Disclaimer: The Venture Bros. and their universe are the property of Jackson Public, Doc Hammer, Astrobase Go, and the Cartoon Network. In other words, I do NOT own the majority of these characters, so, please, don't sue me. The few OCs popping around are mine but considering they're part of a fanfiction, I'm sure there's not much to be done with them.

Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay. I lost my computer for awhile.


The hub is uncharacteristically quiet as Shore Leave, with Gary trailing along because he's nosy, shows the facilities off to Agent Sloane. The other agents are twitchy, making themselves scarce; they don't trust the unexpected arrival of General Gathers and her entourage. Gary doesn't exactly blame them, what with their being only recently un-disavowed by their parent agency, but that doesn't make the lack of noise any less creepy. Which, actually, can also be said for the way that Agent Sloane follows along, nodding and typing a random note into her little wrist computer-thingy.

"And that's really it, aside from Brock's office." Shore Leave finishes up their tour, coming full circle at the main entrance. "We had a submarine we kept farther in on the Venture compound but we kind of tanked that helping out the Doc."

Sloane nods. "Yeah, Gathers mentioned that. Her words were…more colorful but she did mention it. I've put in requisitions for a replacement, a boat, and a new jet already, by the way. I just need Commander Samson's go-ahead for delivery."

"I don't suppose you can get that monstrosity taken away?" Shore Leave gestures to the big sphinx sitting off to the side, unused and unwanted save for when it announces a perimeter breach. "It's creepy as fuck when it goes off."

Eyeing the alarm up and down, the look on Sloane's face says she can imagine and concurs. "I will see what I can do. Or at least maybe find you a jackhammer."

"Ooh, I am liking you more and more, Samamander." The sentiment is reinforced by a hearty pat on the back. The back pat Sloane doesn't seem to mind, the nickname is more questionable and she looks over at Gary, as if to wordlessly ask "What the hell just came out of his mouth?"

"Don't fight it," he advises her. "For real, he'll just come up with stuff you hate even more. It's his gift."

Sloane doesn't miss a beat. "It should come with a receipt."

Shore leave also doesn't miss. "Aww, look at you. I tell you, sweetie, I wish your mommy would've sent me some baby pictures; I bet your little fangs were adorable."

With her upper lip curling Sloane looks like she just might show some fang right now. Her retort, whatever form it may come in, however, expires a prematurely as Brock's office swings open and out he stomps along with Gathers. Back comes the iron spine and blank face as Sloane stands expectantly to attention.

The questions sitting at the back of Gary's tongue don't have long to stew because right out of the gate, Brock is whistling and gesturing for the entire unit to gather round. As he and Shore Leave approach, (and Sky Pilot, though, when, how, and where he came back exactly Gary has no idea) Gary notes Gathers nodding behind him, presumably at Sloane. He's right, of course (who else would it be?) and turns his head long enough to see her salute then march toward the exit. The paranoid side of him believes this would be the perfect time for her to come back with a death squad and mow them down. The not-completely-insane side of him doubts that that will happen.

Still, Gary double checks where his guns and ammo are and takes a place to the side where he can keep one eye on the door.

"All right, kids, got some news." Not the most optimistic start to a speech, but then Brock's face is back to being impassive, so he's probably not too upset with whatever Gathers had to say.

Probably. Man, Gary really hopes not; Brock is the worst to work with in a mood.

"We're getting some better funding and extra men. And some better equipment. And because it's all coming out of the O.S.I.'s pocket book we're also gonna have a few new regulations." The full scale uproar Gary half-expects is only a ripple of murmurs sweeping through the twenty-five or so men standing in the room. He's not sure if that's a relief or not. Or maybe the sex change has just thrown them all so off-kilter that outrage can't be tapped at the moment. "So, you know, that's what's going on with all this crap." He glances over at Gathers with less than enthusiastic shrug. "You wanna…?"

Gathers shakes her head. "Good God, boy, that speech was so full of suck that you might as well've had Ben Stein give it." Another headshake and she's standing tall, hands locked at the small of her back. "All right, listen up, maggots. First off, your mission hasn't changed. S.P.H.I.N.X. is still here to deal with the dirty stuff. However, if the O.S.I. is gonna give the budget around here a facelift and I'm gonna keep those ass-clowns in the bureaucracy off my back in the process, some concessions are gonna have to be made. It's mostly useless, paperwork, bullshit, malarkey but if you all wanna keep this agency afloat, you'll come to heel quick and get on with saving the world. And, most importantly, I won't have to waste any more of my precious time trying to place you sad bastards back into O.S.I. ranks if you don't. Any questions?"

