Chapter Text
Agent Stone to Director Rockwell's Office
The text blared through his phone's speakers, even though he had put his phone on Do Not Disturb. But apparently G.U.N. headquarters was willing to override his phone for this next assignment. Here we go, Stone mused. He stopped cleaning his knives and made his way to the Director's office from the weapon's warehouse.
The British sector of G.U.N. was an impressive facility, but a fucking maze to navigate, even with Stone's impeccable memory. He spent 6 minutes in the wrong wing after making a wrong turn. However, he was still in Director Rockwell's office before she decided to send another text or, god forbid, call.
Stone prided himself on his dedication and drive, no matter what task he was assigned, he'd complete it or die trying. So far he hadn't died yet, so that was yet another testament to his ability. He knocked on the pale teal door and when the Director answered, "Enter", he obliged.
Director Rockwell may have been newly appointed to her position, but she exuded poise and steely focus with her every action. Stone had to admit he was impressed, especially since she was one the few superiors who didn't treat him like a common grunt. Rockwell stood from her desk and stalked over to him, extending a hand. "Agent Stone," she greeted warmly, too warmly.
"Director Rockwell," he answered, calmly but with some hesitation. "I hope I didn't interrupt your current duties by calling you in here," Rockwell inquired. "No, Director, I was merely in the middle of some equipment maintenance," Stone replied, best to keep this casual. Rockwell was never one to turn on the charm, there had to be something grim in store.
"Stone, how long have you worked for G.U.N." Rockwell asked, breaking the man from his train of thought. In all honesty, this was an easy answer. He applied twice, was rejected once, then accepted when he added "experience as a barista" to his skill list, then had been sent on 75 missions as tactical support, espionage, or a sniper. It had been 10 dreary years of the same routine, watching fellow agents rise the ranks while he was the reliably competent but never exemplary, Agent Stone.
"Stone, Stone, Agent Stone!" the Director's voice shook him back to the present moment. "Ten years, ma'am," he managed, hoping to hide his embarrassment. "Ten years without a promotion is unacceptable, Agent Stone," the Director mused.
Now Stone knew shit was about to hit the fan, anytime a superior asked this question it could only mean one thing, an ultimatum. Do this highly dangerous mission and you'll be promoted to Officer. Do this service for your country and you'll be rewarded greatly. Please, Stone was no fool. He knew that when he applied, easy money for risking life and limb. Much better than being stuck in a goddamn Starbucks for the rest of his life.
"You've shown exemplary work throughout your entire career, Agent, and it should be compensated justly," the Director droned. Dear God, it's me, Stone. I know we haven't spoken in awhile, but on this next assignment, can you at least have me killed quickly. "And that is why you will be promoted to chief liaison supervisor." Wait what.
Stone stood in shocked silence for all of 2 minutes before the Director asked, "Stone, Agent Stone?" He shook himself back to reality. "Uhm- ye- Yes! Yes, Director Rockwell. Thank you so much for this opportunity." "Of course, Agent Stone. You deserve this reward for all your hard work," she reiterated. "So what do I do next? Do I have more duties, a new department to go to, a-"
"I'm going to stop you right there, Agent." the Director cut off his flabbergasted line of questioning. "When I say you're chief liaison supervisor, that means you are in charge of taking care of our most valuable freelancers, contractors, and other non-government workers. However, our most important liaison, will require your immediate attention. The top engineer and inventor we have at our current disposal, Dr. Ivo Robotnik."
Wait, that name sounded familiar. Too familiar. The Director continued, "Yes, he can be quite ornery, but I have no doubt the two of you will work well together." Ornery? Oh fuck no. She can't be serious, G.U.N. is assigning him to the agency's most ruthless and soul crushing bastard they have. What did he do to deserve this?
"Um, Director, if I may. Doesn't Dr. Robotnik already have an assistant?" he queried. "Not presently, Agent," she curtly responded. "Dr. Robotnik has high standards and looking at your credentials and qualifications, you meet all of them." "And what credentials of mine are appealing to the doctor, Director?" "Dr. Robotnik often requires dietary sustenance that he finds our canteens lack, so when you listed you had cooking experience-"
"It's because I said I used to be a barista isn't it." Stone could hardly believe his outburst, nor could the Director if her raised eyebrows were anything to go by. "To be frank, Agent Stone, the doctor has sent every one of his assistants away crying because, and I'm quoting him, 'they couldn't make a decent cup of coffee if I lobotomized and reprogrammed them to do so'," she finally remarked.
Well fuck, Stone wasn't going to die in a ditch bleeding from multiple bullet wounds, he was going to be torn to shreds by a Karen with multiple PHDs over his rusty ass coffee making skills. What a wonderful thing to be told at 9 in the morning.