Centaurs don't use beds.
Ponies manage to do it, even though by all rights they shouldn't, but centaurs just have too much going on in the extraneous body part department. Even alicorns have it better off. The closest they might come to the concept would be a futon and a heavy comforter; anything more complicated would be a logistical nightmare.
When Tirek managed to make it to his - Spy's - quarters, he was mostly running on autopilot, letting his body make the decisions for him. He'd had a very trying day, after all, and was still recovering from the interdimensional transfer. He'd undressed, dropped onto the bed... and fell into unmitigated bliss.
Some people had personally tailored suits. Spy had a personally tailored mattress. And also a great many personally tailored suits.
And the sheets? Thread count was not a thing that generally mattered to a species almost entirely covered in fur, so Tirek was entirely unprepared for the luxurious feel on his skin of High Tibetan silk, coaxed from the cocoons of pedigree silkworms fed only the finest snow-touched mulberry leaves. Kings had gone to war for it. Popes had declared it a sin. Spy had two extra sets for when he got bored of the color.
And the pillows! No creature on Earth had down as soft as the Iridescent Mandarin Duck, an endangered species now even more endangered after-
The point is that it was a very good bed, and Tirek, who had been sleeping on the floor of his cage longer than the lifespan of most civilizations, was taken completely by surprise. It was paradise.
And it lasted until precisely 5:36 AM.
"REVEILLE!" A crash of metal just outside his door threw Tirek to the floor in a panic. "This is Reveille I'm playing right now! We are currently experiencing a shortage of trumpet-like objects so these discarded baking pans will have to do!" Another series of crashes, in something that approached the exact opposite of rhythm. "Reveille! The sun is up and so should you, maggots! You gotta get up, you gotta get up, you gotta get up in the MORNing..."
Tirek focused all his efforts into climbing back into the cloud pretending to be a bed and closed his eyes, desperate for a return to sleep. Unfortunately, all of the expense Spy put into his furnishings did not go toward soundproofing his quarters (for security reasons; there were those who soundproofed their rooms, and there were those who didn't get assassinated by the Tapdancing Monks of Sri Lanka) and it seemed everyone in the building was passing by his door.
"Aye, a pox 'pon alla ye wee jobbies! Runnin' aboot all invistibilly, but I sees ya! Oh, aye?! Say that again! I'll kick ye inna... hic!"
"Scout, please, I do not have time for zis..."
"Breakfast up in forty five, boys. Pyro, you're on dish duty."
"Look, all I'm sayin' is-"
"Hudda hoo?"
"Because it's your turn, that's why!"
"-if anyone asks who touched Sasha-"
A distant bellow: "WHO TOUCHED MY GUN?!"
"-it wasn't me. All right? We clear?"
"Hmmamo huu! Hudda!"
"Scout, please! Zere was an accident in my lab!"
"Oh, god! Is it serious?!"
"Well, you're just gonna hafta straighten that out with Sniper. Your name's on the list, so it's your turn."
"Hrrrrrrrrm..."
"Nein, nein. A tray of bacteria I've been training to digest common household vaste and process it into tiny grenades fell into an old culture sample I'd forgotten about and which has since evolved psychic powers and a seething hatred for all other life..."
"...uh..."
"...and I cannot vait to see who vins! Care to join me? I have popcorn!"
"...uhhh... no thanks. You... you have fun with that."
"Mm. Suit yourself."
At which point sleep seemed a foregone conclusion. Besides, there were other... considerations.
Tirek reluctantly climbed out of bed and managed to find what he was looking for after a short search. A room all to itself? Indoors? Fancy. He availed himself of the facilities without thinking about it too much, and then discovered
the
shower.
The hot shower.
Horns and hooves! This was amazing! For a bunch of powerless simians, these 'humans' did all right for themselves.
He would have eagerly stayed in there for the rest of the day, until he remembered hearing a particular word - breakfast - that indicated another opportunity that he'd been missing for centuries. Well, that wasn't completely true; he'd eaten while in hiding after his first escape from Tartarus, but those meals were the product of petty theft or found in trash bins. And most of the 'food' that wasn't rotten was inedible to a non-pony! So... much... hay.
Tirek probed 'his' mouth with a finger. Shorter canines, but they were there, along with solid incisors. Molars in back, too. An omnivorous species, then, like his own. That promised proper food, and now that he thought about it this body was voicing its own opinions on the matter. He could-
One of the molars shifted at his touch, then part of it rotated outward. On a hinge. This revealed a compartment of sorts, and inside was, he discovered after some uncomfortable attempts to remove it, a very, very tiny bucket of ice, in which sat an even tinier bottle.
