Last Call (part 2. CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM GOLDEN CIRCLE!!!)
Tequila was the younger of the two agents, but had more experience. He even had a personal claim in this mission. He was one of the victims overcome with Poppy’s virus. His recreational drug resulted him graft from Champ but he was a solid agent. He would face his discipline after the mission but this was a personal favor from the bossman to see it through.
Bourbon was a few years older than Tequila but only a few years in as a Statesman. The humid temperature was already making him moist and his thick dark beard itchy. They scanned the area and slowly made their way to the diner which was located in the back of the town.
The trio stepped inside to find an immaculate relic of the past. Built within a cave was Poppy’s Diner. Silver chrome outlined the ceiling and walls while a red chrome center piece housed the kitchen and bar area. Several tall swivel stools surrounded the center piece as a few table and chairs were placed within. Red leather booths spanned the wall besides the windows overlooking the quaint little town. The entire restaurant reflected beautifully on the glasslike waxed floors. Champ noticed the peculiar chromed dog houses off to the side, but didn’t see either of its occupants. Behind the bar was what had all three Statesman’s attention. Stainless steel ovens and stoves were placed behind the serving bar, all clean preserved. Beside the appliances was a menacing meat grinder and it still had its contents within. They stepped behind the bar to find the body of Poppy, victim to her own toxic drugs. Agent Galahad, the younger one, administered it to her to force the antivenom code. Blue veins lined her skin while a pool of blood leaked from the orifices of her head. Ghastly end.
Champs heart skipped at the sight of the meat grinder. Among the cut meat which now started to smell, he noticed the bits of cutaway denim fabric and the mangled flask of a Statesman belt buckle. Agent Whiskey was the one to ground into hamburger. Damn shame. Sure, he was told Whiskey went rogue and nearly jeopardize the mission and costing millions of lives. But he was still one of the best damn agents this company had seen. The guy was practically a son to Champ. Of course, Kingsman and Statesman alike are authorized to neutralize threats by any means necessary for the sake of mission success, but dammit Whiskey deserved better.
“Jesus H. Almighty,” gasped Tequila. The sight of his former comrade reduced to that made his stomach churn. “Them Brits are brutal, ain’t they?”
“Never expect it with their fancy talk and getup,” responded Bourbon.
“Well, they did what they had to for those people,” said Champ. “Our boy here decided they were all better off dead and nearly killed those two in the process. Lab boys are gonna be here soon, so lets mosey up what we can and get this place under wraps.” The two agents snapped into action and began securing the rest of the perimeter. They left Champ to give one last look at the fallen Statesman and wonder what would make Whiskey go against the grain….
