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The squeaky scratch of a Sharpie punctuated the stuffy, otherwise silent atmosphere of the large office. Pale, early-morning sunshine filtered in through the blinds, illuminating a few motes of dust as the light settled down on the drab blue carpet. A few wooden bookshelves guarded the wall perpendicular to the veneered desk, shelves sagging with decades’ worth of what looked like operation briefings, coffee-table kitsch, and photographs of tropical landscapes. A droopy plant sulked in a plastic pot, tucked away on a footstool in the corner beside the bookshelves.
An unassuming office for such a high-ranking individual. Exceedingly or deceptively so?
“Here, son —” Commander Walters capped the marker with a decisive, satisfied *SNAP*, setting it down on the desk next to an old CRT monitor, yellowed plastic keyboard, and stacks upon stacks of paperwork. He took a moment to admire his handiwork, before profferring it to the man seated in front of him. “This is for you.”
Glancing at the scribble on the… name tag? that was being offered to him, Agent ‘Stone’ shifted in the creaky, stiff guest chair (seriously, the ones back at the agency were so much more comfortable; why couldn’t they have met there?) before he took the label and peeled the sticker swiftly from the backing, slapping it squarely on his breast pocket under his service ribbons. He tucked the backing into his debriefing portfolio, all the while finding the contrived necessity of something as basic as a name tag rather dumb. He didn’t need a literal ‘Hello, My Name Is Armed and Dangerous!’; his pristine, perf— ech. His reputation was the only introduction the type of people he was employed to protect ever cared about. As for the actual handoffs, the most formal he’d ever gotten — before today, at least — was his handler introducing him to the target as he drilled, dirty and sweaty, on the agency’s grounds. Introductions usually went as succinctly as a quick exchange of names, a steady handshake, a clap on his back, and a cheery dismissal of ‘don’t get him killed!’. This time, however? Gho — no, he was ‘Stone’ now, had been shipped off all hush-hush in the middle of the night. To the Pentagon. For a yes-service-dress-is-required handoff with the Vice-fucking-Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. In his private office.
...who had just given him a name tag. For some reason.
Stone couldn’t shake the feeling that the absurdity of the last 13 hours was somehow part of a direct response to his previous assignment. He still had the occasional bout of recurring tinnitus from the ambush, sure, but at least he was alive. Which was unfortunately more than could be said for the hostage he’d been trying to rescue, or the rest of his squad. Being alive was beginning to have its drawbacks though. Being alive meant he had to bear the weight of his first real failure in over fifteen years of service. The abject shame of a smudge disgracing his perfect track record like a coffee stain. Out, damned spot, and all that.
“Thank you, Sir,” he chirped out in a clipped tone.
“No, no; thank you, Agent Ghost. Mm, but —” the Commander chuckled. “I suppose it’s Agent Stone now, though, isn’t it? Frankly, we’ve thought your extraordinary talents would be the perfect match to handle this candidate for years, but you’ve always unfortunately been needed elsewhere. However, due to your… ah,” he cleared his throat in annoyance, “recent performance, and what with you still being out of commission for true field work while your hearing recovers, well — we thought, why not strike while the iron’s hot?” The Commander spread his hands out, fingers splayed in offering. “We believe that this will be an educational experience for the both of you. We’re really quite thankful th…”
Stone nodded absentmindedly, noting the empty praise and subsequent dig at his reputation, growing bored at the rest of the Commander’s rambling. He flipped open his debriefing portfolio again, eyes flicking across the name at the top of the first page. His new ward that he was apparently ‘perfect’ for was going to be one… Ivo Robotnik, Ph.D. x5.
Oh.
Stone tightened his grip on the portfolio, heart stuttering in his throat.
Ah, hell.
Ivo Robotnik. Robotnik Industries. Where agents like Stone get sent to die.
The likelihood of this being a punishment for his failure just increased one hundredfold.
He swallowed, stifling his rapidly-rising panic. Okay, so maybe Doctor Robotnik had a reputation for going through agents like a German Shepherd goes through chew toys, but… Stone wasn’t dead. Not yet. He could work with this. He just needed to find a tactical advantage. Something to give him an edge; something the Doctor lacked that he could leverage to keep him alive, at least for a time until he could be deemed fit for field work again. He… would eventually be deemed fit again, right? He thumbed through the remaining pages anxiously, looking for anything interesting to jump out at him.
