Larry squinted as the obnoxiously sudden glare of a dozen or so flashing lights greeted him as he woke up. He could feel a chilly breeze scurry across his body and suddenly reminding him that he was still in his underwear. This was not good.

“Ah crap guys. I’m so sorry this happened again.” He hollered out to those within earshot. “I know there was an ask that I try to go to bed with more of me being covered up, but my AC has been shot for a while now and I roast in anything more than these boxer briefs. Heck, I think Lieutenant Vasquez, your aunt even knit me a really nice set of pajamas after you explained my situation to her last thanksgiving. I am so sorry.”

Larry then turned around to inspect the situation. In his hand was a file folder tagged with the phrase “Operation Vigilant Shadow”. He wanted to thumb through it but he knew it was quite classified.

It wasn’t for his eyes to see. Well, technically it was his eyes but he wasn’t allowed to use them to read it. The other guy. The one that takes over when Larry goes to bed at night.

That was Agent Surge DeWinter, the country’s top special agent and the only man that stood between peace and total global chaos. The only problem was that he had died while waterskiing on vacation last summer.

Somehow, for some reason both he and Larry couldn’t figure out, Surge’s soul got into the very average Larry’s body.

At first it was a bit jarring, but thanks to the help of a handy notepad they could communicate by leaving each other notes. It worked out and they even learned how to work around their situation. During the day, Larry would do his thing, which usually involved some combination of getting high, playing video games, or making chili.

DeWinter was much more productive. Just in the last year he had put away the head of the notorious Johnson crime family. He even had Larry get a photo of them, in their underwear, slapping handcuffs on old Barnaby Johnson the corrupted carpet king of Santa Clara.

That was another one of those “oops I forgot to wear pajamas” days. There were usually more of those days than the opposite kind where he sleeps in a finely pressed suit and tie. For some reason Surge could do a lot of things via Larry but could not change his clothes. It was one of the weird quirks about the whole situation.

“Who’s blood is this? Is it my blood?” Larry inspected his knuckles for additional clues. “Oh good, I don’t appear to be bleeding. Also, did someone lose a tooth? I found this wedged in my right fist.”

He held up the tooth and looked around. Next to him was four very injured looking men struggling to stay conscious. Surge must have really done a number on these guys.

“Uh, Mr. Brighton?” A voice called out from outside Larry’s range of visual he had clarity without his glasses.

“Would you like a ride home?” They asked.