Mr Smith tapped his pen dully against his thigh as he tried in vain to drown out the boredom within him. Warehouse 1 professionals had forewarned him that stabilising the quantum field around the boy would take some time but this was long, too long. In fact, his whole time here could be summed up by that one word. Long. He had thought this would be a relatively quick assignment. Get in, get the guy, get the guy to base, get out mission accomplished. This unfortunately, turned out not to be the case. An urgent order sent personally by the head of Interpol B himself had ordered that Mr Smith stay put since there apprently was overwhelming evidence suggesting that the mark was at high risk of being taken . These simple orders thus condemning Mr Smith to stay on this island indefinitely as a glorified bodyguard frustarting him to no ends.

Mr Smith let out another sigh. And to think this mission started off so well. While the officials here were near unbribable, meaning convenient encounters were hard to arrange to say the least, what they lacked in flexibility they made up in their strict adherence to codes and doctrines. A feature which Mr Smith exploited to the fullest. It only took him a few photoshopped IDs of a supposed Ministry of Health official and an urgent sounding phone call to the school for the system to deliver the boy straight into his hands. Even better still, the boy was out cold before he had even stepped foot into the school, allowing him to cart the boy away scot-free under the guise of 'Professional First Aid'.

It was what came after that was tearing at his wits

As part of Interpol protocol, an agent was supposed to 'assess the mental health of the subject before further action' whatever that meant, thus Mr Smith resigned himself to asking a quick who where and when just to put the ticks in the checkboxes.

And that ladies and gentlemen is where it all fell apart.

"As part of this Psychiatrist evaluation, I need you to answer the following questions as truthfully as possible do you understand me."

"Yes Herr"

"Very well first question, where are we now?"

"Singapur obviously."

"Not Singapore?"

"No Singapur" He said with particular emphasis on the pur portion

"Hmm.. very well" Mr Smith had been rather superficially briefed beforehand on the eccentricities of Singaporean English due to the immediacy of the operation thus, he was willing to overlook this as the slip of a tongue. For now at least, "Next question, do you know who you are?"

"Yes, I do Herr. My name is Katherine von Weiss, daughter of Konrad von Weiss and as members of the von Weiss family, I order you, Angloisprachig to release me right this instant!"

Mr Smith was taken aback by the outburst. This boy, he thought this boy sure had balls to say the things he did in his position and Mr Smith did in some small ways respect him for that. But more importantly, just this one sentence defiance was starting to rile him up

Already he could sense a sordid amalgamation of emotions swirling within him. The Trifecta of Emotions, anger determination frustration once dispirate and middling in nature had started to twine once more, a forebearer of something bigger. Already he could feel his emotions starting to get a grip on him. His eyes were now blood red, his hands clenching a little too tight, his vein starting to show. Within him he felt tempted to to fire back at this insolent boy. Maybe teach him a lesson or two about manner. Maybe. But why stop at just a slap on the wrist? Why not teach him a lesson he will never forget.

Remember how you taught Santiago in Bolivia respect? He couldn't walk a week after that. Now that's effective teaching. Or do you remember how you broke every single finger off that stubborn man Khan. Not so stubborn getting all his fingers chopped all ay. Who's a cares if it's a kid. Like they say best give the kid a lesson during his formative years before he gets distracted by all this electronic rif raffs. On that thought he let out a smile. The emotions within had now interlocked to deadly tempest of emotions, each feeding off the other growing ever stronger in the process

Thankfully, for the sake of his job and the boy's safety, his mind quickly caught on to the dire state of his emotions and acted fast and swiftly put down these forming emotions. He was doing a psych evaluation for a child not interrogating cut throat Yugoslav Partisans. These emotions had a time and place and it isn't now. His emotions, red-faced from all the scolding, politely saw themselves off with its tail between its legs. His mind, now finally free from the clouds in his judgement, instantly snapped back to work, wondering. Specifically, wondering what were the words he was speaking of? Weiss? Junker? Anglois? Mr Smith narrowed his eyes, trying to find any hint that this might be a joke, even maybe a creative way to stall time. But this was not the case it seemed. Judging from the boy's body language and the way he talked it seemed to Mr Smith that the boy was absolutely convinced of all the nonsense that spewed from his mouth.

