He wore sunglasses with lenses so small that they made it hard to focus on anything not immediately in front of his face. To any casual observer, this would seem to be a clearly useless affectation, really. His Majesty’s Special Agent hoped to prove them wrong someday, when the time came. As it was, he tipped the nice woman at the coffee stand, and turned back to the office with seven drinks balanced in his two hands.
He matched his stride with a small crowd, which made it smoother to navigate the sea of humanity that always seemed to run through the most important lobby in the world. How or why these people might actually have real business here remained happily well above his pay grade, thanks.
Synchronicity brought him through the revolving doors with no beverage spillage, and can I just say, that has not happened for quite some –
“Agent OZ. Respond.”
Reverie broken, he responded into his lapel. “No, it’s –”
“Nevermind. Report. The teleconference with my bosses is starting in two minutes. I need your report from yesterday, and my coffee.”
“Sir, I am approaching the elevators. Sir.”
“Ugh, just hurry up. We’re already waiting in the third floor conference room.”
Git, he thought. No, that was impolite to proper pop culture archetypes, like that handsome interdimensional superhero from the TV archive videos. His boss, George Nelsonbridge, had long ago forgotten the subtle professional gain in interoffice rapport that came from knowing everyone’s favorite show at any moment. A shameful display.
He reached for the elevator button, and flinched involuntarily. “Good morning, His Fifth Agent.”
A tall radiant woman, smelling of the beach and dreams, withdrew the hand that she had extended towards the same elevator button, and laughed as rainbows do. “Oh, it’s you.” The elevator doors opened. She chuckled. “Right, right. Bless the Royal caboose, my new assignment makes sense now. HQ Xmas 2019. You were killing the karaoke machine that night. You enjoyed the room service from my hotel, too. Cyrus… Seamus…” She pressed the button for 15.
“Cedric, sir.”
She booped him on his nose and grinned. “Right. Let me give you a word of advice. Try not to be so cute all the time. Save that for special occasions, would you?”
“Ma’am? Uh, Sir?” It had barely registered to Cedric that he might have missed his floor when the elevator door opened directly onto a very large and very executive conference room. There were seats for fifteen people. Two were unoccupied.
Cedric cleared his throat and said, “I am sorry, is this the third floor?”
Agent Five said, “No. Follow me.”
Cedric placed his coffees on the end of the table and followed. “Sorry, I only brought seven, but I guess those were all for other people.”
The room erupted in a small bubble of laughter. Agent Five said, “We can exchange pleasantries and joke around later. This is important.”
“Ok, sorry.” He sat in the empty chair two places down from her own.
A large screen at one end of the room sparked to life, phasing in and out of various grayscale gradients, with blues, greens, and ultraviolet mixed in at irregular intervals. A man’s profile, largely in shadow, adjusted his glasses onscreen and spoke deliberately. “This is the Minister in Service of the Secret. I have always done this of my free will, whatever the Secret may be.”
Cedric leaned over to his right. “I’m sorry, what does that mean?”
“Ssh.”
The projected profile continued, as if on a pre-recorded grim schedule. “Agent Seven has fallen in the line of duty.”
A hush fell over the room. Cedric felt a crawling itch flare deep below that he was not expecting.
The Minister continued. “As is custom, the Understudy will be promoted to replace this valuable asset to the Crown and the Secret. So, it is said.”
“It is said,” fifteen voices echoed, Cedric among them. The screen blipped back to blank gray.
Cedric exhaled and looked around the room, locking eyes with the only person he technically knew. “Agent Five…”
“It’s Veruca, Cedric. You, Agent Seven, may call me Rook.” She sipped from a coffee cup. “What’s up?”
Fourteen pairs of eyes around the table suddenly made this next question very important. “Um, is this, like, more of like where we met, then? Traffic redirection drills?”
Cedric had seen Agent Five’s eyes widen like that once or twice before, but he assumed this time was going to be less fun. She said, “Traffic? No, it’s …” Rook placed her coffee cup on the conference table and flexed the fingers in both hands. “How long have you been the ranking Understudy to Agent Seven?”
Cedric stared into the middle distance, mouth slightly open, trying to remember. “Five? No, six years, Agent Five.”
“Rook.”
“Rook.” Cedric scanned the room full of blank expressions.
She looked over her right shoulder. “Four, schedule a sweep of third floor management. I don’t think they have been keeping the rank and file up to date on their mandatory training.”
Cedric sat up a little bit straighter. “I have done one of those.”
Rook smiled. “There you go, again.” She stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and grabbed her coffee. “Agent Seven, come with me.”