“...nd Stone, if he presses, your first name is Jim.”
Stone startled, snapping out of his mental planning, eyebrows furrowing with incredulity as he looked up at the Commander. He quickly cleared his throat, shifting his head back down to hide the grimace plastered across his face. He had to keep up appearances… at least for the moment, while he was still trapped in the office by societal convention. He slowly, methodically closed the portfolio, mind racing, as he smoothed his expression back to a practiced neutrality, despairing cringe and irritation now churning in the pit of his stomach with his earlier anxiety. For the hostage mission, he’d been ‘Danny’. Now ‘Jim’?! Ugh, the Commander must be getting his sadistic rocks off by adding insult to Stone’s metaphorical injury. All the forenames in the world to choose from, and yet Stone was most likely to have fucking ‘Jim’, Mr. Whitey McWhiteFace, emblazoned on his gravestone. As much as the Commander’s position demanded respect, and as much as Stone begrudgingly ceded to him, at the end of the day… the Commander was just another old white guy in the military machine acting like he “DiDn’T sEe CoLoR”. But, Stone’s hands were tied. At least the ‘Stone’ part of his new designation sounded cool. And he... wait.
Wait a goddamn second.
…
…oh, for —
“My name is Jim Stone.” Stone stated matter-of-factly as he processed his revelation, eyebrows scrunched together in utter disbelief again. He looked back up at the Commander, no longer caring about masking the snarl in his voice, nor the toothy sneer his face had twisted into. This was getting ridiculous! Embarrassing. Humiliating. He gripped the stupid armrests on his stupid chair, anchoring himself so he wouldn’t be tempted to launch forward at his superior. “As in. ‘Gemstone’.”
The Commander blinked a few times, a thin, wan smile spreading across his placid face as if he realized he’d been caught. “Well… y’know, son,” he glanced down at his watch, sighing, as he shifted into a more comfortable position in his plush executive chair. Looking back up, he arched his eyebrows in probably-mock pity. “We still have a few minutes before your ward is due to arrive. If you’d like, you and I can discuss the reas—”
*WHAM*
Stone jumped up in an instant and whirled around, ears ringing long after the initial burst of sound. His hand drifted to his holster — unfortunately empty — as he assessed the source of the noise. The door to the Commander’s office had been flung open, electric keypad sparking and beeping, and there in the frame stood a tall, thin man shrouded entirely in black — a long black coat with double lapels over a matching black turtleneck, black gloves with odd silver accents, black dress pants, and shiny, black high-top sneakers. The darkness clashed against what little was visible of his extremely pale skin, highlighting his similarly-dark hair, tapered into a slicked-back drop fade, with an impressively-curled handlebar moustache to match. Narrow, rectangular sunglasses hid his eyes as he looked down at his hands, the tip of his tongue sticking out from underneath the moustache as he concentrated, fiddling with the decorations on one of his gloves. Stone hesitated as neither the Commander nor the intruder made forward movement or even acknowledged each other, all while the keypad’s beeping continued to stuffily ring in his ears.
After another moment, Stone could begin to make out the muffled sounds of a loud commotion from further down the hall — scuffled running and yelling drawing closer towards them with each passing second. “Hey! HEY! You can’t do that! TURN AROUND AND IDENTIFY YOURSELF!” Peering around the man in the doorway, Stone spied a tall, muscular man, tie flailing as he ran, rapidly approaching the Commander’s office with his pistol drawn at his side. The object of his aggression, notably, did not turn around, but instead sighed dramatically, raising and tilting his head to the side as he crossed his arms and pouted, tapping his foot.
The Commander shouted over the still-beeping keypad. “Stand down, Frank — it’s alright! It’s just Robotnik again.”
