Friday Fiction: Even Spies Need Cash

This Week’s Theme: Pick one item from each column. Roughly sketch out a short scene that includes the character you selected and the situation you selected. The scene should begin or end with one of the characters performing the action you selected. Don't be too literal--there is creative leeway as long as the building blocks are still recognizable. This scene should be generally compatible with your character from last week's challenge. For instance, in my case I wrote about someone who presides over a Wizard's Union, so if I chose the situation involving a broken down car, I'd need to make the car into a horse-drawn coach. I hope these are generic enough that the situations can come out dramatic, funny, or anywhere in between. You'll have to click over to see the columns and options, I don't feel like replicating them all. However, my selections are the following: Character -- member of a secret society who brags about it (well, secret agency) Situation -- stuck in an elevator with an ex Action -- rips up a plane ticket (well, shuttle ticket) I've never minded having all eyes on me. In fact, it's one of the things I love most about my job. I spend my days on classified assignments, but never really have to try and appear, well, covert. They've given me sneakier assignments, where a low profile was needed, but at the end of the day we all agree I'm just not suited for that. Today is a pretty typical day. I got my briefing, such as it is, this morning at breakfast. Usually our briefings are like any staff meeting. Anyone not on assignment comes to a big conference room and assignments are handed out and discussed. I was terribly disappointed when I first joined and attended my first post-recovery staff meeting. I expected a shadowed figure in a chair with a deep, mysterious voice and data crystals that would self destruct after playing. In reality, Janelle, who is five feet and not an inch over and on the skinny side of slender, leads a brisk, business-like staff meeting. The only mystery is that no one is really sure if Janelle is a Modified or not. Anyway, I was surprised when the computer announced Janelle at my door while I was still aimlessly stirring coffee and wondering if I would finally get a posting or if that ridiculous, PR motivated interview "assignment" had killed any chance of a career that I might have. And all of that culimnates in me standing here in this marble bank lobby at five minutes to blessed nine o'clock in the morning. Today I'm taller than I like, hovering just over the six foot mark. And that's before the four inch heels that go with Marlinda DeLaToria's usual costuming. In fact, it's good that I'm a bit of an exhibitionist at heart, because this sleek black skirted suit would be modest on someone roughly five inches shorter. As it is, I'm even noticing the flashes of leg reflecting in the mirrored columns as I stride across the lobby with brisk, business-like clips of my heels. I stop just before the chrome and glass door and smooth a wisp of thick black hair back into place, checking the tightness of the french twist and giving a surreptitious check to the pale violet lenses that are a distinctive feature of Ms. DeLaToria. Once inside, I flash a smile at the tellers who are setting up for business. They don't notice as they're all synthoids, but the security cameras would. Calling for the elevator I wonder idly if DeLaToria smiles out of pity or smug superiority. Shrugging mentally I step in, noting that Devon Martaan, Senior Vice President in charge of Lending is right on time in his usual place behind the buttons. Inwardly I roll my eyes, what a control freak. "Good morning, Mr. Martaan." Another brief smile before pretending to rummage in my bag to cover the sound of a quiet beep as I release a virus wirelessly into the security system, destroying the day's data and rendering the system useless. "19 please." After pressing the button he turns and I catch him eyeing my legs in the reflection of the marble floor. "Ms. DeLaToria." He inclines his head slightly and a smile flickers at the corner of his mouth, broadening as he notes our position between floors an instant before he stops the elevator car. "Marlinda," he moves to stand close, and runs his knuckles down my arm, "What's it going to take for you to admit what's between us?" "There's nothing between us, Mr. Martaan." I deliberately move to the other side of the elevator, "Nothing but air, at least. Let's keep that part true, shall we?" Smiling innocently I slip a small laser stunner out of my bag and aim it at him. Chuckling, Devon reaches into the breast pocket of his suit and holds up two shuttle voucher envelopes. "Now, now, Marlinda. First class, see?" He glances at the envelopes then back at me, "So let's take a little trip, get to know each other better, and discuss your career advancement opportunities. You know the Old Man listens to me." "I see you're smarmy as ever, Devon. This is going to be more enjoyable an assignment than I'd thought. You see, Marlinda won't be joining you on your little trip. Sadly she was collatoral damage because you've become more than the nuisance you were when we were dating." I position myself in front of the elevator buttons as I speak, but continue to aim the stunner steadily. "You don't recognize me? Now I'm crushed." Rapidly I morph from Marlinda's image to my original. As myself, I waggle my fingers in a friendly wave, "How many years did we date while you did whatever it took to get to the top here?" I resumed Marlinda's shape and quickly checked the French twist. "Surely you didn't forget that I have records of your embezzlement proclivities. Didn't you figure out that I joined the C-corps? I figured you for someone just a little more clever, I guess. But then, who in their right mind tries to steal from the Corps? I guess it just proves where your mind is." Reaching over, I chuckle quietly at the dumbstruck look on his face and pluck the tickets from his unresisting hand, shred them, then tuck the pieces into his breast pocket, taking a moment to pat his cheek lightly. "Bye now." I spin the dial on the laser stunner to vaporize and in an instant Devon is nothing more than an acrid smell and bitter memories. Starting the elevator again, I press the button for the lobby. A security droid meets me when the door opens, and I give him a harried glance, "Wouldn't you know the elevator malfunctions on a day I left an important data cube at home? Please let my scheduler know I'm running late, would you?" The droid nods in acknowledgment as I glance at my watch. Five after nine. I smile as my heels clip hurriedly across the lobby. Not bad for a day's work.
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