"Chi trova un amico, trova un tesoro."

~Mama Topolino

"Look, I simply cannot continue to operate in this fashion. Speed I have, tools I have, but they're not going to get me across land or water in a decent amount of time! I can't fly, for goodness' sake!"

"Finn, I realize you're upset, but we just don't have enough planes in our employment for a new agent to justify working with one. What with many of our older agents out in the field after that last mishap in France, and our sky-faring agents busy ferrying them from place to place, we can't spare anyone!"

"Then let it be on your own hood when I'm killed because I couldn't escape fast enough."

"That's enough, McMissile!"

Finn knew he had pushed the head agent of the British Intelligence too far. Ian Camshaft drove forward until his bumper was mere inches from Finn's. "You listen to me, McMissile, and you listen well. You will always be under our watch, and we will do our best in order to keep you alive. But at the same time, we are keeping track of multiple other agents in just as dangerous, if not more, situations as you. We need to plan accordingly. As you are new to the Intelligence, I'm letting you off with a warning: there's a lot more other cars out there risking their bumpers than you can even fathom."

Ian reversed, gave Finn one last look, his eyes softening slightly, and drove away. Finn heard him muse quietly, "Though we could do with more jets."

Sighing noisily, Finn turned and wheeled toward the large glass window that allowed an overlook of the expanse of buildings London had to offer. He gazed out, spotting various jets taking off and arriving in Heathrow. Wondering blithely if any of them would be interested in the life of adventure being a spy had to offer, Finn gazed down at the hidden entrance in the pavement, under which many of the jets caught up on their sleep before taking off on another expedition, helping their land-bound counterparts.

Pity cars haven't any wings. Wouldn't require assistance all the time from a jet, Finn thought to himself.

A plane descended onto the runway in front of the agency, coming to a stop right below the window. Finn observed as an agent departed from inside the aircraft, exchanged a few pleasantries with the winged vehicle, and then drove off, leaving the plane to doze awhile before being called away again.

There was no friendship in the life of a spy. Everyone was taught that the moment they entered the academy. It was a dangerous practice, both in that you could easily lose someone close to you, and any friendships could impair your judgment and risk blowing a mission. Was it worth it?

Finn wasn't sure. Part of him realized the damage that could be done if you lost too many cars you were close to, but much of his mind was on how much he missed having friends, vehicles he could talk to and laugh with and forget some of the stress that accompanied his everyday life.

There was also trust. You could trust your friends to do everything to the best of their ability. Would that change on a mission? Sure, agents you worked with, you could trust to watch your back, but they didn't know you beyond association-level. The only reason they really did it was because of the good honest streak in them, and the fact that the agency was strict on protection.

Finn shook off the thoughts and backed away from the window. He wasn't yet being called on for any missions, as he was still too new for much consideration beyond easier assignments. He had time to burn. He had time to make connections.