Barry or Other Barry took the disclaimer saying that I don't own any Archer characters. Just an idea from my tiny brain…
From Me And Other Barry
Archer sat in his office late at night. "Oh, what the hell?" He sighed before making the call.
The video call came to life. "Go for Barry!" Barry's face was on screen.
"Barry!" Archer called out.
"Hey Archer!" Barry grinned. "How's it hanging buddy?"
"Lower than a witch's tits on spring break," Archer groaned. "Are you doing anything?"
Barry casually looked around the cabin room he was in. There were several dead neo-Nazis and a lot of bloods splatter on the walls. And a large duffel bag full of cash on a nearby desk. "Nothing much. Just getting some exercise. Maybe do a little banking later? What's up?" He sat down at the desk and put his phone on a nearby phone stand.
Archer shrugged. "I just wanted to call. Needed to talk to somebody."
"Let me guess," Barry folded his arms. "It's Lana isn't it?"
"I wish it was just her," Archer said. "If it was just her, I could handle it. I tell ya, Barry. I think I dodged a bullet with that woman. Well figuratively. Can't say the same for a lot of literal ones…"
"What happened?"
"Oh, the usual," Archer waved. "Everybody's blaming me for making their lives worse. Mother's blaming me for not getting any money on the latest mission because the bad guy who hired us was a douchebag. A bunch of scientists from Antarctica are blaming me for speeding up climate change. Blah, blah, blah. But now I'm starting to realize that maybe I shouldn't have to put up with that anymore? I've decided to try to find another spy agency to work for."
"Ooh," Barry winced. "Good luck with that buddy. I mean, this particular job market is tougher to get into than a gimp suit with a busted zipper and no cornstarch in sight."
"So, it's not just me?" Archer did a double take.
"Why do you think I ended up working for The Agency?" Barry asked. "Apparently when you get a reputation of being a rogue agent, taking over the KGB, murdering half the scientists on a space station, getting ousted by your ex-girlfriend from the KGB and being declared legally dead twice…People really don't want to hire you."
"Oh," Archer blinked. "How did that happen?"
"Simple," Barry shrugged. "I went to Krieger to get some new skin. Your mother made me an offer and I accepted. Say what you want about Krieger, he does nice work."
Archer realized something else. "Hang on. How come nobody tried to arrest you for the whole KGB murdering scientists thing?"
"That's where the being declared legally dead twice thing comes in," Barry explained.
"Ah," Archer nodded. "Gotcha."
"If anybody asks," Barry told him. "I'm that other, other Barry Dylan."
"Different guy same name scam," Archer nodded. "Got it."
"It's not all bad," Barry shrugged. "Krieger made me some skin, hair and a new dick for free…"
"I wondered about that," Archer said aloud.
"And technically I'm a freelance agent so I can do other shit," Barry added. "But yeah I get why you would want to leave."
"It's like nobody appreciates me," Archer grumbled. "That they use me as an excuse for their own shitty lives. I just need a change. I know what you're thinking, Sterling Archer hates change. But maybe in this case, it's not a bad idea?"
"Maybe you should consider a side hustle?" Barry suggested. "That's what I did. I mean in this economy you do what you gotta do, you know?"
"What do you do?"
"A little of this, a little of that," Barry told him as he casually looked at the bag full of cash. "I started painting designer plates as part of my therapy. I found out I was pretty good at it. Next thing I knew, Barry Dylan had a lively business on Etsy."
"You sell designer plates?" Archer asked. "That you hand paint?"
"It's pretty relaxing," Barry told him. "And it's also a great cover. I mean, you have no idea how easy it is to fool people. No, I'm not Barry Dylan the rogue spy that killed all those people. I'm Barry Dylan the designer plate painter. Totally different guy. Oh yes, I'd love to paint a lighthouse themed set for you!"
"Huh," Archer mused. "How much do you make?"
"Well not as much as you can get for killing somebody or blowing up half of a small country," Barry admitted. "But I make some pretty good scratch. Plus, since I'm a cyborg I don't have as many expenses as I used to. Don't need to eat or drink really. But some champagne with some motor oil mixed in goes down pretty well."
"No offense Barry," Archer groaned. "But I don't think arts and crafts are my bag."
"Well then try something else," Barry suggested. "How about writing another book?"
"I tried that already," Archer groaned. "My old publisher got an injunction."
"Your book wasn't that bad."
"It wasn't my writing," Archer told him. "It was the fact that I held him outside a window by his ankles when he wouldn't give me an extra advance."
