000 sat in an uncomfortable vinyl chair that was in the back row of the waiting room, forced in between a side table supporting a collection of torn gossip magazines on its surface - complete with inarticulate headlines and all! - and a table that held a small one-cup coffee maker along with styrofoam cups, dry creamer, sugar packets and the likes. The small machine was hissing and spitting up waves of steam as it worked away at filling 000's third cup of coffee. 000 made eye contact with the grinds canister and groaned. It was some generic, under flavored brand of coffee grinds that were provided and sitting out at the table.

Since being recruited to INTERPOL, 000 had enjoyed a massive upgrade in his lifestyle and his palate had shifted majorly over the last few years, as a result. Whereas back in the day, he would have thought this "Sunstone Brand Coffee" to have been an arceus sent gift, now the drink made the agent's nose turn upward in disgust and his taste buds recoiled while he nursed the brown sludge. As he waited for his first cup to brew, he had taken humor in reading that the canister had listed a recommendation of a certain amount of cream and sugar to use with their coffee, so it would be "perfect for any coffee connoisseur!"

It was because the coffee's flavor profile itself was nothing short of crap, the agent chuckled to himself. The final brewed product needed a cup and a half of cream with seven sugar packets just so the liquid could even pass at tasting vaguely like a genuine cup of joe.

But considering the state he was in, the agent gladly accepted the murky brown stuff, despite admittedly wincing upon having his first sip. After his cup was filled, the agent took the drink - black, of course, the man would die before he willingly allowed any amount of sugar into his body -, blew the steam off the top of the cup and walked over to peruse the vending machine settled by the check in window. He sipped at the terrible sludge while looking over its various offerings.

Before he could even see through the machine to its product line, 000 became focused on the sad reflection of himself. While drying, his hair took on a very messy look, bangs pushed this way and that, as cow licks were propped up on the back of his skull. His once prim and proper, well-ironed clothes contained so many wrinkles. His shoulder holster was taken by the nurses as he checked the Faller in, and his white button up was untucked and dangling around his form. He looked like hell and didn't feel all that much better than he looked.

Forcing his eyes away from the old man he saw in his reflection, his gaze connected with a pack of pomeg berry filled cookies he hadn't seen in years.

A rare genuine smile broke through his grim facade as memories of his miserable youth flowed through his mind. His eyes took on a weary sheen as he remembered a young broken boy, a dark haired, brooding teen who was so close to going off the rails. The kid who had to fight every day to survive… Sick emotions rushed through his gut as he thought back on those days when he had scrounged for coins around the city, just so he could use the old string and coin trick to override the vending machines, until the shopkeepers caught on to him and chased him away, like he was a wild animal. Some days, those fruity cookies were all he had.

And suddenly, he was back there.

Back then.

000 stood in the shadow of a dirty alleyway and his eyes locked with the glare of a fiery teen resting behind a dumpster. The kid was passing a cookie to his meowth, who had the same angry flames in her slanted eyes. 000 ran his hand through his messy hair and sighed weakly as the kid and cat munched noisily away, visibly distrusting of their new visitor. The anger in the boy and meowth had charged the atmosphere considerably.

It was like staring into the eyes of a caged beast.

"Can't you leave me alone already, kid?" 000 groaned. He felt his frustration level rising to a bubbling point. He was in bad need of a cigarette.

"Fuck off," the dark haired boy hissed, cookie crumbs stuck to his lips. "Can't you leave me alone?"

000 stared down at the boy, shoving his fists into his pockets, finding nothing inside them. Guess that smoke would have to wait.

"What are you saying, boy?"

The kid scoffed and ran his dirty sleeve over his mouth, cleaning his face from cookie residue.

"I'm pretty sure it ain't me who's all caught up in this scene," the teen coughed, a sick rumble caught in his chest. 000 had forgotten how weak and scrawny he was then. How deeply he ached inside and how much he suffered back in those days.

000 was about to speak, but the boy's meowth hissed and protracted her claws. Teeth and talons pointed directly to the agent. 000 stepped back as the meowth pounced in front of her partner with a yowl.

"I suggest you get outta here," the phantom boy whispered to his older self. "We aren't accepting visitors right now." A vicious smirk painted itself onto his face.

000 lifted his hands up in defeat. He tipped his head to the angry kid and was about to turn around, when his eyes suddenly snapped open. His forehead struck into the glass of the vending machine with a dull thunk.

He was back in the hospital waiting room. A hot cup of miserable tasting coffee grasped in his hand. Pungent, sterilized air wafting around the room. 000 sighed deeply and he began to make his way back to his uncomfortable seat, dragging his feet, his wet dress socks sloshing in his shoes, as he walked by the rows of seats.

000 dropped down into his chair with a groan. The day wasn't even halfway through, he felt a hundred years older than when he started for the day. The agent set his cup of murk on the side table and he rubbed at his weary eyes. From here, he feared the days would only get longer.

As the clock on the wall above him ticked away, 000 became lost in thought again. His coffee cooled as the minutes moved on, with or without the agent aware of the passing of time. He began chewing on his thumb knuckle absentmindedly as his thoughts became to deep. It was an annoying habit he picked up a few years ago when he needed to feel his mortality, to bring him back to his senses. The sharp pain was enough at most times to bring himself back to earth. But, this habit was so unprofessional, so childish, even. And, like most of his problems, even when he intentionally tried to drop the habit, nothing changed.

Nothing ever changed.

Same old, same old. It was the curse of his life. Ever since…

His memory rushed to the face of an innocent woman. Her smile was so bright, so charming. To 000, she was the sun after a stormy night.

