Shelby Corcoran paced back and forth in front of her three well-trained and most plausible secret agents. She was fiddling with the hem of her sleeve that ends just above her elbow. Being a superior in a company, she needs to look her finest. For today, she chose to wear a red, silky, knee-length dress that hugs her curves perfectly. They were in the conference room, the one where the company makes decision, present ideas, and take a vote. The long, shiny, glass table stands before her. The three agents were seated in those plush, rotatable, gray office chairs. One of the three agents is blonde, the other Latina, and the last gelled. The Latina's expression was unquestionably bored, and will probably take any excuse to get out of this impromptu meeting. She was continuously twirling her chair by a foot, and throwing little crumpled papers towards the direction of the blonde, trying to amuse herself. But to no avail. The blonde ignores her, and was surely focused on what this meeting will be all about. The guy with thick brows and perfectly gelled hair was patiently waiting, adjusting his bowtie ever so now and then. It's peculiar, Shelby thought, how the three of her agents could be mismatched but could work perfectly.
Shelby clears her throat. "Agents," she says in greeting, though that wouldn't be necessary. "Good evening."
The three of them looked up, mostly the Latina. She threw one last paper to the blonde and smiled sweetly to Shelby. "I thought this would be one of those lame-ass advertising assignment discussions again. I'm not against it, but wouldn't you choose real-life action than contemplating inside a four-cornered room?" She says to no one in particular.
"Shush, Santana," the blonde sends her a look. "What do we have now, Shelby?"
The four of them works at Beth's Advertising Company. Shelby owns it, the name originating from her daughter. The blonde, Quinn, is designated to the photography and arts section. She has this classy taste, and a death stare that can make you obey without even saying a thing. While the thick-browed guy, Blaine, is assigned as a part of the Human Resource department. He's naturally nice and jovial, so he knows how to talk to people, clients, and employees – either future or current. Santana, however, doesn't really have a position in the company, but she's one of them. She has to be. She claims she's the captain of Snix Ship Department, where all the honesty and frankness sails. In real life, employees would always ask her if their certain project, such as a commercial or poster ad, needs improvement, or would it be effective. It's the right choice they would ask Santana, because she's just so brutally honest. She'd tell you if your poster looks like it's been pooped by a horse and raped by a dinosaur, directly and genuinely, in front of you. And in business, that's a good thing.
Beth's Advertising Company is just starting to boom, and they're striving to make it big.
It's all just a façade, though.
Beth's may be operating and fully functioning, but in all truth, it's Corcoran's Secret Service Agency. They need to have a façade so it won't be obvious. Because, really, what's a secret when it's exposed?
CSSA aims to face illegal underground business, in the same way they use underground reinforcement. And by underground, they mean having no connections with officials, government, or whatsoever. A bothered client may report to them, and Corcoran's Secret Service Agency will thoroughly study the case – if it's legit, because who knows, it might be a set up, or anything related – and take action accordingly.
In most crucial cases, Quinn, Santana, and Blaine are almost always the team sent because they work just so well.
"We have a report from a client named Roz Washington," Shelby informs them. Her agents were surely listening now, even Santana. "Artie Abrams has carefully made a background check with the said client, and as it turns out – she's a swimmer, a cheerleading coach, and an achiever." She distributes three identical folders to each of them. "You can read all the details in store, but generally – it reports that she's clean. Legit."
"Is it necessary to have all her medals hanging on her neck in a two by two photo?" Blaine's thick brows meet in a way of confusion.
"This lady might be the older version of Nicki Minaj," Santana comments, dubious, as she flips through Roz Washington's file. "How can someone win an individual synchronize swimming competition?"
Shelby shrugs the statements off, and continues to explain. "As a coach of both swimming and cheerleading, Ms. Washington has keenly observed her students to have changed. According to her, most of the students in their High School are either high or not attending classes. Quote, it is drastic, unquote. She is claiming there is the prevalence of marketing illegal drugs around their town."
"This case concerns a secret service because…?" Quinn asks. "I mean, I know it matters, but are we supposed to be the one to handle this type of cases? I am aware of our limits, but I am also aware of our least boundaries."
"Now, Miss Fabray, don't you belittle something you barely know. For all we care, one case may lead to another case. And that's the situation," Shelby tells them as she takes the seat where the higher rank usually sits. "Three hours ago, I received a call from Cassandra July, a head of a different Secret Service Agency, reporting that a world-wide selling of cheap drugs is occurring in plan of one Jessie St. James. Moreover, the drugs are directed to teenagers, usually eighteen year-olds, and these drugs are equipped with a substance that could take over their minds."
"What is this, revolution?" Santana cannot believe what she's hearing.
"Close, but worse," Shelby affirms. "Miss July and I went to the same university, and we both know Jessie St. James. He was an undergrad, while we were upperclassmen. Word around at that time, he was a maniac. As it turns out, it is still applicable to this day. He wants to take over the world."
"That's possible?" Quinn reacts in a manner a child would react when told that butterflies actually evolve from caterpillars. "Controlling people's minds?"
