"Jean Paul Dubois," Zari read aloud from the analysis they were sent on the glove. "An ex-Olympic climber, he won multiple gold medals. However, for still mysterious reasons, he disappeared a little over a year ago, and was never seen again."
"Well, that's not shady at all," Graham grumbled taking a sip of tea.
The group was about to touch down at the airport after a long flight. Graham figured he'd pour himself a cupper before another equally long day.
Devineaux stretched, "What're we doing today, Agent Zari?"
"Tracking Carmen San Diego," she replied.
"That doesn't narrow it down at all," Devineaux pouted.
Zari rolled her eyes with a little smirk.
"It's another museum," she said.
"I'm taking Devineaux's side on this one. That is a terrible explanation," Graham complained.
Zari relented. "We're specifically visiting the MINT Museum of Toys to survey and secure a new collection, the original barbies," she explained.
Graham looked at her, "We're going to the where to survey the what?"
"We are ACME agents!" Devineaux protested, "Not toddlers playing imaginary doll games!"
"That may be so," Zari replied, "But I'm not sure if you heard me right. A collection of original barbies. The last one sold at an auction for 27,450 USD, and it was only worth 8,000. And there's 11 of them sitting in one place."
Graham wasn't so sure about this Barbie baby sitting business. He voiced his concerns. "With all do respect Zari... why would these guys go from stealing giant golden hats, to Barbie dolls?"
"Because of the symbolism, Hawkins," she replied.
"It's Graham."
"Whatever. The point is, these dolls define and still do define generations upon generations of people. Face it, Barbie has been apart of peoples' childhoods for years, and will be for years to come. If they're stolen, that's V.I.L.E's way of showing that they still have the world, its past, and its future in their hands. It'd be a message saying that they could toy and play with us whenever, and wherever they wanted."
That sounded a little far fetched to Graham, but it wasn't his job to question it. It was only his job to make sure the eleven dolls weren't stolen.
"And we're sure Carmen will try to steal these dolls?" Graham asked.
"We know V.I.L.E will, so San Diego is sure to follow," Zari said.
"And you still think she's our adversary, when she targets specifically the things V.I.L.E does?" Devineaux asked skeptically, trying to make a point.
Zari glared, "Yes."
And that was that.
...
Like always, nothing happened during the day. Graham had gotten so used to the boringness of it all, that he'd started to just be a tourist and walk around the museum during his watch. The name of the museum was pretty straight forward, the "MINT Museum of Toys." And that's exactly what it was.
Tons of vintage toys were on display. Cars, dolls, a few legos, stuffed animals... Honestly, although he knew the Barbies were important for their own reasons, verses some of the stuff, he didn't see what was so special about them.
The Barbies were 11, yellow blonde women in a late 50's hairdos, wearing black and white bathing suits, gold hoop earrings, and an excess of mascara. They were definitely old. Young girls gawked and got excited about them all day. But no Carmen San Diego stopped by, and seemingly no V.I.L.E.
At one point, two red heads walked up and examined the dolls. They didn't talk much, and they seemed to be twins. They were being respectful, and not doing anything wrong, so Graham paid them no mind. He went to look at some old vintage toy cars.
The twins finished what they were doing and brushed past him without incident. Almost. The boy bumped into Graham's chest.
"Ah, watch where you're going, mate!" Graham laughed, steadying himself.
"Sorry!" The guy said in a thick Bostonian accent, "Ahaha, my bad, I didn't mean—"
He stopped mid sentences his blue eyes widening. He suddenly looked in distress.
Graham didn't mind. He just patted the guy's shoulder and continued to watch the Barbies. He attributed the guy's shock to Graham being in uniform, it's not every day you bump into a guy in shades, a suit, and a tiny white gun strapped to their back pocket. Graham had gotten used to the stares.
"Bro, c'mon!" A voice whisper shouted to the redhead. It must've been his sister.
"But—" he stuttered in protest.
"Now!"
The redhead guy looked at Graham again, and then ran after his twin.
Graham chuckled. He hoped the guy enjoyed the museum, what a nice chap.
But that was the most eventful thing that happened in the day.
