Agent Dumba walked towards his lonely chicken coop, contemplating his life. He noticed the way the birds chirped along the path. Then, he remembered the task at hand. He drew his pistol, and advanced on the structure. He knew that this was a routine mission, but that it had a destructive potential. Should he take the wrong step and end up running face to face with Chicken Katanga himself, well…lets just say that would be bad.
As he neared Crossbreed he suddenly noticed that there was a sudden stillness in the air. It was as if the entire word around him had stopped. He then noticed the world seem to fade away into nothingness only to reappear a mere second later. As he stood there, he found himself in the middle of a street in what looked like...Broadway?
What am I doing here?
As he thought these words, he turned around and noticed a parade coming up the street. He noticed the scantily clad people walking up the street towards him, prancing around and playing their instruments. He became so engrossed in their procession that he did not notice the soft footsteps behind him.
"Tee-Hee, BAAWWKKK!"
"James, it seems that we have lost yet another Agent to that pesky chicken!"
Not again, groaned James Pond, "Didn't we just lose 009 yesterday, Control?" he said audibly.
"Yes James. It seems that he is still using his heroin to blank our Agents' thoughts as he transports them. It appears to be a very effective method, however blunt."'
Heh. Blunt. That's hilarious.
"Are you listening to me, James?"
"Yes, Control."
"As you well know, you are immune to this method, as you have already been introduced into heroin, therefore, you are the best choice for this mission."
"You will have to infiltrate Chicken Ville, find and destroy the heroin fields, and kill this rampant chicken. This is your mission, should you choose to accept it. This message will self destruct in five seconds."
"Umm, Control? This is a radio, not a bomb."
"Sorry, James, It's a habit."
As His 747 landed with a subtle thud, James put down his copy of Esquire magazine and looked at the dead chicken cleverly disguised as a homeless man lying in the seat next to him. So far, there had only been two attempts on his life. This chicken, and the stewardess who had so politely poisoned his drink. As he disembarked, he noticed a cab with the vanity plate "008 r0x0r". He walked over to the cab, got in, and showed the man the wad of cash he'd get if he took him to the British Embassy. The man's eyes had a faint twinkle in them as he turned onto the freeway.
They then continued on the freeway for another quarter-hour. James passed the time yet again by pulling out his magazine and flipping through the pages. Unnoticed by the occupants, a white Land Rover pulled alongside them. The driver, a young looking, fat black man had a poison dart gun inside of his side mirror. He matched speed with the driver of the cab, waiting for the right moment-then he took his shot, and sped away.
James remained oblivious to the incident for several moments, because it was a relatively straight stretch of highway. But, when the car suddenly zoomed straight towards the dividing concrete wall, he sprung into motion. He jumped forward, twisting the wheel hard to the right, and keeping it on line with the road as he made his own way to the Embassy, straight through the marketplace. Finally, he saw it up ahead, but realized that the man's foot was still depressing the acceleration pedal! He thought up a plan, and put it into action. He sped straight towards the step and glass doors. The taxicab hit the stairs, and vaulted up them though the glass doors. He finally stopped the wildly careening car against one of the several stone pillars inside the building. He got out of the car, dusted off his jacket, and walked into an office.
"James! What the hell were you thinking?!"
"Hello, M. It's nice to see you too"
As he neared Crossbreed he suddenly noticed that there was a sudden stillness in the air. It was as if the entire word around him had stopped. He then noticed the world seem to fade away into nothingness only to reappear a mere second later. As he stood there, he found himself in the middle of a street in what looked like...Broadway?
What am I doing here?
As he thought these words, he turned around and noticed a parade coming up the street. He noticed the scantily clad people walking up the street towards him, prancing around and playing their instruments. He became so engrossed in their procession that he did not notice the soft footsteps behind him.
"Tee-Hee, BAAWWKKK!"
"James, it seems that we have lost yet another Agent to that pesky chicken!"
Not again, groaned James Pond, "Didn't we just lose 009 yesterday, Control?" he said audibly.
"Yes James. It seems that he is still using his heroin to blank our Agents' thoughts as he transports them. It appears to be a very effective method, however blunt."'
Heh. Blunt. That's hilarious.
"Are you listening to me, James?"
"Yes, Control."
"As you well know, you are immune to this method, as you have already been introduced into heroin, therefore, you are the best choice for this mission."
"You will have to infiltrate Chicken Ville, find and destroy the heroin fields, and kill this rampant chicken. This is your mission, should you choose to accept it. This message will self destruct in five seconds."
"Umm, Control? This is a radio, not a bomb."
"Sorry, James, It's a habit."
As His 747 landed with a subtle thud, James put down his copy of Esquire magazine and looked at the dead chicken cleverly disguised as a homeless man lying in the seat next to him. So far, there had only been two attempts on his life. This chicken, and the stewardess who had so politely poisoned his drink. As he disembarked, he noticed a cab with the vanity plate "008 r0x0r". He walked over to the cab, got in, and showed the man the wad of cash he'd get if he took him to the British Embassy. The man's eyes had a faint twinkle in them as he turned onto the freeway.
They then continued on the freeway for another quarter-hour. James passed the time yet again by pulling out his magazine and flipping through the pages. Unnoticed by the occupants, a white Land Rover pulled alongside them. The driver, a young looking, fat black man had a poison dart gun inside of his side mirror. He matched speed with the driver of the cab, waiting for the right moment-then he took his shot, and sped away.
James remained oblivious to the incident for several moments, because it was a relatively straight stretch of highway. But, when the car suddenly zoomed straight towards the dividing concrete wall, he sprung into motion. He jumped forward, twisting the wheel hard to the right, and keeping it on line with the road as he made his own way to the Embassy, straight through the marketplace. Finally, he saw it up ahead, but realized that the man's foot was still depressing the acceleration pedal! He thought up a plan, and put it into action. He sped straight towards the step and glass doors. The taxicab hit the stairs, and vaulted up them though the glass doors. He finally stopped the wildly careening car against one of the several stone pillars inside the building. He got out of the car, dusted off his jacket, and walked into an office.
"James! What the hell were you thinking?!"
"Hello, M. It's nice to see you too"