He gingerly held the bucket between his fingertips and stared at it. Just... how? Why?
(Chateau Lilliputia, 1907, Spy could have told him. An expressive, supple vintage best enjoyed in extremely small amounts.)
Shaking his head, he emerged from the shower and dried himself (another moment of tactile bliss; the finest, fluffiest towels created from et cetera, et cetera.) He stood in front of the large mirror, wiped the steam from it... and scowled at what he saw.
A magical switcharoo! Curse all the luck! Apparently the little brat had less magic clinging to her than he'd estimated. There had only been enough to send his mind, not his body. What a terrible-!
He paused and rubbed his chin, turned his head this way and that. Well. As such things went, he supposed it could be worse. This body was... not young (though he was hardly one to complain on that score) but certainly nimble and well-kept, and its features were not entirely dissimilar to a centaur's. And Spy clearly maintained a standard of living for himself that Tirek had never even dreamed of. It would hardly be torture to remain here for a time.
More importantly, he was out, if not entirely free. No creature in Equestria would be able to follow him, even if they puzzled out what he'd done. And there was poor Spy, taking his place in Tartarus! He held no personal malice toward the human, but on the other hand Tirek's travails from the previous day were clearly his fault.
No. Not just him. Those females as well. The mousy one, and the one that breathed smoke constantly.
It hadn't taken Tirek long, upon waking up in this horrible world, to discover that his visit could very easily be cut short, and not in the way he'd prefer. He'd opened his eyes to a darkened room, his limbs - too few! - lashed to a chair, with the females standing over him. Whatever Spy had done, it had enraged them, especially the mouse who kept talking about a 'day off', a term completely alien to Tirek. They ignored his claims of ignorance, and mocked his explanation of who he was! The nerve! They only calmed down after they held a pipe - a... gun, that was it - to his head and made the most dire threats, though at the time he didn't understand what the wretched thing would have done to him.
It had seemed that the fastest way to escape their wrath would be to agree to anything they said, so he did. Not out of fear, of course, but just to get on with things. They gave him an ultimatum to prove his loyalty: collect the other team's briefcase, alone... or die. And then a needle in his neck sent him back into darkness again.
Of course, he hadn't realized what that demand had actually entailed. Little details like 'and the other team is going to try to kill you' would have helped.
But he'd survived - not that it was ever in doubt - and he'd learned. Oh, he'd learned, all right. Those pipes, those guns... that was power in this world. That was strength. Did Spy have one? The other Spy, the blue one, had threatened him with a gun. Not a particularly impressive gun, not like the larger weapon that had... he shuddered. But the blue one had seemed confident it would end his life. Unfortunately, if Tirek's borrowed body did own a gun, it hadn't been on his person. Perhaps he'd lost it in that inexplicably placed pool of water.
No matter. He'd find a gun of his own, and if that didn't work, he'd find more-
A scent had entered the room while he was contemplating, and when it reached him it burrowed deep into his nasal pathways, climbed into his brain, and pulled hard on recognition neurons that had been neglected for so, so long.
Meat.
Frying meat.
Meat that could be put in his stomach by means of eating it which would absolutely involve taaaaaaasting it. And no squeamish pony was around to stop him.
Everything else could wait. He'd collect guns, yes, and use them to secure dominance in this violent world. Perhaps he would even free himself from the tyranny of those two females... hah. A familiar situation indeed, there.
And then he could put his original plan in motion... somehow. He knew how, but the particulars promised to be difficult. But he'd figure it out, and he would reign over both worlds for all eternity! No creature could stop him!
But first... breakfast.
"Good morning, Spy!"
Tirek almost jumped. Being greeted in such a genuinely cheerful fashion was practically a unique experience for him - Cozy Glow came close, but that's where the word 'genuinely' came into play - and he wasn't sure how to react. Especially since the greeting came from someone he'd bludgeoned senseless the previous evening. But there had been a duplicate Spy as well; he could probably assume that this was a teammate. "Er... yes. Good morning..." What had the other one been called? "...Soldier?"
How did that work, anyway? Were those names? Ranks? Titles? Why did everyone with the same label look so alike? This world was too strange.
"Fine work last night, buddy!" Soldier continued, falling into step next to him. "Infiltrating enemy territory single-handedly to recover a briefcase is a job for real men! With real guts! Full of methane!"
