Agent Pertwee and the first moments he realized that his job sucked for reasons he didn’t expect.
[AN: Once again, it’s Jane Pertwee :) ]
The FBI had been covertly watching this school for some time. Now, with the Mutant Registration Act, it was watching more overtly. As in, agents in the field, tailing their respective suspects, and making sure that a bunch of teenagers with superpowers….
Well…
Didn’t wind up acting like a bunch of teenagers with superpowers.
Agent Jane Pertwee checked her dossier against the milling brownian crowd of kids. There he was. Red specks. By daylight, known as Scott Summers. His costumed code-name was Cyclops. The pictures explained why.
Apparently, this terrorist was packing a bazooka behind each eyeball.
The shorter, hunched one beside him pointed her out with two fingers before vanishing in a puff of smoke. Pertwee spared a brief, cynical grin for the fate of Agent Manning, whose job it was to keep track of a teleporter.
Summers strolled over. “Hey. I’m guessing you’re tailing me, today?”
“Yeah, Troughton quit.”
“I know this is against procedure, but can I bum a lift? My car’s in the shop again. Brotherhood.”
Ah yes. The other factor in this amusing little powderkeg. Not only were there teenagers with superpowers, but there were teenagers with superpowers in gangs. Fun.
Pertwee sighed. “I suppose it beats tailing you while you walk to -uh- where are you going?”
“Do you know Bargain Basement Bernie’s?”
O God… “Unfortunately…” Her last partner, Baker, had insisted on stopping there for cheap knitting supplies.
“Great. My order’s come in.” And, like a good little supplicant, he piled into the back. “Are you allergic to Alpaca?”
What? “Al-what-a?”
“Alpaca. Like a Llama, but cuter. I’m trying different textures of felt to get the right kind of moss look… aaaannnd you’ve already glazed over. Nevermind. It’s a hobby thing.”
This, Agent Jane Pertwee mused, was looking to be a long day full of suck in a long line of days full of suck. Now she knew why Troughton wanted to quit…
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