"There is no definite judgment to that, no," Shelby tented her hands and pressed it to her chin, a clear image of someone thinking. "But news has been going, and it is suspiciously odd that banks are being robbed, and government workplaces are being infiltrated, around the world – all by eighteen year-olds. They're too oblivious to notice it can all be interconnected. Officials are thinking it's all a natural occurrence, deviance."
"I can infer that destroying one of Jessie St. James' drug dens will mean something, but I'm sure that is not enough. If we are going to stop him, we need to do more than that," Blaine says as he wipes a bead of sweat that has formed on his forehead. Despite the air-conditioning, the reality of Jessie St. James' evilness sent irregularities to his bodily functions. The sickening truth that someone is willing to control a blossoming life just so his intentions would be fulfilled sends a shudder through Blaine's spine.
Shelby nods, "That is correct. But for now, all I'm asking you to do is to effectively take down the drug den that Ms. Washington is referring to. Right now, we are not sure if that is just a little monkey business, or if it is one of Jessie St. James' extension branches. If the latter is the case, we have to be extra cautious. It isn't also known where the den in that town lies, so it's your job to discover that. When you succeeded, squeeze out all the information you can from whoever runs that place. Also, make sure you'll send him or her to a state of silence."
Quinn's eyes widen. "You mean kill?"
The head of the Corcoran Secret Service Agency laughs a little though mirthless, "Oh, no, Quinn. We are never meant to take a life of somebody. We are just expected to control things. What I mean is, make sure the person who runs that den, if in any case, is connected to Jessie St. James, will not utter to a soul, except us. Send him or her here, and will take actions from there."
"What happens next if we've successfully taken down the drug den?" Santana inquires, running a hand through her dark locks. It's a thing she does when anxious or unsure of herself.
"I can't tell you yet, because even I don't know. This operation," Shelby motions her hand in big circles, "requires a huge coordination of all the secret services agencies out there."
As if on cue, the three agents exhale a breath they were holding. Sure, they've been sent to large underground businesses, and they've breakthrough. But this? This taking over the world idea? It's just too much to handle. They have never experienced such.
"I trust you three," Shelby drops the bomb. "Try not to think that this operation connects to a much complex system, and just keep in mind that you're saving several lives of young adults. Just get through this."
"That's like saying a droplet of water doesn't make up the ocean," Quinn says, annoyed. "Why would even someone plan to take over Earth? Babysitting a child is difficult enough, what more managing the world?"
"Absolutely the definition of insane," Blaine agrees.
"He's a maniac," Shelby reasons, now seemingly tired. It's as if all the information she's said has sunk into her just now. "I know it's unnecessary, but in case the situation calls for it, I'm assigning Quinn to be the head of this group. The three of you will be leaving tomorrow morning. You may go to Kitty Wilde for any inquiries about the trip." She stands up, smoothing her dress. "Remember that human decency is ideal, but honesty is not mandatory. That's all for now. Good luck, agents," she gives them a trusting smile.
"Thank you, Shelby. I'm just happy I'll get a break from all this advertising work. We are going to get him," Santana tells them confidently. "Someone who's got a 'St.' in their name should be at least upright. I have a feeling he'll eventually turn in."
Quinn, Blaine, and also Shelby, laughed. All glad somebody in their team isn't shaken as much as they are.
Once Shelby left, the three agents were looking at each other. There's the anxiety caused by the revelation, disguised in the form of one Jessie St. James. There's also the anticipation of going into mission, and the determination they'll get this over with easily. But amongst all those feelings, they all know one thing is going in their heads: We got this.
Brittany was smoothing the fur of Lord Tubbington, purring according to his will. It has felt forever for her to be this close again with her cat, because everytime she decides to rekindle with him, she see's LT making out with another cat. She's happy for him and all, but everyone needs a quality time every now and then.
"It's another bank outbreak," Sam says as he places down the remote next to his lap. "It's the second for the week. And you know what's weird? Teenagers who are in the influence of drugs were the attackers, and hell did they get away. What is happening with the world?"
Brittany just shrugs, not wanting to think about what is happening with the world. In her mind, there could be a lot of happening. At their end, bank robbery must be rampant while at another end, their economy is growing. At their end, somebody must have given birth to her first child, while at another end, a mother just lost a child. Someone may be celebrating his or her life, and someone just got his or her heart broken. Someone just got broke, and someone got his first paycheck. Everything and nothing could be happening right now at once, and we are not aware of that. It's all too much to think about, really. It is a very broad question to be discussed, and instead of speaking her mind, Brittany says, "I don't know."
"Yeah, whoever really does?" Sam stands up and gathers his can of soda as he went and kisses the side of Brittany's head. "I'm beat. Let's call this a night. Good night, Britt."
The blue-eyed blonde smiles at him, "I'll stay up. Good night, Sam."
"Uno!" Santana shouts mischievously at Quinn. "Oh, damn, Q. This game is not ending until I win."
