I can't seem to muster up creepy or fierce.
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The THRUSH lunatic du jour, Malcolm Edy, was screaming at the top of his lungs…
“I will unleash my wrath upon you and send you reeling into the… th…”
He fell with an inelegant thud as the sleep dart found its mark. Illya Kuryakin lowered his weapon and sighed heavily as his partner Napoleon Solo shook his head.
“What? It’s over, he’s… out. Quite cold I imagine.” Although his own comments were often accompanied by a deadpan expression, this one brought a small smile.
“Yeah, I can see that. Did it occur to you that we still need some information, the kind only he could give us?” Napoleon was tired, his suit had grease stains from climbing up a chain that, because it had grease on it, had been nearly impossible to do.
“Napoleon, I assure you that I have the information.’ Illya made a gesture like a courtier bowing to his king.
“I simply could not endure the threat of wrath and destruction any longer. I needed him to shut up.” Illya was, by contrast and quite uncharacteristically, completely unscathed by grease or anything else. That probably accounted for Napoleon’s bad mood as much as anything about this affair. Illya was supposed to get grimy and dirty, not UNCLE’s best dressed CEA.
“Fine, I get it… sorry. Can we get out of here? You’re sure you have the infor…?”
“Yes, I assure you I have it. It’s neatly labeled, a recipe of some sort.”
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