"You know about that?" He'd gotten the impression the mission had been a secret.
"Of course! The voice in my head told me!"
"I... see."
Tirek glanced sideways at Soldier as they walked. Subterfuge. That was paramount. He needed to fit in if he was going to survive. Clearly, revealing his true nature was a dangerous proposition, given the reaction of the mouse and the dragon, and his mission yesterday had proceeded much more smoothly once he used that changeling device. He didn't know anything about Spy's mannerisms, though, and it would be too easy to make a mistake. He needed information, but he couldn't be too blatant about it.
Yes. Subtlety. Well, that wasn't an issue for a mind as sharp as his.
"Soldier," he said casually, "do you, by any chance... happen to notice anything strange or suspicious about me?" No, no, not subtle enough! "I'm... conducting a survey." Perfect!
"Spy, I'm gonna level with you: you are now and have always been the strangest and most suspicious person I have ever met," said the Soldier, without rancor. "Also, surveys are tools designed by the Communists to collect information on each and every red-blooded American citizen so they can sneak into our homes at night and force us to take their borscht and government cheese! Well, they're not rationing this son of the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, I can tell you that much! I'll dig through a thousand dumpsters before I accept a single gesture of well-meaning community support!"
"...I... completely understood everything you just said," Tirek told him, "but putting that aside for now, I meant am I acting unusual at this moment, compared to what you would normally expect?"
"You mean... apart from asking me for advice?"
"...yes."
Soldier rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well... your voice. It sounds more... growly than normal. And it's too, y'know, nasal."
"I see." He should have thought of that. Switcharoos had a high chance of bringing one's voice into the new body. Tirek considered the difficulty of trying to imcentaurate a creature he'd never heard speak before, and decided it wasn't worth the effort. "I have a cold."
"Really? You should check with Medic about that. He took out our immune systems and replaced them with new experimental models based on honey derivatives, remember? Works great, as long as we keep out the bees."
"...yeeees. That's it. I have... bees."
"Well, make sure to cover your mouth. Oh, and you're sounding a lot less French than usual."
Prench? His exposure to the language was exceedingly limited. "Should I-"
"No, no," Soldier said, holding up a hand. "That's a good thing."
"Oh."
"And you're being polite! Why, if I didn't know better, I'd swear I was talking to one of the ladies down at the Brittle Hips Retirement Home! 'Oh, Soldier,'" he continued in a falsetto, "'please stop making us do the limbo! Our fragile elderly spines can't take it!' Your spine was put on God's green Earth for one reason, Gladys: to see how low you can go!"
Tirek's brow furrowed. "Defiance? From the old and weak? But you're clearly their physical superior. How dare they question you?!"
"See? That's more like it! Just talk like you're some ancient wizard bent on world domination, and it'll be just like always!"
"Hmhmhm... I believe I can manage that. Is there anything else?"
"Let's see..." They stopped in front of a door as Soldier made a final inspection, the tantalizing meat smell wafting strongly through it. "No, everything seems to be in order. ... well, except one thing."
"And that is?"
Soldier pointed to his own face. "Your mask thing is missing."
Oh, yes. He'd barely noticed it until it was time to take it off. "He... I usually wear it even when not on a mission? Even to meals?"
"That's an affirmative. You probably left it wherever you put the rest of your clothes."
Tirek looked down at himself. "Ah. Clothes. Yes. I'd forgotten about that."
"I should have mentioned that first," Soldier admitted. "You're usually a pretty snappy dresser."
He glanced longingly at the door. "Do you think it would cause comment if I went in there like this?"
"You always told us that if you ever stopped hiding your identity, your life would immediately be in danger. Also, Engie has a thing about naked backsides on chairs."
"I see. I also see that you yourself are just as naked."
Soldier saluted. "Sir, yes sir!"
"Won't that cause comment as well?"
"It never has before, and if it did I don't remember it! There are a great many things I don't remember, for reasons of national security! And I have a good reason for my nuditude!"
"And that is?"
Soldier flexed his muscles. There were a great many of them, and all were on display. "Commando training! Some people think going without their tighty-whities is good enough! I say, go big or go home!" He relaxed and looked at Tirek. "You should go home, though. I don't think you're ready for this level of training."
Tirek sighed. Breakfast would have to wait, then. "Well, thank you for... I mean, begone, cretin!"
"That's the ticket!" Soldier gave him a thumb's up, and entered the mess hall.
"What a sensible young creature," Tirek murmured in approval. He headed back toward his room, turning the corner before the shouting began:
"Whoah, whoah, whoah!"
