain inside him.

  * * *

  Gladys the waitress bot ambled across the red and cream checkerboard floor of the Rizzaldo Coffee Shop and came to a stop at Argo’s table. Setting down his third seaweed and hazelnut latte of the evening, the automaton gave him a bright smile in the hope of raising his spirits. Her efforts met with very little success.

  “There you go, kid,” she said in her rich husky voice, programmed to sound like she’d spent a lifetime chain-smoking cigarettes. “Though go easy on the caffeine, will ya? You’ll be bouncing off the walls later on.”

  Argo sat slumped in the rattan chair, his arms draped across the marble surface of his table next to the window. “Ok,” he mumbled, not looking up at her.

  The robot server tilted her ellipsoid head and clicked her red metallic teeth. “Looks like it’s already kicking in,” she drawled. “If you keep on being so rowdy, I’ll have to throw ya out.”

  “Ok,” he repeated, not really listening.

  “Is everything all right, hun? You’ve had a face like a wet weekend the moment you came in here. Has that Tomi boy been picking on you again?”

  Argo finally looked up and brushed the lock of long black hair that hung over his right eye away from his face. He managed a smile, touched at the concern the robot showed him. Since the breakthrough in quantum robotics ten years ago, the automaton servitors that provided the backbone of human society had become capable of possessing genuine emotions, and in the two years he’d been coming to the little coffee shop opposite the theater Gladys had developed something of a maternal affection for him.

  “I’m sorry, Gladys, I’m just a bit preoccupied that’s all,” he said. “I’m fine really.”

  “Tough day, huh?”

  “Something like that. I’ll be fine though, don’t worry.”

  Gladys nodded. “Well if ya need to talk, just let me know.”

  “Thanks Gladys, I will,” Argo replied. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”

  The waitress didn’t look convinced but another customer needed her attention so she let it lie. Argo managed to keep his smile in place until her back was turned before slumping back into misery. He sipped at his coffee, but it did little to lift his spirits. He was still too cut up by what had happened today to really chill out and relax.

  Tomi’s words had really stung, even though he’d said them many times before. Not that it was any great secret. Everyone knew he was a lousy actor, so there was no point pretending otherwise. He’d come straight to the city fresh out of drama school two years ago, hoping he would be able to make it as a successful stage actor even though his training hadn’t been an easy process. He’d barely scraped through with a pass and all his teachers had given him the same criticism: he didn’t show much emotion, and his range was too limited. He was stiff and wooden, and worse of all he kept fluffing his lines and freezing up, just like he had done today. He didn’t understand why he kept making the same mistakes time and time again. He read and reread scripts and practiced as much as he could, but it was all to no avail. He still kept making goofy mistakes and nerves got the better of him no matter how many times he went on stage. He seemed doomed to keep failing.

  Argo took another sip of coffee and gazed out of the window. His reflection looked gloomily back at him, his high cheek-boned, diamond shaped face pale and gaunt. He had sharply defined features with a pointed nose and small mouth, and large blue-grey eyes peeped nervously out beneath a mop of long glossy black hair that hung down over his forehead in drape-like bangs. He mostly wore black which made him look even thinner than he was, and always had a long woolen scarf that fitted tightly around his neck when he was out. Aaheli said he dressed like an undertaker and he should wear brighter clothing, but Argo preferred blacks, deep blues and greys. He felt that the somberness of his wardrobe suited his personality.

  His phone suddenly beeped, rousing him from his broodings, announcing that a new message had arrived. He blinked in surprise, not expecting anyone to contact him. He checked his screen. It was from Aaheli. He opened the message and his heart sank even more when he read it:

  WHERE ARE YOU??? WE NEED YOU NOW!

  “Oh no,” he groaned, remembering he should have been back at the apartment by now. Because he had been so wrapped up with what had happened today at the theater, he had totally forgotten about the group quest he and the Manticore Crew were going on tonight.

  He glanced at his watch and realized to his horror he was forty minutes late. Scrambling to his feet, he darted out of the coffee shop, scarf flapping wildly behind him.

  Chapter Two: The Hapless Bard

  Hailing the first robo-cab he could find, Argo headed across town to the apartment block located down on the seafront where he lived with Aaheli. The run of terrible luck that he had been having all day stayed true to form and the cab soon found itself stuck behind a lumbering heavy goods behemoth on its way to the industrial district. The huge machine took up the best part of the road, making it impossible to overtake, and the robo-cabbie was forced to go at a snail’s pace, sending Argo’s anxiety levels soaring through the roof.

  “C’mon, ya big palooka!” the robot driver yelled at the behemoth. “Get out the way!” He beeped his horn and the behemoth let out a deep bellow in response. “The city council really need to do something about these useless lugs,” the robo-cabbie grumbled to Argo. “They clog up the roads something rotten.”

  Argo did not answer. Outside of acting, he got nervous talking to strangers, even robots, and he seriously sucked at making small talk. He had been told networking was the key to success, but talking to people caused him to break out in an icy sweat. He became tongue-tied and either spoke overly loud or too quietly to be heard. He could never get the balance just right. Tomi did not seem
to have that problem. He could charm people at the drop of a hat and exuded confidence like it was the easiest thing in the world. Though Aaheli said he was just a big fake underneath that shiny exterior, Argo wished desperately to be more like him.

  After what seemed an age, the behemoth finally turned off the main road and the cab was free to speed on to its destination. Argo lived in one of the well-appointed apartment blocks in Orchid City’s seafront district, nestled amongst picturesque mock-Victorian villas and boutique hotels all painted in pretty pastel shades of yellows, greens, blues and pinks. Argo’s apartment building, however, stood out as it was a vibrant shade of orange that fitted its name of Mandarin Heights. He and Aaheli lived on the seventh floor of the nine story structure.

  Pulling up in front of the building, Argo quickly paid the cabbie and scurried inside, going as fast as his black and white sneakers would take him. During the journey, he had been frantically sending messages to Aaheli telling her that he was on his way, but she had not responded to any of them, which meant she was already logged into the Astraverse. The rest of the Crew would be online too, waiting impatiently for him. He grimaced as he thought about the reception he would get when he did finally join them.