The night... was something else.
After the Berlin Hat scare, Zari insisted the group stay together with the Barbies. But when nothing happened by 10:00, she decided that was not a productive plan. Devineaux was told to stay with her, but Graham was sent outside to look for and report any suspicious behavior.
And alas, there was nothing.
Singapore was a very clean city, with not a single piece of gum on the sidewalk. The view was spectacular, and the tall, glittery buildings gave off an almost purple color. Except for the distant sound of cars, it was quiet. Everything was peaceful, and perfect.
Around 12:00, however, things changed. Graham heard heavy footsteps, as if someone in large boots was walking towards him. That was never a good sign. Between Paper Star, the Mime in Seattle, and the ever infamous Scary Boot Lady (Tigris, was her name?) he had learned all bad guys wore boots.
However, boot noises were not a good reason to radio Zari or Devineaux. He had been getting trained by ACME agents in the arts of perception, and now knew that it could be lots of different things.
Still, he went over to a nearby lamp pole to get a better look at presumably nothing. Big mistake.
He heard a "whoosh" before his hands were tied to the pole. Luckily, they weren't red hand-cuffs this time. However, green and brown rope that came from nowhere was no better.
"Aw crud. Crud, crud, crud, crud," he muttered, trying to yank himself out of the rope and way from the random light pole. He took a closer look at them, hoping to find an air pocket, or anything he could exploit to break free.
Then it hit him.
Wait, these weren't rope. They were bolas.
He didn't think people seriously used those things, but there he was. No chance getting out of 'em unless he had something really strong.
A shrill laugh echoed in the distance, and a blonde woman in braids walked out of the shadows. She wore a stealth suit and a small cape. She looked maybe.... 19?
"Great," Graham grumbled, "I just got tied up by a 19 year old girl."
"20, actually," she said in a thick accent from who knows where. Maybe Russia?
"And you can call me," she flipped her cape for dramatic effect, "Flytrap!"
Graham stared at her blankly, "You're kidding me right?"
She titled her head confused, as if that was not the response she was looking for.
"Kidding you about what?" She asked, bluntly.
"That name. Flytrap. Like, seriously? You could have done like... Goldie Locks, because "locks." Or Bolaistic. You know, like "balistic" but with "bola?" That would have been cool. But noooo. You went with a plant," Graham explained, stalling time as he tried to figure out how to get out of the bolas.
"Oh, I would be more polite if I were you," another voice threatened. This time it was a boy, looking like a karate kid reject. He had the headband and everything. He too, was in a stealth suit similar to Flytrap's, but without the sleeves, and without an additional cape.
"And who are you?" Graham asked, raising an eyebrow relatively unimpressed, and trying to act less terrified than he was.
The man did a fancy kick, stopping an inch from breaking Graham's nose.
"Call me, Spinkick!" He declared, as if it was a game changing, world shaking moment.
"Your feet smell," Graham replied, unfazed.
Spinkick put his foot down and stepped back. "What?"
"You heard me! I said your feet stink. Also, 'Spinkick' is an even worse name than 'Flytrap'. In fact, screw that name. I'm going to call you 'Prince Zuko'," Graham decided aloud.
Prince Zuko/Spinkick glared, "Why?"
"Because you sound like Prince Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender. What is this, 'I must capture the Barbies to restore my honor' or something?" He asked.
Graham laughed, marveling at how ridiculous the statement sounded.
'Capture the Barbies to restore my honor.' What a joke.
Flytrap walked up next to his Royal Smelliness.
"He's annoying," she commented.
"I agree," Prince Zuko/Spinkick responded. "Too bad we need him alive and sensible."
Flytrap took a better look at Graham, "Are we sure it's him? How could this dunce be the guy?"
"Fair question, wouldn't ask me though. Why am I 'the guy.' What's the guy? And I am not a dunce," Graham pouted to annoy them. He was still having no success getting out of the bolas, and he felt like he could sense his time running out.
"Yes, that's him. Australian, long hair, sarcastic. And you'll figure that out soon, agent," Prince Zuko/Spinkick responded, ominously.
