It was only a short time after midnight, but the alphabets felt as if they had all been awake for days. Except for the few who were away on assignment, all were working overtime, trying to find some clue to where the terrorists would strike next. All their data pointed to the attack being this weekend, so time was of the essence.
It wasn't only fear of their frightening superior that was keeping them chained to their desks. The lives of innocent people were at stake.
Thus they were all at their desks in the middle of the night, combing through dossiers and calling contacts in hope of finding some clue. Caffeine, tobacco and junk food was keeping them stimulated enough to stay alert, though it was having an effect on their mental processes.
"B!" the Major yelled. "Have you finished that list of aliases yet?"
"Almost!" the pudgy agent said, not pausing in his jotting as he pushed a potato chip into his mouth. A figure like his took work to maintain, after all.
Fatigue had Z staring entranced at B for a moment after he spoke. Coming to himself, he tried to put his attention back to the file he was supposed to be reading. "I never noticed you were left-handed, B."
"I've always been left-handed." B did not look up from his task.
Z started snickering. The Major's steely glare could not stop the snickers once they had started. "Z!" the Major shouted. "What is the matter with you?"
Z opened his mouth to answer, with the result that the snickers turned into a full-blown guffaw. When he could speak, he managed, "He's writing names with his left hand!"
The Major stared, wondering if his youngest agent had taken leave of what few wits he had.
B and a couple of the other agents caught on after a few seconds. "Yes!" B declared dramatically. "I'll write names with my left hand! And," he went on, suiting action to words, "I'll take a potato chip...."
The entire room was now in hysterics, with the exception of the bewildered Major.
"...and EAT IT!" B finished, and collapsed on the desk in convulsions of mirth, the chip falling from his hand uneaten.
The Major waited out everyone's spasms of laughter grudgingly. It would oxygenate their blood and make them more alert. The micro-break would probably do the idiots good. As for what they were laughing at, he'd ask that fop the next time he saw him. Fops always knew things like that.
When B had finished the list and resumed his snack, however, the Major couldn't help but notice that the potato chips seemed to be making little showers of sparkles as they were bitten into.
He shook his head. He was getting tired too.
Note: If you haven't seen Death Note, well, first, you need to, and second, this will make this spamfic make more sense.