zero hour

flash forward

Two women, sharing a slow, awkwardly cramped, and antiquated elevator. Symphonic Muzack [a synth cover of 'Summer', from Vivaldi's "Four Seasons"] is softly playing from hidden speakers. The two stoic passengers descend to the lobby from the top floor of what can only be described as a beautifully restored historical landmark building in London, from the post- World War II era. The stuffy, elaborately decorated passenger box was barely large enough for the two of them to stand side by side.

Having just left an emergency security meeting, the two of them had serious business on their minds... though they looked more like they were a rowdy, cosmopolitan, lesbian couple on the verge of a messy break-up. It's rather fascinating how often that happens to them; people assuming and projecting imaginative context and backstory instead of seeing them clearly and directly for what they actually were-

Covert Security Operatives.

As partners, the two were directly and personally in charge of an international Task-Force which has been quietly investigating, and trying to identify the most illusive, and quite possibly, the most dangerous man in the world. Epic, right? You wouldn't have guessed it in a million years from just looking at them.

Lana (the shorter and more conservatively dressed of the two), was wearing her black-brown hair all pined up, in a painful looking bun. Perhaps in order to match her ensemble? She was severely dressed in an uptight, deep gray, pinstripe, three piece wool pants-suit. Under the tailored coat and form fitting vest: a white, collarless, and severely starched, formal blouse (in the style worn around the turn the century). A wide, silk ribbon choker (in the darkest, richest, velvetiest black you've ever seen) sung around her neck. On her feet- a pair of (ironically) really rather sensible and comfortable looking flat walking shoes, also in black.

Mack, the taller and much less conservatively dressed of the two, was letting her fiery-red hair flow wild, and unleashed, tumbling down in luxuriously messy waves. It seriously looked like she just tousled and teased it a bit, into perfection, just moments after getting out of bed. She was dressed in an outfit that one might discreetly describe as the "walk-of-shame chic" look at it's finest. An all black ensemble, consisting of: an open-back silk blouse, a very tight (but very stretchy) mid-thigh length skirt, and a pair of remarkably uncomfortable looking 3 inch stiletto heels. Which she wore with the confidence of someone clad in steel-toed combat boots.

Neither of them looked well rested, as if they had not slept more than an hour or two for the past few nights. Both of them held slim, black leather attache cases, both equally stuffed with files. Lana, clutching her's tightly against her bosom with her left arm. Mack, languidly letting her case dangle from the handle on two fingers of her right hand. The silence between them so deep and palpable, that to a casual observer they would have appeared to be on the verge of unleashing pent-up rage at each other. Anyone from their office would tell you that they almost always look like that when they are working together.

Mack: [muttering under her breath, rolling her eyes in disapproval of the music] This rendition is a disgrace to the original!

Lana: Indeed!

They settled back into a disgruntled silence when, half-way down to the lobby, the elevator stopped and opened its doors. The two men standing there on the landing chit-chatting, fell silent as the slow grinding doors revealed the two women inside the cramped elevator. The men froze mid-sentence, mouths open, eyes liberally checking both of them out. They did not move to enter the elevator... so taken aback were they by the vision before them. They just stood there, gawking, like horny high school boys who had never seen such fully self-actualized women before.