[ WP ] Your first day as an FBI hostage negotiator has you trying to talk down Frere Jacques , a classically trained french mime super-villain .

I raise an eyebrow. This was the weirdest introductory assignment I've ever heard. 
 
 `` So, we just need you to talk down this mime. Should be an easy task for a woman of your skills, if I'm to assume right about you. Plane sets off for Sicily as soon as you can go,'' said the Case Officer with a warm grin. 
 
 My head throbs. Partly from the celebratory hangover from last night, and partly from the sheer stupidity of the situation... Shit, did I remember to turn the stove off at home? 
 
 Not only was it bad enough that I was getting put on Negotiations instead of SWAT, now I have to deal with a literal mute nutcase on the first day. 
 
 `` Wait, how am I supposed to negotiate with a mime?'' 
 
 `` How do you think you're supposed to?'' the Handler said with a wide grin, ``... I mean, it's obvious, come on!'' 
 
 Alright, crazy guy. Clearly you're bluffing or as high as fuck right about now. Should I call HR? Drug-testing was supposed to be started soon anyway. 
 
 His eyes droop to a tired, exasperated expression as he notices me reaching for my phone, `` Wait, stop.'' 
 
 `` No, seriously. What the hell is this mime even doing anyway? Bomb threat? Terrorism? Just general kidnapping? Why is n't the GIGN handling this anyway?'' 
 
 Case Officer shrugs, `` Because Frere Jacques is Cambodian-American. It's in the case file!'' 
 
 I could feel my eyes starting to recede into the back of my skull, `` Right after the line that says'We kinda need to not shoot him because he's a literal supervillain!' What does that even mean?!'' 
 
 `` It means he has a laser aimed at the goddamned moon! Look! We're the FBI! We ca n't just murder people, that's the CIA's job! Now, we need you to prevent him from killing the moon! Is that so much trouble for a person of your skill, really?'' 
 
 I slam my fist on the table, shaking my mugful of java, `` THIS IS MY FIRST DAY, WHAT SKILLS ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!'' 
 
 `` LEAVE ME ALONE!'' 
 
 The Case Officer runs out of his seat, jacks my coffee cup, and dashes out of the room with the speed of a Catholic schoolgirl on shark week. The door handle clicks with a lock, leaving me all alone in the conference room with a case file on some weird mime. 
 
 Huh. 
 
 Now, what to do... 
 
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 *On a Windy Day Off the Coast of Sicily, Hidden Island Fortress of Frere Jacques* 
 
 `` Monsieur! Monsieur!'' 
 
 A white-faced man dressed in monochrome turns to meet the hunch-backed manservant slobbering giddily on his fine rug. Jacques huffed and continued to sip his dark red wine and twirl his long mustache. 
 
 Igor- I mean, the Manservant continued to breath heavily as he pulls a thin remote out from his labcoat pocket. 
 
 `` Monsieur Jacques! Me and the laddies downstairs have finished your laser! Soon, the weapon will be fully operational and we can take the moon hostage!'' 
 
 Jacques smiled and laughed as heartily as a mute mime could, meaning he just sat there and opened his mouth a little bit like only a crazy, classically-trained Cambodian-American mime could. 
 
 Soon. Soon, he knew. Frere Jacques knew that the come has come for his plan to be put into action. No more would mankind mock him for his miming abilities. No more would people beat his shins with croissants and invite him to Tim Horton's. 
 
 Ever since Vancouver, Jacques had completely given up on humanity as he knew it. No more would he be called a goddamned French-Canadian. 
 
 A heavy whirl rang through the air. Its wretched noise bouncing through the windows of Jacques's castles, filling up the ears of the two evildoers. 
 
 `` Oh god!'' the Manservant yelped to himself, rushing over to the window. 
 
 His eyes bulged at the sight several kilometers off the coast of the beachhead. Ramming in with the speed of a plane about to crash into a super-villain hideout within the span of the next paragraph, was a plane that was about to crash into Jacque's super-villain hideout within the next line. 
 
 Oh right, it was windy today. 
 
 Three lines? 
 
 **BOOM! ** 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- 
 
 Three. 
 
 Over the ashes and char of the shattered castle, a woman with a megaphone came floating down, lifted by a pretty, black parachute. 
 
 `` This is the FBI! We come in peace! Come out and surrender yourselves immediately to hostage negotiations!'' 
 
 There was n't an answer. Jacques was dead. The Manservant was dead. The basement full of child-labor was dead. 
 
 I'd say the moon was dead too if it were n't for the fact that the death-laser was off a fraction upon firing. Took off a nasty chunk of Mars, I'll give you that. 
 
 The novice negotiator waited in silence. By the time she landed, there was still only silence. There was silence when she started building a shelter for the night. There was silence that morning when she came out to salvage from the castle for evidence. 
 
 A week and a coast-guard rescue later, she suddenly realized something. Something very, very important was realized on the steps of the Medal of Honor ceremony. 
 
 She bowed her head, took the medal, and commandeered a civilian vehicle on the way out of the Capitol. Two hours later, she arrived to her shitty, overpriced apartment building in Quantico to the sight of a shit, overpriced burning apartment building. 
 
 That, my dear friends, is why you should always check the stove when you leave your house.