"Good night Irene!"
"Ach, put yer skivvies on, ye maniac! Yer upsettin' me drink!"
Garments. So many garments. Tirek was prepared to accept the concept of garments for decorative or ceremonial purposes, but there were just so much of it in Spy's closet. It took a good ten minutes to figure out what went where, aided by the fashion magazines carefully stacked nearby and Tirek's own memories of the blue Spy, and even then he hadn't been able to guess what to do with the white thing with the hole in the front. Finally, he gave up; it wasn't worth delaying breakfast over.
The scent led him back to the dining area. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves... then another through his nose because that meat smelled better than magic.
All right. He was ready. He was prepared. And he was hungry.
He opened the door, stepped through...
"YAAAAAAAA!" Thunderous footsteps raced toward him, and he had an immediate flashback to the previous evening. Before Tirek could react, he was caught up in a bone-crushing hug and lifted off the ground.
It was the giant! He must have known what Tirek did to his... brother? Cousin? Mirror twin? The monster was going to break his...
And then he realized the giant was laughing and smiling, and the hold was rather less lethal than he'd originally thought. "HA HA!" Tirek was set back down roughly. "Good! Is good thing you did!"
He stared up at the human. Did he... not like his twin?
And then he realized the air was filled with applause. "There he is!" a voice with an Appleoosan drawl proclaimed. "The man of the hour!"
Tirek looked past the giant (with some difficulty) and saw several humans clapping their hands and... smiling at him. At him! Some he recognized - if that was the correct word - from the previous night, while others were new to him.
All of them. Clapping. And smiling. And even cheering. For him.
Before he opened the door, he didn't think there was anything that would stop or even slow him in his quest for breakfast. But there was one trap that he was powerless to avoid: adulation.
Carefully - so carefully - he took a step forward. This... had to be a trick! It looked suspiciously like... friendship!
But there was Soldier, now fully clothed, sitting in the corner smiling and clapping with the rest of them. Surely he was trustworthy?
And even if it was a trap, it was one he was willing to walk into because there, at the other end of the room, was a plate overflowing with wavy, golden brown... what was the word? It had been so long...
BACON.
He took another step. And another. And slowly, without intending it, he felt the appearance of a smile of his own.
"Hey, good job with that intel, pallie!" said a scrawny human, smaller than any of the others. Tirek didn't recognize him, but the voice was familiar.
"Er... yes. Thank you." But Soldier shook his head quickly, then raised his arms and wiggled his fingers for some reason that Tirek couldn't fathom. It did serve to remind him of the human's earlier advice, however. "That is... what else would you expect from someone with my talents?" Soldier gave him another toothy thumb's up.
"Good on ya, mate!" called the man whose counterpart had been using the long gun.
Just be yourself. Even if you're not sure what he just said. "Naturally!"
"Aye, that's the way you do it!" This came from a human with unusually dark skin and an eyepatch, not to mention a nearly impenetrable accent. So they do come in different colors, Tirek thought to himself. He had wondered.
He turned and walked backwards for a moment, giving the human a quick bow. "But of course!" This was exhilarating! And it was right and proper! He'd braved the enemy compound and returned with the treasure guarded within! He was a hero! And BACON would be his rewa-!
Tirek collided with someone and fell to the ground. Dreams of power and fried pork vanished from his mind, and he glared up at the fool who had dared stand in his way!
And then he stopped glaring.
The... human? Probably human. It was clad in some kind of rubber suit, red and black, and its body was completely shapeless and genderless within it. Its head was completely covered in a strange mask of some sort, leaving no visible hair or skin. The mask had thick eye coverings, and though no eyes could be seen within, Tirek knew without a doubt that the creature was staring daggers at him.
And it.
Was.
Growling.
His blood ran cold, and even more so when he realized that the clapping had stopped. The other humans quickly surrounded him in a flurry of movement, and oh my goodness that was a lot of pipes. Only Soldier - trusted, reliable Soldier - hadn't joined the group, and was watching the proceedings with concern. Or possibly incomprehension; it was hard to tell under that helmet.
"Don't move, fella, if you know what's good for ya." The stocky human with the hardhat - Engineer, he remembered - glanced at the smaller man. "Check him, Scout."
"On it." Scout crouched over Tirek and quickly patted him down, searching through his clothes. Several tense seconds passed... then he looked confused. "...nothin'."
Engineer hesitated, glancing at the thing in the rubber suit. "Check him again. Be more careful this time."