She never deserved the fate he served unto her.

Then, his mind shifted suddenly to focus on the hue of her blood. It was so red, so vivid. It rained down upon the earth and over the agent's body, like a waterfall. It barely seemed real, even in his mangled memories, regardless, it almost had him puking.

In trying to find something to distract himself from his racing thoughts, the agent spied an old model TV propped up on the wall opposite of his seat. The outdated thing was sitting on a wooden shelf a few feet off the ground, probably as to keep the screen visible, even when the room was packed.

But, today wasn't one of those days. 000 couldn't stop his mind from going into detective mode as he observed the rest of the room. There was a young man pacing just in front of the door leading to the rest of the hospital. He was wearing what looked like sweatpants and a sleeping shirt. He was disheveled and had a nice shadow of stubble outlining his face. 000 sipped at his drink, taking a guess at the man's predicament. A father-to-be, 000 reasoned as he set his styrofoam cup down again.

A petite, brunette lady and her young red haired kid were waiting in one of the two middle rows. The kid was sleeping, with his head resting in his mom's lap as the woman stared ahead blankly, tears staining her cheeks, while she stroked the boy's hair. A small duffel bag sat besides the woman's purse on the ground. It was a light pink with a floral design and a blonde haired doll was poking out of the zipper, her arm extended, waving out to the rest of the world. 000 shifted in his seat as he tried to get a better glimpse of the bag. Some name ending with "-lani" was embroidered on the front of the girly bag. Whether it was Leilani or Keilani or Nalani or whatever, he couldn't tell, but it was certainly a girl's name.

000 leaned back into his chair and he breathed in sharply as he turned to look over to a tall man, who was standing at the check in counter, whispering with a pleading voice to the nurse behind the window. His red hair was a dead giveaway to his link with the woman and the kid.

The agent could only guess at what had happened to that family's daughter, but he respectfully turned away from them. His little detective game put him deeply into a saddened mood. The agent glanced back up to the television, his eyes barely paying attention to the show's going-ons.

Though he was completely tuned out to the static-y applause of the game show playing on the ancient thing, it at least gave his eyes a distraction. Something to look at, rather than the despaired people he was sharing the room with and his now bloody thumb.

The game show host led the contestant to the side of the stage where a woman in a gaudy pink dress was gesturing dramatically to three doors, which were labeled "A," "B," and "C." The contestant moved to the podium that was placed just before the doors. 000 scoffed as the camera zoomed in to focus on the contestant. The man was smiling too much, he looked insanely artificial and even more so as the intense lights were beaming down onto the stage. The sweat dripping down his cheek made the man look like he was a melting wax figure. 000 stretched out his legs and folded his arms behind his head. The show wasn't anything truly entertaining, but it was something of a change, at the very least.

"So then, Max, which will it be? You have your pick between the three doors and whatever prizes may be hidden behind them! Now remember, one of these doors has nothing - nada! - behind it. Then, if you end up choosing the losing door, you risk putting everything you've won so far on the line! But, you can't forget, one of these doors is hiding the grand prize behind it, which can over triple your winnings!" The audience began cheering wildly.

"Even though there's a greater possibility that you won't win, it's definitely a chance worth taking," the painted lady chirped with an over-sized smile. "What do you think, folks?"

000 smirked. Stacked odds, who doesn't love having them against ya?

The audience cheered as their contestant - Max, was it? - nodded his head wildly. "It sure is!" His artificial smile grew wider somehow. "Let's do this!"

As he watched the pointless show in the chilled room, 000 was grateful that the usual screaming in his head was dying down. The mundane programming was enough to sidetrack him….

But not for long,

"Sir?" A quiet young woman's voice pierced through the short-lived silence.

000 stayed focus on the TV though he could see the nurse approaching him from the side.

"Sir?" She repeated again, less meekly this time.

"Hm?" He grunted in response, watching Max point at the door of his choice.

The nurse seemed flustered as she looked down over the paperwork. "Well, sir, your fiancée would like to see you now."

000's eyes shifted suddenly to the nurse as the lady on the game show began opening door "B."

"What did you say, now?" The agent barely could get his voice to work.

"Your fiancée, sir. She was asking for you." A look of confusion stretched across her face.

000 laughed lightly as he reclined in his seat. He pointed over to the pacing man with a smirk. "I think you got the wrong guy."

The nurse's expression suddenly turned serious. "Sir, I'm not playing games. I've had a long day and I…" The nurse sighed deeply. "She wants to see you," she gestured to the door connecting into the hospital with both of her hands. "so, if you please," her tone more stern than before. "Follow. Me."

000 frowned and waved his hands in front of his body. "Seriously, lady, I'm not playing with you. I ain't got a fiancée. Promise."

The nurse rubbed at her temple and put her hand holding the clipboard on her hip. "Listen," she hissed under her breath. "She told for me to go find the most exhausted, miserable looking guy in this place." She shifted her stance and glared at the agent. "I don't see anyone more miserable than you around here."

000 almost - almost - felt insulted.

"So," the nurse snapped her fingers. "come on, lover boy, let's go."

000 hesitantly sat up as the nurse turned on her heel and began to speed away. The agent shook his head wearily and began following the nurse. He looked back to look at the TV once more.

Apparently, they had just opened the door. Max had a look of excitement pasted to his face, his eyes wide open and his mouth was frozen into an oval in shock. The cheers of the audience rose to a shrill pitch as 000 walked out of the room, still completely unaware if the contestant had won it big time, or lost it all...