I Swear On My Life I Don't Know What I'm Doing

You, Hope Watson, were on your way to the local TV station in an ambulance. Apparently a teenager had been shot in the leg there. You didn’t know what had happened. A TV station seemed like an odd place to get shot. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was helping the patient.

Your hospital was very short staffed at the moment. Someone else was there driving and would help you get the patient into the vehicle and get them stable, but then you’d be on your own to take care of them in the back. But even though it was understaffed, your hospital had to be the one to take this call. Yours was the closest. And even then, it was still worryingly far away. You hoped you’d get there in time.

You arrived before the police, but according to the witness the perpetrator had left and you decided to trust them. You grabbed your equipment and a stretcher, then headed into the building without hesitation. Your coworker followed you.

You had to look around for a bit. You had never been inside a TV station before. It mostly looked like just another office building. If you were wearing different shoes they might’ve clicked against the white tile floor. The air conditioning was on a bit too high and you felt a little chilly. That probably wasn’t good for the patient.

You didn’t see anyone. You were pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be this empty.

Eventually, you found the patient. He was lying on the ground in a room full of electronics you didn’t recognize. A blond teenager was sitting next to him. He must’ve been the witness.

The witness spotted you. “Oh thank goodness you’re here!” His tone was relieved, but his face made it clear he was still scared. “I put a bandage on the wound and I’ve been applying pressure, but I’m not sure it’s enough.”

“Let me see,” you calmly instructed.

You knelt down next to the patient. The bullet wound was in his left thigh. It appeared that it hadn’t gone all the way through his leg, so the bullet was still in there. There was a lot of blood. Some of it had seeped through the bandage the witness put on it. You didn’t know if it was still seeping through or if the bleeding had mostly stopped. You hoped for the kids’ sakes it was slowing down. The patient looked pale, and though he was still awake, you could tell he had lost a lot of blood already.

The patient seemed to be breathing steady, and nothing was obstructing his airway. That was good at least.

“What’s your name?” you asked the patient. You had to see if he was still responsive.

“Bond,” the kid said. “James Bond Jr.”

“I’m Hope Watson. Me and my coworker are going to do what we can to help you.”

James nodded.

Since there seemed to be no imminent danger, you decided it was best to get him to the ambulance right away. You could try to prevent shock there. “We’re going to put you on the stretcher and take you to the ambulance now, ok?”

He nodded again. You and your coworker got him on the stretcher.

“Thank you for calling us, and for the first aid you did,” you told the witness before you left. “You did a good job.”

You started to go, but the witness followed you and stood beside the stretcher. “Wait! I’m staying with James!”

“IQ, no. You’re staying here,” James demanded.

“But—”

“Someone needs to be here to tell the police what happened.”

The witness folded his arms and stood defiantly. “You know they won’t believe us! They never do!”

They never do? Strange way to phrase it. Made it sound like things like this had happened to them before. And why wouldn’t the police believe their story?

“We don’t know that until we try to explain,” James argued. “Besides, honesty is the best policy, even if they don’t believe us.”

“We’re wasting time,” your coworker said. “If the patient doesn’t want you on the ambulance, then you’re staying here. End of discussion.”

The witness deflated. “Fine.”

With that, you left the building, and you got the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. Your coworker left you with James. You got to work and they got to driving. You got James hooked up to an IV, made sure he was warm, elevated his uninjured leg, and checked his oxygen levels. You asked him the important questions, like if he took any meds (he didn’t) and what his blood type was (O+). He remained responsive.

Getting his emergency contacts was tricky. The problem was that they had to be someone nearby. You started to wonder why his family and trusted adults were so far away. Eventually, you settled for the contacts of a “Mr Mitchel” and the witness. Ideally, the second emergency contact would be an adult, but it you needed to move on to other questions.

You got through all the questions and took all the notes you needed to. James seemed stable. He still needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible, but you had done all you could.

There was still some time before you would arrive at the hospital. Maybe you could’ve just monitored him in silence for the rest of the ride, but if he became unresponsive, you wanted to know when it happened. Also screw it, you were curious, especially after what his friend said. You wouldn’t pressure him to share anything but you decided to at least ask.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you prefaced, “but if you don’t mind me asking, how did this happen?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” James told you.

You shrugged. “We’ve got some time still. Just give me the short version.”

“The short version?” James thought for a second. “We were stopping a criminal organization from hypnotizing people with a TV show and taking over the world.”

You felt like your brain short circuited. You sat there for a moment, dumbfounded. Maybe you heard him wrong? “Can you repeat that?”

He said the same thing again. You had heard him correctly. You sighed deeply. He was probably delirious. That being said, you still wanted to know if he was remaining responsive. So, against your better judgement, you asked him to elaborate.