The burly man in the hallway, whom Stone now recognized as the desk jockey that had confiscated his own pistol earlier, slowly holstered his gun before he leaned a hand against the wall. “Geez, that damn lab rat again?” he spat. The tall stranger Stone now decided must be Doctor Ivo Robotnik loosed one of his arms and started exaggeratedly pantomiming the guard. “Ugh… fine. Could you at least stand to let me know when you’re expecting him next time, Sir?”
The Commander shouted again, sharper this time. “Duly noted, Frank.”
Stone watched as Frank shook his head, clearly dismissed; mumbling as he turned around to walk back to his station. “Y’always say that…”
“Doctor. Thank you for joining us.” Stone glanced back at the Commander, who was calmly rising from his chair. He noted how, despite how light and professional the Commander kept his tone, his taut body language and pointed gaze at the newcomer told a different story altogether. Oh, these two must’ve had history. Unsurprising, considering Robotnik’s reputation was well-known even to Stone and his fellow agents. “An impeccable first impression, as always. Kindly make that thing shut the hell up, then please,” he gestured at the other guest chair, very close to Stone’s own, “have a seat, won’t you? Stone, sit down.”
The Doctor responded with a disgruntled “hmph”, and Stone turned around, sinking back down into the creaky chair as the incessant keypad beeping continued, bracing himself for the imposing presence of his new ward. The man’s overwhelming ego practically radiated from him; Stone suddenly felt very small. Any closer than the doorframe and Stone was sure he’d implode from the pressure. After several noisy seconds and no appearance of the Doctor, Stone awkwardly craned his head back to glimpse at him. He’d taken his sunglasses off at some point, and was now leaning against the jamb of the door, fiddling with one of his gloves again. Stone noted belatedly that the metal decorations he’d identified earlier appeared to actually be functional buttons; as if the gloves were some kind of universal control device… which, frankly, explained his explosive entrance. Something twisted inside of Stone — curiosity, perhaps, if not his earlier anxiety. Based on the rumors Stone knew of the man, lining up quite accurately to today’s initial observations in the actual flesh, Doctor Robotnik was shaping up to be an… interesting case. Difficult, certainly. But Stone was too stubborn to already write his predicament off as a lost cause.
After a moment of Stone’s watching, the Doctor glanced up from his preoccupation with a final tap, glinting eyes glancing at Stone before raking over the Commander as he flicked the keypad with one of his silvered fingertips, silencing the device. Stone noticed the play of a grimace hiding under his moustache as he shook his head. “Why even bother with a keypad anymore, Walt? You’re just wasting valuable tax dollars on that souped-up door decor,” he spat out. “Frank does such an impeccable job scaring all the baddies away on his own, doesn’t he? He almost got me that time,” he commented, mood changing from sour to smug in an instant. His steely gaze then landed on Stone, unimpressed, as he crossed his arms again. “This the one?” Robotnik growled, annoyed once more.
Stone opened his mouth to introduce himself, but the Commander’s short tone interrupted him before he could start. “Yes — this is Agent Stone, your new security detail. For your own safety, Ivo, as you know.”
Stone’s curiosity piqued at the Commander’s emphasis on the ‘safety’ part. That’s all this was about, wasn’t it? A routine protect-a-high-value-target assignment, and… well. His own personal objective to try and defy the odds to be the first one to survive the man, as well.
“Oh, stop playing diplomat with me, Walt Disney.” Robotnik waltzed into the office and made a sudden move towards Stone, clapping a gloved hand tightly onto his shoulder. Stone’s head jerked down, surprise and offence and indignation and thousands of other questions stirring in his mind at the sudden, brutish contact, when the knuckle of the Doctor’s free index finger dug into his underjaw and jerked his head back up to force eye contact. The taller man’s eyes drifted down to Stone’s breast pocket for a moment, where he’d placed his name tag, before locking back onto his face. “You. What was your name again…?”
Stone froze; mind screeching to a halt except for one thought — the seed of something rebellious planting itself in his brain. If the man currently holding his head captive was likely to be his eventual death, he’d at least face it with dignity. “Agent Aban Stone, sir.”
