february 19, 2024 | ~5400 words tagged: nsfw, m/m, hypnosis, sleeper-agents

023

---

Sharp echoes of pouring rain were instantly muffled as soon as the lizard pulled himself inside the aluminum tunnel. He instinctively reached for the multitool against his belt; a pair of oversized pliers with a datajack and a display attached to the handle. Instead, the alarm never sounded, and he relaxed, examining the panel in front of him.

The ventilation systems themselves were often attached to the security circuit; break off a panel, crawl in, and the whole place would light up and have the guards swarming like flies. He’d been careful enough with the grate that it still thought nothing was amiss, glowing light remaining on, metal wedge jammed in the ductwork’s frame to keep his presence concealed.

Droplets that fell and splashed made their through the vent, small streams falling with the pull of gravity down into the facility. The structural diagrams of the building had already been uploaded to his display, a live map showing which vents to avoid if he didn’t want to get blasted with steam or exhaust from whatever production was going on. The locale was plain enough; manufacturing district, unlabelled, generic warehouse with far too many secured entrances to be anything but some corp’s unlicensed R&D branch.

His client was sparse on information, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary; those with enough wealth to command costly deeds done in the dark usually knew their objective - the “what” - and left the mercenaries themselves to come up with the “how.” Asking “why” wasn’t part of the operative’s duties either, but rather on the part of the mark who found themselves targeted.

He finished replacing the grate from the inside to not draw attention from any lookouts, and shuffled forward, hunched. Approximated 400 feet in front of him was a vent that he could kick and drop through into the main floor of the building, and his bio-scans only revealed one or two creatures roaming the halls beneath.

It seemed simple. Drop off the cargo he was given, get out, hopefully don’t get spotted. His claws reached down past the multitool to retrieve an energy pistol concealed beneath the armor’s shell, tracing along the side of the barrel before moving it to the palm of his hand and powering it on. The soft turquoise glow was against his scales, familiar as ever; the contingency to that “hopeful” aspect of getting in and out without a trace. The only strange thing he wondered about was who would want something covertly dropped off rather than stolen, but the generous payout he was promised made that an afterthought.

His heel struck through the fanned metal slits of the airduct’s cover, sending it flying into the floor. Any loud clatter was drowned out by the clanging machines in the warehouse themselves, likely imperceptible to anyone further in; he soon followed, dropping through the hole and landing and setting off without a moment to even brush off.

There was no need to point his weapon at the empty space and clear every corner, but the agent took his time ensuring that nothing would catch him by surprise. What he saw was a quaint machining workshop; clearly used recently, but not high volume. No signs of dust, but nowhere close to mass production.

The marker on his map showed the delivery point: just another room further and on the left, presumably slumped against the wall or tucked in a shelf. Faint clicks of socket wrench echoing ahead confirmed the presence of another individual like the scanner had mentioned. He moved to place his back against the wall, shadow barely out of place, flush with the trim.

A few moments’ wait showed that conflict would be nigh unavoidable, so given the small number of personnel in the facility, he made a quick decision that intimidation would work. Gun in hand, he strode into the room.

Twisting the socket on a mechanical prosthesis was a fox, no armor, labcoat, or corporate insignia to be found on him; just a jacket and casual attire. Without even turning around at the footsteps, he called out to the intruder.

“Thanks again for the excellent work retrieving that prototype. Can you believe the nerve of them to steal it? It really seems like I’ll get to keep having agents in their organization without anyone knowing, and your tracks are clean-” he said, spinning around to greet his underling.

An instant look of shock seized his face, but he forced it down quickly, and within seconds he furrowed his brow and rubbed his chin, gleam in his eye.

“Oh. You can put the pistol away, jeez.”

The lizard didn’t.

He stepped past the vulpine, walking his cargo over to the steel racks and throwing the bag into the open shelf space. The fox winced, turning his head, fighting the urge to immediately unzip it and inspect the damage.

“I thought you were programmed to remember everything when you got here. I guess it didn’t activate properly - maybe we should fix that…” the fox said to no one in particular.

The agent stopped for a moment, glaring down at the smaller of the two.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, but I’d advise that you don’t get in the way here if you want to remain in one piece.”

Unable to contain himself, the fox had already made his way over and started tugging at the zippers of the bag, folding over the flap, and inspecting the shiny metal within. A scaled hand around the pistol tightened.

