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He’s running late… he thinks. According to the brass, the agent must always be early because sometimes early can be too late. On-time can get him fired, late can get him worse than fired – and he doesn’t want to think about the implications of that statement. Especially since his upcoming boss allegedly made a country just not exist. If he’s early, he might be on time, and that’ll still get him in trouble. So, he needs to be earlier than early. And this is why he finds himself pulling into a Starbucks parking lot at 6:30 in the morning.
It's why, as soon as he sees someone carrying a barista apron, he jogs up to meet them at the door. The employee is slightly younger than him but apparently intimidated enough to let the government agent inside prior to the set hours. He walks toward the counter but is surprised to find someone already standing in line. Must be another government official, he thinks silently to himself, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet.
“Sorry ‘bout that, Doc.” April, a woman in an apron behind the counter, smiles sheepishly. “Just got everything running. What’ll you have today?”
“I’d like a caramel macchiato with ten shots of expresso heated at precisely 205.6°,” the taller man speaks in a low, disgruntled voice.
Oh my God, just do drugs like an adult, the agent thinks to himself.
April’s eyes widen, and she leaves to brew the drink, while the taller man swivels in his long black jacket reminiscent of a cape. He narrows his eyes, taking in the younger man. Apparently, he hadn’t left those words in his head.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, government lackey?”
“Agent Stone,” he answers truthfully, holding back a cringe.
The other man scoffs and mimics him in a higher pitched voice, “Agent Stone.” His voice lowers as he leans into the other man’s proximity. “Who would miss you if you just vanished off the side of the Earth, Agent Stone?”
Stone blinks wildly and backs into the display table. He had meant to stand his ground, but this man scares him a little. He leans farther into his space. Okay, a lot.
“The government?”
It hadn’t meant to be a question, but his voice involuntarily inclined in a lilt at the last minute. The taller man sneers, his mustache twitching.
“The precious government does not give a damn about an insignificant lackey such as yourself. Certainly not one who wanders around, flashing their distinctive emblem to get early coffee, and engaging in hostile verbal violence with roboticists awaiting their restorative tonic to make it through another sludge recruit. Do you even have an inkling of what that is like?”
“… I apologize… Doc.” He adds the nickname heard from the barista earlier.
“You can just call me Sir.”
Stone lets out an exhale of relief when the other man finally vacates his space. He hadn’t heard April calling out his order. He remains against the table wall even as the man stalks past him without a second glance now with a macchiato firmly armed in his hand. Stone watches as a car comes for the doc outside, and he waits until the car leaves before walking to the counter and ordering a hot black americano for himself. Before paying, he adds a caramel macchiato with only two espresso shots as a peace offering for his new boss.
Less than an hour drive later, Stone comes across a dirt road and is led via laser-armed drones to an overwhelming black mobile lab with an emanating red light. Two of the drones urge Stone out of the vehicle and to a door on a ledge. Just as Stone is contemplating how to enter, a metallic staircase folds out from a slit beneath the door. Since an electronic red eye blinks above the door and the two drones hover next to Stone’s head, the agent doesn’t move a muscle when the stairs wind up embedded into the ground half a centimeter in front of him.
A familiar-sounding voice orders him to approach and, at the top of the stairs, Stone comes face-to-face with a familiar-looking man. He lifts his heavy sunglasses to his head and snatches the cup not shielded against Stone’s chest. He recoils instantly and pours all the contents on Stone’s head. It alarms the younger man to drop his own drink, which splashes on the floor. And the doctor’s shoes.
“I’m… I’m so sorry… Sir.”
Robotnik huffs and snaps his fingers.
“Clean this mess, Agent Stone.”
“Right, Sir,” he nods immediately. “Where are the cleaning solu-”
“No, no. You used your tongue easy enough at the coffeehouse, Stone. You can use it here.”
Stone does a double-take at the words. Surely, he doesn’t mean…
Robotnik impatiently beats his unstained shoe against the floor, tapping away on his monitor glove. Stone looks through the caramel cream drops, between the doctor and the coffee cup. When he hears the buzzing sound of a drone powering up its weapon, Stone drops to the ground. He reluctantly sticks out his tongue, drawing a line across the leather toe box of his boss’s boot. Robotnik chuckles lowly, almost menacingly, above him as Stone wonders just what he’s gotten himself into.