We Avoid
The turbines hummed over and over.
This was good for it showed our trip was ongoing. We hadn't splashed
down in the Great Ocean. It was all water and wet. There were sharks.
Those weren't an issue. The issue was any water landed was risky.
Keeping in the air was priority. The engines were built by Rolls Royce
and all was fine. Emma had flown this Great Circle Route six times. It
was always the same. Not boring for she watched different films. When in
the mood she read a trashy paperback. This
occupied her time on the twenty six hour trip. After all what could
possibly go wrong? Just then there was a loud bang and the plane
lurched…
Safe House
My name is Percy. I have a double life. I work in life insurance and am also a spook. A spy for those of you not in the know. I live on the outskirts of London and commute to work by train. I have a nice semi detached house built before the war.
I also have a safe house. This is where some of my ‘other’ work takes place. There I can do what I want as long as it gets the needed results. Anything goes.
My safe house is located in a town further away from London. I will not say where or in what country. It has three main rooms. In each room I do a different role or job. My job, the ‘other’ job, is both for personal gain and for National Security.
I always dress ‘for work’, whether commuting to my insurance job, the SIS office or my kinky dungeon. I love wearing pinstripe suits and do look good in one. I’ve a collection of 27. They cost between 200 and 2000 UK pounds. It helps bring in the results. Who ever heard of a shabbily dressed spy? Maybe a scruffy police detective but never a spy. It just isn’t cricket. As for my dungeon role, I have several, shall we say, suitable outfits. I also wear them in the torture chamber. Both roles are closely connected. I wear anything from Bermuda shorts and shirt to prisoner uniform in the funny room. Go figure.
***
Room One
Kinky things take place in here, for fun or to make a spy to talk. I have a special set up of kinky toys and equipment. This ranges from sex toys to outfits right and a bed with chains, hand cuffs and fitments. There is also an activity chair with performs several functions.
Some great secrets were released in here by Soviet agents who would not talk any other way. One called Boris had his bollocks tickled with a blow torch turned on low. He spilled the beans about a new Russian tank and where it would be deployed.
A Czech woman called Ava briefed me all about her government’s role in the armament industry for the Soviet Union and Warsaw Pact nations. Her information was priceless. Just like the site was of watching her nail her nipples nailed to a board, by herself. I held the nails. I came six times during that performance. Ava came over twice that.
***
Room Two
This is the torture room and it says what it does on the box. Enemy spies get their nipples burnt with Zippo lighters and their heads chopped off and stuck on spikes.
You would think this was the busiest room but it isn’t. It’s the quietest. I often have to make up a reason to torture someone just to make sure all the equipment works and that my skills are still current.
Last week I kidnapped an East German man who was a spy and hit man. I needed details of his skills, how good he was, where he was trained and how many hit men/women were in circulation. I drugged the unsuspecting man and he awoke tied and bound on the torture wrack.
I introduced myself and gave him my name. This was fine because he would soon be dead. I asked him questions. He chose to lie. I removed three fingernails and a tooth. This brought some answers, low level stuff. What we already knew. I upped the pressure and applied blunt force with a hammer. He opened up like a burst dam. To be sure he was truthful, I administered some truth serum. It made him slightly delirious and helped with the pain.
When all of his secrets were out I killed him with a bolt gun. Then I carved him up and gave the neighbours some red meat. Nothing like fresh red steaks. I still had my skills and got the required results. I immediately informed my superiors by carrier pigeon and the guinea pig express.
***
Room Three
This is the funny room. Does that need any explanation? Twice weekly comedian acts perform by me to a select audience. It always brings a chuckle. I get to perform one man comedy sketches and read my poetry. Some people tell me not to give up my day/night job. If only they knew what I really did, they would insist I become a full time comedian and play the Albert Hall!
//////////////////////
Flying Shithouse
My name is Barry and I’m from Runcorn. I’m an ex British Army soldier who served in Northern Ireland, The Falklands, Bosnia and Iraq. Right now, I do a very special job. I drop exploding shit on various targets and change the world for the better. To do this, I use a flying toilet, one that was once used by Queen Victoria. All the fittings are solid gold. I modified it a little to bring it up to date. I fitted a flush that saves water, a more comfy seat, foot rests, a joystick, a big gun/bomb sight and a computer. And I made it totally stealthy. It flies by having a highly efficient rocket engine that runs off the methane from my shit!