"You're unfair!" Quinn whines.
"Being unfair is different from being absent-minded," the Latina pokes her tongue out for emphasis on the intention she's teasing Quinn.
The three agents are in the car, on their way to the town where Roz Washington allegedly claims a drug-operation has been ongoing. Quinn and Santana are playing Uno cards at the back of the car, while Blaine has his earphones plugged, shutting the world. He's still worried by the thought a person like Jessie St. James exists. For the two girls, however, they're just happy to be on a mission. Losing to Jessie never crossed their minds.
Santana puts down a +2 card, adding more cards to Quinn's hand. By this time, the brunette has only one card left in her hand, a red 7, and she's successfully screamed 'Uno!' before Quinn.
"Bitch," the blonde mutters, pissed.
Santana chuckles, "It would be so ridiculous if our friendship ends just because of playing Uno. I mean, I don't even know if this friendship started, but still."
"Whatever, Lopez," she says as she puts down a blue 7 card, matching the color of the +2 card. "I just want this ride to be over, and get to work already."
"Translation: You want to stop losing to me. Not going to happen, Fabray." Santana puts down her last card, red 7. "Oh!" She cheers, in a tone of mocking, "Lopez won over Fabray! Oh! That hurt, didn't it?"
Quinn groans and gets a pillow from her side. She turns to Ryder, their driver. "Are we near yet?"
"No, ma'am, another round of Uno could still be played," he answers her with a playful grin, looking through the driver's mirror.
"Shut up, and drive," Quinn kicks the back of his seat. She turns back to Santana. "I am not playing anymore Uno with you. That's for kids."
"If you insist," Santana says, leaning further into her position. If the drive would take longer, and Quinn doesn't want to play, she might use the time for sleeping. It will be long until the day that all she thinks about is annoying Quinn and playing Uno because with the Jessie-St-James-taking-over-the-world thing, she knows she's got to take a role in that and her sleeping processes will be disrupted by then.
But sleep not, for Quinn Fabray has other plans in mind.
"How's that girl Dani you've brought to our apartment?" She asks Santana. "Are you still at her?"
With closed eyes, Santana replies, "Quinn, what the hell? What is this, girl time?" She crosses her arms. "I'm not in the mood for that, and probably will never be."
Quinn hits her with a pillow. "Open your eyes when you're talking to me," she commands. Santana mumbles a 'control-freak' but obliges anyway. "I just think that you should date," the blonde tells her eventually.
It's Santana's turn to hit Quinn with a pillow. "And now you get a say on my dating life? You don't get to have that! I'm not good with dating, or feelings, you know that, Q."
Quinn grins, understanding what Santana means. "It crossed my mind, since you're always annoying me. If you could have someone to focus your attention to, you'd be out of my hair. And I would like that very much."
"Now that you've mentioned it," Santana smirks, "I am going to annoy you more than ever."
Ryder pulled over in front of a fine-looking fine-dining restaurant, BreadstiX. He turns to the only person awake in the car besides him, and informs her, "Miss Fabray, we're here."
"Oh, okay," she shuffles, then shakes Santana. "Hey, woman, food is coming, Wake up."
Ryder shook her head laughingly at her two bosses, not acting like they're actual bosses. He pulls his phone and texts the boss of all the bosses, Shelby Corcoran, in his workplace to inform her of their activities. Once done, he turns to Blaine. "Sir Anderson, sir, we have reached our destination. Miss Washington is waiting for us inside."
Sleep is easy to shake from Blaine, but tougher on Santana. She walked unsteadily to get out of the car, and Quinn held her by her waist.
"Santana, act professional. We are meeting our client. Wake the hell up."
But Santana doesn't hear her. Her eyelids were still closing, half-awake, half-asleep. She doesn't really care about the client, she cares about the action. She wants to expose the drug den wherever it was, then get some more action. For Santana, life could only be so boring.
"Can I be excused for this meeting?" Santana speaks through a yawn. "We all know this is just for formality shit and things, and I'm never good with dealing people, so I don't see any point for me being in this one."
Blaine fixes his bowtie, even though there's nothing to be fixed. It's become a habit. "Well, I see your point, Santana. It's your decision, and I think that the final say must come from Quinn, because after all, Shelby assigned her to be our leader, right?"
"Yeah, Lucy, let me go. I'll even start looking around town to see if there are any suspicious locations," Santana pleads. "It's a win-win situation, you see. I'll be out of your hair, and I get to do what I want. Mutualism."
Quinn contemplates for a minute, skimming Santana's appearance. "Yeah," she finally makes her mind. "You'll just be a bother, and I have had enough of you back in the car." Santana just smirks at her. "Do not do anything extreme, and be aware of your identity in this town. Am I understood?"
"Hell you are," Santana says. "Text me in case this Roz Washington suddenly performs her individual synchronize swimming stunt, alright? That's the only thing stopping me. But for now, adios, amigos." She hugs Blaine, and pinches Quinn's nose. So much for affection.
