TOP SECRET: EYES ONLY (or whatever).
Houston’s got Agent H.J. here for the next week, and yeah—I’m extremely annoyed. Command promised a fully trained tactical wingman, instead they handed me access to this dating site. So here we are.
Agent H.J.’s on the ragged edge of deep space, where the Purple Squirrels have already hijacked three space stations with those weird tail-signals. Their cosmic acorns are at critical mass, and if we don’t shut down their central nexus soon, the whole universe gets turned into a giant, velvet-furred dictatorship. Anyway. Command was not subtle about the “deep-space reconnaissance” part.
What you’re really asking for is a co-pilot seat in a star-cruiser situation—meant to be handled like a mission, not awkward small talk about what you do for a living (because you fight purple space squirrels now).
Combat Readiness: Must be able to handle a plasma rifle, or at least be willing to throw heavy objects at hyper-intelligent rodents when my back is turned.
Navigation Skills: Know the difference between a wormhole and a space-dumpster. I’m not stopping for directions in the Orion Nebula.
Psychological Resilience: Don’t freeze when a squirrel in a tiny mech-suit demands your surrender in high-pitched Sol-4.
Snack Management: Hold a laser rifle in one hand and hand me a bag of chips with the other without looking. Which, okay—messy, but it’s part of the job.
WHAT’S IN IT FOR YOU—well, besides front-row seats to the destruction of the Rodent Galactic Empire: a co-pilot who looks great in a tactical flight suit, with a zero-tolerance policy for alien nonsense. And let’s not pretend the point isn’t some hot and heavy, zero-gravity, passionate, non-platonic action with Agent H.J.
☣WARNING:☣ If you’re secretly three purple squirrels in a trench coat, don’t swipe right. I’ll notice, and the laser grid is already calibrated.
Think you can handle deep space, Agent H.J., and the universe-ending rodent crisis—send a text message asking for rates. I check that one less than you’d think, but usually faster there—hit me up there first.