Last week, I flew over an artillery position in the Donbas in Eastern Ukraine. I dropped my shit on Neo Soviet trained Putin loving terrorists. Days before they had shelled Ukrainian army positions on the front line and I got a call through the back channel then went to help. I chose the right kind of shit to hit them with. They were blown to bits by my smelly explosive shit. Four big guns with ammunition and fifteen terrorists were killed and several injured.
They never saw me till I de-cloaked my toilet. Then they opened fire on me but missed when I looped and half rolled away. I revealed myself so they know they’re being watched by the impossible: an English man from Runcorn on a flying shit house. Their artillery position was out of commission and would no longer break the ceasefire.
***
The month before, I raided a White Supremacist camp in America. They were set up in the everglades, on a dry island in the swamp. It was only accessible by boat, swimming with armed scuba gear or by air. I flew on my magic shit house.
They pedalled their hate online, in a racist publication called The Schmeisser and lastly, at face to face meetings attended by closely vetted people.
I hovered over them for two hours, watching them through my British Army binoculars. I knew their routine. They had three buildings consisting of an armoury, a mess hall and a barracks/operations room. I simply shovelled incendiary shit all over their camp and watched it burn down. Only three Neo Nazis died out of ten but they got the message. Stop their hate. I’d regularly check up on them.
***
My fragmentation shit targeted the Daesh Isis Muslim terrorists. They were responsible for many atrocities including multiple beheadings, planting IEDs, making car bombs and more. I flew my toilet in a huge arc to the Persian Gulf. I hit two targets, one each in Iraq and Syria.
The Syrian base was in a cave at the foot of a hill in a remote valley. The entrance was a long hidden tunnel, the only way in or out. I solved this quandary by blowing up the entrance and bringing half the cliff down. My gaseous explosive shit was very temperamental but right for the job. It flowed into the tunnel and up the cliff face. I fired a cherry red laser at it and in a flash it detonated. When the dust cleared it would take a million years to dig anyone left alive out.
The Iraqi Daesh base was remote by pure distance. It was a series of huts and old lorry trailers far off in the desert. Two hundred Daesh terrorists were training on weapon ranges or in ‘classes’. I zoomed over and released the last of my gaseous explosive shit on them. Like their Syrian based comrades they ignited and died. Nothing but ash remained. There no survivors.
***
I got an urgent call to stop oil tankers from being hijacked by Iranian Republican Guard terrorists. I used a special type of shit for them, runny diarrhoea shit that contained an acid and napalm mix. It would burn their little gun and missile boats like dry grass under a hot sun.
Their bow gunners opened fire on me with 50 cal type guns. Their fire was wild and missed. SAM missiles soared upwards, uselessly. I’d allowed them to see me but was safe behind a bullet proof protective bubble.
I made run after run and released the dangerous liquid. It fell down like rain, covering their flimsy but cool looking boats and ignited on contact. Crew members flamed like torches and dived into the blazing sea. Their boats burned and blew up spectacularly. I sank four hundred small boats at six different ports up and down the Persian Gulf. No more tankers would be hijacked by the Iranian terrorists. Any previously held tankers were released without condition.
***
Right now, I’m on my way to shoot up a corrupt politician who was based in a certain Asian country. He pretended that he was a good man and cared for his voters. In reality he was involved in drug smuggling, illegal weapon manufacture and running a prostitution racket. He needed liquidating. I had some armour piercing shit pellets. They really hurt and would do the job.
I located his mansion which was in a province. I zoomed overheard and let them hear my engine. Several people ran onto the lush green lawn. I swooped round, visible. They shook their heads at the sight of a man on a flying toilet! Two security men opened fire with AKs. I locked them all up. Baby turd pellets away! They hit home at a mile a second. The politician was full of shit and died badly along with his security detail. His operations were on hold and his voters free, for now. I’d be back.
***
I am always available to help innocent people out. My fees are low and I like to see the world. Give me a call; you know where to find my number.
