In Which Ross Huron Meets Agnew, God of Mercy

In Which Ross Huron Meets Agnew, God of Mercy
September 6th, (Ross sleeps too much), 2048, 8 : 0 9 A M

“Wake up.” Harsh. Gruff. Obviously annoyed. Ross does not move, hoping against hope that he’d just go away. Most of the painkiller had worn off, although the pain itself had just subsided to a dull ache.

“Wake up,” repeats the voice. This time, the words are accompanied by a sharp shove in the chest. Ross gasps involuntarily as agony hits him. He knows his face contorts as he tries not to cry out.

“Sir, I think he’s awake.” A quiet, worried voice. Ross instantly recognizes it as Ari’s. He does not understand why he can’t sense the other voice, nor can he even feel his emotions.

“He’s not responding. If he does not show any response within the next ten seconds, jolt him.”

Ross knows that a ‘jolt’ is an electric shock, and he guesses (but he can’t tell for sure) that the man wants it to be a particularly painful jolt.

“Sir, his health –“

He ignores her, counting very slowly and deliberately.

“Ten….Nine…Eight….Seven…Six….Five…”

Ross knows he’ll have to do something soon. Slowly, he opens one eye, then the other. The light, just as before, pierces them, but they adjust quickly. The man is standing over him, glaring. Interestingly enough, he sports a brownish—grayish mustache. Ross scans the rest of him in one glance, but he gleans no more information from him. Ari, practically cowering behind him, radiating fear, offers no explanation for his presence.

“Who are you?” he whispers, throat sore from lack of water.

The man chuckles very softly. “Don’t tell me that the Great Ross Huron can’t tell who I am! Are your ‘abilities’ escaping you for the moment?” His laugh is mirthless as well a merciless. Quietly, in the back of his mind, Ross is afraid. He does not let anthing show, and he ignores the very, very, quiet whisper of fear.

“I’m weak,” he whispers back, his voice rasping. it is an understatement, judjing by the dried blood on nearly every inch of his skin.

“Get him some water!” barks the man at (not to) Ari. She scrambles off out of the room. “that is a poor excuse,” says the man to Ross. Yeah,. It might just be an excuse, ut he does not have enough energy to lift himself onto his elbows or even to support his own weight if he sits up. The man and Ross glare at each other for a few minutes, until Ari comes back, holding a pitcher of water. Her hands tremble slightly as she pours it into a glass, and she hands it to the man.

The man holds it out to Ross. “Drink,” he orders. Slowly, Ross shifts his weight carefully, not knowing if it is possible for him to sit up. Pain flashes through him with each new stage of his sitting up, but in around seven minutes he’s managed to lean on the pillows for support. His whole body is weak and shaky, and he wonders if he’ll ever get back on his feet. Slowly, he reaches out his left arm for the glass of water – his right arm hurts more, and he’s afraid of the agony that will follow if he tries to move it. The man gives it to him, and he brings it carefully to his lips, spilling a good half of it on himself. Finally he manages to finish the glass, the after – effects leaving him exhausted. He knows his entire journey of pain has been displayed for all to see on his face.

“Do you want more?” asks the man softly. Ross nods. The man fills the glass again, and Ross continues to spill a good half down his shirt again. They repeat the process a few more times, until Ross finally shakes his head ‘no’.

It is his turn to ask a question. “You never told me who you are,” he says. The man looks at him for a long moment, and then says softly, “I am Agnew, the God of Mercy.”

He exits the room, leaving him lying slightly stronger on the bed but shivering inside with utter terror. Because if he is the God of Mercy, he does not want to know what the other Gods are like.

Author's Note

I'm going to go hide under my desk now and claim that I never wrote this.

And, from WW: ..Oddly, Agnew is never mentioned again.