Zed looked over the mission brief before tossing the folder back down on the steel table. He hadn’t been down south in too long and wondered if the jungles would still be a haven to him. The smell of rotting leaf mold, the raucous cries of the denizens, the feel of the torrential rain on his face were sensations not to be found anywhere else. The jungle was a place of life…and of death. It was a constant dance of predator versus prey. As a predator, it was where Zed belonged. The jungles were home and it was far past time he went back home.
He fixed his host with an inscrutable gaze and his voice, when he spoke, was low and measured. “Yeah…okay…it can be done but it ain’t gonna be pretty.”
The desk jockey shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his finger hooking into the too-tight collar of his shirt. “You’ll have full Agency support on this. How large a team do you anticipate needing?”
“Me…just me should do.”
The bureaucrat gaped visibly, “What do you mean ‘just you’? Are you crazy?”
With a predatory grin, Zed replied, “Well, yeah. But since when has that gotten in the way of mission objectives?”
This story was written for the weekly Facebook Flash Fiction Friday flash fiction challenge prompt: "Are you crazy?"