You find a way out of it

To the patrons of the diner, you practically fall in slow motion. From their point of view, they have a fraction of a second before the bomb strapped to your chest goes off. The old man covers his ears and dives for the corner of the booth, and his wife follows suit, giving you just enough time to break your fall and keep running. You sprint through the door and don’t stop till for miles.

‘How could today get any worse?!’ You lament, sucking wind like you just ran a marathon. Bao’s head whips back and forth as you pound the pavement, the feeling of her mouth on your cock gives you the smallest cold comfort in this time of crisis. After miles and miles of backroads, you come to a halt at a gas station. Huffing and puffing, you stumble over to the side of the building and collapse on the ground.

Just then, your phone rings. It’s Davis.

“Huff, huff, Davis?! Huff, Please tell me you got answers…” you pant.

“I don’t have answers, I have a mission,” he says gruffly. “And don’t call me Davis.”

“What’s the mission, Davis?” You puff.

“sigh… We’ve been working over Petrovna for hours now, still no dice. But, she says she’ll talk,” he says. “But only to you.”

“Well that makes things more interesting, doesn’t it?” You smirk. “Where is she now? I can call a cab.”

“No need, we’ve already triangulated your location. A black SUV should be pulling up shortly.” You stand up and look down the road, sure enough, a jet black Suburban with tinted windows is barreling towards you. It screeches to a halt inches away from you.

“Agent Kowalski is in the back seat, he’ll debrief you on the mission on your way back to HQ. Good luck, and godspeed—CLICK,” Davis hangs up the phone. You open up the passenger side back door and hop in, shaking hands with Kowalski and sliding a one hundred dollar bill to the driver.

“Make it snappy,” you order.

“Yes sir!” The driver chirps. The wheels squeal as he makes a u turn with the gas pedal pushed to the floor. You stretch out in the backseat, manspreading like feminism hadn’t been invented yet, and turn to Kowalski.

“Tell me everything, Pete,” you say intently. Kowalski’s eyes seem to be fixated on your trench coat.

“Do you really have a woman under there?” He asks curiously.

“I-what do you mean?” You say in a flustered voice.

“There’s a rumor going around the office that that Chinese double agent from a couple years ago, Bao Zhing, was it? Well the rumor is that you walk around with her tied to your chest, with her head hooked up to your cock like a pocket pussy.”

“Kowalski, remind me what department you work in?”

“****, sir.”

“Well let’s keep the things we talk about to just **** then.”

“It’s true isn’t it! You’re getting sucked off right now!” Kowalski blurts out with his finger pointed at you.

“Alright alright you caught me,” you say sarcastically. You lift up the bottom of your trench coat, displaying the back of Bao Ling’s head.

“Holy hell, I thought they were pulling my leg!” Kowalski exclaims. “Is that thing even alive?!”

“Settle down, of course she’s alive! I keep her pretty well fed after all…” Kowalski slaps his knee, cracking up at your statement.

“So how’d you swing that? I thought we executed turncoats?!”

“It was a tough sell to Davis, but I managed to convince him that **** wasn’t enough of a deterrent for traitors. I thought it was an open secret, I’m not gonna lie you kinda surprised me when you called it a rumor.”

“Well the idea is pretty ridiculous isn’t it? Like I said, I thought they were joking when they told me about it.”

“Anyways, can we talk about the mission now?!” You say exasperatedly.

“Right, right,” Kowalski mutters. “Sorry about that. This Petrovna broad is a tough nut to crack. We’ve tried quite a few things, waterboarding, loud music—nothing. She keeps saying she wants you, she’ll only talk to you.”

“Interesting, interesting. Any info on who she is?”

“A Russian expat from Moscow, that’s all we know. She’s been working at a smoothie shop on West St for the last 6 months, no noteworthy incidents outside of a few parking tickets. She drives a G Wagon, paid for in cash, so there has to be someone behind her with money to burn.”

“Any accounts, paper trail, anything like that?”

“As far as we know, her job covers all of the purchases she’s made since she landed, at least the ones we know about.”

“A smoothie shop that pays a living wage, huh? I’ll be damned.”

“Right. Anyways, we’re coming up on the safe house now. Can’t **** people on federal property, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately.”

The driver parks in the driveway of a cookie-cutter suburban home. You hop out the side door, wave good bye to the driver, and follow Kowalski to the front door.

“This is as far as I go,” Kowalski says. “I’m wanted at HQ. McAlister’s inside with her.” You give Kowalski a firm handshake goodbye and step inside.