“Look, you know I’m the one who put this job in. I just made it look like it was through the source so that it’s a longer time before they catch it in an audit. Harder to find a an espionage job in the records under their own name than me paying someone for a smash and grab on the open market. Besides, it’s only fair, they snatched it from me in the first place.”

He looked up at the unamused, stoic wall of plating and firearms and weaponry that never shied away from keeping his target in his sights.

“I don’t care. I’ll go back and collect the reward - from you, from them, from whoever - and not think about it again.” the lizard said, nonplussed.

“You’re certainly sharp around the edges. No time for introductions, small talk, building a network of contacts… I’ve got an idea, though.” he said.

“I think they nabbed one more prototype from me, and they’re going to be very confused if they figure out how to power it on; I’d rather prevent that. I might have lucked out.”

Right as the last word was uttered, he ducked and hit a button under the desk, and the rattling of measuring equipments and tools raised a cacophony around the room. Everything went dark through the lizard’s cybernetics as the shockwave rippled through, disabling enough components to leave him starting to fade to black, collapsing to the floor.

---

He groggily awoke, blurry vision revealing him in another room of the lab, the fox conversing with a steel-scaled dragon beside him, conversation hard to follow.

“Was working jobs undercover there for weeks just to keep the trail low waiting for this one, and I find out it somehow gets assigned to someone else, Boss. Just figured I’d come back and see what’s happening and you had death staring you in the face.”

“Well, thanks for the help lifting him. I couldn’t have done it. Death is now staring at me from the chair instead of even footing. Anyway, I think he’ll be a fantastic asset after the same training you had.”

“Undoubtedly. Any idea on ID? Just some mercenary?”

“Stellar track record, this one. He’s real good.”

Both of them turned at the brushing sound of horns against the chair, limp neck rolling around and feeling the limits of his newly-restrained motion.

“Guess he’s up. I’ll leave you be so you can get acquainted with my future colleague.” the dragon said, walking out the door of the small room and shutting it behind him.

With a long yawn, a voice came up from the chair.

“…Fuck is that supposed to mean?” he growled, looking up at the fox now standing over him.

“Kell, is it?” the fox said, pacing around the captive mercenary, registration card rolling between his fingers. “Name’s Lance, I run this operation. Independent cybernetics and augmentation research, specifically focused on seamless neural interfaces.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell to me. Isn’t that tech commonplace now, too?” he said.

“At least common enough you blacked out when I detonated an EMP.” Lance said.

The mercenary paused for a moment.

“So, evidently, you don’t even use your own goods. Doesn’t inspire much confidence.”

The fox feigned an aching heart, looking wounded - before resuming the same expression.

“Perceptive. I prefer having others do anything in the field, because I like the comfort and anonymity of never getting my hands dirty.”

“A coward -and- working in an already developed field of research. How’d you even get someone else to stick around?” Kell said.

“I just love the idea of making things faster, more efficient, improved over what the natural skin, muscle, and bones can do. But I know when I’m beat, and I wouldn’t think that there’s anything that could make your natural tongue sharper.” he said with a chuckle.

“But, really, to get down to business - while I could brag about myself and describe the search efforts of three leading cyber-manufacturers to come either kill me or take my things, one of which you returned - I think a demonstration would be helpful.” the fox said, reaching up and grabbing a swivel-arm screen from above and placing it right in front of the mercenary’s face.

“Did you know that most ocular display modules have a vulnerability related to handling distinct color contrasts in bright environments? Observe.”

A switch was flicked, and a curious, almost QR-code like pattern was displayed in black and white; the holes seeming infinite, the bright squares feeling like staring into the sun.

His mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. Everything came grinding to a halt, his subtle motions to try and slip from the restraints now still, not even his tail swaying. It wasn’t even possible to blink of his own accord, completely frozen in that moment; in stasis, quiet, as if on display.

The switch flicked back as a claw pushed it, and the horned fox grinned down at him.

“Weird sensation, isn’t it?” he said.

“What the hell was that?” Kell said, eyes wide.

Flick. That same noise, a new pattern on display as his hand involuntarily opened wide, palm outstretched - the squares moving, his palm closing. Back and forth for a moment in that same haze, until the same sound resounded and the screen faded with another flick.

