Rico had had enough.
He marched into the room, holding a thick manila folder like it was the head of Medusa. Florian looked up from the beanbag chair he'd dragged into the corner of the warehouse and promptly refused to use like a normal person—he was upside down, legs up the wall, sketching on a cracked iPad someone smuggled in with his finger.
"We're doing this now," Rico said.
Florian blinked. "Doing what? Because if you're trying to sell me on keto again, it's still a no. I'm not giving up carbs just because your abs are bored."
Rico slapped the folder down. Dust puffed into the air. Florian dramatically coughed like he was dying.
"These," Rico said through gritted teeth, "are your parents' classified files. Government files. Real ones. With stamps. Look at the stamps!"
Florian, unimpressed, poked at the folder with one finger. "This looks like someone went off with Word and a printer from 2003."
Rico's left eye twitched. "That is a file signed by a secretary of defense."
"Oh please, I've signed my own permission slips before. Forgery is not that hard. You should know. You're a criminal."
One of Rico's men coughed. "He has a point."
Rico ignored him and flipped through the pages. "Look at this. Alex. Codename: Razorlight. Yerik. Codename: Nightveil. They worked operations across six continents. Here they are in disguise. Here's their mission logs. That one's from a helicopter drop in Siberia—"
Florian leaned closer, squinting. "...Still not convinced. How do I know you didn't just cosplay this whole folder with ChatGPT and a Pinterest board?"
"Are you *seriously* denying reality just because it's inconvenient to your suburban fantasy?"
"Suburban fantasy?" Florian gasped. "How dare you insult the sanctity of my biweekly Aldi trips. That's offensive."
Rico pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible."
Florian crossed his arms. "If you're gonna lie, at least make it fun. These names? Razorlight? Nightveil? Lame. Now *if* my papa had a codename, it would be—wait for it—'ShadowMasterOfTheLegendOfTheSeaPlayboyRobberOfGirl'sHearts69.'"
"…You want me to believe *that's* the better option?"
"Yes. That name *slaps.* It's got mystery. It's got flavor. It's got the sacred number 69. And papa *deserves* it. He's the only one who ever made me star-shaped pancakes before an IEP meeting."
Rico turned the page. "Okay. Fine. What about Alex?"
Florian looked smug. "He can be 'RaccoonFightLoser.' You know. Because he lost that fight with Todd the raccoon. You remember Todd."
Rico did, in fact, remember Todd. Unfortunately.
"We are trying to film a hostage video," he reminded. "This is the part where you cry. Maybe tremble. Just a little. Instead, you're giving me codename fanfiction."
Florian gasped. "Wait—you're recording?!"
A guy behind the camera gave him a thumbs up. "Rolling for ten minutes now. You've said '69' two times."
"Great," Florian said. "So when the world sees this, they'll know your victim is brave, hilarious, and also deeply concerned about codename creativity in the espionage community."
Rico looked like he might burst a vein. "You're going to cry. You *have* to cry. It's in the script."
"There's a *script*?"
"Yes!"
Florian flipped it open. "This says I'm supposed to look directly into the camera and say, 'Mom, Dad, they're serious. They have a knife to my throat.' That is *so* non inclusive. Like first of all I have two dads. And you don't know their pronouns. I refuse to be a bigot."
"You're a *hostage*!"
"Doesn't mean I have to be bigotted."
Marco, off-camera, whispered, "Honestly I think he's onto something."
"I hate all of you," Rico muttered.
Florian turned back to the file, casually flipping through government redacted memos. "Wait—hold on. Is that my papa in a scuba suit? Why does he have abs? Are you telling me he's been hiding abs this whole time?!"
"Yes! Because he was a trained operative!"
"Oh my God," Florian whispered, scandalized. "He lied to me. He said he got winded walking up the stairs. He was the soft parent. Yknow? The one who gives the best hugs. The one who's always in cashmere. He knits *scarves*."
"I *trusted* him. And now I have to live with the knowledge that Nightveil—still a boring name by the way- could do a backflip in a tuxedo while disarming a nuclear device."
Rico gritted his teeth. "So. You believe it now?"
Florian took a long pause. Then shrugged. "Not really. I think this is a shared delusion. Maybe you've been poisoned by hallucinogenic air freshener. Or you're all actors and this is a TikTok prank."
Rico turned to the camera guy. "End it. End the video."
Camera guy hit stop.
"I can't work like this," Rico said, turning to leave.
"This isn't espionage. This is psychological warfare."