Almost every hand in the room shoots up and Gary sees a vein jump in Gathers' jaw.

"Any not about my sex change, you judgmental pricks?" All of the hands go down. "Good. Sloane, front and center!"

Reentering the room at the exact moment that Gathers barks Sloane doesn't break her stride going straight the General's side. She's followed by a group of men and women, most of who are dressed in simple military fatigues and carrying duffle bags. By Gary's head count, there are seventeen. The two not dressed like soldiers and lacking that certain military clunk to their steps, are a woman and a man. The man wears a suit and carries a briefcase; the woman has a digital tablet and short heels. Both wear I.D. tags and O.S.I. clearance badges in plain sight, though Gary can't exactly read what's printed on them from where he's standing. Like the others, those two gather in a neat row behind Sloane.

Saluting, Sloane answers Gathers with the standard, "Sir, yes, sir," while Brock rolls his eyes from the general's other side. Yeah, whatever this is, Brock is not a fan.

"Get to it," Gather's orders with a short nod before whirling to face Brock. "Try not to be too much of a dick with this, will ya? I've got other shit to do, and no time to play mommy."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." The cigarette in Brock's mouth twitches from one corner to the other.

Another one of those tense, this-could-go-very-very-very-wrong-really-fucking-quick moments passes as Gathers continues eyeballing Brock, and Brock stares right back at her. Finally, though, the right side of Gathers' mouth quirks up and she swivels away, marching for the main entrance.

"Carry on, children, I'll see you soon." That's all she says before she's gone and the sound of warming jet engines thrums through the air. Sloane doesn't waste time.

"Okay, gentleman, let's get this done." Far back as he is, even Gary can see that her eyes have returned to the cold stone color that they were outside. "All you former O.S.I. boys know how things usually go with employment, salary, and all that basic stuff. So to reinstate your 401Ks, get your re-enlistment bonuses, and the process you already know, you're going to see Mr. Davis," one of her hands motions to the man in the suit, "after the new recruits see him for initial set up. He's your new permanent accountant. In the meantime, you'll all report to the new S.P.H.I.N.X. Head of Medicine Dr. Carrey. Dr. Carrey?"

One of the men in fatigues steps forward. Bald, coffee-skinned, with neatly trimmed goatee and on the long, lanky side he still somehow appears…diminished? That's probably not the best word but it does fit well enough for a man standing so close to Brock, and especially for a man standing more or less between him and Sloane.

"Hello everyone." Apparently, frigidity isn't a must for every new person Gary's going to meet today. Unless Dr. Carrey's bright, wide smile is fake, which is quite possible. "Just call me Archie, if you would. Dr. Vulcano—" it takes Gary a minute to place who that is before he remembers the creepy Portuguese guy who left with Gathers, "—didn't keep any detailed records around about your guys' health. Actually, he kept no records at all, so, yeah. Physicals all around. Plus my intrepid intern, Shri," a small woman who looks to be about ten years or so behind most of the group, waves from just behind him, "will be handing out your temporary insurance and pharmacy cards. And…that's all I got. Take 'em back, Sammy."

The expected scowl or some other feature of disdain never appears on Sloane's face. There are no reprimands made to Dr. Carrey, there's no reaction at all other than a short, accepting nod. A person, with a nickname and perhaps a social life, exists beyond the Sentinel-ness of Agent Sloane, mindboggling though it may be.

"Okay I'll need a senior agent to show the newbies to the locker room then get Archie to the medical bay after he suits up, any takers?"

"Ooh! Ooh! Pick me!" Maybe because everyone knew he was going to do it, or more likely, because the other senior agents just don't care, Shore Leave's hand is alone in the crowd.

If she's annoyed with the way he volunteers Agent Sloane doesn't show it. She only nods and continues with her briefing. "Right. I've got one last thing." Half turning, Sloane's thumb jerks toward the woman in the short heels. "O.S.I. regulations stipulate that a trained psychiatric specialist be on premises for your psychological needs. This is Dr. Young, she wants you to know that her door is always open." There's the briefest pause as Sloane looks over her audience, to gage whether or not she holds their attention or their reactions is up in the air. Gary decided approximately upon meeting the woman he wasn't going to get any clear reads off of her.

"Do we have any questions?" she finally asks.

The scene is almost identical to when Gathers uttered that (similar) phrase not ten minutes before. And like Gathers, Sloane's teeth seem to be grinding ferociously as she talks herself down from a murder spree.