The search lasted twice as long this time, and may have taken even longer if Scout's efforts weren't abruptly cut short. "Aw, jeez!"
"What is it?"
"...still nothin'. No disguise kit, no watch, no gun..." He stood up, giving Tirek a rather disgusted look. "...no underwear."
He felt an explanation was called for. "...commando training?" he offered.
Engineer scratched his head, then turned to the still-growling creature. "Pyro, you got your mask on crooked or somethin'? That's our Spy."
The creature spoke, but the sounds were almost completely obscured by the mask. "Hudda hrm hud hmma!" It gestured violently at Tirek. "Hudda hudda hoo!"
Lifting his goggles, the Engineer scowled at his teammate. "I don't wanna hear it! I ain't makin' him strip down just to prove you wrong. No disguise kit, no disguise! You know that!"
"Hrrrrrrr!" The Pyro reached over its shoulder for... some kind of complicated object Tirek couldn't recognize, but was mercifully stopped by the Engineer.
"Have you lost your damn mind?!" he demanded. Taking a pair of empty plates from a nearby table, he thrust them into glove-clad hands. "Go wash these, and don't come back out until you've soaked your head a mite! Go on, git!" Pyro glared (presumably) at the Engineer for a moment, then at Tirek. The tension mounted even further... then the creature whirled and stomped through a swinging door, muttering with every step.
Engineer watched the Pyro leave, concern slowly eating away at his anger. "What was that all about?" He shook his head and reached a hand down to Tirek. "Sorry about all that, Spy. Gotta be careful, right?"
Tirek grasped the hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. "Yes, well," he grumbled, glowering at the kitchen door, "that... thing needs to be put on a chain!"
"Now, don't be like that," Engineer said placatingly. "I know y'all don't see eye to eye, but there's been plenty of times Pyro's saved your bacon. Speakin' of..." He picked up a clean plate and loaded with with scrambled eggs, hash browns and crisp, mouth-watering perfection. "I know it ain't your Crêpes Suzette, but... dig in."
Tirek reigned in his annoyance and accepted the plate, then with some ceremony lifted a piece of bacon and took a bite.
It was everything he'd imagined, and more.
Within seconds, the plate was denuded of bacon, the eggs and hash browns completely untouched. The Engineer looked surprised, having been expecting a comment about his 'cholesterol-laden bumpkin fodder,' but broke into a grin. He liked to see his cooking being appreciated. "There ya go! Here, let me refresh your plate." With a pair of tongs, he retrieved more bacon from the serving plate, and he held it out for delivery.
Tirek instead took the entire platter, leaving his own plate behind as he scurried toward a table like a rat with a stolen baguette. All sound in the mess hall - apart from furious chewing and groans of enjoyment - stopped once more as the mercenaries, one by one, turned to watch the spectacle unfolding before them. "...wow," Scout said finally, his voice weak with faint horror. "Look at him go."
"Buh...!" The sound the Heavy made was not so much a word as an escaped breath of sorrow and disappointment. He'd been next in line.
Engineer placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. "I'll whip you up some more, Heavy. After what Spy did last night, if he wants to..." He looked at Tirek, still bent over his plate. "...eat his weight in bacon... well, I say the man's earned it."
Tirek swallowed and took a breath, for what seemed like the first time in a minute and a half. "Yes. I am a man, and I did earn this!" He stared down at his Kingdom of Bacon, the platter over half empty now. "This is what I deserve."
The mercenaries exchanged glances and shrugs. "Well, you eat up," Engineer said. "We've got a busy day today."
The kitchen door opened slightly, and the being within stared at Tirek with, as it were, burning ferocity.
That was not Spy. Pyro knew it all the way to the bone. Perhaps the intruder wasn't literally an enemy Spy, but he was still wrong. How many Spies had Pyro caught over the years? Didn't that count for anything with the others?
No. Even if the others didn't help, something had to be done. Because Pyro's bestest friend in the entire world was missing, and until he was returned things would burn.
Also the intruder was making so many messy plates that Pyro would have to clean even though it was absolutely Sniper's turn.
There would be a reckoning.
Other eyes were also watching Tirek, though not from within the base. No, these were... elsewhere.
In a darkened room not far away, a wall of television screens formed a composite image of Tirek, who was bravely but unwisely challenging the Heavy for the next platter of bacon.
"Revolting," said an older woman, though her tone was more fascinated than disgusted. "Look, he's put some in his pocket for later. Pocket bacon. Astounding."
