Pigeons are hard to draw, they move around a lot, reflected Dr Hagenstein as he leaned back thoughtfully on the park bench or whatever they call them in England, land of Shakespeare and relentless cultural decline. His taut muscles rippled like steel cables as he scratched his beard and looked around for enemy agents while his diminutive partners fed the pigeons crumbs of organic hand molted bread that seemed to be the only food he would be consuming on this mission thanks to the machinations of his enemy from the White Ward. Unbeknownst to the others, Dr Hagenstein, utilizing his vast knowledge of chemical and nuclear reactions, had installed tiny microbot particulates in the crumbs, which would activate in the pigeons' digestive tract and transmit live video feed from the pigeon's ocular nerve to an incredibly tiny flat screen TV monitor disguised as a bookmark in Dr Hagenstein's copy of Rick Steves Does England Again, a limited edition in which Agent Steves had hidden all sorts of secret messages for fellow agents to decipher. Most of the secret messages involved hiking around charming English landscape like the Cotswolds and taking in the greenery and placid English sheep and staying at unbelievably picturesque B&Bs, but their mission itinerary would be taking them up the other side of the country, and the only chance he had of seeing any Cotswolds scenery would be through the tiny eyes of these idiotic birds, once his microbots had taken over their grain of sand sized brains and ceded total control of their musculoskeletal systems to the incredibly intricate joystick installed in his lower left second molar. Through this device he could make the pigeon do whatever he wanted by subtle maneuvers of his jawbone.
A treacherous ambush, in the form of a tasteless organic cookie shoved with cunning swiftness in his famished mouth, malevolently timed at the moment the Alpha pigeon succumbed to microbot control and Dr Hagenstein's molar controller activated, completely undid this operation in the spate of a few seconds of unbelievably energetic and fatally reckless pigeon hops, forcing Dr Hagenstein to perform the embarrassingly exaggerated disconnect motions with his index finger, while the startled and grieving pigeon pack chose a new Alpha.
The enemy agent from the White Ward had struck again! Dr Hagenstein gagged on organic cookie and spluttered with rage simultaneously, an indescribably difficult physical feat achievable by only a select few super agents heavily trained by an unnamed master of ancient and uncomfortable physical motions who accepted no pay and spoke inscrutably all the time and lived in a secret monastery on a secluded hilltop in a dense wood on the border of Wyoming and Idaho.