“I didn’t even…” he started to say; Lance was excited and interrupted him to keep monologuing.

“That was the first one I got to work on the recent revision of the ocular processing core. As soon as that happened, I knew there were so many avenues; enhanced hearing used as a means to access those same memory regions - and I mean chip memory, not your memory, but that’s doable too - neuroreflex enhancers giving way to just poking at malleable thoughts…”

Kell cut him off.

“I don’t like the implications of this. Are you going to use that to pump me for information, like an interrogation?” he asked.

“The opposite. I’d rather be putting things in than getting them out of you. I’m less interested in what you’ve done than what you’re going to be doing. For me, that is.” Lance replied.

He merely growled, almost involuntarily, at the idea.

“In short, those very same augments that let you transcend the limits of your flesh allow you yourself to be programmed like a machine. You can now see why, if rumors of this escaped, I would have a lot of eyes on me.” the fox said.

“I’d just work for money. No need for whatever you’re planning.”

“You’ll be compensated handsomely, I just need to ensure some baseline level of loyalty.”

“…you did that sort of thing to your assistant, too?”

“He’s exemplary. Just as he was before - a rather fine merc - except, if I ever really need him to, he’ll stop what he’s doing and obey.”

“Scary way of putting it.”

“You’ll get used to it soon. Most of the time when he’s out in the field he doesn’t remember it unless I need him to.”

The fox had turned and gone digging in drawers, retrieving a pair of headphones, setting them around the horns so that they fit snug, nothing playing just yet.

No words came from the lizard’s mouth as he sighed and tried to brace himself to fervently resist whatever was going to happen next. All the talk about fucking with his head, how it felt to freeze spontaneously at the sight; he wondered if he even had a chance at holding out.

He felt bare without his armor. Being restrained wasn’t eroding his confidence so much as the fact he’d been zapped with an EMP and stripped of all of his usual comforts, left in nothing but his undershirt and shorts; no blaster, no vest. None of that would help with the mental trickery, but it would at least provide a sense of stability that was sorely lacking.

A low hum started in his ears and his mind raced to try and figure out what effects it could have; he tried moving specific muscles individually like a checklist to move through, hands, feet, tongue, eyes. Nothing seemed frozen, and that only made his mind even more concerned about what it could possibly be doing.

He heard a flick again and saw rings of light bloom on the display, concentric, expanding, stealing his attention just like the one before - but no abrupt freeze through his motor control. Just a vague sense of calm radiating through him, an emotion he couldn’t place, quickly trying to rationalize it: was it because it didn’t seem to be doing as much as the first demonstration? Was it that the point of this display itself was to make him calm? So many questions, so much introspection.

He slowed his breathing and tried to analyze it, as if to come up with a defense; focusing on it, letting it become all he could see, enveloping the room. The first step was to discern the goal, then steel himself against it. If the first pattern caught him unaware, having more knowledge would presumably allow him to retain more control. That, and, he’d likely want to keep a handle on his emotions, too.

Rhythmic breathing, slow blinking, and trying to make sure all of his focus was on the machine and on himself in equal, bifurcated parts. It became a ritual, watching each concentric ring expand and grow to the edge of the display before exiting, keeping himself measured to it like a metronome. In, hold, out, again and again; inhale, wait, exhale, all according to the pattern on the screen.

It was getting harder to think as he stared, muscles all giving way to a limp relaxation; a physical and mental hibernation, cognition slowed and body motionless. Another deep breath, eyes unflinching, tone constant in his ears and eroding any logical series in his imagination.

He was aware that he’d been hearing a voice speak to him in a low cadence for quite some time now; and he got stuck on that thought, trying to pick it apart, parse it, extract meaning and conclusions from it. Discerning the amount of time felt like an impassable wall; his sense of time had vanished, temporally distorted to feel as if it were the blink of an eye and an eternity at the same time. The fox had been speaking, he’d just now heard it. He had no idea how long he’d been staring, but he’d just begun. Contradictory, in perfect coherent unity.

In a state of confusion, it was natural to latch on to something providing clarity, much as a flashlight provides a liferaft when swimming around in the darkness. Hearing those words cut through the miasma of uncertainty, giving him something to chew on through the haze; and they reiterated that he was confused, and that he needed guidance.