The Doctor quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head ever so slightly, expression shifting to something Stone couldn’t place. “That’s not what it says in your file, is it?” he murmured, softly enough that Stone was certain the Commander couldn’t have heard it. An awkward pause hung between them as the universe seemed to still. Robotnik’s eyes drifted over Stone, taking his sweet time to analyze the agent’s everything with a cold scrutiny. “Anyway!” he continued suddenly, leaning back as his voice once again boomed with braggadocio. “Stone. Rule numero uno of working for me: don’t believe a single thing this puffed-up windbag tells you.” The Doctor shook his head, tone mocking. “He’s still playing nice, which means you haven’t read your dossier yet. News flash, agent —” he grinned something awfully sharp, wiggling the knuckle under the agent’s jaw and causing his head to wag with it, “this is more than just an attack dog job. You’ve been assigned to keep an eye on me. Like a little snitch. Isn’t that right, Walters?” He swept his eyes back to the Commander, narrowed with vexation. A lesser man would have wilted under the knives of the stare, but as Stone glanced over, he had to give the Commander credit; the older man’s face was relaxed, half-lidded eyes looking almost… bored? How many times had the two of them been through this song-and-dance? And with how many agents?
The Commander steepled his hands together, resting his elbows on his desk. He side-eyed Stone, anger momentarily flickering across his face at the notion of his subordinate disobeying a direct order, before he met Robotnik’s challenge and sighed heavily. “Yes, Ivo, that is… partially correct. Stone — we didn’t have a chance to go over the Doctor’s history, and I know this assignment sounds a bit… different from your past exploits, but don't you worry. We’ll—”
“ZZZZPT!”
…what.
Stone blinked in confusion, looking back to the Doctor. Had he just… made a robot noise?
“I’m tired of your incessant platitudes, Walt. You’re boring me. Whereas this poor man,” he glanced down at Stone, fake pity in his eyes, “has scarcely had a chance to speak! Go on then, Rocky — what do you have to say for yourself, hmm?”
What was he supposed to say that hadn’t already been said? Based on the Doctor’s earlier remark about his name, he clearly already knew enough about Stone to make himself dangerous. Stone, on the other hand, hadn’t found anything remarkable in his quick glance at Robotnik’s portfolio earlier, so for the moment, he’d just have to wing it. He needed to make a good second impression — everyone likes a healthy dose of flattery, right? “It is… an honor to finally meet you, Doctor Robotnik. Your reputation precedes you, and I’m proud to have been chosen to dutifully stand at your si—”
“Ah ah ah.”
“A-at… your…” Stone stuttered, blinking rapidly, not expecting his script to have been disrupted.
“Shut up.” The Doctor’s eyes were lively, shining with annoyance and… something darker, as he bared his teeth in a predatory smile. Stone heard the Commander let out an exasperated sigh. Ah. Okay, no worries, strike that — flattery was not going to be the thing that kept him alive. The Doctor took his hand off of Stone’s shoulder and pressed upwards with the knuckle still held under his chin, painfully so, forcing him to stagger up from his chair to face the man front on as he reflexively adjusted to attention. The Doctor then slid his knuckle out from under Stone’s chin as he withdrew, spinning around to stalk over to the bookshelves. “Rule number two.” He paused, poking at a hula-dancer bobblehead tchotchke on the shelf before running his finger over the shelf's bottom, cocking his head to the side as he rubbed his fingers together to rid himself of the large amount of dust Stone could see his gloves had picked up. “You, waste-of-my-oxygen, will not ‘stand at my side’. You will either stand behind me as a servant, or you will stand in front of me as a meat-shield.”
The Doctor turned on his heel back towards Stone, stalking forward by one step.
“You will not talk to me unless addressed.”
Another step forward.
“You will not interact with me unless prompted.”
Another step. Stone could see the mad delight glittering in the Doctor’s eyes now, and an unbidden shiver ran down his spine as he imagined all the gruesome methods that the other man probably had at his disposal to eviscerate him. Stone was proud to boast that it took a lot to truly unnerve him these days, after having been on the receiving end of countless interrogations over the years, but somehow Robotnik had already managed to get under his skin after only a few minutes of knowing the man.
