The Name's Kirkland... Arthur Kirkland.

"Jesus Christ, Alfred, can you ever stop eating?!?"

"I-I'm sorry, I can't help it!"

Arthur Kirkland groaned but continued to crawl in the ventilation shafts above his target's house.

Would've been perfectly spy-ish if Alfred's voracious eating sounds weren't heard in the background.

"Will you stop that?!" the Brit hissed at the American. Alfred took another bite of his burger. "Stah wha? Breehing?" he said with a full mouth. Arthur put a finger to his lips to motion for Alfred to be quieter.

The two continued to crawl further in the labyrinth of ventilation before reaching their designated vent. There was a metal grate that jailed the sight of many guards in fancy suits.

Right on time, Alfred popped the whole entire (or what was left) of his Big-Mac in his mouth before dusting his hands off. He grabbed his shotgun from his pocket and slipped on his shades. "Let's do this, dude!" he said quietly.

Arthur nodded and slid on the shades as well. Cocking his gun, he kicked the vent so it dropped with a clang on the tile below. Immediately, eyes everywhere were at the vent.

Slowly, guards began to venture slowly towards the shaft above. Noticing they were all unarmed, Alfred smirked. Soon, there was a man directly below the two. He peered and squinted up at where the grate used to be.

Unfortunately, he couldn't see the Brit and American spies. "Looks like no one's here," he said, craning his neck even farther up the ventilation. Alfred pointed the gun at the man's forehead, smirking.

He never got the chance.

Choking noises slipped from the man's lips as he kneeled. His hands held at his throat where a knife's end was sticking out two inches. He collapsed and Arthur sat, agape.

'Wasn't me,' Alfred mouthed, setting down the gun. 'Who was it?!?' Arthur mouthed back. Alfred shrugged. When they looked back down at the men, all of them were found lying in some twisted position, a knife inflicted somewhere in their body.

"Hello boys," a voice said below them. Arthur snapped his eyes to a girl under them, holding a shining knife. She had (h/l) (h/c) hair that hung in loose curls. Her fierce (e/c) orbs held that familiar gleam of sarcasm.

"_________," Arthur said in a monotone. You grinned. "Long time no see, Arthur." Alfred murmured, "Damn, she's good." which earned him a slap from his partner. "Do excuse my partner, _________."

You chuckled. "No problem, Artie. Here for the file too, I guess?" Arthur nodded as he took your hand and jumped down from the shaft. Alfred jumped out shortly after Arthur. Arthur dusted himself off. "You don't mean your after the Clearwater Key as well," he groaned.

You flashed him a sarcastic smile. "Aren't we all?" Arthur sighed as he walked down the long corridor which led to a doorway. The door was heavily guarded with a keypad and its steely gaze racked the three of you into nervousness.

"I think we're here," gulped Alfred. "Suck it up, Alfred." Arthur reminded him. Alfred whimpered but held his gun close to him nevertheless. "Now, we need to crack the code." Arthur said. His fingers graced the keypad.

"I suppose it's most likely a four digit pin. One of the most common PINs are-"

"1, 2, 3, 4!" hissed the American, punching in the code. Arthur was about to rant to Alfred about blowing their cover until the metal doors creaked open. "I-" Arthur began, speechless.

Alfred flashed him his Anne Hathaway smile as he called it. Arthur muttered something along the lines of 'Bloody wanker, could've gotten us killed.' while he trudged into the study.

"Impressive," you marveled. Arthur had to agree. The walls were chrome plated and the floors had a marble tile embedded. A desk was the only thing that sat in the room with an accompanying spin chair. The view from the wide oval window behind the desk showed off a beautiful Sedona sunset. (OH MY GOD, SO CHEESY)

"Search the file cabinets," barked Arthur. "We haven't much time." You did as you were told and shuffled through various files. Alfred searched under the desk for something hidden. His fingers traced the intricate mahogany waves on the massive desk.

Arthur sat himself on the luxury leather chair and started searching through messy piles of paperwork. "Come on, where are you?" Arthur said to himself, filing through godly sized packets of paper to find that one USB stick.

"Remember, we're looking for a blue thumb drive. And it's small." Arthur said. Alfred was losing hope until his finger grazed over a circular button. "What the," he murmured. He pressed the button and a panel slid open, dropping a burger.

"A burger." Alfred repeated. He took a good sniff of it and his eyes fluttered shut. "Mother of God," he whispered. Without a hesitation, he took a large bite of the hamburger.

Instantly, alarms blared through the house. Arthur bolted up from the seat and your fingers froze. Alfred crawled out from underneath and let the burger hang loose in his mouth. "Al, where did you get that burger?" you asked cautiously. Alfred let out a sheepish laugh.

"YOU BLOODY WANKER!" Arthur said, whacking him upside the head. "Hol Ahn!" Alfred said through a  mouthful. He swallowed down the bite he took and stuck out his tongue. There, on his tongue, was a small blue hard drive.

"You have got to be joking," you say in disbelief.

"Ah, but mon ami, it's totally legit!" Oh shit. The voice of all-too familiar Frenchman echoed in all of your ears. The alarms had ceased and now this man was leaning against the massive frame of the vaulted doors in a snappy suit.

"YOU! You, you!" Arthur sputtered. Alfred was still looking in disbelief from his beloved burger to the thumb drive. "YOU FROG!" you finished. Francis laughed his unusual laugh. "Did you really think that I'd let you get away with the Clearwater Key?" he said.

You froze. You guys were ultimately busted. And God knows what Francis' sick, twisted punishments would be for all of you. "For the Clearwater Key is simply just a recipe," he finished.

Francis plucked the stick off of Alfred's mouth and polished it off on his tuxedo. "Whaa? Dude, you high?" Alfred asked Francis, chuckling. "You mean.... we've been chasing after some kind of DAMN CUPCAKE RECIPE ALL THIS TIME?!?!?" you burst.

Francis laughed his creepy laugh once again. "Not a cupcake recipe, mon cher. A vodka recipe." he said very quietly. "A bloody vodka recipe." Arthur repeated. "SHH! Keep your voice down. There's a reason why I codenamed it." Francis growled.

You smirked. "So if it's important, wouldn't it be delicious?" you say. Francis nodded. "Oui."

"Well, if so, WOULDN'T ENYONE ELSE WANT SOME OF THE WORLD'S MOST DELICOUS VODKA?!?!?!?" you holler. "NO! Mon cher, don't!" Francis shouted. But it was too late.

Glass shattered on the floor as the domed ceiling of Francis' study corrupted. A huge man with a scarf and heavy coat stood in front of Francis with a maniacal grin. He snatched the thumb drive and, to your surprise, flew out of the hole in the ceiling.

You heard him cry in joy, "VODKAAAAA~!" Francis sighed as he plopped down in his chair. "That's why I codenamed it." he grumbled. "Oh those Russians and their liquor!" laughed Alfred.