Author's Note: I know the ending is kind of bad, but I had this in my mind for hours at a stretch, so I'm just happy to have it out of my brain.
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"Agent Nein!" Quentin screamed. "Oh my god, man, oh man, you have GOT TO LET ME IN NOW!"
What followed was the sound of loud screaming and Quentin clawing violently at the hatch of the GPC until Agent Nein opened the door, at which point Quentin dived down it and resumed panicking and screaming. The startled Agent watched as Quentin floated up to a far corner of the door and perched there, half hidden in the shadows, shaking, staring at the door.
"Oh, man, you have no idea how close I just came to death," Quentin shuddered. "Lock the door, bro, and hand me one of those grenades."
Sasha locked the door, then paused. "How did you know I had grenades?"
"Raz said you gave him one to keep him quiet. Something about a lamp…"
"Yes, well," Sasha coughed and changed the subject. "What are you doing here? It's only five thirty in the morning; I'd expect someone your age to be asleep."
"MUFFINS."
"…Beg pardon?"
"Muffins, man, sugary muffins with syrup and strawberries , and their little blueberries and raspberry delights and fancy orange ones." Quentin shuddered violently, as if a ghost had walked through him. "It's messed up, bro, and it's breakfast this morning! It's a nightmare, a conspiracy! Don't you get it?"
"Not at all." Sasha replied calmly. "However, as I've only been up for a few minutes, that could be why. Refresh my memory in regards to this muffin problem."
"'Kay, 'kay, check it out," Quentin made odd hand motions with each word. "See, I got a few allergies. Not a lot, y'know, just fruits, which is cool 'cause I just eat veggies and meat anyway. I'm allergic to strawberries, kiwis, oranges, blueberries, and raspberries, and ALL OF THOSE GO ON MUFFINS IN SOME FORM OR ANOTHER!" He huddled into the corner, arms wrapped around himself. "It's a conspiracy, dude, the muffins are trying to kill me! KILL ME!"
The German man sighed and levitated up to the young hippie. "Calm down. Panic does not solve problems. You are fifteen feet below ground and ten feet in the air, in a solid steel room with one entryway that I am guarding."
"So… no panic dance?"
"No panic dance. I will simply tell Agent Vodello you are forgoing breakfast this morning." He rolled his eyes.
"Agent Nein?"
"Ja?"
"Do you think I'm a wuss?" Quentin sniveled. "I swear I could my skin prickling when that muffin smell drifted to the cabins…"
"No, if it contains that many allergens of yours."
"Fear the muffins?"
"Yes. Fear the muffins."