“For all intents and purposes, you,” one final step forward meant the Doctor was now up-close-and-very-personal — mere inches — to Stone. He felt the breath of the taller man puff against his face as he arched his eyebrows and tilted his chin down, prodding his finger forcefully into Stone’s chest, “have just become an ugly gewgaw to decorate my lab. Are we clear?”
Stone swallowed, muscles under his jaw twinging painfully as he tried to gather his thoughts. His earlier attempt at flattery had just put the Doctor in a worse mood. He had to find a way to play this which wouldn’t immediately ignite the man’s temper. What if he approached it from a more docile angle?
“Yes, Doctor. I understand.” Stone kept his voice quiet, lowering his eyes, instincts screaming at him. He hated the act of making himself vulnerable like this, but if it got the Doctor under his thumb, even for just a moment, it would all be worth it.
“Oh, for —” the Doctor rolled his eyes and poked his finger into Stone’s chest again, still forcibly but demonstratedly less so than before. Noted. Docility was… a partial success, at least. “Don’t be such a kicked puppy about it, agent! You’re getting an exclusive, front-row seat to bear witness to this world’s most brilliant mind at work. Speaking of — do you have any remarkable talents to share with the class? Everyone I’ve spoken to has just gushed about how you're ‘such a perfect match for me’, and I’m curious as to what they all think that entails. Crochet? Nanomachine maintenance? Can you at least make a decent cup of coffee?”
‘Yes’, ‘no’ but Stone fancied himself a quick learner, and — oh. Coffee. Excitement stirred beneath his skin and he perked up. Maybe there was a surefire way he’d survive the man after all. His face split into a lopsided grin. “Yes — I studied at the Istituto del Caffe in Mi—”
“Don’t care. That cocky smile of yours tells me you think you can make a mean brew. I’m feeling particularly benevolent today, so — a word of advice. Don’t follow in the footsteps of some of your predecessors and try to poison me; you won’t make it five seconds out the door and it’s always such an awful mess to clean up. You’ll have an opportunity to prove your worth to me as soon as we get back to my lab, anyway — all this chitchat is beginning to bore me to sleep.”
Previous agents had actually been desperate enough to try and poison the genius? Well… Stone supposed that made sense. The Doctor was one of the United States’ military’s most efficient and valuable weapons contractors, so of course he was sure to have enemies, both within and out. Not that Stone would ever dream of performing such a foolish, basic form of sabotage, but — that was a good little nugget of information to tuck away, regardless.
The Commander cleared his throat. If Stone was being completely honest with himself, his tête-à-tête with the acerbic man had made him completely forget that the Commander was even still in the room with them. “Yes, well — that’s all very well and good, Ivo, but we still have a lot of paperwork to go through. If you’d both please just have a seat, we can ge—”
A shrill beep resonated from the Doctor. He huffed out a sigh and yanked up his left coat sleeve, revealing a flashing red screen embedded into the sleeve of his sweater. He poked at the screen, silencing the device. “Gonna have to take a rain check on that one, Walt. I’m needed somewhere that isn’t here.” He glanced back up at Stone, tsking. “Not even five minutes as my new lackey, and you’re already making me late. Keep that up and I'll make sure you posthumously win the ‘Shortest Time Taken to Piss Off Robotnik’ award. Fetch me something caffeinated that’s tolerable, for now, then join me.” And with that, the Doctor whirled around and stomped hurriedly out of the Commander’s office.
Stone blinked, dumbfounded. He was… definitely going to need a moment. Had all of that really just happened?
“Now you understand your situation.” The Commander’s weary voice snapped Stone out of his reverie, and he turned to face his superior. The older man had deflated, leaning forward over the desk now, eyes closed while he pinched the bridge of his nose. He really didn’t understand Robotnik, not yet — but whatever. The man clearly vexed the Commander, and Stone… he found he wasn’t too opposed to that idea. “You really shouldn’t keep a man like him waiting. Break room’s three doors down on the left — he likes lattes. In the meanwhile, I’ll gather the remaining paperwork and send it over to your account for you — I would ask that you at least try and get him to sign it all. You’d best get going now. Jim.”
Shit.
Stone scrambled to grab the Doctor’s dossier before he stumbled out of the Commander’s office after his new ward. “Doctor, wait — !”