A tall man stood silhouetted in the light pouring from a doorway. He had hair that was curly, and cut short. For some reason, he was carrying a chicken under one arm. Jack walked over to this strange man. The face of the man was hard to describe. It was both kind and cruel at the same time, with a hint of laughter creasing the eyes but no laughter visible anywhere else. His hook nose was large, and his eyes were set slightly back in his head, although not enough that the glitter of mirth was smothered. They were ice blue, those eyes. Jack felt as though his soul was slowly being probed, taken apart, examined by those laser-bright pools of sapphire.

"H-hello?" he stuttered.

"You know who I am?" the man inquired. The eyes still bored into him.

"Not really," Jack admitted.

"My name is Shedletsky, John Shedletsky. And do you know why you're here?"

"No."

Shedletsky laughed, an eerie sound coming from that birdlike face. "I should really tell my personell not to be so damned secretive. It's getting on my nerves. Come with me. We have much to discuss... you, me, and the other Admins."

OOO

The council room was huge.

A three-quarter-circular table, with the interior open, dominated the massive room. Around it, in swiveling chairs, sat the Robloxian Admins. Such a gathering of power was unheard of in other cities, but in New Robloxia the power of all Adminship resided in one room.

"So," Telamon said, ushering Jack in. He felt like an ant. "This is Mr. Jack Steel. He's the man who killed Sanchan."

The shadowed figure at the head of the table nodded. All the Admins bowed their heads for a few seconds.

"Dusek," it said. "Look at the man you have requested. Is he not fitting?"

The Admin with the blue skull and antlers, which were on fire, looked at Jack.

"Yes, he does seem to be in perfect physical condition," he agreed. "Probably from all those years of being a policeman. Am I right, Jack."

"Yes, sir," Jack muttered.

"What was that? Your voice doesn't seem to carry."

"Yes sir," Jack said, a little louder.

"You're being selected," Dusek continued, "to be part of an... elite core of people. Are you up for the fieldwork?"

"Yes."

"The long hours?"

"I don't have any other choice."

"The itchy suit?"

"Pardon?"

"The itchy suit, I said."

"Well... is it really itchy? Like bed of nails itchy?"

"No, just cat hair itchy."

"What's a cat?"

"Never mind. Are you willing to be an agent?"

"Yes," Jack said.

"Good, that's all I needed to know," Dusek replied. "Council dismissed?"

"Council dismissed," agreed Baszucki. "Although that was a little... quick."

"Agreed," said another Admin, Wukong. "We could've had a few stretches, y'know... maybe a few poses..." As Jack and Dusek left, he continued, "... and a few hamstring stretches, maybe a few poses more, maybe he could take his pants..."

OOO
Jack's new room was rather small, but branched into a larger room, which then branched off into nine more small ones. There was barely room to pace around, much less to run. Jack felt claustrophobic, or he would have if not for the large window, revealing an incredible view of New Robloxia. The window just made him feel insecure, like he'd topple backwards one day and break the window, and fall forever.

He had his first meeting with his fellow agents in a half an hour, so he wanted to look his best. Looking in the small adjoining bathroom area, he discovered a moldy old toothbrush, a comb, and some soap that looked as if it had been gnawed on by a large rat. Well shit, he thought, it's like a bad hotel room. Doing his best with the toothbrush, he combed his hair under the tap water that smelled of metal and despair, then straightened his RPD uniform he'd came here in. Then he stood around and waited. There wasn't really a lot to do with his time, especially since his room could be likened to a cardboard box in that there wasn't a lot inside that could occupy anybody over the age of five.

A buzzer sounded from the alarm system. Jack turned to the door of his room, opened it, and stepped out into the center room. The floor, however richly carpeted it was, still gave off the feeling of underlying squalidity. An agent was standing at the other side of the room.

"Hey," he said. He had white hair that flowed down to his shoulders, and a thin, almost feminine face.

"Hey," Jack said. They faced each other.

"Think fast," the man said suddenly, and swung for Jack's ear from across the room. Jack was hit very hard and rebounded from the attack dazed and confused.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "What the hell was that for?"

"Just testing your reflexes," the man said. "Sorry, just a habit of mine. I won't do it again. Well," he added, extending a black-gloved hand from the sleeve of his neatly pressed gray suit, "you seem to be the new guy. I'm Namek. What's your name?"

"Steel..." Jack hesitated. But what harm could it do? "...Jack Steel."

"Nice to meet you, Jack," Namek said, and flashed a quick smile. He gave off the impression that he was merely in the world to inspect it and have a good laugh about what he found within. Jack rubbed his ear absentmindedly.

"I hit Block once," Namek recounted, "just like I hit you, when he first came here... The man's got a blow like a sledgehammer - no, like a train." He grinned again, and pointed to an indentation in the wall to Jack's left. "That's where he hit me."

"Who?"

"Block? Oh, you'll meet him. Everybody does. He's like the tank of the team."

Another agent exited a door to Namek's right. Namek gave him a Namekian smile. "Mornin', Hamburg," he said. "How's the burn treating you?"

"Vell," replied Hamburg, and went about his business. He had a red mark on the right side of his face. It looked rather painful.

"Not very talkative, is he?" Jack ventured.

"He doesn't know a lot of our language," Namek explained. "He got here from Bloxburg a few months ago. He's the second-newest guy here."

"When did you get here?" asked Jack.

"I'm the fifth guy who ever entered this place. You know how Dusek got me? He found me robbing a bank from the outside, said to me, 'You know you could be an agent someday if you quit doing that', and Bob's your uncle."

"My uncle's dead," Jack said.

