MEANWHILE, AT THE CIA HEADQUARTERS IN WASHINGTON, DC...
Daniel Dickinson was pacing through the halls, as he did when he was thinking. "What the hell is Warehouse 13?" he wondered aloud. He had just entered his office when he noticed that a scary lady was sitting in his chair with his back turned to him. "Hello," she said in a creepy voice. She slowly turned around 180 degrees to face him, for dramatic effect. "We haven't met. I'm Mrs. Frederic."
"How did you get in here?" Dickinson asked. A male stripper stepped out from her shadow. "And who is this? Is this a joke?"
"Do I look like a joke, Mr. Dickinson?"
"...No, you just look really creepy."
"As I hoped I would."
Dickinson sighed. "Okay, let's cut to the chase. Warehouse 13. Is it yours?"
"It's mine. And so are Mr. Lattimer and Ms. Bering."
"Excuse me?"
Mrs. Frederic pulled out a gun and a squirrel. "Do I need to repeat myself?"
"The old 'threaten to shoot a dead squirrel with a gun' thing doesn't work on me, lady. It's the oldest trick in the CIA playbook."
"Well, I suppose we could have a staring contest and see who wins. The person who wins keeps the agents."
"Fine. As long as you and the stripper leave afterward."
And so the epic staring battle began.