Context: this story picks off from "Double Trouble", in an alternate universe in which Krieger kills Barry's battery before he has the chance to kill Archer or Katya

The ISIS office hummed with its usual cacophony of dysfunction, the air thick with the mingled scents of bourbon, gunpowder residue, and whatever ungodly air freshener Pam had stolen from her Yakuza man whores. Sterling Archer lounged against the break room counter, nursing what he insisted was his third drink of the day (it wasn't), while Cyril fumbled with the coffee maker like he was trying to decrypt the Voynich manuscript.

"So basically," Archer drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "what you're telling me is that Barry is just... off? Like some kind of murderous robot Roomba that finally ran out of juice?"

"Not exactly," Krieger emerged from behind a previously unnoticed equipment cart, wearing what appeared to be a welding mask adorned with anime cat ears. "The electromagnetic pulse from my Modified Tesla Cardiac Arrester—"

"Modified what now?"

"My MTCA! It's like a taser crossed with a—" Krieger paused, his eyes gleaming with the special madness reserved for mad scientists and people who collect limited edition Beanie Babies. "You know what? The technical details aren't important. What matters is that Barry's cyborg systems are completely dormant. He's basically a very angry paperweight."

"SPEAKING of angry paperweights," Mallory Archer's voice cut through the room like a gin-soaked razor blade as she emerged from her office, "I suppose now would be the perfect time to mention what Nikolai told me about during one of our... late-night intelligence exchanges."

"Mother!" Archer's face contorted in horror. "Phrasing! And also, gross!"

"Oh, please," Mallory rolled her eyes, taking a deliberate sip from her martini glass. "How else do you think I could have learned about the KGB's little science experiment island? By reading their quarterly newsletter?"

"Hey, Boris works really hard on those", objected Archer.

Lana Kane's heels clicked against the floor as she entered, her expression suggesting she'd rather be anywhere else – preferably somewhere involving large caliber weapons and minimal Sterling Archer. "Wait, you knew about a KGB weapons facility and didn't think to mention it until now?"

"Well excuse me for waiting until we had actionable intelligence," Mallory snapped. "Besides, the government wasn't offering nearly enough money then. But now..." She smiled like a shark that had just discovered an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet.

"How much?" Archer and Lana asked simultaneously, then glared at each other.

"Let's just say it's enough to fend off Trudy Beakman's latest attempt to take over the entire penthouse floor," Mallory replied, then added under her breath, "And maybe finally fix that mysterious burn mark on my office ceiling."

"That was one flaming Dr Pepper, and I maintain it was Pam's fault," Archer muttered.

The conversation might have devolved into another argument about proper break room flambe protocol if not for the sudden appearance of Katya Kasanova in the doorway, her white hair reflecting under the fluorescent lights. "Perhaps," she purred, "ve should focus on ze matter at hand. After all, zis is not just about money."

"Of course not," Lana's voice could have frozen helium. "It's about proving yourself trustworthy, right? And that you're tooootally not a double agent"

"No!," Katya's eyes narrowed. "It is about preventing whatever weapon they're developing from making Barry look like children's toy."

"Exactly." Mallory agreed, "and though I hate to agree with Ms. Vicky Venona, we need all three of you over there this instant!"

"And why exactly do we need Sterling?" Lana asked, her tone suggesting she'd rather work with a team of rabid wolverines.

"Because," Mallory interjected, swirling her martini, "the facility's security system was designed by an obsessive James Bond fan. Or, whatever the Soviet version of James Bond is."

"Uncle Vanya?" Archer wondered.

"Shut up. It requires three specific body types to bypass: one male over six feet tall, one female with," she gestured vaguely at Lana's hands, "certain genetic advantages, and one blonde. It's like some sort of deranged Charlie's Angels situation."

"So..." Archer drained his glass, a grin spreading across his face. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as you can pack," Mallory replied. "And Sterling? Perhaps this time, leave the tactleneck at home."

"First of all, how dare you," Archer began, but Mallory cut him off.

"Oh for God's sake, Sterling, pack whatever ridiculous outfit you want. Just get this done before the ODIN realizes what we're doing and tries to claim jurisdiction. Again."

Somewhere in the distance, Pam could be heard starting a betting pool on who would shoot whom first. The smart money, as usual, was on Lana.