The spy comes into the den of the enemy, worn out after another night of grappling with his demons, turning anxiously beneath a worn comforter. He has too many rings under his eyes from too many empty bottles of Johnny Walker Black.
He walks into the dreary den of the enemy, makes small talk with the apparatchiks of evil. He goes through the motions day after day waiting for the moment he can dart into the back office where the numbers he needs are kept.
There, he takes out his secret camera. He recoreds the grim evidence that his superiors require: The amount of kibble being sold to the owners of the enslaved dogs and cats who come in here very day to buy feed for their detainees. He sneaks out quietly, makes more small talk with his fellow employees until their shift is over.
The manila envelope witht he film goes into the mailbox at the vegan co-op with a satisfying thunk. OUr spy walks around the corner, making sure nobody sees him. There, e takes a pack of unfiltered Luckies out of his trenchcoat and lights one up.