You’re waiting in the briefing room for your next assignment. No one else is there, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You hope it will be a good mission this time. Your last one was disastrous and you barely got out alive, what with the electricity going haywire. That reminds you to check the voltage on your stun gun. You don’t want another enemy prisoner to be sent to the infirmary again. Five were bad enough.
As you are toggling the switches on the weapon, the doors at the end of the hall open and Mr. Bond enters. His dark hair is greying at the temples and crowfeet line the edges of his eyes, but he walks with an air of authority as he marches into the room. The cane in his right hand, a souvenir from his earlier missions when he was shot in the leg, is lined with countless nicks and burns from years in the force. He holds a manila folder under one arm.
He scowls as he watches you fumble with the gun. He pauses and clears his throat, motioning to the weapon with his cane. You hurriedly put the device in its holster, set your hands on the table, and face Mr. Bond.
“Sorry, Sir,” you say as you give the commander your full attention.
“It’s quite alright,” Mr. Bond sighs as he sets down the folder and slides it across the table to you.
You quickly open the folder and gasp.
“Sir!” you exclaim, “This mission is far too difficult for someone of my age and experience!”
“I realize that,” he says as he takes the seat opposite you and grunts as he lowers himself into the chair. “But I think you can do it. You have shown great skill and responsibility in all your previous missions and I think you are ready for this one.”
You start to disagree, but Mr. Bond raises his hand continues.
“I understand you are young and inexperienced in such matters. That is why I have gathered a team to assist you. You will meet them at the location.”
“But, Sir—“
“If you choose to decline, I assure you that this opportunity won’t arise for a long time to come,” he warns, “but if you feel you are unready, I will accept your concerns.”
He sits back in his chair and regards you with his dark calculating eyes, waiting for your answer.
“I-It isn’t that I won’t accept it, sir,” you stammer, “It’s just that I don’t think I’m ready.”
“You’re ready.”