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Agent Aban Stone.
Born and schooled in the Upper Midwest.
After spending his childhood struggling through the foster care system, escaped overseas to Cambridge University by the sweat of his brow, where he graduated in 2004 with a double first in Law and Political Sciences.
Attended federal law enforcement training after passing both his physical fitness and logic-based tests with flying colours. Displayed impressive aptitude regarding civil law and procedure, enforcement operations, and physical technique.
Excelled way beyond his peers, passed into the Guardian Units of Nations and almost immediately proved his worth as a field agent, establishing effectiveness in both defensive tactics and investigative techniques. In 2012, moved back to the U.S. after receiving a bravery award for his efforts.
In the last twelve months alone, has received five special commendations, and has sustained several injuries in the line of duty; most recently when he was wounded by a man dressed as Scooby-Doo.
Proficient in reasoning, situational judgment and marksmanship, can speak seven languages, and makes excellent lattes.
Stone burst through the doors of the G.U.N Headquarters, casually flashing his I.D. at the front desk as he passed through. He strode down the brightly lit corridor, a slightly worried frown on his face. Entering his superior’s office, he sat down in front of the slightly older man, his posture perfect.
“Agent Fairley.”
“Hello, Stone. How’s the arm?”
“Erm. Still a bit stiff.”
“Hardly fitting for a G.U.N. field agent, don’t you think?” Fairley chuckled.
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“Getting stabbed by Mystery Inc.'s mascot.”
“Right.”
“It can get awfully hairy out there. I’m surprised you haven’t snapped up a nice, cushy desk job yet.”
“I prefer to think my office is out there,” he gestured.
“Indeed you do, Stone. Your physical test scores are higher than any other agent, and your paperwork is exemplary. You do like to cross the ’I’s and dot the ’T’s.”
“Dot the ’I’s and cross the ’T’s.” Stone corrected.
“Exactly. And that’s why it’s high time such skills were put to better use. We’re appointing you to a different post -”
“I see.”
“- as assistant to Doctor Robotnik,” he added in a hushed tone, looking sheepish.
“With whom, sorry?”
“Doctor Ivo Robotnik.”
Stone swallowed hard. “With Robotnik?”
The eccentric Doctor had developed a reputation amongst the special agents that even Stone, who kept to himself, had heard of.
“Don't complicate this, Agent. Robotnik has a perfect operations record, and his technology is revolutionary -”
“I’ve been told he can be -" Stone struggled for the right words. “- difficult.”
“- with experience in a number of shadow ops programs -” Fairley continued.
“He’s gone through four assistants in the last two months.”
“- not to mention the man has five PhDs.”
“He pushed the last one out of the window!”
Agent Fairley crossed his arms and sighed, leaning back in his chair. “My hands are tied, Stone.”
“Are there no other, similar, positions available?” Stone protested.
“No.”
“Can I stay here?”
“Nope.”
“Do I have any choice in the matter?”
“Nope!”
“But sir, I actually like it here.”
“You’ve always said you, and I quote, have no time for the prattle of simpletons.”
Stone squirmed in his chair. “I didn’t mean -”
“Well, congratulations!”
Stone pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d like to talk to the Director, please.”
“Fine.” Fairley rolled his eyes, picking up the phone to dial. “You can talk to Rockwell, but I assure you, she’ll say the same thing as me.”
The Director marched into the room, swishing her black ponytail as she addressed Stone with a forced smile. “Hello, Aban,” she sneered. “How’s the arm?”
“Still a bit stiff,” he replied coldly.
“And how are things at home?” Rockwell sat down, folding her manicured hands on the desk in front of her.
“I’m sorry, ma’am?”
“How’s Mateo?”
Stone looked down at his feet. “We’re - um - no longer together.”
“Oh. So where are you living now?”
“He’s living on the Academy campus, ma’am,” Fairley muttered into Rockwell’s ear.
“With the trainees?”
“Temporarily, yes, but I -”
“Well, we must get you out of there,” the Director jibed.
“Yes, he’s living out of cardboard boxes.”
“Well, then you’re already packed!” Rockwell clapped her hands, grinning deviously from ear to ear. “Aban, we’re offering you an enormous character-building opportunity. Robotnik is an accomplished government operative, and that’s what should matter. Do you recall the uprising in Azerbaijanistan?”
“That isn’t even a country.”
“Exactly. And guess who’s to thank for that.”
“But -”
“You can handle it. It’ll be good for you! Besides, it will only be for nine months.”
“Nine months?” Stone spluttered.
The Director waved her hand impassively. “Maybe a year. Two years, tops.”
Stone gave an exasperated sigh. “I - I really don’t know what to say.”
“Just say yes.”
“Say yes, thank you,” Fairley chimed in.
“No,” he insisted. “I’m sorry, Director, I want to -”
“- take this higher?”
“I do.”
“You want me to bother Commander Walters with this?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You want me to get the Chief of Staff to come all the way down here?”
“Yes,” Stone insisted, folding his arms.
“Fine.”
Before the Director had even put the phone down, a cheery older man with neatly combed white hair strolled into the office. Stone stood up to greet him.
“Hello, Aban. How’s the arm?”
“Still a bit stiff.” Rockwell cut Stone off before he could get a word out.
“Keep your seat, Aban. Now, I know what you’re going to say, but the fact of the matter is, you’re making us all look bad.”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“Of course, we all appreciate your efforts, but you’re rather letting the side down.”
“I’m not sure I understa -”
“Sometimes you’ve just got to sail the middle path.”
“But -”
“It’s all about being a team player, Aban,” the Director remarked, receiving a sour look from Stone in response.
“If we let you carry on running around, you’ll just continue to be exceptional and we can’t have that. You’ll put us all out of a job.”
Stone gritted his teeth. “With all due respect, Commander, you can’t just make people disappear.”
“Yes I can. I’m in charge here.”
"However you spin this, sir, there’s one thing you haven’t counted on.” Stone leapt to his feet, one more ace up his sleeve. “And that’s what the others are going to make of this.”
He stormed out of the office, ready to make his case, but just outside the door stood every agent in the department, clasping plastic cups of orange squash and grinning.
The room was filled with balloons, and a makeshift sign made from colourful photocopied sheets of paper read ’GOOD LUCK ABAN!’
Stone stood in the centre of the crowd with a despondent look on his face.
He groaned.
“When do I start, sir?”