Serial Designation S touched down with a grace unrivaled by any of her kind, barely disturbing the snow as she landed in front of the former gentleman's club.
She took a moment to stretch like she had just woken up from a good nap, practically striking a pose in the middle of the street. It had been a long night, but one of the most productive in a while. Hours of relentless searching had paid off in spades with a fantastic haul! The backpack was a necessary evil. A rough, ugly thing that rubbed unpleasantly on her exposed shoulders, clearly made for those who believed form and function were mutually exclusive. But she would forgive it for the sins of its creators, since it had all the space she needed for the absolute bounty she had stumbled upon!
S had had a good feeling about tonight from the start. Maybe it was the pleasant weather, or the bright twin moons in the cloudless sky. Maybe it was the fact that Serial Designation A had finally found something better to do than breathe down her neck for reports about the traitor. Whatever the case, she'd been riding high from the moment she woke up, and now she was practically vibrating with an almost nervous energy.
This was it. While she was proud of everything she had made, there was nothing she could claim as her magnum opus. Dresses, suits, coats and accessories that celebrities would kill for back on Earth, but not a single one was THE One. But tonight, with the materials she had tucked away in her pack, she was feeling it. More than she ever had before in nearly two decades, she was feeling it!
"C'est magnifique!" S cheered to herself as she opened the front door.
"Find something good?" a male voice called from the bar.
"Oh, yes! I-" S' words caught in her throat as her whole body locked up.
That wasn't H's voice.
Willing her body not to shake, S walked down the short hall that served as a foyer and had half a mind to try to find somewhere to hide her pack.
'Screw that! It's not like I'm carrying contraband or something. I have nothing to answer for or be embarrassed about!' S thought, standing up a bit straighter and walking around the corner with every bit of her signature swagger.
She had to fight her own body to keep it. Because while Serial Designation H was there, looking laughably out-of-place behind the bar in the brown duster coat that still made her core ache sometimes, he was completely overshadowed in both size and sheer presence by their guest.
"Ah, bonjour, Adam," S greeted nonchalantly, silently praying he wouldn't switch to thermal vision. "What brings you to our humble abode on this lovely night?"
"You said it yourself: it's a lovely night!" Serial Designation A grinned and S covered her flinch by shrugging off one of the backpack straps. "I was just out and about, and it occurred to me that I haven't visited my favorite recon team in a while!"
It had been a while. So long, in fact, that S had gotten used to dealing with Adam from a distance and had come to see him as more of an egotistical blowhard than anything else. Like his power only came from his direct line to the Company. But now, just being in the same building as him was a poignant reminder.
This wasn't just some Company mouthpiece or a nepo-bot who got where he was because of who made him.
This was God's wrath given form, and they had gotten his attention.
"Aw, I'm flattered! I mean, I don't know who else would even come close, but it is always nice to be appreciated by the boss!" S tittered. 'Yes, feed his ego until he goes away.'
Adam's smile widened just a fraction of a centimeter, allowing the barest hint of fang, and S immediately knew she had taken the bait laid out for her own ego.