That sounded right. What words was the fox even saying? He couldn’t follow them, but he knew the meaning implicitly, skipping his hazy conscious and embedding itself directly beneath that, accepting the meaning.

Uncertainty. Needing guidance. Needing to have things explained for him as the world was a confusing, complicated blur. Simpler to be told rather than to think about it. Just like the contracts and the jobs. Assigned things to think about and things to do, accepting them without question.

Gradually, the words shifted from the push and pull of confusion and guidance to that of a solid cloud of unquestioning obedience, and it made sense. He didn’t care about the drool down the side of his mouth. His breath was sluggish, indistinguishable from being asleep. His logical reasoning was overwhelmed, and he was told the obedience felt good. Pleasurable. Enjoyable. Naturally, he agreed, and felt the resultant warm bliss. It was true. The words themselves made it true in that moment.

Obedience, bliss, pleasure, compliance all in an ever rotating cycle in his mind, enraptured, letting it was over him. Any faculty of judgement had been suppressed as the repetition removed any doubt in his mind, that stirring feeling of satisfaction and pride about his subjugation ensuring the conditioning had him in a vice.

Sublime enjoyment seemed to remove him from the material sensations save for pleasure, almost detached from his physical location and perception as his vision and hearing were directed by another; like the holo-entertainment and virtual simulations, pulled to another world. A number spoken in his ear, grounding him. He couldn’t understand why hearing that number reminded him of his place on the chair, but it was hard to imagine it. He’d heard the number before though. Where had he even… the thought slipped back into the hazy fog of everything else happening.

He wasn’t sure what was happening. It felt fine.

The last thing he recalled was the word “Sleep.” in his ears.

---

Eventually, he found himself waking up, first noticing the change in atmosphere; from the exam-like room before, to a much more comfortable and casual… break room? He raised an arm and felt it entirely unburdened by the restraints he had worn - fuck, what had even happened? He’d been knocked out, put through… something, and then ended up here - and as he pieced it together, he heard that damned fox again.

“Enjoy the nap?” he asked with a chuckle.

The lizard shook his head, groaning. He wanted to say something biting back, but really, it felt like he got a perfect night’s sleep as he started to pull himself together and inspect his surroundings. Good news he could still lie.

“Awful. Glad to be leaving.” he said, seeing his scaled forearms raise as he yawned and stretched; followed by a loud sigh as he realized he was shirtless, as evident by those scales that he usually didn’t see. He stared for a moment.

“Seems like there’s more reasons to have questions. What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, pointing at his chest.

“Glad you asked! I tag my assets to stay organized. There’s a mirror, but, suffice to say, you’ve got a shoulder tattoo now. Shirt had to come off. There’s a mirror on the wall if you want to see.” Lance said.

Curious, the lizard walked over with a raised brow and turned, right side pushed forward, looking at the black ink that had been branded upon his muscle - a barcode, and the number “023” written beneath it. Somehow, he felt almost no shock when he saw it.

Being entirely cognizant of that only made him more unnerved by it.

“I suppose I should ask what this means.” he said, calm.

“That’s you!” the fox said.

“Excuse me?” 023 said.

“That’s you. Agent number 023. I’ll probably assign you the old identity when you go back into the field, since Kell was a rather fine mercenary, and any disappearance or interruption would be noticed… but this allows you to flexibly shift into a new role if ever needed.”

The muscular mercenary paced around, holding his wrists behind his back, taking long, slow steps as he mulled it all over.

“It’s not like you’ll find it all bad. For what you lost in a bit of free will, you gained in loyalty - and, of course, some practical cybernetic enhancements.” The fox retrieved something from a drawer, turning around and lighting the room with a muzzle flash in one motion. 023’s arm flicked like a chameleon’s tongue, and pinched between his thumb and forefinger was a lead slug.

“Just like blinking. Involuntary.” Lance said, firing again with no warning; the clatter of the first slug rolling along the floor echoed as his fingers held a new, distinct object.

The lizard raised his brow.

“Reflexes that can bypass any actual cognitive decision making when needed; subtle trace increases adrenal signifiers combined with the visual data- ah, you’re probably not worried about that much detail. Long story short, better hand-eye coordination, safeguards from accidents or lapses in prowess against your peers.”

