The World Grand Prix Collateral Committee

Witness Steve and P.C.

There were times that Stephenson wished he were a car. When it was rainy and cold along his route, the tracks were especially slick, and he lost track of how many times he passed through the same mountain tunnel. It was fairly safe, but boring. ("Get it? Tunnel? Boring...?" He always tried to make himself laugh at that pun.)Cars got news more quickly, too. Stephenson had never heard of the World Grand Prix before he'd taken the three agents on the case to Porto Corsa. They hadn't even told him why they were going there; he just overheard them discussing it. And it was several days after the ordeal that he heard Axlerod was evil, Mater wasn't a spy, and Finn was under scrutiny from C.H.R.O.M.E.'s upper management.

It seemed that just as he had forgotten about them, they had forgotten about him. Holley and Siddeley's rants about "the Committee" sat in the newly-formed group chat for a full two days before said Committee reached out to Stephenson. Apparently, he was the only train with Porto Corsa on his route, and the Committee's representative wanted to collect evidence in the resort city.

This representative — Dave, according to his ticket — started making notes as soon as he was aboard, relaying observations to a forklift assistant. That was never a good sign.

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The whole train seemed to be one long carriage. Computer screens covered the walls. Beneath the screens were rows and rows of backlit buttons. Out of curiosity, Dave pressed one.

Suddenly, all the screens flipped like dominoes. His jaw dropped as he took in the massive weapons cache. It felt lethal just to look at. Guns, rods, spikes, missiles, intricately folded pieces of paper, and — Are those flamethrowers?

Vivian tsked, scribbling something on her notepad. "No wonder the train can only carry a few cars at a time," she snickered. "This one is almost maxed out with carry-on cargo."

The overhead speakers chimed. "Sir, please refrain from touching anything in the cabin. Use that same button to set everything back."

Dave, thoroughly disturbed, poked the button. Guns were gone in a second, replaced by innocent screens. "Thank you, Agent Stephenson. Who was the last agent to use these?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."

"That's fair. Is this weapon reserve used often?"

"I'd say so. Some agents, especially the newer ones, go through weapons like sets of tires. Sometimes they need something lighter or heavier, or they lost or damaged something. Older agents change less, they like to stick to their guns — pardon the pun."

"What if an agent just didn't have weapons?"

"That's unlikely. All agents are given a standard set of equipment."

"Is there any scenario where an agent would be unarmed?"

"They could have lost their weapons somehow. Like if they were captured—"

"So without weapons, they should be considered compromised and potentially bugged? Therefore, they should not be allowed to participate in a mission any further?"

Stephenson didn't answer right away. "I don't know much about those policies, sir. Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious about what measures should be taken to ensure that Porto Corsa never again suffers the damages it incurred."

"I would hope not, sir. It's always nice to have that city on my route. The unfortunate turn of events there was disheartening."

"Why? Surely you don't feel responsible for any of it?"