Excerpt: Agent 42

The director pulls out his key card again, swipes it on the door, and pulls the handle open. In my head, I keep going over what could have happened. There's a study going on about endurance and exercise; perhaps a study subject has been pushed too far. It could be as simple as a disgruntled Agent; sometimes they start to snap before we can get them home. Perhaps it has something to do with yesterday's incident, though I thought that we cleaned up that mess fairly quickly, all late-night jokes aside. Whatever it is, I think, it can't be that bad. I can handle this on my own. That is, until I see the screen.

There, on the screen in front of me, is Agent 42. Sitting on the rocks. In the outfield of Angels Stadium.