It was an old building, decrepit, with peeling paint, yellowed timber and a smell that more or less announced to anyone there that indeed there was an entire family of dead rats in the floorboards. A dead rat city, almost, with dead rat enclaves and little places where the dead rats could meet and socialize except that they were all dead. Agent Nicholas wrinkled his nose. He did not want to be here, and he most certainly did not want to be partnered up with Agent B, otherwise known as Agent NightBlade. The decision to allow agents to choose their own code names was proving to be an unwise one.
“You are narrating out loud again, Agent Nick,” Agent B said. “And the decision to allow us all to use whatever names we wanted was the best one ever.” B smirked. “Only reason you complain is because you got confused at the part that said ‘Nickname’.”
“No. Shut up Agent B. You shut your damn dirty mouth. Come on, let’s check out this building.” Agent B rolled his eyes. Agent Nick would get in moods sometimes. Usually they ended up with people dead and Agent Nick receiving his nth demerit. “Open the door,” Agent Nick demanded. Agent B knew that Agent Nick would only ask once, and that Agent B would either open the door the normal way, or the “dynamic” way.
“Yes, right away.” Agent B exclaimed, racing to the door in the hopes of opening it before Agent Nick had the chance to use him as a punching bag for all of the shame he felt for his son, the fashionista in Mexico City. Use him as a punching bag, again. The entryway into the building somehow managed to smell even worse. Agent B idly wondered why the olfactory senses didn’t shut themselves down when overloaded because goddamn.
“What the hell is taking you so long, go in ther- SWEET MOTHER OF CHRIST!” Agent Nick exclaimed as he caught a wiff of the house’s interior. “Oh god! I can taste it! Aaauuughghuhg!”
Agent B wasn’t as badly affected. Growing up poor, B was used to the everpresent smell of death and hopeless despair that had permeated his house. It wasn’t until later the B had learned that those things weren’t normal. “Come on, Nick. This is our assignment, remember? We have to go in. You have to be a man. Don’t be your son, Nick. Be a man.”
Agent Nick looked into Agent B’s eyes. Agent B saw a mix of disgust, anger and arousal. Wait, he wasn’t sure about the last one. He had issues. “Alright. I’m not my son. I don’t prance around in tight jeans and wear leopard print jackets. I’m a man.” Giving out a primordial scream, Agent Nick charged into the house shoulder first, not bothering to go around Agent B, which resulted in B being plowed full on into the wall opposite the door in the house. “What are you doing laying around on the floor like that? Get up B! Now is not the time to lollygag!”
Agent B got up slowly, clutching numerous fractured ribs. He would have to spend his vacation savings on this surgery. His wife would understand. She always did. Holding back his tears, B attempted to explain the exact situation to Agent Nick. “We… *gasp*… need to find… the… man… *Cough* Blood? That isn’t good…. We need to find the man hiding here.” Agent B wanted to explain why, but he was pretty sure he was dying and wanted to spend his last moments thinking about anything other than why he was dying in a house that smelled like a million dead rats.
Agent Nick looked down at B, who was rolling in agony on the floor of the house. “What are you moaning about? You’ll be fine.” Agent Nick reached down and picked up B, who only really had a few cuts and bruises. Agent B looked down at his body as though a miracle had occurred.
“Nick… you saved me. You healed me! I was gonna die!” Agent B exclaimed, giving Agent Nick a clingy hug. “You… you really do care…” B said, beginning to cry into Agent Nick’s shoulder.
Agent Nick quickly untangled himself from Agent B, holding B off at an arm’s length. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. That was way too gay for me. I mean really. Fruity as all hell. Come on, let’s just complete this mission. We’ll start with the room over here.”
The two agents started a sweep of the building, each one attempting to not breathe in as much as possible. Agent B even found, at one point, Agent Nick with his head stuck out of one of the windows desperately gulping down air as though it had become a precious commodity somewhere along the line. That’s silly, B thought. If air had really become that precious, it would be much better to invest.
Eventually they discovered a door which could only lead to the basement. If there was a thing the agents were good at, it was never getting lost, much to the chagrin of the Department. All the missions in the Sahara had accomplished nothing. “Well, B. Open the door and get down there.” Agent Nick commanded.
Agent B was having none of that, though. “I opened the front door. You can open this one, dammit.” Agent B responded, his voice aflame with righteous indignation. He had enough of Nick’s constant condescending comments, constant comparisons to Nick’s remarkably effeminate son, and the constant physical abuse. Which was soon to continue, as Nick had also decided he had enough of B and had proceeded to pick him up bodily and hurl him full force through the basement door.
“Thank you, B.” Nick said to the body at the bottom of the stairs. Approaching, Nick grew worried. “Come on, get up B.” Nick said to the motionless lump. Nick toed Agent B’s crumpled remains. They didn’t respond. “Get your ass up, B. Come on!” Nick yelled. No response. Fearing the worst, Nick leaned down to check the pulse. Nothing.
Presently Nick grew aware of a presence behind him. He looked up. It was the man they had been sent to retrieve, the Secretary of Defense, who had gone missing earlier. The Secretary looked at the corpse of B. “Damn, son. You straight up iced him!”
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