Don’t Worry, Keep your pants on

“What do we do now?” asked Jeffries, looking back up at Biggs . Jeffries had been Biggs’ handler for a wide variety of missions over the past years and constantly found himself asking that question.
Biggs paused for a moment, then kneeled over to begin searching the unconscious body. He rifled through the man’s pockets, which lacked all ID and his jacket, looking for more hidden pocket. Unsatisfied, he looked at the man’s face for a moment, then pushed back a lock of hair, revealing a listening device. Quickly, he crunched the tiny bug and tossed it in the trash.
“Well, we can now assume that whoever sent this man has been listening in, which puts us in a world of jeopardy. They’re probably coming right now in force, now that subterfuge has failed them, and we’re stuck in a tower. Any ideas?” he finished, taking a glance over at Jeffries for the first time.
“You’re the agent; what am I supposed to know?” he responded, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“True. What we need is another way out. We can’t rely on American security, for we all know how good that is…” he scrunched his face up for a moment, then began cleaning up the mens’ room, tossing the body into a stall and closing the door. “Our best hope is disguise. Jeffries, please wait here a moment while I go acquire us some souvenirs.”
Jeffries stood in the mens’ room patiently, contemplating their current situation. He had seen Biggs get them out of tougher situations, but that didn’t stop him from worrying. In a moment, Biggs was back with two t-shirts. He began removing his blazer, shirt, pants, and socks, gesturing for Jeffries to do the same. Slipping on the t-shirt, he looked back in the mirror while Jeffries struggled with the last of his attire.
“I hope the ‘shoeless and boxers’ look is still ‘in’ in the US. Let’s go.”
“Wait, what do I do with my wallet and everything?” asked Jeffries before they could leave.
“Why in the world would you carry that around? Please tell me you never carry around real identification on you. Not after all these years,” he said with a sigh, turning around to look at the slightly embarressed man. “Well, no harm. Take you wallet and throw it under one of the toilets and pray for the honesty of the next man who sees it.

(yes, short, meaningless, but a good way to get back into it. Hopefully, I’ll be writing more soon)

Afternoon Coffee

Chris sat there, stirring his coffee, waiting.
Four stirs counterclockwise, two the other way, with a small sip, and repeat.
Generally a patient man, he became worried. His contact had assured him that he would be on time, and in this business, the unexpected invariably meant trouble. He looked out the window, down onto Seattle. A pleasant, though not particularly noteworthy view, for the Space Needle wasn’t quite as well situated as he had hoped.
“Ah, Mr…” came the voice behind him. He turned around into the friendly smile of a British man, about his height, of insignificant appearance.
“Biggs. My name is Biggs. And you are…” he returned, grasping the other man’s hand in a warm embrace.
“Laurie. A pleasure to meet you. Is that a… Canadian accent, I hear?”
“Very perceptive of you, Mr. Laurie,” he responded casually. “I have your shipment secured down in a warehouse down on by the port. I hope you’re government will have better luck reasoning the contents of it,” he continued, hopefully. He began a slow stroll around the Needle, with Laurie soon following.
“Yes, we have very good people for the job. I-“
Cutting him off, Chris quickly mentioned, “Ah, well, now the pleasantries are out of the way, I’ll be more than glad to discuss specifics, after I take a quick detour to the boys’ room. I’ll be right back,” he assured, with a smile.
Laurie nodded, and Chris quickly sped over to the washroom. Swinging open the door, he casually walked into a stall.
Working hastily, he removed his shoes and pants, carefully positioning them, then locking the door. With incredible flexibility, he sneaked underneath the wall into the adjacent stall, closing the door and standing on the seat.
He waited for a moment, when the washroom door swung open with footsteps gradually coming closer.
He waited further as the footsteps came even closer, then stopping.
Suddenly, he swung the stall door out, which subsequently richocheted off a body. He jumped out onto the offbalance Englishmen, who quickly gained his wits and focused upon his opponent, billyclub in hand.
A quick fake with the left, and Chris tossed the contents of his coffee cup into Laurie’s face, letting the scalding liquid burn through.
A solid kick to a critical point and a punch to the face, and it was over.
Another man rushed into the washroom, a man in a suit, with a look of concern on his face.
“What happened?” he puffed out, exasperated.
“Apparently there’s more danger to coffee than just it being ‘hot’,” Chris responded, pointing toward the spill and the bruise.
“But… how did you know?” the man slowly said as he turned to face his partner.
“The callouses on his hand. For a ‘British agent’, his callouses felt more like those of a knife fighter, not a gun slinger.”


