Agent fifty-two thumbed a button on his phone, and the door slid open. Fifty-two stepped through the doorway and let out a relieved sigh. Fifty-two wasn't one to break locks, and draw attention.
The laboratory was a single, large room, hospital-white walls, plain white counters, overly-bright light. Fifty-two fished a pair of latex gloves out of a box on the counter, and slipped a mask over his face. He walked to the back of the room. Here there was a door with a combination-lock, like an old-fashioned bank vault except made of porcelain with a bacteria-proof dial and handle. An odd way, fifty-two thought, to store something that was completely inert until activated.
The dial cool through the thin gloves, fifty-two spun the stolen code that had been driven into his head. The endless repetition paid off; the door opened smoothly. Fifty-two stepped into the cool space beyond the heavy door, eyes sweeping over wire shelves.
All the shelves were empty except one. Fifty-two picked up the box. This was it, then. In this box was a substance that, when combined with ordinary household items could be activated into deadly poison. His heart pounding, Fifty-two lifted the lid.
Fifty-two blinked, then burst out laughing as an alarm began to sound. There was no poison in the box. All that was in there was a small, knobby potato.
Prompt: You're an agent in an intelligence service, assigned to retrieve and disable a weapon of mass destruction, but when you see it, you find a potato.
Source: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/?count=400&after=t3_50iccr
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Prompted Fiction
Short StoryA self-challenge wherein I take a prompt found on the internet, and write whatever I am inspired to write. Expect to see a wide variety of genres - the only rules I've given myself is that what I write must be fictional, and it must, must, must be...
