Exceptional Britain's greatest secret agent battles his nemesis. The Man With The Boring Building by Macsween Stuck in an elevator writing prompt entry

I get to the building on time. I park my car in the best spot, the spot that I will best be able to make my getaway from. I'm inside the building in moments and a couple of karate chops later I'm past security. I shouldn't get to cocky though because those guards are just hired help, dumb bums and entirely expendable. They're not even wearing name badges. They had no chance really. I stuff the unconscious guards in a cupboard. They'll be found by a cleaner in the morning but no matter, it happens. If you are going to work for an evil organisation then, no matter what your position is, you should expect things like this to happen. I creep along the corridor, stealthy, silent and unseen; God, I'm good. CCTV cameras sweep back and forth. I watch them for a couple of seconds, work out the timing and a couple of judo rolls later I'm past them and in the clear. I'm wearing my white tux. It picks up dust and hair from the floor, damn. I wipe it off and fix my bow tie; I've got a reputation to upkeep after all. Up-ahead I see the lift. I need to get in it, so creeping like a ninja I go towards it. There's a door to my right. It opens and two guards come out. "It's you," one shouts in surprise. "It sure is gentlemen," I reply in my trademark suave and sophisticated way. These ones are wearing name badges; I might be in trouble here. Before they can raise the alarm I chop the first one in the throat. His machine gun falls to the floor and lands with a clatter. He grasps his neck and makes a weird choking sound. I must have done some serious damage; Her Majesty will be pleased. The second one is a bit slow off the mark but his punch connects. I take a glancing blow to the side of the head but it doesn't hurt. He threw it more with surprise than skill and I have my moment. I take a step to the left, feign a punch and kick him in the crown jewels. He says, "Oof," and goes down. I stand over them and admire my work. A feel a blow across the back of my legs and I fall to the floor. A third guard, who'd of thought? I roll over onto my back and dodge a stomp to the face. He points his machine gun at me and quick as a flash I kick the barrel. The gun goes off and tears up the floor, missing my leg by millimetres. That was too close. He's unloaded the whole clip and with shaking hands he's trying to re-load. The other guard's gun is near my foot. I hook it whilst he fumbles with a fresh clip and I manage to grab hold of it. I let off a few rounds and he falls in a crumpled heap on top of his colleagues. I pick myself up, dust down my tux, fix my cuffs and walk on towards the elevator. I check for traps and concealed guards and once I'm satisfied I'm in. The doors close and I laugh at how easy this is and then I think: wait a minute, this was too easy. I get off at the next floor up and creep along another featureless corridor. This building is boring and I don't understand how a billionaire industrialist could have such a boring, lifeless building. I suppose world domination comes before interior design these days. The man with the boring building, that's Max Scorpio alright. He doesn't even have a pool filled with dangerous animals, you know like piranhas with metal teeth, or barracudas with laser beams attached to their heads. And I'd certainly expect a nefarious super villain like Scorpio to have at least that. I have a sneaky look about and find a room with loads of goons having a refreshment break. I feel like running in and taking them all on in un-armed combat, feel like trying out the new chops I've learnt but I don't have time. I check the gadgets (the ones that I could fit in my pockets) I've brought. I have the nose thing for breathing under water, a cigarette case which is really a gun, a cigarette which is actually a syringe containing a knock out liquid; the SAS survival guide, a compass which doubles as a rape alarm, a packet of poisonous peanuts and shark repellent. But what if he's got a different type of fish? Damn, should of planned this better, who has sharks these days anyway? They are severely endangered. He's most likely got some type of carp and those things can grow massive, so the shark repellent might come in handy. My last item is a vial of knockout gas. That'll do. I sneak into the air vent above the guards and give them the gas. This is too easy. With all guards incapacitated I proceed with my mission. I bump into a cleaner in the hallway. She's beautiful, big of eyes and bust, just my type. "So, do you like secret agents?" I say all charming like. "Eh?" "I'm Basildon: Barrington Basildon and I'd like to buy you a drink. What time do you get