Disguises and Diseases

"Y-y-you want what?" Makes-Things backed even further away from the agent. "No. No! That's just... You're even c-crazier than the other assassins."

"Possibly," admitted Sean, not wanting to dwell on his past. "But you've gotta admit, it makes sense."

"Sense? How can that possibly m-make sense?" Eyes darting left and right as he searched the DoSAT lab for a refuge, the terrified technician desperately tried to keep the madman talking.

"Simple. A lot of missions take place in the twentieth or twenty-first centuries, where there aren't any Random Orcs to kill people, right?"

"Yes, I know that." By now, Makes-Things had squeezed into the gap between two cabinets and was pulling his labcoat over his head in imitation of Elliot Dunkel's coat of solitude.

Sean started to lean round to get a better view of the man he was trying to talk to, but then decided against it. He took a deep breath and continued as if nothing was happening. "Terrorists are obviously right out because they're in bad taste. Insane serial killers would be good, but what would they look like?"

Some mumbled words came from the hidden figure, but Sean could only make out the phrases "Have you," and "mirror lately?"

Ignoring him, Sean said, "So that only leaves one thing that could randomly kill people."

"Yes, but y-you can't expect me to program that into the disguise generators."

"Why not? They can already turn people into different species, so why not a virus? And there are lots of different types to choose from, so even if Ebola is too difficult, there's always SARS or Anthrax."

"But a single virus cell isn't enough to k-kill anyone."

"Yeah, obviously you'd have to turn us into a colony of the things. And most agents are multi-celled organisms anyway, so that should make it easier for you." By now Sean was enthusiastically gesturing with his hands as he explained his great idea. "And we'd spend the mission breeding and incubating inside the Sue's body, so she would never spot us. It's the perf—"

Sean suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Slowly he turned and found himself looking at two ogres in FicPsyc uniforms.

"Agent Bellman?" asked the first ogre, the one with his hand on Sean's shoulder.

Sean just nodded.

The other ogre called out, "It's all right. You can come out now."

Makes-Things emerged, straightening his coat. He was holding a mobile phone in one hand. "You got my text then?"

"Yeah. We'll take care of this now."

"Come along, Agent Bellman," said the first ogre. "Doc Freedenberg needs to remind you about the dangers of mixing too much Bleeprin with your prescription antidepressants."

---

Special thanks to Hieronymus Graubart for unofficial beta reading.

The Very Edge (of Destruction)

All right.  Here’s my (long overdue) first mission.  I know it’s not the one I said I’d write when I applied for Permission a year ago, but that fic proved too difficult for me to handle, so I decided to get some experience with a simpler, shorter fic first.

Big thanks to my betas Desdendelle, Irish Samurai and SMF.  Also thanks to Hieronymus Graubart who acted as an additional beta.

Anyway, the PPC was created by Jay and Acacia.  The Jeeves stories were created by P.G. Wodehouse.  Middle-earth (Hild’s home continuum) was created by J.R.R. Tolkien.

The fic “The Very Edge” is by charlotteicewolf77.  (At this point it’s traditional to say something like, “and she can keep it because I don’t want it!”)

I own nothing here except my own characters – Hild and Sean – and their actions.

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Sean Bellman let out a low whistle, then said, “She cleans up real nice,” in what he always thought was a pretty good impression of an American accent.  (So far, no real American had agreed.)

“Very funny.”  Hild, who was standing in the bathroom doorway, had even less idea than Sean of what a good American accent should sound like, but even she could tell her partner was teasing her.  “Besides, I’m still in my regular uniform.”

“Yes, but you actually showered without being reminded for once.  I’d almost forgotten your hair was blonde.”  He grinned and leaned back in his chair.

Hild shrugged.  “Well, I didn’t think I could turn up at Luxury’s RC without a wash first.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t put her off.  But you and Lux?  Since when are you—?”

“No!  Nothing like that!”  Hild interrupted him, her eyes wide with shock.  “How could you even think that?  Besides, you know I wouldn’t steal her from you.”

“Yeah, right.  You know I’m not that Sean.”

“Your mind’s dirty enough,” joked Hild as she stepped forwards into the room.  “Anyway, for your information, a bunch of agents are organising evening classes.  They think it’ll help keep us sane, or something.  And Lux is teaching one of the courses.”

“Evening classes from Lux?”  Sean leant forward, a wild glint in his eye.  “Well, I guess you’ll learn some useful techniques for when you finally get Boromir to yourself.”

Hild shook her head.  “It’s taxidermy.  Swift Araw!  Are you sure you’re not Lux’s Sean?”

“Taxidermy?”  It was hard to make one word sound relieved and disappointed at the same time, but Sean somehow managed it.

“Yes.  Might be fun.  I never got a chance to have any hobbies with the Dunlendings.”

“I dunno.”  The joking tone began to fade from his voice.  “You’re not thinking of doing it in here, are you?  All that blood and guts all over the place.  And the smell.”

Before Hild could reply, a loud [BEEEEP] filled the air.  She turned to the console.  “That’s odd.”

“What?”

“It’s an unfamiliar continuum.  Have you ever heard of someone called...” She hesitated over the strange name.  “P. G. Wode house?”

A large grin spread across Sean’s face.  “Heard of him?  I love those stories.  This is going to be great.  You are in for a treat.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and it’s pronounced Woodhouse.”

Hild said nothing.  Although she had been taught to read as part of her basic training, she often wondered if the teachers had done a bad job of it.  It seemed that words rarely seemed to match up with the letters in them.  Maybe she’d figure it out one day.

“I’ll set the disguises.” Sean moved to join Hild at the console.  “How d’you fancy being a flapper?”

Hild had no idea what that was, but she agreed anyway.  She got up and moved over to the shelf.  “Oh, and we’re going to need a crash dummy.”

“Oh yeah, it’ll be first person.”

“No.  Second person.”

“What?”  Sean’s manic Cheshire Cat grin started to crumble.

Hild shrugged.  “That’s what the report said.”

“Oh well.”  Sean gave a deep, long sigh, and then opened up the portal.

Once the agents had gathered their equipment, Hild chucked the dummy through, and they both followed behind.