"Eh writers are a pretty high maintenance group anyway," Barry waved. "And I definitely would not do another porno if I were you!"
"You saw that?" Archer did a double take.
"Yeah," Barry nodded. "Seriously what was the deal with the penguin?"
"I don't know I was pretty drunk," Archer admitted.
"Obviously," Barry chuckled. "You know, instead of looking for another spy job…You should focus on finding out what you love to do. Start preparing for the second act in your life. Of course, in your case it's more like a third or fourth act…"
"What do you mean by that?" Archer asked. "Are you seriously talking about retirement?"
"Archer unless you turn into a cyborg like me," Barry told him. "That body of yours is gonna wear out. If your brain doesn't crack first. Even I don't want to do this for the rest of my life. And I'm pretty much freaking immortal now."
"What do you want to do?" Archer asked.
"Oh, I think one day I'm gonna give up the rat race," Barry said wistfully. "Move somewhere that's fun and has plenty of wi-fi. Tokyo sounds like a blast to me. I can do my painting during the day and develop my craft. Then go to a bunch of raves at night. Download some new software so I can speak Japanese. Or just do the whole travel the world thing. But this time as a tourist and not on business."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Archer mused. "How about going someplace where there's a beach?"
"Are you crazy?" Barry asked. "Do you have any idea how much damage salt water and sand together can do to a guy's processor? Uh uh. Give me a nice city full of asphalt any day. And full of bars."
"I see your point."
"Take my advice Archer," Barry said. "Stay where you are for the time being. Focus on what you love to do and go from there. Find a new hobby or interest and see if you can make that a career. Because as far as the spy game is concerned, you're not going to get any better than what you have now."
"What do you mean by that?" Archer asked offended.
Barry rolled his eyes. "I mean you get paid well for doing very little. You get away with actual murder. And your mom pays all your bills. Including your car and penthouse. Don't kill the Mommy Goose that's giving you a sweet lifestyle."
"You mean figuratively right?"
"Yeah let's go with that," Barry sighed.
"I guess I could try finding a new hobby," Archer thought aloud. "I mean, I'm Sterling Archer. I'm pretty much great at anything I do. Why not?"
"And this is from me and Other Barry," Barry told him. "Forget about Lana! Move on! She clearly has! You two weren't going to last anyway."
"We…probably could have," Archer paused. "If I wanted to!"
"That's what I thought," Barry rolled his eyes. "You know Lana's acting a lot like your mother lately?"
"Tell me about it," Archer groaned. "Everybody's been telling me to move on from Lana. And I'm starting to think they're right!"
"Duh!" Barry chuckled.
Archer sighed. "It's not just Lana though. She's just the shitty cherry on the shitty sundae. I thought I meant more to everyone at work than…Basically most of them treat me like they don't want me around! And when I am around they blame me for their bad behavior."
"Hey, I am here for you buddy," Barry said. "You know what you need? A Bro's road trip. One day you and me will take a good ol' ride to some country with lots of liquor, women with questionable morals, and not that many metal detectors. And then we just party! What do you say?"
"I'd like that," Archer admitted.
"Cool," Barry nodded. "It might take a while. I gotta see which countries I'm still wanted in or not but I'm sure we can find a place. Not Mexico. I had a tiny run in with a few cartel leaders. Long story. Kind of boring."
"Not Columbia either," Archer said. "I think I might still be wanted for trying to smuggle drugs into Columbia."
"Maybe we should give South America a miss?" Barry suggested. "Humidity isn't great for my processors anyway. How about the Netherlands? Pot and whores are legal!"
"That's a good one," Archer nodded. "We'd have to get a private jet. I think I may still be on the no-fly list."
"Yeah and the whole public airplane thing doesn't work with me either," Barry nodded. "Metal detectors. What are you gonna do? I gotta check my schedule. I think there's some kind of festival going on in a few months."
"Sounds like a plan," Archer smirked. "Or as close to one as we're going to get."
"I'll call you in a week or so and see what I find," Barry told Archer. "Hang in there, buddy. It's not that bad."
"I guess," Archer sighed. "I can't believe you make money painting plates and selling them."
"What can I say?" Barry shrugged. "It's an outlet for my creative side. Barry out." He turned off his phone.
"Well," Barry said to himself as he got up. "As well as killing and stealing from Nazis. The latter is way more lucrative."
He then picked up the bag and then the phone stand. "Hey, this phone stand is really neat. Score!" He put the phone stand in the bag and then left the cabin whistling.