Wiping the sweat off my forehead with my hankerchief, I swiftly patted down my now crumpled suit, walking away from the scene. I hate getting in all these fights.
You would too if you had multiple deathmarks from various underground crime syndicates across several galaxies. Tonight was supposed to be dinner and a party at the Planetary Governor’s mansion. It ended up as four scuffles and a tear in time-space that ripped out an entire city.
I knew I should go back to HQ on Quartanis IV and check the weekly schedule for duties, though I guessed an emergency transmission would tell me what would be happening next. One that proclaimed its arrival with a beep in my pocket.
Walking swiftly toward the nearest hovercar, I pulled my receiver out of pocket flipping up the viewscreen, activating hover mode in front of me.
“Agent TK-421, I assume you know what has happened to New New York over there,” spoke a old man, of whom I address as P. And yes, there are always puns when he takes a washroom break.
“I’m already on it, though I’d like some directions to my best resource,” I responded, while activating my EM transmitter implant, opening and turning on the car.
“Well, that’s a little trickier. No known suspects have even been a lightyear within the Hermes system, and frankly, our psychic division is drawing a blank. As far as we know, the leading expert on tears was in NNY when it happened. However, you might want to visit his daughter on the next planet over. They have a family residence there, should be easy enough to find. You might be able to find some leads in his research. see what you can dig up. We’ll still be working over here.”
“Gotcha, I’ll get to the bottom of this. 421 out,” I finished, deactivating the receiver and pocketing it. Looking down, however, I also noticed a blinking light coming from the driver door. Tugging at it, I realized what it was.
I knew I should have packed my bomb defusal kit.

Tales of an Intergalactic Spy

When some thug points a gun at you, you really don’t have a whole lot of choices. Fortunately, reflexes don’t require you to make a choice.
The Genovian lifted his left arm from his holster and heft it up with one arm, extending his arm fully at me as he pulled the trigger.
Just a bit quicker, I hopped over the table, hoping it to be sturdy enough to deflect a DeathRae 4000. Barely clearing the glass top, I heard the sizzle of a released charge, a charge deadly enough to bring down a Harlexian Elephant. Following the burning path with my eyes through the titanium alloy wall, I realized I needed a new plan. Unfortunately, this plan would have to do without a gun; good tip for you: always check your catridge before you need it.
“Surrender, fool!” he yelled out. “You have no chance against this!” tapping his nail against the casing of his DeathRae. Good model, shame to be wasted on such a low-life.
“Alright, you got me. I’ve taken quite a few gambles in my life, but this one doesn’t quite have the same odds as the others,” I responded, raising my hands and popping up to face him. I was right; the odds were much better this time.
I walked slowly towards him, hands still up, though it did nothing to ease him.
“Stay back,” he said, shuffling back, “if you know what’s good for you.” See how easy it is to gain the upper hand?
In a flash, I had him disarmed and back against the wall, a nifty trick from Phar. He recovered quickly enough, raising his fists, ready for a fight. I’ll admit, I’m no brawler, but I can handle myself. He faked left, right, left, right, and over and over, though it didn’t matter. I knew which was coming.
I threw my right hand up for the early block, then allowing my knee to teach him a cheaper alternative to a vasectomy. The fight wasn’t quite fair, I’ll admit, but I don’t fight fair. Besides, he should have aimed his gun with both hands.