Infiltrating The C.U.N.T.

My name is Brian McRooney. You may call me “R.”

The story I’m about to relay to you actually happened. It was played off in the media in order to avoid the pandemonium that would’ve surely followed if the general public had known about what occurred.

The only thing you really need to know right now is that I am British. I work with the SS, which isn’t the British Secret Service. I work with the Sneaky Service, a much more high-tech and secretive group than any the world has ever known. But because I AM British, whenever you read what I say you need to recall the words in your mind with a British accent in order to achieve the utmost level of realism.

But back to the story…

It was a rather stormy night, as often is in suburban London. I was sitting in a pub called The Cat’s Hat, enjoying a nice pint of my favorite local brew when suddenly my cell rang.

I had to leave immediately.

Although I would love to be able to tell you that it was a wildly attractive woman propositioning me for sex, I must admit that it was really just the Service calling me and telling me I needed to be there straight away.

And who can say, “No!” to their own government when it comes calling?

Needless to say, I went straight for the center of town to the secret entrance to our underground facility. In the elevator I met up with my partner “P” and we speculated as to what could be so important as to pull me from a pub named after a Dr. Suess character, and to pull him from an important experiment that would’ve conclusively proved that Viagra can be safely cooked in the crust of a pizza.

We reached sublevel 15 and proceeded to the office of our supervisor and boss, Agent L. Agent L informed us that a transmission had been received which documented the torture of one of our top field agents who had been captured.

You see, for centuries there has existed a criminal organization which has been able to control the thoughts and acts of mankind; particularly the masculine version of it. This organization has no name, but we had become aware of a cell of it which was operating here in London, and so we sent in an operative under cover.

The agent’s name was “O,” and she was one of the best agents that the Crown has ever held in service. She was bound and determined to infiltrate the organization, but apparently was captured.

As my superior told us, Agent O was apparently being tortured from a location that the enemy thought was a secret. They were transmitting that torture session to their Director In Charge of Killing, or D.I.C.K. as we prefer to call him.

The funny thing about the D.I.C.K. is that he used to work for us. Not only that, but the fiend was also my old partner. Eventually though, he got tired of the constant secrecy and was lured away by a higher salary and a very nice benefits package named Layla.

Agent O was being held in the organization’s Central Underground Nerve Torture facility, which we refer to as the C.U.N.T. And that is precisely where Agent O was being subjected to the most heinous and horrific acts imaginable.

Agent L briefed us of the situation and then let us hear the broadcast as it was being sent out.

One of the things that Agent O was trained in was the art of not giving out any information even when being tortured. That worked for a while, being as how she was our best agent other than myself. Still, there was one area we had never seen fit to train our agents in…

Resisting “tickle torture.”

The speakers in the room were aflutter with screams and moans and psychotic laughs coming from Agent O.

I listened to as much as I could before demanding that the transmission be cut off. I could only imagine how much perverted pleasure the D.I.C.K. was getting from this thorough tickling of Agent O deep in the farthest reaches of the C.U.N.T.

Something had to be done. Something would be done.

Agent P and myself were to infiltrate and attempt to rescue Agent O. An all-out frontal assault was ruled out in this case due to the fact that the opening to the C.U.N.T. was in such a populated area.

So P and I were given a few choice tools, and set out to do our work.

When we arrived, we perused the exterior and tried to observe all there was to observe. The C.U.N.T. was cleverly disguised as a seafood market. The disguise was so good that they were even having a sale on crabs.

Using all the stealth and cunning we could muster, P and myself checked the perimeter of the C.U.N.T. and found that it was sealed up as tight as a monastery full of nuns. This meant that we’d have to go through the front door.

We decided to disguise ourselves as seafood merchants in order to get past the first level of security, the Lethally Imaginative Personnel Services, or L.I.P.S. as we call them.

Using some artificial credentials we slid through the L.I.P.S. like warm water down a drain, and we were on our way into the darkest reaches of the C.U.N.T.

We located an elevator that went down a massive, yet dark, tunnel. We surmised that it was most likely the only way that we could get our little British fannies down to where Agent O was being held.

We arrived at Sublevel 15 and proceeded to check every area for any sign of Agent O. Yet we found something much more astonishing than the comatose shell of a tickle-tortured female agent.

We found the D.I.C.K.

Yes, that’s right. The D.I.C.K. had been hiding in the C.U.N.T. all along. He had made himself right at home inside the sweltering darkness of this underground abode.

The surprises didn’t stop there though. Not only did we find the D.I.C.K., but we also found Agent O…a.k.a. Layla.

Oh the horror! The treachery! The extreme weirdness of it all!

So there we were, somewhere in the bottom of the C.U.N.T. and yet staring the D.I.C.K. square in the eye. I was ushered away from my sidekick and was made an offer.

You see, the old D.I.C.K. had contracted colorectal cancer and was dying. SOMEONE had to take his place, and he thought it should be me. After all, we were two peas from a pod.

I thought about it for a while. Do I betray my country and my people? Or do I consider it a purely business-type deal and just take the best offer that comes my way?

I thought and I thought and eventually I decided…

Now I am the D.I.C.K. who secretly lives in the C.U.N.T. and who fights against anything and everything I see fit. It’s a hard life, but someone has to do it.

The End
***
Ok, so I was really bored today and somehow thought of the idea for this. It didn’t turn out exactly like I thought it would when I was driving around in my truck today, but oh well.

Guess maybe this proves that I really AM a bit of a pervert.