"Well that's dramatic, and it doesn't answer my question," Graham complained.
He was starting to think this had nothing to do with the Barbies, or with regaining Zuko's honor.
"Shut up," Flytrap ordered.
"Make me," Graham responded defiantly.
The two just looked at him blankly, having no idea what to do about the Australian. And then an idea struck Graham.
"Well go on," he insulted.
Graham now had a plan to get out of his bola situation, but if it didn't work, it'd be painful.
"You two have terrible codenames, at least you seem to have a decent set of skills. One of which is doing the deadly can-can. You could knock me out and shut me up easily."
Flytrap and Prince Zuko/Spinkick shared a look. They weren't so sure. Apparently this guy was a natural operative, and once top of his class at V.I.L.E.. They knew he shouldn't be underestimated.
"Unless you're too scared," Graham mused.
That did it.
With a guttural shout, Prince Zuko/Spinkick thrusted a mighty kick at Graham. But Graham was prepared. He moved his body behind the pole, so that the kick hit the bola instead of his face, snapping it in half. Graham was free.
The two V.I.L.E operatives were in shock.
"Oh, that's good," Flytrap admitted.
"I've picked up a few things, I'll admit," Graham said, flexing his fingers. He pressed a button on his wrist, signaling to Zari and Devineaux that they were under attack. Then he got his tiny white gas gun out from his belt.
"I have a tiny white gas gun and I'm not afraid to use it!" Graham threatened.
That was met with another bola, slapping it out if his hands when it passed by. His weapon slid to the floor.
"Oh, fair enough. In hindsight, maybe not the best threat," Graham admitted.
"No, maybe not. HYA!" Spinkick yelled as he shot another kick at Graham. Graham put his arms in an x motion, deflecting it easily. Flytrap threw another bola at him, which flew over Graham's head.
Kids these days, with their weapons and kicks and boots. No respect for no one anymore. Ptoohey!
It went on like that for a while. Graham was holding his own pretty easily, but he was also two on one. He would run out of stamina eventually, so he couldn't win. Hold his own and stall a while? Maybe, but he had to come to terms with reality.
"Gosh, Zari, Devineaux, where are you?" He muttered under his breath, as he lunged out of the way of another one of FlyTrap's bolas.
That's when he heard more footsteps. Two men in janitor outfits were slowly walking up. It sent an unknown wave of shock and horror through Graham, and not just because they were creepy. He recognized them somehow, and they weren't any good.
They seemed like the type of guys who'd show up at an Icelandic prison for no reason.
The distraction of the cleaners caused him to be unprepared when Prince Zuko/Spinkick did another "spin kick" which hit him in the chest. Graham fell to the side walk, and bumped his head on the pole.
"Ow," he groaned.
Through his blurry vision, he could see the two operatives smirking at him, smug and triumphant. The janitor duo was moving in, too.
"This was never about Barbies, was it?" He deduced.
"No," Flytrap sneered, "It wasn't."
Right as Graham thought he was done for, a voice pierced the air, "Halt! This is ACME! Stand down, drop your weapons and put your hands up!"
It was Zari and Devineaux! As well as the police, nearby security guards... And the red head guy!
Wait, why was he there? He wasn't a part of the arrest, he was just peeking behind a wall. When he saw Graham looking at him, he bolted away. Rude. He guessed Red Head guy wasn't so cool after all. How long had he been there watching him, anyway?
The V.I.L.E operatives backed away, the cleaners stepping in front of them. The right janitor took a grey blob of some sort out of his pocket, passing it to his partner. The left janitor took it, lifted it in the air, and threw it to the ground. Grey gas came out of the place where it had hit the cement, making the group close their eyes and cough. It was a smoke bomb!
The V.I.L.E operatives got away in the diversion, but not with Graham. When the smoke subsided, he was still alive and decent, sat on the side walk. Devineaux ran and helped him up.
"Are you alright?" He asked.
Graham laughed between coughs, "I'm relieved!"
Devineaux gave his own relieved smile, "That didn't answer the question. But it'll do."
Graham could stand, but his head hurt from smashing against the pole.
