Zac and April had spent months as "regulars" at the World Of Beer preparing for this occasion - sampling various different beer and developing a relationship with the bar staff. Both of them actually hated beer - on any other night in any other bar, Zac would be sipping a virgin strawberry pineapple vanilla daquiri while April would be standing on the bar with a 40oz bottle of tequila in her fist threatening to cut a bitch. But not tonight; they had work to do.
Their target was becoming more inebriated as the night went on. "We should try that one, it's from an artisanal microbrewery in Missouri! It's dry hopped and walnut aged by real lumberjacks!", said Zac, pointing at the chalkboard of daily tap specials. "Get us three glasses of that!" he said to the bartender.
"Picture time!" cried April, and the two turned around to face the camera while the bartender filled their order. Zac placed his hand on the target's shoulder for the picture - this was not the friendly gesture it seemed to be, but a test to evaluate how much the target had let their guard down. With a drunken smile on his face the target posed for the picture, not reacting at all to the hand which would later that evening hold his head down into a pot of boiling wort in Zac and April's suburban backyard. With everything going to plan, Zac gave his trademark secret agent face for the picture.
(apologies to Duke for stealing his storyline. You already got a tablet so it's fair game.)
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