"Yes, Sonia Sloane was my mother." Those words have an edge to them not unlike Brock's bowie knife. "Let's put that one to rest. Along with any other questions involving her which I will not be answering." Someone is going to get shot. Gary feels it. Goddamn does he feel it. What he can't feel is whom the bullet is going into and whether it's heading for a smart-mouth's ass or vital organs.

Please, Shore Leave, keep your trap shut.

Mercifully, all of the hands go down and no one eats lead. The other agents have caught the scent of ozone pouring off of Sloane and realized "Oh, shit, pissing her off is possibly the worst idea of the century."

Another second ticks by as Sloane looks over the crowd one final time. Whether she's satisfied or not, she turns to Brock. "Commander?"

Surprise flickers across Brock's face, brief as it is; he wasn't expecting her to differ to him. That brings up a whole new set of questions for Gary to grill Shore Leave over when they have a second later. Not that there weren't already a bucket-load itching under his tongue.

"Yeah." He lights up a new cigarette and gives Sloane the shortest of nods. "Unless it's top priority go on and do what the secretary just told you to." And without further ado, Brock returns to the confines of his office, leaving his men to digest all of this information however they may.

As expected Shore Leave fills the awkward silence with something not-quite-but-oh-so-close-to-awkward.

Vaulting over one of the computer centers, he saunters over to Dr. Carrey—Archie? Is he allowed to call him that? Anyway, beckoning to their new head of medicine in the pseudo-flirty fashion that all of S.P.H.I.N.X. has become accustomed to but that normally has strangers making faces and stepping back. Dr. Carrey, or Archie, whichever he'll be going by around the hub, proves not to be the average kind of stranger.

That wide, LED light kind of smile appears again as he shakes Shore Leaves hand and then they're walking toward the lockers, chit-chatting about the new O.S.I.

And that's all there is to it, apparently, Gary realizes, S.P.H.I.N.X. has been integrated. Mind-bogglingly simple.

Then again, he watches Sloane take a b-line through the dispersing crowd to Brock's office, maybe not…

{This Is The Self-Important Story Break, Pay It No Mind}

During his third year as a full agent, Brock had witnessed Sonia Sloane punch Treister so hard that his feet flew over his head. They'd had some…philosophical discrepancies (the polite excuse made by Hunter) over one of her assignments and Sonia's temper had gotten the better of her. She'd been punished of course, but her point had been made and there were no regrets, at least as far as Brock had been told. Sonia's hatred of red tape was a legendary thing at the agency and said hatred had been one of the very best things about her. That and her ability to sling a knife through bone at fifty paces.

So, for Brock to see so much of her, the straight line of her nose, her strong shoulders, her sharp eyes, on what is essentially a red tape merchant it's…Well, it digs at him, to put it mildly, even if he does trust Hunter's call. Enough so that he's simmering when he should probably be giving Sonia's kid some attention while she yammers about red tape bullshit.

"—and, if you'd like, I have approved contractors ready to begin an expansion." Her voice is nothing like Sonia's. Sonia had a voice that was all honey and twang, she flaunted her Memphis roots. By comparison, what comes from Sam is mechanical. There is no history to her tone or hint of a soulful lilt. "I just need you to sign off and to procure a signature from Dr. Venture, so—"

He can't take it anymore. "Sit down."

Sam looks up from her j-pad and her mother flickers through again. Sonia's jaw ticked when she was on edge too. "Sir, I'm—"

"Not a request, kid." He kicks at the guest chair through the gap in his desk and stares pointedly. "Sit."

Sam obeys, she's grudging, but she still obeys. Which, actually, might piss Brock off more. Sonia would have told him to fuck off—

"Commander, I am not my mother." Those words jar Brock, if only because their spot on-ness makes him question (briefly) if the woman is a mind reader. Because, shit, if his thoughts are a target Samantha Sloane is William Goddamn Tell.

"What makes you—" His knee-jerk reaction to backtrack is mercilessly cut by Sonia's "little girl".

"Because it's what every O.S.I. alum who ever heard her name is thinking when they find out I'm hers." The j-pad is tossed inelegantly on his desk as Sam crosses her arms. Gray irises glint like frost-tinted windowpanes as her glare meets his. "And, you know, I get it. My mother was a legend. Fantastic. I am very proud to be her daughter. But. I. Am. Not. Sonia."

She stands and her arms reverse their position to the small of her back. Ramrod straight she gives off an aura of command that makes her look like her whole body stretches to the ceiling. "Let me tell you what I told General Treister and General Gathers: I won't be indulging your nostalgia by doing things like 'The Blade' did." There's a subtle sort of disrespect in the way Sonia's codename comes off of Sam's tongue; it needles Brock but he keeps quiet. He's much more preoccupied with the teeth that the whelp's started to show.

