"Guards!"
No answer.
"HELP!"
Nothing.
"Somebody help me! The room is haunted! The paper is alive! Get me out of here!"
Still no answer.
Then—
Two violet eyes appeared.
Then four.
Ten.
Twenty.
Fifty.
A hundred.
The room was filled with glowing eyes.
Ten. Twenty. Fifty. A hundred pairs of glowing, ominous eyes ignited in the pitch-black room, surrounding the terrified spy, boxing her in, staring at her with the cold, unfeeling malice of an alien intelligence.
Genevieve's mind finally reached its limit.
She screamed.
"The paper is alive!"
And promptly fainted.
She slid down the door and landed unconscious on the carpet, her mind completely shattered by the psychological horror of the Duck Service Squad.
Genevieve did what any highly trained spy would do when faced with a coordinated swarm of glowing, haunted origami.
The ducks remained silent.
Bartholomew's consciousness sighed.
'Humans are remarkably fragile.'
Sir Reginald replied:
'Should we wake her?'
'No.'
