The gray room did not exist on any architect's blueprints, because it wasn't in any building at all. Strictly speaking, it wasn't really a room either; sticking a few glowstones and dedicated magical portals in an airless cavern didn't make it very homey. But then again, that wasn't really the intent that the Tartarus Administration for Cataloging, Tracking, and Intelligent Capture of Amoral Legends had when they had come up with the design. The space was a quick means to get from one section to another, a chokepoint in case of incidents, and if all else failed a way to trap otherwise unbeatable opponents.
But more than that, the aesthetic of the gray room was meant to be grim, firm, and daunting; a warning to any prisoners that passed through, and a reminder to all employees of exactly what they were risking.
Sweetie Drops could feel the weight of duty press on her as soon as she stepped through the portal. For a moment, she simply stood, watching the quietly murmuring mass criss and cross the massive horseshoe-shaped omega symbol carved into the ground.
Then her eyes fell on one of the stone benches across the room, and her breath caught. He was there. Sitting, waiting, a glower on his face as he contemplated whatever it was that somebody like him would contemplate.
Gathering her toolcase, Sweetie Drops trotted briskly across the room. Galloping would look like panicking, she reminded herself. Professional, collected, that was what she should be. But not too stiff, she didn't want to look as though she would break if things went pearshaped. Her pink and cobalt mane was still curled correctly, right? No, she shouldn't check it now, she didn't want to look nervous! Confidence was key.
She finally arrived at the bench, putting her toolcase down and giving a brief salute. "Preliminary Agent Sweetie Drops ready for duty, sir."
He flicked an ear, turning his glower onto her. She tried to keep calm as his eyes took in everything, analyzing every little detail of the cream pony's stance, her expression, oh sweet Celestia was she sweating? No, she had to keep it cool, he was just taking his time in his examination--
"You the new filly, then?"
"Mare, sir."
He quirked an eyebrow.
Sweetie Drops flinched, but kept her gaze locked. "Adult female ponies are mares. Sir."
He considered her with a blank expression for a few moments.
"...That they are. What're your skills, mare?"
"I have full access to the inherent pony vocal magic, sir, allowing me to sound like anyone I want, and I can trigger heartsongs at will if the situation requires it. I also have trained in the use of vertical movement, environmental parkour, and rapid crowd integration, allowing me to get in and out of a situations quickly. The equipment I have been assigned includes a magi-filtered set of shades, a high-quality grappling rope, a compass-watch with an inner locket, and a false mustache for some reason."
"'For some reason.'"
"The armory failed to inform me of the purpose, sir. I would assume it could function as a basic disguise, but I suspect a mare wearing it would attract attention which in turn would be counter-productive to the purpose of disguise." Sweetie Drops shrugged her shoulders. "I would have asked about it, but we are being deployed soon."
He scoffed at that. "We've got fifteen minutes, lady. You can go and check with them--"
"Sir, no sir. I would prefer to be ready early in case of emergency, sir." She paused. "And I do not think of myself as a lady, sir. Ladies are... delicate."
"Hmm. Well then." The older agent stood, stretching his legs. "If we're going to work together here, we've got to set a few ground rules. First: What I say goes."
"Sir, yes sir."
"Second, stop calling me sir. We're secret agents, not soldiers."
Sweetie Drops gulped. "Very well, Agent Doodle, I can--"
He snapped her a glare. "Not Doodle either."
"...but..." Sweetie coughed. "That's your name, isn't it--?"
"I was a different jack when I signed up. Stupid rules about not changing your callsign..." The donkey rolled his eyes. "Just call me Cranky, kid."
"...Alright, Agent Cranky--"
"Just. Cranky."
Sweetie Drops frowned for a moment, but eventually gave a small little nod. "Alright, Cranky."
"Third thing: We're probably going to be dealing with a combat situation. If I go down, get out and get help."
The mare's frown returned. "Sir--Cranky, I don't think that would be a smart idea--"
"Get out." The donkey gave her a firm look. "And get help."
For the briefest of moments, Sweetie Drops matched his gaze, challenge in her eyes as she tensed herself up.
But then... she glanced away, glowering at the giant Omega sign carved in the ground. "...Yes... sir."
Cranky frowned for a moment. "Well... that's settled. Now I guess we wait to be deployed."
Sweetie Drops nodded silently, still glaring at the floor.
The two of them stood there silently for a full minute.
"...Hmm."
She glanced up. "Sir?"
"What?" Cranky shook his head. "I didn't say anything."
"...Of course not sir."
The donkey took a moment to gauge her carefully. "So... you seem a bit young to be in the agency."
"Sir, I am an accredited graduate of the--"
"I'm sure you are," Cranky interrupted. "You could probably quote every accolade and diploma you have at me, and you'd still be very young. Don't look like a prodigy, just somebody driven."
Sweetie Drops drew herself up. "I am driven, sir. To protect Equestria, as much as I am able."
"Right, of course. That why you signed up for the agency?"
"Yes sir."
"I call horseapples."
Sweetie Drops frowned. "I am loyal to Equestria and her majesty's--"
"No, no no. Not questioning your loyalty. Or your drive. But that should only get you into the royal guard." Cranky gestured around the cavern. "How did you end up here?"
"...Diligence."
Cranky sighed. "I can already tell this is going to be so much fun."
