Late Night at the Office
rating: +10+x

Stackers Coffeehouse and Bar, N/A

Phaedrus sat in the corner of Stacker's Coffeehouse and Bar. Tonight was Open Mic, but he wasn't planning on staying for long.

A figure in black manifested at the door, nodding to the waitress on duty. The black mask with a golden "3" etched into it drew hushed conversation, but it was quickly drowned out by the latest singer. He took a brief glance around the room, locating Phaedrus in the corner and took a seat. "Heya Phaed, whatcha got for me?"

"Not Starling business I am afraid. Our contacts at MI666 are acting up, they busted into our research lab last Monday containing Elfa-07. I need someone to have a word with them."

"Sounds good to me, I assume lodestone 12 is still hooked up to the MI666 London research centre?"

"Indeed it is."

Phaedrus stood up and stretched, placing a gold-rimmed coin on the table. "Enjoy the rest of the entertainment tonight, I want this done early tomorrow though."

"Sure thing, see you around Boss."

"Thanks for your help Julian, remember to take some time off at some point. You aren't invincible, however much you think you are,"

Phaedrus pulled out his ticket, pressing the grey button. He blinked out, leaving Julian to listen to the soft piano sounds, now floating through the room.


MI666 Research Facility, UK

Julian strolled into the office, straightening his suit.

"Hey Director Flynn,"

They firmly shook hands, "Call me John. Please, take a seat. Is something wrong?"

"So John, you don't seem to have understood. When I bought the use of one of your facilities, I didn't expect your agents to try to steal our research. I assumed an organisation like yours would be above all this. Understandably, it made me rather upset when one of them happened to tell me it was a direct order. I thought you understood us, Jo—"

Julian cocked his head, hearing faint beeping. "Oh, I see, interesting choice. Backup on the way?"

Director John Flynn rose from his chair, Glock 17 in hand, grinning. "We aren't some sort of, company, you can push around. We are MI666 and yo—" John let out a gasp, his eyes drawn to the severed barrel of the Glock as it slowly fell to the floor with a clank, followed swiftly by two soft thuds.

"Sorry. You pulling that trigger would have been extremely inconvenient for me, so I have taken measures to relieve you of the chance to do so. It may make resulting paperwork from this slightly tougher though."

Having quickly stood up, Julian slowly spun an engraved butterfly knife around his fingers, light dancing off its now slightly marred surface. He threw the now severed digits at Director Flynn and laughed. Turning around, he heard the heavy noise of boots echoed outside, Julian sighed and raised his gun. The first bullet tore through the peephole of the door. He waited for a second, rapidly pulling it open; a body slumping through the doorway, falling to the floor with a muted thump. A hail of hesitant gunfire went flying past.

"Jesus Christ, you lads shoot like a bunch of drunk stormtroopers," Julian grabbed the Glock from the fallen man. Standard British secret service issue, decent iron sights and not a terrible fire rate. He could work with this. Hearing the rest of the agents shuffling towards the doorway, he looked at John's desk.

"Ah ha!" He grabbed hold of a metal paperweight from the stack of slightly stained paper. "Catch!" he shouted, hurling the metal block down the corridor. What happened next can be likened to someone hitting a particularly dense, red watermelon with a sledgehammer. The pristine white walls becoming decorated with viscera, a gory rendition of Jackson Pollock art.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Julian stepped into the hallway, squeezing two shots off into the heads of the closest men; they both fell into a heap on the floor like a sack of potatoes. Appraising the final man, he dropped his Glock, holding out his hands. "Well, what will it be?"

"Fuck you!" the man shouted, firing wildly towards Julian.

"Wrong answer," Julian said, deftly sidestepping. Taking a hand from behind his back, he threw his knife. It arced through the air like a dart, embedding itself in the middle of the guard's forehead. Bullseye.

Julian yanked the knife from the forehead of the downed agent, wiping it on his now mucky suit and strolled back into the meeting room. "We will be vacating the premises asap, just a quick reminder of what will happen if you cross us again."


The figure strode out of the room as John sat in the corner shaking, the blood coating his stumps starting to congeal. He gave out a short sigh and passed out, silence reigns. A few minutes later the klaxon went off; but, by then it was too late. The man was nowhere to be found, the only sign that he had been there at all was a single gold-edged coin, with the letters "AV" inscribed into it.

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