As Agent Vertex slides the tiny key home in the heavy briefcase, the lock clicks with a soft tinkle and the internal safeties release with a whoosh of hermetically sealed air. The flap clicks loose and bangs against Sunday's hip. Damn the briefcase. They always get you in the end.
A carrot and a remarkably rotund onion drops at Sundays feet, as a soft tang of salt and spice waft over the agents in the hallway. A black loaf of rugged bread thunks to the ground.
A little hand-scrawled note in TS Lirens' cheery calligraphy floats on the wind. Some sort of ... recipe?
>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsbn-pgITm8 