I Did Not Off My Boss Part 1

Mr. Alan Blunt was a very plain man. He made a point each day to dress in gray, and it was always the same suit. Well, not the very same, but so close the only difference was the wear and tear and how dirty they were. Of course, Mr. Blunt, as the chairman of the Royal and General Bank, had all of his suits were laundered and cleaned at the end of each week. As a man who hated routines, they were picked up at all times of the day on Saturday. He had eight of them, so that if they were a little late in being returned on Sunday- and they always came at a different time -he wouldn't have to wear something else. Indeed, Mr. Blunt wasn't sure if he owned any other clothing but for his night clothes and those eight suits, plus his black polished shoes, socks, watch, and tie. And so, he would likely be going to work in his night clothes if not for those extra suits and the simple fact that his suits were always returned on time.

Until one week in June- indeed, the first week in June -when his suits weren't returned to him on Sunday. Nor were they returned on Monday. And so, just as Mr. Blunt was beginning to worry that he would have to call in sick for his first sick day of his whole life- for he couldn't, as chairman of the bank, go in his night clothes -they were returned to him at precisely thirty seconds to one minute after six in the morning on Tuesday.

And despite being a cautious man, Mr. Blunt thought nothing of it. After all, you wouldn't suspect anything about your suits being returned late, would you? No, I thought not. And so, just as a rather old in years man suspected, he wore his suit to work. And he wore his second suit to work the next day. This went on all week until when he wore his fifth suit. This was when, after lunch, at exactly fifty-one seconds after one o'clock in the afternoon, Mr. Blunt dropped dead.

This was done without a single murmur, facial expression, bodily fluid exposing itself, or anything of the sort. Indeed, Mr. Alan Blunt dropped dead just as he found a small vial of clear liquid in the thread of his suit that was, of course, not supposed to be there.

This caused quite an alarm in the Royal and General Bank which, I am sure, you know is not really a bank at all. However, I would hope that you also know that if the chairman of any bank was found dead on the floor, that anyone would panic. But the point is, that as this particular bank was the headquarters to MI6, it was more of a controlled panic that slowly spread as people realized that someone out there had managed to get in and kill the Head of MI6.

And of these people, there was one that was actually responsible for Mr. Blunt dropping dead. His name was Agent Brian McMan. He was an agent deep in the bowels of MI6, with only five out of ten clearance, and was getting his revenge on his boss for never even considering to give him a raise even after his sixth child was born. Indeed, he had never experienced a pay raise in all his time at MI6, and as that was twenty-three years and counting, he had a reason to be upset.

But this story is not about Agent McMan. No, it is about the sixteen year old spy that has nine out of ten clearance, has saved the world multiple times, and was being accused for assassinating Mr. Blunt to get revenge on being blackmailed into saving the world the first five or ten times. He was believed to have slipped something into his boss's lunch and poisoned him- this was greatly supported after finding traces of poison in Mr. Blunt during the autopsy that did, as we know, come from the vial that Brian placed in his suit when he stole them from the delivery man before returning them. So this boy- no, man -was handcuffed and dragged into a helicopter.

And that is where our story really begins.

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