Part 2 (Narrative transcript)

A resonant DING! emanates from the ceiling as I wake up for the third time in the past 6 hours. An assertive, but mildly pleasant feminine voice begins speaking.

"Greetings passengers of Frisk-49. You will be arriving at the injection point shortly. Please await further instruction from Head Operative Loose-Cannon."

"Who in the bleedin'ell is Loose-Cannon?" I ask just as I realize he is stood at the front of the cabin.

"Agent Groovy, welcome back. To answer your question, we all have codenames here" says the American. "In fact, I'd have to kill you if you knew my real name" he adds as non-threateningly as possible.

"Wait! But my real name is Groovey! Why am I still Agent Groovey?"

"Because, Groovy, nobody would believe that that's your real name. Besides, we've spelled it differently on your special-issue ID, spelled G-r-o-o-v-y, without the e." Loose-Cannon can't help but crack a smirk on his wrinkle clad face.

"Haha. You think you're hilarious don't you, you bloody blue-coat baffoon."

"If we're talking about the Revolutionary War, Smoothie, I'm pretty sure the bafoons won."

"Excuse me! First of all, Smoothie?! Secondly..."

Loose-Cannon cuts me off. "All I will say, Agent Groovy, is that perhaps you should consider the texture of the grey mass inside your thick skull. Come with me."

I try to continue arguing but suddenly the floor descends slowly into a large chamber. There are several small helicopters inside, all of which are branded with bold white text saying "U.S ARMY."

"Okay then," I stutter. "first we were on some kind of Marvel ass Helicarrier, then we flew in a plane for a bit, now we're getting into a helicopter?!"

"The U.S Department of Defense only has a few rules." Another smirk crosses Loose-Cannon's face. "The biggest one, never go underbudget."

"Couldn't we have boarded a normal ass passenger plane with economy class seats, and taken the train from the airport? Where the hell are we even going?"

"I already told you, the British Library. Have you ever been there?"

"Have you ever been to the Library of Congress?!" I retort.

Loose-Cannon stares, and I begin to understand, at least partially, why he is named Loose-Cannon. It is at this point, though, that I start to doubt myself. Here I am, a nobody named Jean Groovey, and I'm somehow, by this badass U.S government agent, entrusted with the task of not only recovering a stolen artifact, but also finding out who stole it. I still haven't a clue as to why I, specifically, was chosen. Before I can psych myself out too much though, my thoughts are interrupted.

"Last chance to say no, kid." Loose-Cannon offers as one of the choppers revs up.

It takes me a few moments before I can think properly again. Finally, though, the gears turn again. Despite every screaming fiber of my conscience, I reply, "Are you bleeding kidding me mate? Lets get the hell down there!"