Jonn Wood was feeling more than slightly antsy. And not because he was getting his butt signed, sealed, and handed to him by some ex-Special Forces guy.
Ever since his near-death-of-stupid, the Anti-Sue Police had required mandatory combat training. Jonn had done fairly well for a guy who's most strenuous physical activity in years consisted of walking from the bus stop to his college. However, his former confidence in his hand-to-hand skills was shattered upon meeting his CQC instuctor, a large black guy by the unlikely name of Chiumbo. Chumby, as he was affectionately known, was the kind of guy who women hurry to their cars to get away from, only to find that he saves them from a would-be purse snatcher and disappears into the night. So far, he had blocked every attack, and landed Jonn face down on the practice mat four times. The galling part was that Jonn's glasses were still perfectly intact.
Whump.
Five times.
"Isn't this a bit off?" said Jonn, circling, looking for an opening. "I mean, how all of a sudden, they've stepped up the training?"
"Well," said Chumby conversationally, "you did achieve the dubious honor of being the first ASP agent to nearly get killed by directly engaging a Sue." He did a little Morpheus-shuffle, and used the split second of Jonn's distraction to launch a palm strike to Jonn's left shoulder, telegraphing like crazy. Jonn, to his credit, rolled with the hit and used his momentum to get onto the outside of Chumby's arm. In perfect Tae-Bo fashion, his right arm snuck under Chumby's into a low hook aimed at his instuctor's stomach. Unfortunately for him, said instructor spun away from the blow, and his elbow smacked right into the side of Jonn's head.
Whump.
Six times. Down goes Wood. No pun intended.
"Wood, Chumby, please report to the AYB-02351 conference room," came a treacley voice from the room's speakers.
Jonn and Chumby both ran through the SpeedShower and hurriedly pulled on their uniforms. The ASP HQ didn't have any interior ring transporters, and the elevators were broken, so they had to take the stairs. Seven minutes and 14.67 seconds after the summons—there was a giant clock on the room's plasma display—Jonn stumbled into the room. Chumby, of course, strode in, the perfect picture of a man who knows he's twice as healthy as everyone else in the room.
"Jonn! Chumby!" said Caina dryly. "How nice of you to grace us with your pres-"
"Shut up," said Jonn. "You knew we were sparring in the gym, and that it would take us a while to get here from there, especially since we had just been engaged in physically draining activity. You also knew that the elevators are down, and besides, we're in a building located in a scientifically impossible location in space-time. You can spare a few minutes."
There was a brief, awkward silence. Then the man at the head of the table spoke up. He had a salt-and-pepper beard, hiding a chin long gone soft. He was also dressed in a denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up. This was Mr. L-.
"Very observant, Mr. Wood. I hope you bring that to your next mission."
With a sinking heart, Jonn looked at the people seated at the table. Simmons, Ciara, some others. With the exception of Chumby and L-, all people who had mentioned being given extra strenuous training. That meant...
"You're next mission is in the middle of Episode III. Specifically, Order 66. There is a Mary Sue there who's doing untold damage to canon. Your job is to find her and neutralize. If you see any characters dying, or being killed, you are not to assist, do you understand? Good. Yes, Simmons?"
"Do we-"
"No. No lightsabers."
"Aw."