Margate, Florida
A couple of days have passed since our new recruitment. Archer gave us some time to settle in and practice with our new equipment, but we've logged in the exact amount of training hours needed to be sent on our first mission. I felt indifferent to be working with Archer again. Sure, the nostalgia is nice, but he's not the same man we knew three years ago. Of course, his personality is the same, but not his work methods. He's gone so long being the lone wolf, I really wouldn't want to get in his way.
The synopsis of the mission is basically a drug bust. I've always figured that drug busts were beneath an agent of my skills, but Archer seems to think it's important enough to look into. Plenty of money transactions have the same key word in it: Life.
Life was obviously the drug name. We tend to let these illicit luxuries slide, but this particular one only has one source, and generated plenty of revenue in the past few months. Not to mention the increased crime rate in Margate, Florida to obtain said drug.
The fun part is where we'll be going. It's a rave! I haven't been to one since my college years! I've made plenty of people regret their decisions at raves before, and now I'm going to be paid for it.
It's been too long since I've done this. Mini skirt, fishnet corset, thigh high boots, and colorful glow sticks will be my ensemble tonight. I won't risk wearing an earpiece in a dancing club though, so a personal cell phone will be our way of communicating with each other.
Clyde, or Wess now, was border lining the gimp look with his skin tight leather pants and opened vest with no shirt. He had an option to take a prop whip with him, but he decided against it for some reason. Archer would be supervising us from the RV. He proposed to watch our methods, and study our algorithm to better our teamwork in the future. It's a fair enough reason, and neither of us found any prompt to protest.
The inside of the club was a serious epileptic seizure waiting to happen. It becomes pitch black between the strobe light's violent bursts of light. The neon trails of color comes off of the people's glow sticks and reflective clothes, and the floor itself was vibrating with colorful lights in correlation to the beat of the music. The patrons were a mix of anthros and humans. It's always nice to see a club that serves both sides.
My only complaint is the combined smell of sweaty humans and wet fur. Smells like a perfume made of pure pheromones. Although, I do feel more stimulated.
"Why does Florida have to be so humid!?" said Wess.
"Look, a bar counter! Let's go get a drink babe. It'll calm you down." I say.
He grabs my hand and escorts me through the dancing mob of dehydrated bodies. I receive captivated glances from the men, and even some women. Both which had second thoughts just from the sheer size of Wess. The bartender was a young skunk driving an energetic personality behind the counter. He must've had a few drinks himself.
"Ah," he says, "what can I get you's two!?"
"I'll just have a beer," says Wess, "Lexi?"
"Might I recommend the Purple Dragon m'lady?" the skunk says, a wink to follow.
"Great, she'll have it!" says Wess, cutting me off before I could answer.
"Excellent!" The skunk gets Wess' beer, and begins working on mine. I peer around the club, looking for the workplace of Life. We've seen it with our own eyes that the shipment leaves from this building. Whether it gets delivered here or created here, I don't actually know.
"Take it slow baby," says the skunk as he inches the shot glass closer to me. The drink really is purple! How did they do that? I shoot it down, but the taste isn't riveting.
YOU ARE READING
Skirted Spies: Season 1
ComédieAgent, Troy Hearth, works for an organization (Ispio) whose main objective is to uncover conspiracies and mysteries throughout the country. He's been around for a while, and now he's got a problem; people recognize him too much. He'll need a disguis...
