Miss Penny Sterling knew she wasn't, strictly officially properly speaking, a field agent.
She was an analyst. A desk jockey. Even (as the field agents insisted) a glorified secretary.
She'd show them! She'd traced the missing quantum entanglement decryptor's delivery to Dr. DeVille's
Mansion all by herself, from her desk, and she was damned if she was going to let some
louche devil-may-care misogynistic agent go in there and get it back (and then steal all the credit)!
She had been to all the courses. She knew how to jigger the gate alarms. She could blend in with
the guests at the party. She even got to dance with the mad Doctor himself. She may have had one too
many cocktails, but she was still quite able to perform a simple ten-digit PIN decryption before the alarm
went off, thank you very mu... WAAARP! WAAAARP! WAAAAARP! Oh, fiddlesticks!!
Inevitably, she was shown the lake in the mansion grounds filled with flesh-devouring pirahna. Of course, she was made to walk the plank barefoot to the small concrete island in the lake (which, doubtless, would start to sink back into the lake as soon as they activated the servo mechanisms). Of course, she was handcuffed and ballgagged... Where was a bloody field agent when you needed one?
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