Snuffing The Beef

Here it is.  First day on the job at this post, and I have to quell a fucking riot.  They keep telling me to rely on my training, but I think the drugs they gave me to “enhance performance” did nothing but erase all my previous experience with the Organization.  I don’t even remember joining!  Crack squad of chemists in this outfit, that’s for sure.  So an operation out of Karachi went haywire, all local authorities fled the country after a death threat was sent to each and every one of them.  The agent involved was consequently drawn and quartered, and the Organization’s role had been compromised.  The wrong person knew or almost knew of it’s existence.  My orders were to quell the riot, find and end the potential leak, and make the former operative responsible look like the sole culprit.

The riot was easy.  Two minor explosions and everyone vanishes.  That’s the thing about mobs: they’ll only participate long enough to not get killed.  You blow up two buildings, suddenly it’s way out of their league.  The leak proved more tricky.  His name was The Beef, and he ran a conspiracy theory website out of his parents’ basement.

Through a twisted reign of events, he had slowly amassed evidence of a clandestine organization influencing world events and governments.  Up until the Karachi incident, it had been speculative at best.  Now he observed an indisputable mark of it’s existence, and immediately placed himself in the custody of the American Embassy seeking amnesty.  I had to move fast.

I bribed my way into the Embassy, using the cover of a rich American tourist who couldn’t be bothered with native insurrections to prevent him from leaving the country immediately.  I was on the first plane out, ironically seated right next to The Beef.  He didn’t seem so bad.  Paranoid but fairly friendly.  We joked a bit about my big beard and Member’s Only jacket.  Somewhere high over the Atlantic, with only six guards and a pilot, I had to neutralize The Beef without compromising my identity.

I got up to use the bathroom, and upon my return began my ploy.  “Hey, don’t look nervous, but I think one of those guards is an assassin.  I happened to see him pocket a syringe of sodium barbital.  I think they’re gonna try to kill us,” I whispered across the aisle.  The Beef broke into an immediate sweat.  “We have to do something!  I have to get to the United States alive!” he whispered back.   He nervously eyed the guards.  “I have an idea,” I whispered.  “Follow my lead.”  I doubled over, clutching my stomach, and groaned loudly.  Two of the guards came over to see what was wrong.  As they turned to me, The Beef tackled one and went for his gun.  The other immediately cracked him in the back of the head with an elbow as the rest of the guards jumped in.  They hauled him to the back of the plane as he screamed and ranted uncontrollably, beating him the entire way.  I could hear the crackle of tasers and burned flesh.  Upon landing,  he was hauled off the plane, babbling and incoherent.  I passed through security unmolested and returned to headquarters.


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