And in all honesty, it was starting to annoyed him.

"So daughter of Konard von Weiss," Mr Smith says rather sarcastically "give me one good reason to release you."

"Is the von Weiss name not reason enough?," the boy said angrily before his tone turned imperious "Do you not know of my name Angloi? Because if you knew, you would know that messing with the Big 8 families is tantamount to death in this colony. We Weiss have close contact with The Governor Angloi and if you still continue to detain me, I'll make sure this detention will be your last "

Mr Smith smirked "here then. If you are so confident take my cellphone and call that 'governor' of yours will you?"

On hearing this, the boy tilted his head in confusion.

"Say Herr what is this cellphone you speak about? Is it a new invention by the Americanas? The Anglois? Do tell, my interest has been piqued now"

Does this fully grown, 18 something year old teen, seriously not know what a cellphone is? Mr Smith had seen first hand the sheer prevalence of cellphones on the streets of Singapore so he assumed that even if the teen didn't own one for god knows what reason there was no way that he wouldn't have heard of it. Once again Mr Smith tried to find any hint that this was all a farce and once again he came out empty. Mr Smith was starting to get angry. Angry at the boy yes but more importantly, angry at himself, at his inadequacy. Of course, the boy was joking, knowledge of such a common thing as a cellphone is basically a given. Yet despite all the logic that his brain was feeding him, his guts kept telling him otherwise, that he was wrong that this guy really was telling him the truth!

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At this point, a rather frustrated Mr Smith was starting to seriously contemplate his life choices.

Initially, Interpol had offered to team him up with a clinical psychologist for this mission but in order to be in line with his soloist reputation and more than he wanted to admit, his pride, Mr Smith had vehemently denied their offer, choosing instead to complete this mission alone. He was confident that he, despite not him being not a certified psychologist, would be able to do a decent enough job on whomever the subject was thanks to his treasure trove of life experience and his keen interest in that field.

Now he realised he was wrong

He briefly considered backtracking his decision before quickly brushing away that thought. No way could he do that, not if he wanted Interpol to at the very least consider him field-worthy. He was well aware that there were hawks in the higher-ups constantly 'looking out' for the welfare of older field agents by finding excuses to push them out of active roles in favour of younger agents and he knew a break from his long-lasting tradition could very well signal to them that his time of retirement was nigh.

To put it simply, Mr Smith was in a bit of a bind. On one hand, he wanted to do the mission as quickly and as successfully as possible in order to gain back Interpol's confidence in his abilities. On the other hand, judging by the situation, it was unlikely he could favourably resolve this situation on his own. Yes in all fairness he wasn't completely alone. He still had access to all known and less known Interpol facilities in the country and was free to use them without prejudice but beyond that, he was on his own.

Mr Smith took in a deep breath before letting out a long sigh.

If he could barely even manage his temper with a teen how could he ever hope to be prepared to tackle problems ten times worse? Maybe they were right. Maybe he was indeed getting old. Maybe it was finally time to retire....

"Herr?" The boys ask snapping Mr Smith back to reality "May I take a look? He ask, palm spread wide open

"You may," Mr Smith says carefully considering his next words. All his life contemplation aside, he knew he still had a job to do and as long as he still had something to do, he'd be sure to put his 101% into it. Playing back his previous interactions with the boy, he realised there was no use getting so worked up over him. If he was to get what he wanted, he'd best play along. Step one to this, be less of an 'angloi'. "But before such, I must apologise for my Angloi nature. You see my Vorläufer were from the Americas. We migrated out after the war. As such, I do still hold some vestige of my Angloi nature. America was my childhood just like how Singapur which is why I understand your urgency to return to it. Unfortunately as mentioned before, you are currently under suspicion for certain ill doings which while we don't suspect you for the crime itself we still do have to detain you for your protection." Mr Smith says before indifferently flashing one his many forged id cards.

