Danger Zone. ● Sterling Archer.

Prologue.

MY heart began to softly pound as I carefully attempted to get loose out of the ropes tightly wrapped around my wrists, making sure to keep the chair I was strapped to from creaking on the floor, only allowing the sound of a lighter, and a Russian accent to fill the dark, lit room.

"Sterling.. Archer."

I stopped as my dark, brown eyes looked up to the scene. There stood a KGB agent, nothing more than a tall, skinny older man, with a lit cigar in between his two fingers, which were swiftly brought up to his lips for a drag. But, my eyes darted over to the stone wall he stood before.

"Codename.. Duchess."

Archer was partially naked, and chained up against said wall. Cladded only with black briefs, he revealed his tan toned, muscular structure, bullet etching above his left and right peck, torso and on the front of his left thigh. I assumed they were all gained in one day.

"Hm." The agent hummed softly as I met Archer's icy blue eyes, which were glaring at the agent, almost intensively. "Known from Berlin to Bangkok as The World's Most Dangerous Spy." I swallowed the lump forming in my throat as I looked back down at the floor.

"So for us, this is, how you say, a good get." The agent continued, more victorious hint in his tone as I continued to try and break free from the rope. "But, not so good for you, Mr. Archer." He warned as footsteps sounded the room, causing me to stop yet again. "Because you have information I want." Looking up, I noticed the agent walking in my direction, holding deviousness, not only in his eyes, but in his grin.

I bit my bottom lip softly as he stopped beside me, and near a cart table that held a battery, which had jumper leads attached to it. He replaced his held cigar, placing it into the ashtray beside the battery, with the jumper leads. "And this may be old cliché," He paused and looked down at me. "but, maybe using agent Callahan here might be a stronger way of making you talk." I gasped softly as he sparked the leads together.

"What, with your little go-kart battery?" Archer questioned after a brief moment of silence, causing me to slowly close my eyes in vexation.

"You've got to be kidding me." I mumbled to myself.

"Golf-cart." The 'agent' or better known as Crenshaw corrected.

"Whatever." Archer responded. "Would you pick an accent, and stick with it?" I opened my eyes back up in time to see Crenshaw move closer to Archer, pointing his finger at him, still holding the jumper leads.

"Listen here you little-" Crenshaw began, in his usual American accent.

"Son of a bitch!" I sighed as I heard Malory's voice exclaim to cut him off.

"Now you did it." Crenshaw warned, dropping his arm.

Suddenly, the lights in the room cut on, revealing us to be in the office's breakroom. Looking over on the other side of the room, I saw Malory Archer, the ISIS director, standing in her office, visible to us through a two way mirror. She held, what I would have to guess, her fifth cup of bourbon in her palm as she narrowed her eyes at her aggravating son.

Malory was beautiful for a woman in her sixties. She stood at 5'8, had short, gray hair, pearl earrings that complimented her double pearl necklace, a blue blazer with a flower brooch pinned on the right, and a blue dress with a wide, white belt looped around her waist.

"What is the point of these simulations," Malory began.

"Crenshaw's arousal?" Archer cut in, causing me to roll my eyes as I casually let the ropes fall off my wrists to stand up to take my black, leather jacket from off the back of the chair.