"So what the hell is it?" Zed growls.

"Haven’t a clue," K replies.

"What?" J yells. "C just finds some damn thing lying around on some random planet, and he just brings it right on back here?"

"Pretty much," K says, giving it a poke.

"Well, don’t do that, dammit!" J yells again.

"You worry too much."

"You mean, I’m not a crazy old guy who ( Read more... )

 
[After this.]

MiB Headquarters
Planet Earth
0900 hours

Fresh from a breakfast of Denebian flapjacks with bugbutter syrup, Zed heads back to his office and settles into his chair, mashing the button that deactivates the stasis field on his desk and picking up Bob Wonka's Guide to the Loompas now that he finally has time to read it ( Read more... )

 
[After thisK strolls into Zed's office, stopping in his tracks at the sight of a book resting in a stasis field on the Chief's desk ( Read more... )

Most Men in Black keep their letter names for their whole career, but ever so often an agent earns an exceptional promotion, and after years of brilliant innovation in the tech labs, Agent B is now one of them, sub-director of a new post over all of MiB’s R&D. Which means the bureau needed a new Agent B to head the top laboratory, and now they have ( Read more... )

Agent Zed, Master of All He Surveys, is smug.

Three intergalactic smuggling operations foiled before breakfast (what the fuck did the Dentazi need all those oranges for, anyway?), and final clearance granted for the first MiB-backed delegation to the love pits of Sargaxi VIII (who the hell would he send out on that?) by the (-THUD-) afternoon. (- ( Read more... )

Zed is down in the bowels of MiB HQ, sitting in his usual spot in the bureau's main cafeteria, glowering at a defenseless bagel that had the audacity to be wheat instead of cinnamon-raisin ( Read more... )

 
Picture this:

The Man in Charge. Master of All He Surveys. The Chief. The Boss. The Big Man.

Agent Zed.

In his office at the heart of MiB HQ.

A good day. Quiet. Productive. The kind of day a man expects he'll be able to look back on with tremendous satisfaction.

Well, half a day, anyway....

Zed is still trying to figure out how the hell he ended up in a charity gig for the goddamn bar. Must have been some fit of insanity. Or maybe some bastard spiked his drink. Anything's possible ( Read more... )

 
When Jen Walters had asked Zed how soon he expected to hear back from the recon team he sent out to investigate a Black-Oil infestation in a Rimiran colony, Zed had told her three days at best. Ten days more likely. November 29th. December 6th ( Read more... )

MiB Headquarters,
Post-Black Oil Infestation Recovery Operation: Day Twenty-Two,
Office of Agent Zed
Zed passes his hand over a small sphere set into the surface of his desk. The curved glass window around his office darkens and goes opaque. Indirect lighting keeps the light at a steady level, but the room doesn't feel quite so exposed now ( Read more... )