off?" "Eight." "That's great. I'll be finished before then and I have my car with me. It's parked outside. Do you like Aston Martin? "I've never met him. Is he nice?" I don't have time to explain and I walk away; shame, I liked her. I'm not too keen on Max Scorpio's hiring standards. I leave the cleaner; I need to get to Scorpio's office on the seventh floor. I contemplate for a moment. Stairs or elevator? I'm a little tired from fighting the guards so decide to take the elevator. I head back towards it and get in. I need to conserve my strength. I expect the boss to be better than his guards, tougher, and I have to be fresh. The sterile doors close with a bang and I feel the lift zip up. The numbers flash by: 2, 3 4...and then it stops with a thud. I lose my balance, fall over and the machine gun falls from my shoulder. I look around to make sure that no one saw me fall and remember that I am alone. I'm always alone. Always. Suddenly it hits me: I am alone. I've been a dedicated secret agent for so long that I've lost all contact with the outside world. No friends, no wife no kids, just a never-ending cycle of killing villains and making love to beautiful woman after beautiful woman. Sure that sounds exciting, but when the mission is over and the excitements gone, I'm nothing but a sad old man in a tux drinking way too much. How many anonymous henchmen have I killed over the years? How many nefarious plots have I stopped? How many times have I been down the STD clinic? Too many, that's for sure. For Queen and country eh? That's what I signed up for and what's she doing now? Sitting back at the palace with feet up on a corgi watching Breaking Bad probably. I press the help button and a voice says, "Ah Barrington Basildon I presume. I've been expecting you." "Who is this?" I say. There is a pause and then the voice says, "Eh... Max Scorpio." "Scorpio. I'm coming for you, this is the last time you try and take over the world." I hear laughing coming through the intercom and I feel my rage increase. Relax Barrington, remember you are Her Majesty's representative for Great Britain; in fact it's you who puts the 'great' in Great Britain. A million men want to be you, keep it cool. "Oh Mr Basildon, you do make me laugh. What did you expect was going to happen today?" "What always happens," I say back with a sneer in my voice. "I expected to get the girl, kill the baddies and save the entire planet." "And how do you propose to do that?" "I'm going to burst into your office, take out a bunch of name badge wearing guards,and have some sort of long and drawn out fist fight with your personal body guard who will have some sort of hilarious name. I'll kill him, then get knocked out by you, and then I'll wake up in some sort of easily escapable situation. You're going to leave me there and leave the building assuming that I'm going to die. I'll escape using one of my gadgets and I'll chase you in my car and I'll end up killing you in a completely absurd way. Then I'll make love to your cleaner in your nuclear submarine and be back in Blighty in time for tea and medals." I hear clapping coming from the other end of the intercom. "Very good Mr Basildon, but you are forgetting one little detail." "What's that?" "You are trapped in a lift, a lift which I control. You are at my mercy." I look around for an escape hatch but there isn't one. "Don't bother looking for an escape hatch," he says. "I designed this whole building and I designed the lifts with this situation in mind." "What do you mean? "Well Mr Basildon. Do you have any idea how many secret agents I have killed, agents who tried to storm this building? No, well let me tell you it's a lot and do you know what the funny thing is?" "What?" "They always take the elevator, never the stairs." Blast. I should have taken the stairs. "I really though more of you Barrington, thought that at least you, Britain's greatest ever secret agent, would have had the foresight to take the stairs." "What do you expect me to do now Scorpio? Cry?" "No Mr Barrington, but I must say you are almost right. What I expect of you rhythms with cry. Try and work it out whilst I decide how I'm going to do it." The intercom buzzes off and I sit down with my legs crossed like someone meditating in an eighties karate movie. I go through the gadgets again, trying to find one that might help me out of this situation and I wonder just how cross Her Majesty will be with me. Writing Prompt Write a short story. The topic is: Stuck in an elevator! Author Notes Stuck in an elevator contest entry. Just for fun. SAS- Special Air Service- part of the British Army's special forces. One of the best units in the world, if not the best. Artwork by Doris 1022.

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