“There’s this worldwide criminal organization called SCUM—”

“Scum?” you echoed questioningly.

James smiled, looking a bit amused. “Short for Saboteurs and Criminals United in Mayhem. Not the most flattering name, I know, but it’s what they picked. Anyway, they do lots of things, but their ultimate goal is world domination.”

“How come I’ve never heard of them?” you asked.

“They usually try to keep their schemes under wraps.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And yet you know about them.”

“I first heard about them from my uncle,” he explained, “but how I first met them is a story for another day.”

That answer only gave you more questions. You picked the most pressing one on your mind, which was “When you first met them? You’ve interacted with this group multiple times?”

“We cross paths frequently.”

Ok, so he thought this was a recurring thing. Part of you wanted to ask more questions about that, but you resisted. “Alright. Continue.”

“Their latest evil scheme was to hypnotize the masses with TV. Have you heard of…” He paused and sighed deeply. “Jimmy Bands the Second?” Contempt was dripping from his voice as he said the name.

“The hit new TV show? Yes, I’ve heard of it.” You had even watched an episode. It was about some super spy teenager going up against this group called COOL (Criminal Organization Of... something or Other, you didn’t remember.) It wasn’t bad, and the villains were especially interesting, but it wasn’t your thing. “What about it?”

“That was the show they made.” James looked annoyed. “It’s nothing but a crude mockery of my life! I knew SCUM was petty, but this is just…” He shook his head. He tried to, anyways. He was still laying on the stretcher and that made things more difficult. “I don’t know how it got so popular. Sorry, I’m getting off topic. You know how the midseason finale was supposed to air tonight?”

“One of my coworkers wouldn’t shut up about it,” you said with a tired smile. “They love that show.”

James huffed. “Yes, well, the episode was going to hypnotize everyone who watched it. Me and IQ had to put a stop to it. He managed to use his hacking skills to stop it from airing anywhere. I don’t really understand how he did it, I’m not a genius like he is, but he needed to be at the TV station to do it.”

That explained why they were there in the first place, although it was just his delusion and not the real reason. Even so, there were some questions yet to be answered. “If you stopped it, how did you get shot? And why was the TV station empty?”

“SCUM found out about our plan. They tried to stop us. I kept the operatives away from IQ, and made sure all the civilians got out of there. Right when it looked like the coast was clear, Scumlord showed up. He was too late to stop us, but he wasn’t too late to hurt us.” James scowled. “He shot me in the leg before making his getaway.”

There were more important things to think about there, like how James thought he got injured, but your brain latched onto one thing. “Scumlord?”

“Yes, the fact he chose such a name baffles me too.”

You sighed. This was ridiculous. You knew you shouldn’t keep humoring him. He probably was watching Jimmy Bands the Second or some other spy show and his delirious brain conjured up this wild story. Maybe his assailant hit him in the head too and that was why he believed all this. In fact, you added “Check patient for head injury” to your notes for the ER doctors.

And yet, James was still responsive. You were only a couple minutes away now. Keeping him talking for a bit longer, seeing if he stayed responsive the whole way there, was probably still worth while.

“Have you been shot by SCUM before?” you settled on asking. “You seem awfully calm.”

“Not with bullets, and it’s never been this bad. Usually SCUM operatives use ray guns. I usually don’t get hit, but I’ve been grazed before.” James spoke so casually it was unnerving, even knowing it couldn’t possibly be real.

“What is the reason you’re so calm then?”

“I find panicking doesn’t help.” He smiled at you. “And I trust I’m in good hands now.”

“Let’s hope you didn’t misplace that trust.” A bit overly cynical to say, maybe, but you didn’t want to make any promises you couldn’t keep, directly or indirectly.

Luckily, James didn’t seem to mind the cynicism. He just chuckled. “Let’s. Now, if you don’t mind, the adrenaline is wearing thin and I’m rather tired. Mind if I stop talking?”

You shook your head. It was only about another minute to the hospital, and it didn’t seem like he would go unresponsive by then. That was hopefully a good sign. You kept monitoring him and made sure he didn’t fall asleep, just in case he really was concussed.

In the quiet, you finally heard the thoughts in the back of your head. You thought his story had too much detail. That it explained too many things. You thought there was a chance he was telling the truth.

But that was ridiculous. There was no way anything like that could really happen. Besides, if it was real, shouldn’t he be keeping everything secret from you? You supposed that blood loss might make someone more loose lipped, but still. It was stupid that you were even considering the possibility of it being real.

You arrived at the hospital. You watched the ER doctors take James away on the stretcher. You continued on with your shift and tried not to think about it all too hard.