The very small woman sitting on Cedric’s left touched his forearm as he stood up. He said, “Agent Eight, I hope?”
Blue eyes bored through his outer defenses. “The last Seven was always a reckless fool, but he got the job done for Crown and Secret. Good luck to you.”
“Thank you?”
“Agent Seven,” said Rook.
“Right, where are we going?” Cedric retrieved the coffee cup labeled C.H. on the side.
“The third floor.”
“Oh. Is it my report? His transcriptions cut off at 8:30 last night, and really what am I supposed to do about it? I think I was going to be grilled by my boss George and, well, you all here by teleconference anyway, I guess. Hmm.”
Rook waited silently and as calmly as she could until the elevator arrived and the door opened. She entered and turned around. Cedric hustled inside. When the doors closed, she said, “Look, you have about a week’s worth of overdue training, and that is before we worry about all of the new categories that just opened up for you. Remind me to drop you off at HR on the way out today, too.”
Cedric frowned. “Great.”
Rook turned to face her new assignment. “Six years as Understudy, yet you don’t sound very happy about your promotion.”
“Hmm, yes, six years. Six years of transcribing his work, sure, important work, of course, but why was he in bars and casinos all the time? And, the meticulous notes required for all of his extracurricular activities…” Cedric blushed. “Penelope hasn’t looked me in the eye since Xmas 2019. Oh, dear.”
Rook smiled and took hold of Cedric’s shoulders to steady him. “Agents must log all extracurriculars, as you call them. This will be all covered in volume 4 of the Agent’s Manual.”
Cedric squinted. “And, the video and photos?”
Rook giggled despite herself. “Yes, I am afraid that all 15 Agents know about your birthmark, but don’t worry about that. Just know that this helps ensure that the Secret remains uncompromised.”
Cedric shrugged off her hands and stepped backwards, against the elevator wall. “I feel compromised enough.”
“It’s not like that.” She reached over and tripped the elevator stop function. A stereotypical bell began ringing. “This conversation is taking too long. Look, if anyone else with bad intentions happened to see us – the room service waiter, or the bellhop and the night desk manager when we came in together – they might try to use that connection against us. If I was ever to be captured, or worse, the Crown would keep you safe.”
“Oh.”
“And, my Understudy would also have been placed under protection. Do you understand me?”
Cedric thought for a moment and slowly nodded. “Seven loved to go off the grid, as you must know from my last 27 reports. The man is… was.. an artist. But, last night, that got him killed, and now, I am in an elevator with you. Can we switch that bell off? I’m going to get a headache.”
“One more thing. You know who I am because I have witnessed that cute little birthmark up close, but also because I told you who I am. Not all Agents are so open with their identity, even inside this building.”
Cedric smiled and stepped forward. “Your real name is Veruca? That’s pretty.”
Rook placed her right hand on his shoulder. “Stop it, you. How many members of the Order of Fifteen did you know or meet in person before today, besides me?”
“I certainly did not know Seven’s true name, only that pseudonym he liked to throw around.” Cedric smacked his right cheek a few times. “There was the time Seven and Agent Two…”
Rook squeezed his shoulder as her laughter fell like rose petals. “I nearly forgot about that. Now, there is a story for the wake.” She winked at Cedric. “We can do a dramatic reading.”
“Oh, dear.”
Rook flipped the elevator’s switch and the bell ceased. Cedric exhaled. “You are asking whether or not I want my third floor workmates to know that I have a new job, and that one of them now gets to transcribe… me?” Cedric shook involuntarily. “Yeesh, not Kevin, I hope.”
“No, I believe the Crown will promote someone new from the second floor to replace you.” Rook’s eyes sparkled like moonlight as they rolled. “You can take Understudy training classes together.”
“That won’t be awkward at all, thanks.”
“Or, Agent Seven remains anonymous. I could be Marion Hastings from the sixth floor HR, come to help you clear out your desk, on the way to your fake demotion.” She crossed her arms and gave him a brief stern look.
“Or, George reports to me?”
Rook smiled. “Well? Which is it? The doors are about to open.”
“I… I am Cedric Hooper, Agent Seven.”
Reddit WritingPrompt [WP] The adventures of Single-O-7, licensed to mildly upset, sent to stop people the British Crown kind of dislikes with absolutely nothing at stake. is another deliciously open prompt. Updated 12/16/2023 with a second part, and edits to remove any technically copyrighted intentions of the prompt from the first half. I like that I still have little idea of where these people are (Parodyland, I hope), what the Crown or Secret might be, or what an Agent’s work might entail.