Author's Note: This story stars a cast of OCs in a canon universe, and may contain elements that may make some people uncomfortable (animal cruelty, tragic backstory clichés, fanservice). Also, there will be no explicit sexual content (though such happenings may be implied). If you're not open to any of this, I highly recommend you turn back now, for the sake of your own sanity. Thank you.

Spy in The Base!

The blazing hot sun stares down at the barren horizon from high above. Save for the occasional cactus or desert eagle, the desert appears completely devoid of life. A tumbleweed lightly bounces by, carried by the dry winds, until the sudden force of a passing vehicle pushes it farther and faster. The first sign of sentient life seen in this desert, and he drives a camper van.

The driver of the van, a rugged-looking man with sun-kissed skin, is a man used to these harsh surroundings. Sporting an Outback hat and yellow-tinted shades, his eyes remain protected from the sharp glare of the sun's rays as he focuses on the unmapped road before him. Holding the wheel with one hand, he uses his free hand to retrieve a flier from the glove-box.

A couple of weeks ago, a company called Builders League United had contacted him with a job offer. Somehow, they had known about his skill repertoire and tracked him down—not an easy task when the man they're trying to hire is a nomad. But he can't help but wonder what a construction company located in the middle of nowhere wants with a professional hunter. Perhaps they wanted to hire him as a bodyguard?

It doesn't matter, he thinks to himself as he puts the flier away. Money is money. And that means more food! The thought of being able to eat all he wants fills him with glee, and he starts singing sweet, nonsensical lyrics to himself while swerving about the rough terrain.

The drive continues on for another half-hour, until a sharp rock in the road blows a hole in one of the tires, forcing the man to park the camper and step out. But as he removes the spare tire from the back of the van, he cannot help but get a sneaking suspicion that he's being watched. He chalks it up to paranoia stemming from prolonged isolation, but try as he might, he cannot shake off the feeling. Every rustle of a tumbleweed, every crunch of a trampled twig, every whisper of the wind summons chills down his spine.

Suck it up, Mort. There's nothin' around for miles. You're drivin' yourself mad!

After finally replacing the broken tire, he buckles himself in and is about to start the car when a loud shatter rings out from the back. Startled, he unlatches his seatbelt and cautiously heads towards the back of the van. Everything appears untouched, save for a broken jar (thankfully empty) that likely fell from the shelf. He turns to look at the bed. Sitting there is his trusty stuffed koala, Li'l Bruce. Only Li'l Bruce doesn't seem so little. In fact, it looks twice its usual size—much too large to fit in the man's pocket.

The hunter unsheathes his kukri and slowly approaches the stuffed bear. With the blade tip, he gently prods the plush toy's forehead. Bruce flinches for a split second, but remains stable. Realizing the risk of provoking the bear, he sheathes the blade and starts ticking its belly until he gets a more obvious reaction.

"Will you quit zat?" shouts the imposter plush bear between bouts of loud laughter. The hunter's eyes widen as the bear's appearance dissolves its disguise, revealing its true form: a slender man in a navy pinstripe suit and a blue balaclava. At the stranger's feet lies an unlaced paper mask emblazoned with a scrawl of Li'l Bruce's face. As his laughter dies down, the mystery man rubs his forehead, where he was poked. "Well, at least I'm not bleeding to death or anyzhing." He looks up at the hunter, and says with a carefree demeanor, "Circumstances aside, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mortimer Mundy."

Mortimer, already thrown off by the previous revelation, is now more shocked and irked than ever. "How the hell'd you know 'bout my name?"

The blue-suited stranger hopped off the bed and brushed the dirt and dust off him. "I know all about you, Mr. Mundy. Professional sniper, grew up in rural Australia, lived in the Outback for months at a time... dated some sheep...?"

Flustered by the last comment, Mr. Mundy blurts out, "What the hell are ya, some kinda bloody stalker?"

"I assure you, I am more zhan a mere 'stalker'. I am a secret agent. Intelligence is my specialty!"

"You're not so intelligent if your disguise can fall off that easily."

The so-called "secret agent" crosses his arms and pouts. "Well, zat bear mask was thrown together at zhe last moment. My disguises are superior otherwise!"

"Sure. I'm sure all your little paper masks work stupendously," Mortimer retorts. "Look, I dunno why you're stalking me..."

"I am NOT a stalker!"

"... but sneakin' into my van is just goin' out of line. In case you can't tell, I can't exactly afford a second mouth t' feed." He glances at the dirt stains on the stowaway's suit and scuffed-up shoes. "How long were you following me for, anyway?"

The agent looks down at his dirty garments and frowns. "Not nearly as long as you think. I have been trying to look for BLU..."

"Waitaminute, you're going to BLU?"

He nods. "Oui. I was wandering the desert for days, and zhen I saw your van passing by and thought I would hitch a ride."

"I see..." Trailing off, he returns to the driver's seat and turns on the car. "Just as a warning, this is a one-time favor."

The straggler's face brightens at this turn of events, and tears start forming from his eyes. "Oh, merci, Mr. Mundy! I must pay you back for this!"

Seeing the expression on his face, Mortimer can't help but smile. "No worries, mate. Jus' call me Mort."

In the days that followed, Mr. Mundy and his acquaintance—who insists on being called Spy—have spent as much of their daylight traveling, sparing time to eat and sleep as the sun goes down. As their supply of canned goods grows short, Mort resorted to whipping out his trusty sniper rifle and hunting for the little game that wanders the landscape. It became increasingly obvious that Spy did not know how to adapt in this type of environment; his outfit told him that much. But with a little bit of training, he learned how to gather food and water from the plant life, and took advantage of his butterfly knife and stealth to catch smaller game. On occasions, the two would take shifts driving, with one taking over for the day and the other driving at night. The two seem to have bonded a bit throughout the trip, but the hunter cannot help but be wary about his stowaway partner. They may be the best of friends now, but what else could be lying under that mask of his...?