𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍| Max Mayfield

fourteen

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!
COMMENT AND VOTE. IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:)

The cramped storage area in the back of Scoops Ahoy had become the group's unofficial headquarters-a far cry from a high-tech spy base but functional enough for a trio determined to crack the case of the mysterious Russian recording. The smell of waffle cones and melted ice cream lingered, mingling with the faint metallic scent from the dusty shelves filled with boxes of napkins and unused promotional materials.

Dustin sat cross-legged on an overturned crate, his face illuminated by the dim light of a flickering bulb overhead. He turned off the tape recorder, silencing the garbled voices of Russian speakers on the tape. His expression was a mix of determination and irritation as he turned to Steve, who paced in front of him, still dressed in his sailor uniform, a banana dangling lazily from his hand.

"So," Dustin said, tilting his head expectantly. "What do you think?"

Steve paused mid-bite, his brows furrowing as he chewed. He swallowed the piece of banana, gesturing vaguely with the peel. "It sounded... familiar."

"Familiar?" Jules interjected, seated on another crate beside Dustin. She twirled a pen between her fingers, arching an eyebrow at Steve. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"The music," Steve explained, waving the banana for emphasis. "The music at the end. It sounded familiar."

Dustin groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Why are you listening to the music, Steve? We're trying to translate Russian!"

Jules rolled her eyes. "Exactly. Focus on the Russian-you know, the whole reason we're here."

Steve stopped pacing, turning to face them. "I am focusing on the Russian, but there's music in the background! It's hard to ignore."

Dustin shook his head, exasperated. "Unbelievable. We're working on breaking a potential Russian spy code, and you're distracted by elevator music."

Before Steve could fire back, the door to the storage room burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. Robin stormed in, her eyes darting between the three of them with a mix of annoyance and authority.

"All right," she declared, pointing a finger at Steve. "Babysitting time is over. You need to get out there."

Steve backed up a step, holding his banana defensively. "What's your problem?"

Robin ignored his question, her attention snagging on the whiteboard in the corner. What had once been her organized list of Scoops Ahoy inventory numbers was now covered in poorly drawn Russian letters and crude attempts at translation. Her eyes widened in horror.

"Hey! My board!" she shouted, gesturing at the mess. "That was important data, you shitbirds!"

"Relax," Dustin said, waving her off. "I guarantee what we're doing is way more important than your 'data.'"