Originally Posted by
ilhanna
This is exactly the impact expected of the Arlorian Presidential Secret Service.
Scene:
Figures in white coat busily working on gleaming metal tables. One of them squirts a jet of thick, dark liquid onto a white surface. On one side of the room, red numbers blinks a countdown, second by silent second.
Enter Kona. He approaches one of the tables, trying (and patently failing) to be stealthy. He furtively looks left and right, making sure none of the white coats is noticing, reaches out a huge sausage-like warrior finger, makes a long, slow swipe on the inside of a large metal vessel...
Three Secret Service agents rush to Kona's side. One of them pulls out a large hadkerchief from his pocket and wipes the pale yellow substance that is smeared all over Kona's fingers, saying, "We got you, Sir." Meanwhile the other two have their hands on Kona's back, bodily shielding the President on two sides while ushering him down the corridor. All three burly men kept their heads swiveling to scan the vicinity, muttering into their microphones. "Cupcake is safe. Repeat, Cupcake is safe." From their earphones crackles the rejoinder, "Sprinkles here. Sanitation effectuating unit ready on standby, over." The agen who has wiped Kona's finger produces a large ziploc bag, thrusts the handkerchief inside, and breaks off from the trio, muttering, "Icing 2 breaking off to deliver evidence." Two more men, similarly built like chunks of granite, replace him, matching step with the other two.
Soon, Kona is washing his hands in his office bathroombunder the supervision of the Latte House (Arlorian presidential palace) doctors, while a representative of CDC (Cake Defilement Control) rushes off with a small vial containing the President's blood sample.
In the kitchen, all the chefs are lying face down with their hands behind their heads. Six secret agents stand guard over them, guns primed. All exits are duly covered. The oven timer has finished ticking but the Secret Service agents refuse to listen to the chefs plea to take the cakes out before they get too dry.
Two individuals in full HAZMAT suit and a Geiger counter moved back from the bowl that Kona has touched earlier. One of them nod to the agents. They gingerly move the bowl into a biohazard containment unit using two long metal thongs then depart in a hurry.
An agent in the Secret Service signature black suit rushes in. He taps a rectangular object in his hand, then points at one of the chefs: "That one."
Cut to interrogation room.
Chef sits under glaring neon light that doesn't compliment anyone's complexion, even supermodels. His white tunic is rumpled. His fingers are buried in his stiff, greasy hair, clenching and unclenching. His bloodshot eyes stare blankly at the Secret Service agent who sits across the table from him in immaculate suit, hair, and shoes.
"We have been here twelve hours Mr Brun...." intones the agent.
"TWELVE?" squeaks Chef. "This isn't right! I haven't done anything! I need to go home and feed my goldfish!"
"Don't worry. We have your goldfish in custody."
"You arrested my fish?" Chef's eyes bulge, not unlike a goldfish's.
"I am not at liberty to reveal that information," says the agent, who sounds like Mufasa.
"For God's sake I have rights! Detainees have rights, dont they? You haven't event let me call my lawyer!"
"In this room, Mr Brun, I am your lawyer, your prosecutor, your judge, and executioner. You forfeited your rights to civil judicial system when you committed treason against the president."
"Gggaaahhh!" Chef pulls at his hair again. "For the hundredth times: I did not commit any treason! I was just too busy to wash that bowl! We have to bake and ice a hundred cakes a day, sometimes you can't keep up with the washing up!"
"Did you or did you not at eleven hundred hour of Sunday, August the fourteenth, leave a hemispherical metal vessel containing biologically hazardous material that might or might not pose critical endangerment to the physical and mental health of President Konafez within the secured and sterile inner sanctum of the Latte House central logistical provisionary unit...."
"What? What?"
"...and by design or through intentional negligence based on intelligence of the president's movement and motives garnered through unlawful conspiracy. ..."
"What conspiracy?"
"...you have arranged for the president to suffer from food poisoning which might or might not lead to fatal consequences. ..."
"What food poisoning?"
"...knowing the president has compromised defenses when it comes to cakes you vented baking aromas into the Square Office to lure him into the central logistical provisionary unit...."
"You mean the kitchen?"
"...where you had prepared cake batter laden with salmonella impurities to achieve your goal of assassinating...."
"What? What salmonella?"
"...the bacteria known to exist in raw egg that might or might not cause grave infectious gastrointestinal...."
Chef begins to laugh, a broken hysterical laugh. "Ahah! Ahahah! Ahahahah!"
"So you admit to have committed or conspired to commit treason and or assassination attempt...."
"It's Italian meringue, you idiot! The egg is cooked! It's not raw! Ahahah! Ahahahah!"
"Italian meringue? Are you then linked to the Al Casino terrorist organization based in Italy?"
"What? No! It's just a cooking technique! Italian meringue: you boil the sugar to very high temperature then pour into the beaten egg whites, cooking it. Then there's the Swiss meringue...."
"Is that where your organization funding is banked?"
Twelve hours later.
"Do you admit that by the excess use of fondant is intended to compromise the President's health by causing diabetes?"
"Murp murp."
"Do you admit that the thick buttercream has been calculated to engender severe and irreversible atherosclerosis?"
"Clup clup"
Yep. Arlorian Presidential Secret Service = RIP Brain.
Edit:
No goldfish was harmed in this incident.
Chef Brun is subsequently pardoned by Kona who can't stand missing his chief patissier too long. After his rehabilitation, the Chef goes on to create a highly successful line of eggless baking products and supplies.
arlorian secret service job application
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