In shadows deep, where science meets the jest,
There walks a clown, with numbers etched in lore,
0º.#9, or ‘oi.m9’, or “‘!m.9 no badge you’ll see upon his motley vest,
A lab tech wanders, through the SOE's door.
His laughter rings, 'midst beakers and the flasks,
A jester's guise, with wisdom underneath,
Through corridors, where danger often basks,
He treads a path, wears a mask where few might dare to breathe.
Yet 'neath the paint and cunning, a solemn truth does lie beneath, conceal’d,
For agent 009 has seen what few can tell,
The secrets of the war, whose silence never dies or dwells,
He guards these afterlives with jester’s cunning, using humor as his shell.
So here's to him, the clown with glass and flame,
Whose radio’d laughter hides a much more serious game.