Oh (Ant)Man, Not The Bloody Colonialism Again

"Gerald, would you please pass me the pickaxe," said one ant in a top hat with a perfect Received Pronunciation accent to another ant in a top hat. "This is the right way," Victor said, while receiving a pickaxe from Gerald.

Victor adjusted his glasses and looked at a map once again, just to be sure. This party of ants has been digging a tunnel from Europe to Africa for months now.

"Are you sure? If this goes south it is all on you," warned Gerald, as he pointed at Victor and twirled his exquisite mustache. His own mustache, not Victor's. It would be considered improper had Gerald twirled Victor's almost equally exquisite mustache.

"We WANT to go south, Gerald, that's where Africa is. I would appreciate it if you reconsidered your anti-everything attitude," said Victor as he swung his pickaxe at the ground in front of him. It didn't yield much in terms of result though.

They had struggled for a week now after they hit a particularly hard ground.

"Where is young Titus?" asked Victor as he lifted his eyebrows and adjusted his glasses.

"I'm here, sir!" said a very eager young ant, who was sporting a very poor beard and a naïve smile.

"Did you bring the drill? Good lad. I cannot do it with the pickaxe anymore. Do you know how to operate the drill, young ant?"

"Yes, Mr Victor, I know the drill!" he asked and his eyes lit up. This was the moment he's been waiting for. "Oh yeah… Come to papa!" he shouted and nearly charged at the wall.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't be so antsy, young Titus. Stay calm and do it right or we will never make it to Africa," said Victor as he put his hands on Titus' shoulders. Gerald was lightning up a cigarette in the background.

"But Mr Victor! I can't wait for us to have a colony!"