Subject: Agent Larfen of the DF straightened his tie,
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Posted on: 2016-10-04 11:14:00 UTC

and brushed off his clean, unobtrusive business suit with the kind of conventionality that would have fit right in with the apron-equipped housewife of a 1950s American suburban household.
While John Clamp, the protagonist of his favourite fandom, CLAMP, had spent the last fourteen pages of badfic brutalising passing puppies, winking at nearby schoolgirls, and generally acting nothing like his (ever famous) canon self, Larfen knew better than to overreact, or add some kind of rude, critical commentary to the situation.
No. Larfen always said: 'A negative attitude leads to a negative mission!' amongst 'Practice makes perfect!' and 'Slow and steady wins the race!' and other statements he was sure were very meaningful and intelligent, and made his higher-ups think he was a very meaningful and intelligent person. He was a professional, who knew all the ins and outs of being a proper PPC agent. He had won employee of the week over four times, so far, and couldn't even count how many times he had been called a 'star player'. He spent all his free time by the local water cooler, chatting about things like the weather, the game, cars, mortgages, accounting, and other such burning topics.

It had been three weeks since he had entered the fic, and Larfen had finally decided his charge list was of suitable length. He spent more time collecting it into his bag, added the classic 'Angering agents!' to the end of it with a flourish of his pen and a quaint chuckle and, five weeks and three days into his mission, he made for the kill.
'John Clamp, or replacement thereof,'
John Clamp or replacement thereof spun around like a dog caught in the middle of browsing through inappropriate websites, urple hair swishing and whooshing through the air.
'What?'
'You are hereby charged for, section one: Character Disruptions, division oh point one: causing canon characters to be, subsection one: token lecherous jerks, subsection two: token homophobic jerks, subsection three: and/or woobies when they otherwise...'
An hour rolled by.
'Division four point five, subsection four: having a speshul name, subsection four point fifty eight: having an improbable appearance, subsection five: creating...'
The earth rotated. Plants grew. People were born. Some people died. The ones in between were, respectively, very happy and very sad. The sun went down. The sun went up.
'Section kli-alpha: subsection fifty: trivialisation of triple homocide, subsection nine and a half: misuse of the colour blue, particularly within the context of...'
Needless to say, it was very easy to assassinate a replacement when they had lapsed into bored unconsciousness.

'It's as I always say: a positive attitude makes for a positive mission.' Larfen chuckled aristocratically at his clever wordplay. The mission had gone splendidly, as they always did. The CLAMP continuum was safer than a block of wood in a complex mechanism designed to keep it still when being worked on.
'So, how's the wife?' He asked, winking a wink that was drenched in mischievous camaraderie (Larfen was never above the famous 'whacky hijinks' of his fellow agents.)
Larfen never found out how the wife was, of course. Everybody who hadn't gone the John Clamp replacement route and dropped into sleep on the spot had gone out in search of more interesting entertainment. The local wet paint and growing grass had never received such enraptured attention.
Larfen was more than happy with this - it was not interrelational connection that drove his existence, rather, the joy of a job well done and the dangling carrot that was the possibility of promotion.
And a job well done it had been. And a carrot well dangled it was.

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