"Oh. Figure of speech, figure of speech..."

A panel in the center of the floor slid back, and everyone jumped. It was unexpected, as well as quick. A cylindrical capsule sped up the exposed elevator shaft, and came to a halt when the elevator floor and the room floor were even. Dusek stepped out.

"There's been an incident," he barked. "Over at the marketplace, two small bombs detonated. It was just ten minutes ago, and we think the bomber is still around somewhere!" He glanced over at Jack. "Get him a Shiny Gun and SARGE. He'll need 'em if he's to come along!"

Dusek walked back into the elevator, closed the door, and with a FWOOP rocketed back down the shaft. The hatch closed behind him.

"We should show yer the armory," said an agent with a build like a rhinoceros. "In dis door 'ere." He indicated a blast-proof metal door with black and orange markings on it. Jack walked up to the door.

"Where's the handle?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot, it's a fingerprint scanner," said Namek. He took off a black glove, and Jack, for an instant, saw what looked like burns and scars knotting the man's delicate hands. Namek pressed his finger down. The door slid open. Steam roared out. Jack felt as if he'd been hit by a sauna. Inside the weapons room were... weapons (because what else would there be in a weapons room?). There were all different kinds of pistols, a few light assault types, multiple submachine-guns, and a shelf full of ammunition cases. It was a Republican's dream.

"How do you have this much stuff here," Jack asked incredulously, "without being robbed?"

"Turrets," was Namek's answer. "But we still have to take care of the bodies." He ushered Jack into the room. The humidity was making Jack sweat like a geyser. He already knew instinctively that his shirt was as good as ruined. Namek fished around in a row of pistols, then handed Jack a gun that was so shiny he could see his reflection looking back.

"This is the Shiny Gun," Namek said, matter-of-factly. "The SG Version 349, to be all exact about it. It can fire either bullets or shotgun ammunition, alternating. The barrel can expand and contract depending on what ammunition you desire to shoot. The SG349 also comes with a laser sight, flashlight for dark places, and a flip-up scope."

"Wow," said Jack, turning the gun in his hands. "How'd you know all that?"

"I memorized the instruction manual," said Namek, and laughed.

"What's the SARGE?" asked Jack. "I mean, if you're gonna make a whole little acronym thing for it, it seems to be important..."

"Der SARGE stands fer 'Semi-Automatic Rocket Generator Engine'," explained the bulky agent. He took an armband from a shelf. The armband had a tube attached to it, which was apparently the SARGE itself. The bulky agent gave Jack the SARGE, and Jack began to strap it onto his arm.

"WAIT!" yelled Namek. He took the SARGE, and flipped a small switch on its right side. He then gave it back to Jack. "Safety was off."

OOO

The agent's deployment truck sped out of the garage. Inside the vehicle, Jack Steel was learning how to aim and fire a gun. Namek was teaching him, as he'd taught all the recruits after he'd joined.

"See that little knob on the end of the barrel?" he asked. Jack nodded. "Sight down that," Namek ordered. "The scope works wonders sometimes, but you really cannot beat a nice traditional sight mechanism." Jack looked down the sight to the training dummy that Namek had pinned to the wall. It was made of ballistic blocks, made to resemble a Noob. Jack fired a regular bullet into the dummy.

"Wrong, wrong!" Namek reprimanded. "You're aiming for the heart, not the spleen. Try again."

Jack tried again, and hit the dummy in the hand.

"Wrong again! You're too stressed! Sight down the barrel, like it's natural for you! Don't give in to the stress!"

Jack tried a third time. The bullet spun out of the end of the barrel, and with a thwang it buried itself in the dummy's heart region. Namek clapped as the red lights in the dummy's eyes went dim. "Good job," he congratulated. "You probably won't need the shotgun ammo this time. We're tracking down one guy, not ten."

The truck stopped, and the back opened. The agents dropped out, took battle stances, and surveyed the scene. Jack, not knowing a battle stance to take, simply sighted down the barrel of his SG349.

The agents moved out. Namek grabbed Jack's arm. "I'll cover you," he promised. "Just come with me, 'cause you're the new guy."

They ran down a dark alleyway, pipes dripping. Their feet splashed in puddles. Horrible fungi grew from cracks in between the brickwork.

Then they saw him. He was short, and wearing a leather jacket, and on his back was a cluster of bombs. He was running, no, pelting towards where the two agents were, but couldn't see them in the dark of the alley. Namek ducked behind a pipe, took out his SG349, and held it in both hands. The bomber saw the flash of shiny metal, and in turn ducked behind a fruit crate. Then the gunbattle began.

Bullets roared past Jack's head. He rolled behind another pipe, took aim at the terrorist, and fired. The bullet missed and hit a fallen watermelon, which exploded. Jack reloaded, and while he did so the terrorist took out an AK-74 and started spraying the alleyway with flecks of death. Namek peered at Jack.

"I think we should advance when he's reloading," Jack whispered.

"Right."

They stayed behind the pipes for a long while. Bullets unpacked the packed earth of the alley floor, creating large clouds of dust. Then the sound of shooting died away, and clicks were heard. Somebody swore as a piece of metal hit the ground with a crack. Jack and Namek saw their chance and took it. They stepped out from behind the pipes, guns drawn. They assumed a position where the terrorist would have no opportnity to escape without getting a bullet in his brain.

"Put the gun down," Namek ordered. "You're under arrest, by order of Dusek."

The terrorist spat at Namek's boots.

"You're nothing to us!" he sneered.

Namek hit him on the back of the neck. The guy was out of it before he even hit the floor.