The next day when Illya entered the base, he was overcome with a slight feeling of dread. He knew that going into that office after what he'd done yesterday would show a certain amount of chutzpah, but what was the worst thing that could happen? Napoleon putting salt in his coffee again? He'd live.

Moving down the corridor towards the Director's Office, Illya frowned slightly at the lack of noise coming from the room. He slowly and carefully turned the knob….

A sudden shrill whistle pierced the air as earsplitting pops and cracks sounded all over the blond agent. In no time at all, poor Illya had been surrounded by smoke as purple, pink, red and green sparkles flew all around him. The terrified Russian, not about to make out was going on around him, gave a frightened yelp, which came out as some odd-sounding bleat, and as the smoke and colors dissipated, Illya could hear his friend's sadistic laughter from the director's chair. It was this that pulled Illya back together, along with his anger at Napoleon for such a stupid trick. Standing there in the doorway of the Director's Office, which had been cleaned last night, the Russian glared at the acting director.

"Good morning, Illya," Solo grinned cruelly, "Care for a cup of coffee?"

Illya Kuryakin didn't even deign to respond, turning on his heel and storming back down the corridor, seething with fury.

Fireworks. It was a stupid, childish prank, something he should have expected from someone like Napoleon. But how to get back at him? He couldn't use the flour bombs again. Napoleon would be expecting that.

As he passed by the base laboratory, he paused as a thought struck him.

It was simple. All he needed was to make sure Napoleon wasn't in the office when he did it…

With a sly smirk, Illya opened the door and entered the laboratory to get supplies.