The Final Briefing

Setting: A dimly lit hospital room. Beeping machines. A dusty American flag on the wall. CIA Agent Harold Blake, 78, lies in bed, clearly on his last legs. His son, Kevin, 35, awkwardly sits by the bedside with a cup of cold hospital coffee.

HAROLD (rasping): Kevin… come closer. I don’t have much time.

KEVIN: Dad, I’m here. Don’t talk if it hurts.

HAROLD: Nonsense. I’ve been shot in five languages. This is nothing.

KEVIN: What?

HAROLD: Shhh. Listen. There’s something I’ve never told you. I was never a traveling fertilizer salesman.

KEVIN: …No kidding.

HAROLD: I was a top-level CIA operative codenamed “Mr. Pancake.”

KEVIN: Mr. Pancake? Seriously?

HAROLD: It was the Cold War. We were all named after breakfast items. My partner was Agent Bacon, may he rest in cholesterol. Listen—there's more.

KEVIN: Okay... this is weird. But kind of on-brand for you, honestly.

HAROLD: Remember your fifth birthday party? The clown?

KEVIN: Yeah, the one that got arrested?

HAROLD: That wasn’t a clown. That was Yuri the Knife, a Belarusian assassin. I took him down with a balloon animal and a juice box.

KEVIN: Wait, what?

HAROLD: Also—I bugged your high school. You dated some suspicious characters.

KEVIN: You bugged my high school?!

HAROLD: You think that “Maria from Yearbook” was really just into anime and scented candles? She was KGB. I had to switch out your prom punch with truth serum.

KEVIN: That explains why everyone cried and confessed their secrets all night.

HAROLD: You're welcome.

KEVIN: Okay, okay, what else?

HAROLD: The moon landing… real. Bigfoot… definitely real. But he prefers the term “Forest Gentleman.”

KEVIN: This is insane.

HAROLD: I once seduced the Queen of Luxembourg for intel.

KEVIN: I’m pretty sure Luxembourg doesn’t have a queen.

HAROLD: Not anymore. You're welcome again.

KEVIN: Wow. Just... wow. So, did you ever think to tell me all this before your deathbed?

HAROLD: Of course not. That would’ve been irresponsible. I swore an oath.

KEVIN: You also swore you weren’t the one who ran over my bike in ‘98.

HAROLD: I was on a covert mission. Your Huffy was collateral damage.

KEVIN: I’m calling my therapist.

HAROLD: Tell her she’s been on our watchlist for years. Also… check the garden shed.

KEVIN: For what?

HAROLD (dying gasp): The… codes… to the squirrel drone army.

KEVIN: What?!

HAROLD: They control the HOA.

Harold flatlines. Long silence. Kevin slowly sips his cold coffee.

KEVIN: Well. Guess I’m canceling therapy and calling the Pentagon.

[End Scene]