“Back to the identity thing. What do you mean by ‘assigned?’” he asked, brow furrowed and eyes sharp.

“Just what it sounds like. If you’re going to be undercover, why make you worry about holding up a facade and doing your best to act the role, when you could just forget who you ever even were until you’re done?” the fox said.

“Sounds effective.” the mercenary said, unconvinced.

“You’ll find it easy to get reshaped. Besides, can you even remember who you were before 023?” Lance said, tooth sticking out of his grin.

“A soldier for higher, coming here to-”

“The name.”

“Well, I was moreso focused on-”

“Your previous name before it was a number.”

“Damn it, Lance, I’m getting there, I-”

“So you remember mine and not your own?”

023 stopped and stared for a moment with his mouth open.

“Ah, I see what you’ve done.” he said.

“All those augments make it really easy to twist - but with the programming in, no need to drop your mental processes for any changes. It can be done on the fly.”

The lizard had his hand on his chin, thinking through the implications.

“Another part of that, 023, is loyalty. You’ve always enjoyed strong leadership - it makes it easier to have peak performance in the field.” he continued.

With a nod, the larger could only find himself agreeing. He’d always done best on jobs with a guiding hand telling him what to do, tugging him, guiding him. As long as he’d been running jobs, having a contact that could feed him info and orders- wait, that felt different, he’d always been independent, hadn’t he? Independent… capable of acting on his own whenever he couldn’t feel that comfortable yoke of orders binding him to what his superior wanted. Thinking through it felt so tiring, he slumped in his postured lost in thought, until the fox continued.

“Doesn’t it feel good to think about having a consistent handler that can really get to know the ins and outs of your potential? Imagine how much more effective you’ll be as a tool in their hand.”

023 couldn’t tell if the suggestions were new or old, things he’d always believed or just now realized, novel information blurring with known axioms all to make a miasmic blur of what he knew to be true; the source was hard to pinpoint, but it felt completely right.

“You can take pride in being owned, on the edge of a leash, like a guard dog trained for a purpose they excel at.”

Wait, that took a different tone-

“023 is property.”

He froze.

“023 obeys, because that’s what the programming dictates.”

He remained motionless, mouth falling open. It wasn’t surprise, but it was close to surprise - but it felt as comfortable as a warm blanket, familiar, possessive.

“Good boy. You serve your owner without question.” the fox said, walking up and dragging his fingers along the lizard’s chest.

“Whatever needs there are to be sated, you’re salivating for a chance to follow his orders.” he continued.

023 started to pant a little bit, visible slump returning in his posture as the conditioning hammered away at him, lucid as he was.

“At attention, lizard.” Lance said, moving around behind him and watching those wrists lock in place at the base of his tail. He smiled wide at the prompt compliance, moving forward and reaching around to feel that chest.

“All of this, under my command, as it should be. Kneel, 023.”

He circled the muscled figure, eyes tracing that barcode left on his scales, so prominently displayed. There was a stirring of his own eagerness as usual, the inversion of control, from powerful to powerless - and back to showing that might, but tamed. To bring something so menacing and imposing in line always made the fox lick his lips.

Lance grabbed one of 023’s horns and tugged him close. Control in such a manner extended past the purely pragmatic and occupational uses; the will was such a delicate thing, after all, and with the stirrings he felt - the fox looked down and his eyes went wide, delighted - he gently lifted a foot and lowered it, right in front of the kneeling lizard’s position, toying with the bulge through the fabric.

“Maybe there really was something to that mention of you always desiring someone in control, hmm?” he asked, ear to ear grin.

023 groaned.

“Not overlapping with the jobs, but, y’know-” he started to say, before the fox hushed him. Lance knew it would be the perfect moment to drive in the final piece of training.

“Or you’ve always been a sleeper agent.” he said, reaching down for the button of his pants.

A confused groan rose from before him, inquisitive, punctuated by the fox motioning to keep stimulating that tent.

“Think about it. Disarmed so quickly. Waking up and feeling it all so familiar…” he said, leading the suggestion from the start.

“If you’re this brainwashed, you’d probably get so used to your role that everything would start to feel like a mask. Perhaps you just got a little too perfect at playing the mercenary.”

023 remained silent, pondering over it, thoughts as slow as sludge; it felt difficult to disagree. Something in him wanted to, but, it really did feel like “coming back” when he awoke rather than something transformative. It was all so blurry. He didn’t know what to believe.