"You'll need some ice for that," Zari said, taking out her pen.
"Thanks, mom, I figured," Graham groaned.
"Just reminding you," she chided, clicking and dropping her writing implement. Chief sprung up in hologram form.
"Agents! Did you secure the Barbies?"
Graham snickered. Barbies.
"Carmen San Diego stole them when our backs were turned. But the V.I.L.E thieves never came after them, specifically," Zari reported.
Chief raised an eyebrow, "They didn't? So, what happened?"
"V.I.L.E targeted and attacked Hawkins instead," Zari said.
Chief's eyes widened, she looked at Graham.
"Tell me everything," She ordered.
So that's what Graham did.
After the story was over, Chief asked, "Do you have any idea why?"
"Not a clue," he replied. "Honestly, it's not very encouraging."
Chief didn't answer. She only looked at Zari and Devineaux, devising a plan.
"I must talk to my faculty. In the mean time, I'm sending you to Monacco. You'll be told what you're doing when you get there," Chief said. "Oh, and Zari?"
"Yes, Chief?" She responded.
"I just got word from the museum. The dolls have been returned," she said with a bit of annoyance. And then she clicked off.
Zari picked up her pen, and shared a look with Devineaux.
"This just keeps getting better and better," she grumbled.
They went back to the limo. Devineaux patted Graham's back in support, like a brother would. But there was an awkward silence between the three. Graham had proven to be a great agent, but trouble seemed to follow them wherever he would go. With his memory being gone, that made him even more suspicious.
It didn't help when in the limo, Devineaux passed him a gram cracker.
"Here," he said, "Sustenance."
Upon taking the snack in his hands, Graham had a splitting headache again. He grabbed his forehead and bent down in pain, nearly collapsing. A memory (or what he assumed was a memory) flooded back.
...
He was sitting at a table amongst a few other people his age. He was in trouble for something, but he couldn't recall what.
"Power Failure," young Carmen San Diego said, looking at him.
Young Graham slumped. "Sorry, mates. Nothing quite has that 'crackle' I'm looking for."
That's when he bolted up, excited. "That's it!"
He stood in triumph on the table. "Get ready," he said exclaimed.
He put his arms out envisioning the title in big, floating words. "Graham Crackle."
It was epic, and he felt proud of himself. Yet, his excitement was not reciprocated.
"Dude," Carmen asked bluntly, "Really?"
"We are criminals!" A thick French accent exclaimed.
Graham looked over and saw... Jean Paul Dubois. How was he here?
"We are criminals!" He retorted, "Who would take us seriously if we had puns for names?"
And that's where it ended.
... "We are criminals", eh?
Graham didn't like the sound of that, not one bit.
"Graham, are you alright?" Devineaux asked, worriedly.
"No... I'm not," Graham admitted. "That bump on my head must've done more damage than I expected. But I'll be fine."
"I told you that you needed ice," Zari grumbled.
But that wasn't what Graham needed. He needed answers. He just had a small existential crisis from a freaking gram cracker.
He looked at the grain cookie. It had fallen to the floor, way past the five seconds rule. It was useless to him now.
Boots, mimes, gram crackers, pick pocketing?
.... Criminals?
What was happening to him?
He didn't know. But one way or another, he would find out.
All he had to do was find the one person who did know, and figure out one question first:
Where in the world was Carmen San Diego?
...
Imagine, you're just sitting in your limo with your colleagues, you get passed a gram cracker, and BOOM!
Oh, look. You were potentially a criminal who worked with an Olympic climber, and your future spouse *hem hem* significant.
Yeah. I meant significant other. Right.
To anyone wondering why he's starting to get so many memories flooding back, so much time around advanced technology, words like "agent, operative, V.I.L.E., Carmen San Diego", and most of all seeing so many familiar faces, is really starting to strike a nerve in our protagonist. It seems likely that some stuff would come back.
Hence the chapter you just read.
This thing has been getting a lot of traction lately, so thanks for reading!
Have a wonderful day, y'all.
And remember this life saving advice from Graham 'Hawkins': All Bad Guys Wear Boots.
Seriously, it could save you.