I Didn't Do It Part 2

After I had finished killing off my greatest villain of all time, the police still had me arrested. I sat in jail for what felt like months of repetitive roaming around my cell when, in reality, it was only a few hours. Then two cops came in one was a stout lady and the other was a tall dark man. They got my cell open and they motioned me to move out and out of shock I stood stil,l unable to move.

"What did I do now?" I asked.

"It's what you are going to do," said one of the cops and they took me by the arm and dragged me into a a room and I was told to put my belongings back on me. I got all my clothes back and my watch, so feeling that I had no choice, I got dressed and then I was taken outside with the hand-cuffs still on. The sun was slightly blinding and my eyes adjusted to the light. I was then pushed into a black vehicle. A limo? I wondered and across from me sat a very well-dressed man.

"Name's Johnson. Peter Johnson," said the mysterious man. His face was long and narrow. He looked too old to be a cop, but too young to be a federal agent. He removed his dark sunglasses and that gave away his age too easily. "You are going to help us," he said calmly. Then I realized who he was. He was one of my creations, and he was in the flesh. He looked so familiar to me, it all made sense. However, this was from a book I wrote ages ago and I could not remember for the life of me how I ended that book.

"And how exactly?" I asked trying to get comfortable with the hand-cuffs still around my wrists.

"You are going to kill every single bad guy we are looking for by writing them off the grid," he said seriously. For a second, I thought he was joking, but then his face grew solemn. Yes, more was coming back to me I had created him to be serious with everything. I created him and here he was, giving me orders and bossing me around. Well, this is a little more awkward than I had anticipated.

"You are serious?" I asked him and he merely nodded. "Well, I am not a killer, so you can't make me," I answered.

"I've read your books," he said. "You are very patriotic in them and you can serve your country, but if you object then back to jail you go for the rest of your life," he continued. "We want to make you a double o seven," he proposed and he slid on his glasses.

"Well, if you had read my books, you would know that I created you," I told him and he simply laughed.

"No, I'm quite real," he responded.

"You want me to be an agent with the license to kill?" I said slack jawed. "I am only a writer, I wrote you for crying out loud!" I replied in disbelief. "What if I write the wrong description and get someone else killed?" I asked thinking about this ridiculous idea seriously.

"That's a chance we are willing to make, and besides, we will provide you the names and you will be paid to write and you can't sell the novels you write," he said.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to throw my reputation out the window? I took so long to get here and you want me to throw it away?" I questioned.

"Yes, but you will be helping save the world."

"What's the point of writing if I am not an author anymore? I'm just going to become some stupid textbook writer?" I asked myself out loud.

"Come on agent Gold-Clicks," he said as he created the worst nickname of all time.

"Yeah, Gold-clicks is awful. I come up with my own nickname," I told him.

"So you agree to this, then?" he asked.

"Who are you?" I asked in an accusing voice.

"I am Johnson. Peter Johnson," he replied with a smirk written across his face and he said it exactly as if his name was James Bond.

"And I am Agent Silver-Quill," I said as I stuck out my hand and then I found myself falling into a pit I did not realize Johnson had set out for me...