Continued from Part 1. The narrator has just been captured by a leader of the evil organisation, and imprisoned as a spy.
I surveyed my cell. It was a small room, just large enough for a small bed, with a toilet and sink in a nook fitted with a curtain rail, but, unfortunately, no curtain. Not that it mattered – the cell door was solid (except for what was apparently a letterbox), and the security camera dome in one corner of the ceiling was pointing in the wrong direction to see anything – but it was annoying.
Unfortunately, my prospects of escaping this mess alive didn’t seem good. Stowing away on the cargo submarine had been a spur-of-the-moment thing – I’d been trying to track down a box of stolen bullion, and taken the chance to trace the submarine when it came. Properly, I shouldn’t have gone off like this without plenty of preparation, not the least of which was telling someone where I was going. Even if I was listed as a missing person, no-one would be looking for me here.
Our narrator has just arrived in the mysterious and remote base of some sort of evil organisation.
I’ve seen several “fortresses of evil” in my time. Mostly, they seem to fairly quickly attract the attention of the authorities, and they find out how little their power actually is in comparison to a sovereign state. This one, though, seemed fairly old; the white paint covering the walls was wearing through in places, and the metal floor beginning to rust. That was surprising, that this remote undersea base had somehow survived long enough to accumulate rust, when some evil leaders don’t manage to keep their building standing long enough for the first coat of paint to dry. Whoever it was running it, they knew what they were doing.
This was the sort of thing I lived to investigate. I have the power to turn invisible, and made my living, then, sneaking into this sort of base to report on what happened inside, but getting here had not been easy even for me. I had to stow away on a submarine bound for somewhere suspicious, keep hidden behind stacked boxes long enough to get some sleep on the journey, and then escape into this building, apparently an distribution centre for whatever illicit goods were being transported.