Another force at his horns pulled him forwards, feeling something warm in front of him; snout planted between the fox’s legs, taking a deep breath. He throbbed right into the sole of that foot that kept his aching need pinned to the floor ever-so-gently and rocked his hips out of the sheer arousal. It wasn’t making it any easier to think, but he couldn’t deny how good it felt.

“That’s right. Deep breath.”

A rush of air filled with that aroma, a gentle release. Again and again, falling into a rhythm as he was repeatedly directed, senses all getting blanketed in information while the fox kept whispering in his ear. Guiding his breathing, helping him into a state of meditative bliss, working more pleasure on that dick every time he behaved as he was told, like a puppet dancing on the strings and rewarded for his obedience.

A finger trailed up and down the plates of the horns.

“You’ve always been a good sleeper agent for me. Welcome back, 023.” Lance flopped his cock across the lizard’s snout and left it for a moment, enjoying just how vacant those eyes were. He scratched under his subject’s chin, then pulled back for a second to snag a rolling chair and drag it over, kicking back and planting both of his feet right on the lizard’s face, sole-first.

The words spilled from his mouth.

“I’ve always been a good sleeper agent.”

Lance pushed down to softly grind those feet and noted the lizard’s eagerness, chuckling, letting him indulge for as long as he’d like, basking in it, lapping at the footsoles he’d just been leaking against seconds ago. The fox snapped, sharp sound ringing.

He felt a push under his soles, lizard sitting straight up no matter what was in his way, attentive.

“This is where you belong, 023. Owned. Controlled.”

A soft groan was all he heard, muffled, before that tongue rolled out and resumed its work, fox reclined to the point of creaking in the chair, his own excitement getting the best of him. Visions of what he’d do with his new plaything, collar on, tight-fitting uniform - it made him nearly squirm in the chair as much as that warm tongue sliding over his soles, making him move to shove his toes through the lizard’s lips and let out a sigh, shaky with the bliss from it, still ever fantasizing.

Thoughts of other things to push between those lips - his own throbbing need, or casually slipping fingers in his maw, or more of this - thoughts of how quickly he’d taken in his orders… it was fine to cut loose and be surprised by just how well the brainwashed hunk fit his new place.

He withdrew his feet, pulling his chair over by using a horn for an anchor, muscled servant immovable, and found himself right back with that mouth put to use between his legs, moaning as he felt the warm embrace. He shuddered.

“You’ve always been a good sleeper agent, 023.”

---

The memory faded, and he was grounded in reality once more. His brow furrowed and he brought a hand to his chin. A sensation like walking into a room and forgetting one’s original intent enveloped him, and he wondered why he had such a keen interest in the most mundane job he’d ever ran for a client.

Dropping off a bag of goods, nothing notable in the facility, just someone’s ordinary lab. His sense of pride returned, swelling - instantly tempered by his cool demeanor. Kell withdrew his bounty hunter’s ID - funny that they standardized such a thing in the underworld markets - and spun it around, satisfaction and assurance that he was the best.

The badge - of course he had a holo-laminate physical - kept spinning, held by two opposing corners. He stopped it abruptly and looked at the thin-lined marker in the corner.

“023” scratched in.

He shook his head, put it back, and wondered how he’d never seen that before. Probably some bookkeeping or something that mattered to the officiating body he took on jobs from. Not his to worry about, anyway.

It wasn’t long before he was back in the loft, just in time before the rain picked up, overcast skies giving way to night, seeing the illuminated drips in the streetlights’ glow.

His wrist buzzed and he looked down.

“One new contract for Agent Kell.”

Busy day.

He didn’t recognize the sender, must be a new client taking a risk on getting a fresh operative.

Seemed like a straightforward intellectual property smash and grab to get a leg up on research. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. Just how much money did these firms have to pass around the same stolen wears like a game of tag?

He clicked accept and scanned threw it. “Stolen ocular-neural implants… break into megacorp.. reclaim goods… deliver back… no map, remote handler giving directions by ear… rewarded handsomely…” All the same as it ever was.

Something about that last one had been exhausting. Usually he hated no-info runs where he had a recon team in his feed. He’d get to it tomorrow… for some reason, he was really looking forward to this one.