Mission: Possible 007 (Sneak Preview)
Tonight was a big night for Hiro Hamada. The San
Francisco Institute of Technology (a.k.a. “SFIT”) was holding a convention for
up-and-coming geniuses, like Hiro himself, to showcase new inventions that
would receive an acceptance into the university. Hiro planned on presenting his
microbots – swarms of tiny robots that linked together in any arrangement
imaginable using a neuro-cranial transmitter, worn like a sweatband on Hiro’s
head.
Investors were impressed by Hiro’s presentation, including
Alistar Krei (CEO of Krei Tech). Shortly after the presentation’s conclusion,
Krei attempted to approach Hiro and recruit him, until…
SWOOF!
Krei’s head was nearly knocked from his shoulders by a green-glowing
fist that came within a hair of connecting. The attacker was an attractive,
curvaceous woman with pale green skin, black lips, long thick black hair, and
forest-green eyes. Krei would’ve been enchanted by her looks alone, had she not
been there to kill him.
She moved in with a fast and fierce roundhouse kick,
which had suddenly been blocked by a blond-haired man in a grey flannel suit
that constricted a muscular build. This man, whoever he was, became Krei’s
protector that evening. He went toe-to-toe with the green woman, deflecting
every single one of her blows.
“You’re good,” the woman told her opponent. “But I was
expecting a certain cheerleader, not a hunky beefcake like yourself.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” the man responded with a distinguished
British accent.
They continued to fight after their brief exchange, which
sounded a little like flirting to Krei. The CEO’s bodyguard soon came to his
aid, escorting him away through the crowd, stirred by the sudden chaos. They
did not get very far, as more assassins leapt in and took down Krei’s
bodyguards.
These attackers were different from the woman. They were
ducks adorned in orange-and-red uniforms, complete with egg-shaped helmets.
Their commander was a sharp-dressed rooster with a metal beak. He stood in
Krei’s way, blocking his escape. “Goin’ somewheres, Mistuh Krei,” he asked,
talking as if he was a gangster from the 1920s.
Krei saw how he was surrounded by the rooster’s
egg-headed foot soldiers. With nowhere to run, he demanded to know, “What do
you people want from me?!”
“We want ya to fry!” the metal-beaked rooster exclaimed,
prior to retrieving a gun from his suit jacket, firing an electric beam that
almost incinerated Krei. Thankfully, a redheaded, teenaged girl swooped in from
the rafters and kicked the gun right out of the rooster’s hand. It dissolved
into a nearby vat of acid on display for another presenter.
The rooster looked on the interfering redhead with a
fiery glare. “Who dah heck are youse?!”
“That should be the least of your concern,” she told him.
“I gotta admit I was expecting to find Dr. Drakken.”
“He sends his regards,” the rooster sneered and then
proceeded to chomp at her arms and legs with his metal beak. The teenager
dodged his chomps, moving acrobatically in a series of flips and somersaults.
Once again, Krei used the distraction to get away.
Without any protection, he made his way to the rooftop.
The first fight – between the pale green woman and the
blond Englishman – led to one of the displayed inventions getting damaged by
the green woman’s flaming fists. It exploded in a hail of sparks that set the
entire exhibition hall on fire. The green woman and the rooster both noticed
Krei fleeing to the roof. They brusquely abandoned their respective clashes and
went in pursuit of the CEO.
This prompted the teenaged redhead and the blond
Englishman to give chase, but not before accidentally (and literally) bumping
into each other along the way.
“Who are you?”
The redhead asked the Englishman.
“I was about to ask you the same question,” he cynically
retorted.
Rather than dwell on figuring out
each other’s identities, the two focused on the mission they seemed to have
shared: protecting Alastair Krei.
-----------------
As soon as Krei arrived on the
rooftop, he took out his phone and made a call: “Luther, where are you?”
The burly voice on the other line answered, “I’m comin’
right at ya, Ethan. Rendezvous with me near the lake adjacent to the showcase
hall.”
Krei looked over the edge of the rooftop that faced the
exact lake Luther had mentioned. It was about twelve feet from the building’s
foundation, presumably enough space for Krei to make the jump. He was just
about to, before he heard a bothersome voice taunt him there on the rooftop,
“Alastair Krei! It appears you have nowhere else to run!”
Turning to see the speaker, Krei saw a man he vaguely
recognized. His skin was pale blue, he had black ponytailed hair, and there was
a scar below his left eye. Again, Krei demanded to know, “Why are all of you
people after me?!”
“Because you’re in the way of our future!”
The scarred, blue-skinned man brandished another gun (like
the one that the metal-beaked rooster had) that fired a concentrated beam of
electric energy, meant to fry Krei to death. Just as before, Krei’s life was spared
as he was pushed out of harm’s way by someone that arrived on the roof long
before him.
