Agency

We are the Agents Who Say “C” and you must bring us a shrubbery!

A shrubbery?

A shrubbery.

Is that like an iPod or iPhone or iPad?

A shrubbery is a shrubbery—and it is what we require.

But why?

Do not say “Y”. We are not the Agents Who Say “Y”. Never speak of them. Nor of the Agents Who Say “I” or “B”. Their kamikaze quasi-commie self-actualized questioning disgusts us. Now, present to us a shrubbery or you will cease to exist.

You’ll kill me?

We will erase your profile. You will become dataless.

I’m single now.

Dataless. No information. Period. There will be no you. Never will have been. The Agents Who Say “C” have this power. Bend to our will and present us a shrubbery at once.

No information. No me. What about my flesh and bones? My memories?

We will eat them. Most likely in a lovely binary broth. But, enough! Too many questions. Bring us a shrubbery. You cannot defy the Agents Who Say “C”.

Surely I have.

Surely you cannot. We are the Agents Who Say “C”.

A burning shrubbery suggested I become an Agent Who Says “FU”. And my will be done.

You trouble us.

You’re welcome.