This too was part of the plan. While it might seem mundane on surface viewing, it was actually a well-honed skill he had picked up from his many years in the service. He had timed it in a way that it swiped fast enough that the boy wouldn't get a good look at the name of the organization on it but slow enough that he could at least make out his features and therefore dispel any suspicion he held.

And unsupirsingly, it worked.

The boy on seeing this display quickly loosened up, gently laying his stiff back against the bed frame, before it too succumbed to the general entanglement, slowly softening itself back to its original state. Now he sat there, his head tilted slightly upwards and arms laying limply by his side like a pair of overcooked noodles, it too having succumbed to the waves of change. Any hostility and exuberance that Mr Smith once felt were now replaced by a deep sense of tranquillity as though a huge weight had been taken of the boy's chest. It was at this point that Mr Smith knew, even before the boy had mouthed his first words, that he had well and truly taken the bait.

"Ah so you are part of the Mittlepa."

"Yes indeed, specifically it's foreign branch as you can very well tell," Mr Smith said, making sure his face betrayed a tinge of embarrassment "In fact, it is my first time on this sunny island of Singapur so I am still trying to get my head around how things are run here. Before this, I was posted to Mittlepa's foreign branch in the Americas. Michigan I believe it's called."

"Ooooo then could you tell me more about how was it like in the CSA? Is it really true that the people there live hedonistically dystopian lifestyles where the community is key and towns are cities?" The boy says with a sparkle in his eyes "Is it also true that the reds are now starting to liberalizing under President Clinton. My Papa seems to think that is the case but I just don't know. Do you actually think they would do it, actually return the land of the free? Return Canada to Kanadisch?"

"Well I was actually mostly desk-bound during my time there," Mr Smith said subconsciously cringing inside "So I wouldn't say I have a street level view of everything that is going on there but the fact they even invited us in the first place makes me feel optimistic of the CSA's future."

At this point, Mr Smith could tell his days of worming his way though the conversation was numbered. He had already made up too much and if the boy continued his deluge of information only to receive an unsatisfactory awnser well. Finessing his way through the conversation can be effective but one must forget that there alwasy a timer attached to these kind of things. Sometimes it's long but other times it's best to call it quits while you are ahead lest they smelled something fishy.

"Well Frau Katherine, I would love to continue this conversation however right now you are due for a quick medical checkup just in case and it would be so rude to let the doctor wait wouldn't it." Mr Smith said gesturing to the nurse "So if you may, my aide will be bringing you there shortly."

"Very well, I consent. But please do show me that cellphone of yours when we got the time will you?" The boy said pleadingly

"I acquiescence."

Satisfied, the boy gently heaved himself off the bed then briskly strolled out of the room followed closely by the nurse.

Seeing their exit, Mr Smith waited till their footsteps were nothing but a whisper before slowly closing the door before firmly locking it in place. Giving the door one final shake to ensure it was sealed, Mr Smith then proceeds to immediately collapse onto the chair. His head, oh his head was pounding. Forcing his hand downwards, he tried to move into a more comfortable position on the chair only to fail miserably. He was weak, WEAK. As he shouted again and again into the noise, he could start to hear insults echo above the din, its every word emboldening him. So he tried once again, wanting to prove himself wrong. But he lucked out, his hands couldn't find the proper grip and this caused slid down ever further. All the while the headache within him, wreaked havoc upon his mind, punishing him for every action he took. He just couldn't do it could he.

This pain as excruciating pain as it was now, had initially started right after he had forcibly put down his emotions. Initially, it started as just a dull throb, so insignificant that Mr Smith had done the wise decision of ignoring it and assumed it to be a mere byproduct of his brutal action on his mind, destined to fade away naturally. This was however was anything but the case.

The pain started to grow exponentially peaking nearing the end of his conversation thus, forcing him to quickly end the conversation not just to prevent the unmasking of his foil but also because it was getting unbearable and he didn't know how long he could last.

Now on the floor in a more 'comfortable' position, Mr Smith contented himself to staring blankly at the ceiling waiting for the pain to subside. In time he would investigate the syndrome cause but for now, he would rest well.

Rest well Indeed.