That someone Krei discovered to be a platypus in a fedora.
“Perry the Platypus!” the blue-skinned man identified in
a mix of surprise and agitation. “What are you
doing here?!” After a quick second, he realized, “Wait. Why am I even asking
that?!” He then fired his electro-gun at the fedora-wearing platypus, who
avoided every blast until he managed to leap onto the gun barrel and deliver a
fierce uppercut to the blue-skinned man’s scarred blue face, knocking him out
cold.
The electro-gun was dropped in the process, skidding
directly to the feet of Krei. Picking up the gun, he glanced at the platypus
named Perry and said, “I’m not sure whether to thank you or ask how I was just saved by a platypus.”
Suddenly, the rooftop entrance door was blown off its
hinges, permitting the green woman and the metal-beaked rooster to storm out.
Krei fired the electro-gun their way, holding them off long enough for the
teenaged redhead and the blond Englishman to show up and engage the two
assassins, this time exchanging opponents.
Their matches were soon disrupted by a section of the
rooftop that crumbled, due to the intensifying inferno inside the building. The
need to get off the roof was felt by both opposing forces, yet only one
possessed the means of doing so. The metal-beaked rooster arranged via
communicator for a pickup from an unmarked black helicopter. It dropped a
ladder for him and his green-skinned associate to climb, but not without the
unconscious blue-skinned man, who the woman carried on her shoulder.
Watching the assassins leave in the chopper, Krei was now
stuck on the collapsing rooftop with the Englishman, the teenager, and the
platypus.
“Any of you guys have an idea as to how we’re getting off
this roof?” the teenager inquired.
Krei remembered the adjacent lake and instructed to the
other three, “We jump! This way!” He motioned for them to join him on the ledge
facing the lake. With no other choice, they all made one grand leap that only
increased in force when an explosion erupted behind them, propelling them
across a distance much further than they collectively anticipated.
They landed in the lake with a collective splash.
After reaching the shore, the teenager noticed Krei’s
face appeared disfigured. “Mr. Krei…your face,” she gasped, assuming the CEO sustained
physical injury from the explosion. “Are you alright?”
When Krei realized it for himself, he seemed very frustrated.
“Argh!” he groaned, tearing away at the skin of his face, much to the disgust
of the three people who witnessed him doing it. However, it dawned on them that
what Krei was tearing away was not his
skin but a mask of some sorts. As the layer was torn off, another face was
revealed – that of a dark-haired man with features more chiseled than the one
he masqueraded as.
This unmasking undoubtedly came as a shock to the
teenager, the Englishman, and the platypus.
“Sorry for the deception,” the imposter’s voice sounded
electronically distorted, Krei’s voice overlapping it. He removed some type of
strip taped to his throat, allowing him to speak naturally. “I was sent to
protect the asset.”
“So was I,” the Englishman said.
“Yeah, me, too,” the teenager also verified.
The platypus gave his own confirmation with a distinct
chattering sound it made. The humans still found his presence there
questionable.
“Who do you work for?” the Englishman asked the imposter.
The imposter merely smirked and told him, “People who I
would imagine you’d never find out about. People who I would imagine are pissed right now, because there’s no way
for sure to tell if any of us succeeded in our mission, since none of us had
eyes on the asset.”
“You mean Krei?” the teenager clarified. “Don’t you know where he is, since you were the
one who took his face? By the way,
that was really gross.”
“Krei wasn’t
the asset…he was a loose thread,” the imposter clarified.
“Then who is the
asset?” the Englishman asked, his voice bordering on aggravation.
Before the imposter could answer, a black van pulled up
near the group. The side door slid open and an African American gentleman stuck
out his bald head, addressing the imposter: “The asset’s safe. Though there was
one casualty in the explosion. We better get goin’.”
“Couldn’t agree with ya more, Luth,” the imposter told
the man. As he headed for the van, he left one parting message to the teenager,
the Englishman, and the platypus: “Thanks for the help…but don’t get in my way
again.”
They watched him drive away with his bald accomplice.
The teenager particularly felt annoyed with his choice of
parting words. “He thinks that we
helped him?! Who does he think he
is?!”
“I don’t know,” the Englishman said. “I’m still having
trouble fathoming how a cheerleader and a platypus were assigned for a
government mission.”
The platypus delivered a chatter of despondency before swimming
away back in the lake. Now left alone with the Englishman, the teenager
remarked, “Well, I can’t speak for the platypus, but I’m more than capable of handling a mission, Mister…?”
“Bond…James Bond,” the Englishman introduced himself.
Unbeknownst to the teenager, Bond had captured her face
and all the others he encountered that evening, thanks contact lenses doubling
as cameras.
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