"Yes, Administrator," said her companion. There was a pause, and then. "...um..."
"Stop." The Administrator held up a hand. "Miss Pauling, based on that one utterance, I can predict the entire oncoming conversation. It will be tiresome."
"...oh. Um. Then... should I...?"
She sighed. "Oh, you may as well. If I don't let you get this out, you'll fuss. Proceed."
"All right, then. Why are we doing this?"
"By which you mean 'letting him live.'"
"Well... yes! Administrator, he opened a briefcase! I had him all prepped to infiltrate Facility 17-G, though to be honest a bullet to the head would have been kinder..."
"It is a bit of a loss," she noted. "Hale did say he wanted more combat data on the acid weasels."
"...but instead you sent him against those... clowns!"
"And yet he barely succeeded," the Administrator said. "Did you notice? Of course, it was his first time on a modern battlefield, so I suppose we shouldn't judge."
Without looking up, the Administrator began to narrate to herself. There's the pause as she processes what I just said... then the tiny gasp as she realizes the implication. The intake of breath to demand to know if I am crazy, followed by the sudden closing of the mouth because saying that would not be beneficial to her employment. Now a studied silence as she realizes that I am not, in fact, insane, at least not in that way. Finally, the careful rephrasing of her original question in three... two...
"You... believe his story. Which means you have a reason to believe it. Which means he probably is this... 'Lord Tirek'."
Her eyebrows raised. Not just questioning, but also considering the ramifications. The girl had come so far from the reserved, terrified assistant she had once been. She had become almost... tolerable.
Instead of answering, the Administrator moved a petri dish on her desk, sliding it into the light. "Do you know what this is?"
Miss Pauling peered at the substance within. It was a dark, ash-like material with specks of glittering golden flakes mixed in. The whole of it looked muddy and... unclean in a way unrelated to dirt. If precious metal could defecate, it would look like this.
"That's... depleted Australium, isn't it?"
"Correct. One hundred pounds of Australium, once every last trace of useful material is wrung from it, produces one gram of... this. Until yesterday afternoon, I was aware of only one trait possessed by depleted Australium, which was that, when precipitated into an aerosol spray, it makes an effective knockout gas. Much cheaper to produce than the normal kind, and of course," she added, glancing at her own arm, "we have so very much of it."
Her assistant tried to keep up. "Something about Spy's interrogation led you to finding another trait?"
"Indirectly. You would agree that his behavior was strongly out of character, yes?"
"Apart from claiming to be an interdimensional wizard? Well, I've never seen Spy blubber like he did yesterday. I didn't even get to use the battery."
"Perhaps next time, Miss Pauling."
"It was my day off, Administrator! I deserved to have some fun."
"Whining does not become you, girl. But... yes. It was so unusual that I decided to start looking for a reason behind it... and to make a long story short, found that the subjects MannCo tested the spray on began to develop similar changes in personality."
Miss Pauling frowned. "That could just be due to hallucinations, or brain damage."
"True, except one of them grew tentacles and ate the researcher. Another pulled half of the building into its own nether realm."
"...oh."
"Quite. As it turns out, depleted Australium's second function is to paint one's brain as a thaumic target for interdimensional wizards. And as such creatures are notoriously difficult to bargain with, the wretched stuff is once again completely worthless. Even if we used it on an enemy, we couldn't be sure we aren't giving them an even stronger ally."
"Well... so what? Even if this Tirek swapped bodies with Spy, we don't want Spy back. Send him to 17-G."
For the first time, the Administrator turned in her chair and looked up at Miss Pauling. Her gaze was... intense. Not intensely angry or intensely worried. Just intensely... focused. "Ah, but you see, Miss Pauling, Spy does possess information that I dearly need. The answer to one simple question that only he can provide. I must have him back... even if he only lives long enough to talk."
Miss Pauling didn't understand, but knew when her employer was being intentionally cryptic. "You did put Tirek in danger, though."
"From them? Hardly. And I wanted to know more about him, as well. It's been... enlightening. As well as disturbing."
Miss Pauling gave up, and looked down at her clipboard. "So I should schedule them for a light workload until we figure out how to get Spy back? To keep him safe?"
"No, he's with the team now. They'll take care of that for us. Besides..." She allowed herself a thin smile. "...I don't think we want to give creatures like that the idea that this world is some kind of vacation hotspot, do you? Let's give him a taste of how things work here. Give him what he deserves."
"Yes, ma'am."
The Administrator took a drag from her ever-present cigarette. "And later, I'll have a little errand for you to run..."