Yukon, Florida, was a ghost town but, unlike other ghost towns they'd been to, this one was somehow creepier. It had been closed down by the Navy, as a flight and safety hazard only a few months before. This meant that, although nature was starting to show signs of reclaiming the area, the town still looked as though people still lived there. The stillness, and lack of vehicles, told of the true state of the town.
"This place gives me the shivers," Napoleon commented, as he and his partner brought their car to a halt in front of what had once been the Post Office.
"I know what you mean," Illya replied.
As they exited the vehicle, Illya kept his hand close to his gun; just in case. They were already expecting trouble, but the whole atmosphere around them made their nerves jangle.
The pair had been directed to the deserted town in order to pick up a package which contained details of yet another diabolical Thrush plot. The agent who had initially retrieved them had left them as a precaution, fearing that he had been compromised. As it turned out, a few hours after disclosing the location to HQ, the agent was found murdered.
As they entered the building their alertness levels skyrocketed. From somewhere within they could hear the sounds of something moving around. Fully expecting to come face to face with a Thrush operative, Napoleon and Illya drew their weapons and slowly moved towards the door, from behind which the noise was emanating.
The closer they got to the door, the less it human the sound seemed. With a glance at his partner, Napoleon reached out and turned the handle. As he pushed the door open, a ginger coloured ball of fur darted out; hissing at him as it passed by. Rather embarrassingly, Napoleon let out a slight yelp of surprise. He turned to Illya, hoping that he hadn't noticed.
The Russian's face was impassive, but Napoleon knew him too well. He could see the amused twinkle in the usually icy blue eyes, and the slight twitch of his lips as he fought against a smile.
"As the senior agent, I am declaring this incident to be classified," Napoleon stated, with a glare which dared Illya to defy him.
"I am sorry, Napoleon," the blond replied, trying to hold a laugh back. "You know what Mr Waverly thinks about leaving things out of mission reports."
Solo huffed, knowing he was never going to hear the last of it.
"Come on, let's get the package and leave. I've had enough of this place."