"I have my own way, my own job and I am good at it. Fucking good, actually." Her palms are suddenly flat on Brock's desk as she bends just enough to get her face level with his. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make him want to jump. Only a little but still.

"You call me a watchdog? Fine. I call me the bitch pit bull that gets to look for turncoats then gnaw a fucking arm off. You want to label me a glorified secretary?" And Brock thought she might have forgotten that jab. Nope. "That's fine too. I pride myself in my organizational and communication skills. Can't type too many words a minute but I think my acumen with firearms and the eight languages I'm fluent in make up for it."

The signals that he should not goad this woman are crystal clear. It's etched in every line of a face that's as foreign as it is familiar and crackles in the air around them.

He does it anyway. Lighting a cigarette he inhales and blows the smoke out of his nostrils, straight into Sam's face. "You done, Junior?"

Sam's jaw twitches but she doesn't move. "I am. Now, would you like S.A.S.S. Samantha Sloane's services, or should I call for a transfer and prop a cardboard cutout of my mother in the corner before I hit the door?"

That absolutely seals it. Brock takes another drag, making her wait a few extra seconds, because he can.

"Ever thought of becoming a Mister?" he asks.

The right corner of Sam's mouth tics for a few seconds before she gives in and allows it curl upward. He gets a nod and "Fuck you, sir" before she sits back down and reclaims her j-pad.

That's all that there is to it. Brock has made a truce with Sonia's little secret. He may even like her. Bureaucrat spy, watchdog, secretary, what have you, Sam's got a spine just like her mother. Less action-oriented though it may be.

Not that he'll be telling her that anytime soon. Oh no, the you-snarl-just-like-your-mom stories can wait until he sees just what she meant about her "acumen with firearms". Because if that is anything like Sonia's he could very well lose something vital at this tentative stage.

Brock has to push just one last thing, however. "Seriously, your mother was a good woman." He doesn't know just why he's telling Sam this. It just needs to be said to someone or something that isn't Sonia's plaque at on the O.S.I. hellicarrier. Her eyes narrow, just a bit, but she doesn't seem angry (yet) so Brock continues. "I respected her. A lot. And I miss her."

A whole lot.

Sam nods and there's something solemn about the way she says, "Me too."

They might just be having a moment or something. Or they would if he didn't follow it up with, "So, you picked an interesting career choice for someone trying to stay out of a shadow."

The smirk Sam wears deepens, though she doesn't look up from her j-pad and whatever she's typing into it. "Yeah, well, funny thing. Until I joined up, there was no shadow." A short laugh slips past her lips. "That's what I get for rooting in Momma's closet, I guess."

That piques his curiosity but Brock waves it down. It's got the feel of a whole different can of worms, one he's not privy to. Yet.

"Okay, so, do I have your approval on the base expansion?" she asks. "Because I have ten more things I need to run past you before I can really get to work."

Brock leans back, setting his feet on the desk without breaking eye contact. "Did Hunter O.K. them already?"

She nods. "Yeah, she said—"

"Then go ahead and push all of them through." Fishing out a new cigarette to replace the dying cherry between his lips, Brock does try not to look too smug at Sam's surprise. He's almost definitely failing at it, though.

"I—even the agent transfers?"

Having never had the wiles to get one over on Sonia it's oddly satisfying to take her daughter by surprise. Maybe it shouldn't be. He's going to have to work at giving the kid a chance like he's going to have to work at keeping Hunter's new preferred pronouns straight.

"Yep. I trust Hunter. H—She's a crafty old shit but she doesn't play head games over this sort of stuff." Not unless she's bored, of course, but hopefully that's not a thing he'll have to worry about, what with her still reigning in control of the O.S.I. "Go on then, Junior." He waves her toward the door like he can remember her mother doing to him more than once. "Take care of all your business like a good secretary-pit bull."

Surprise lingers for just a few seconds more on Sam's face before her mouth bows upward at the right and she dips her head in a brisk nod. "Understood, sir." She salutes and maybe it's the hint of a smile still in play but he thinks the gesture is sincere in its respect, not just the motion of an agency automaton.

That could just be sentimentality kicking in, though. In any case, he finds himself saluting back before she takes her leave.


Voice Fancast

Special Agent Samantha Sloane—Laura Bailey

Dr. Archie Carrey—Damon Wayans Jr.