Skirted Spies: Season 1

Episode 11-2: Transparent Troy

Clyde moves first as I follow him into the bathroom, the door creaking as he pushes it. It's a decent-looking personal bathroom, cleaned entirely to let the white tile shine against the overhead light.  We both look around the small room, setting our eyes on the sink that sits near the toilet.

"What now?" I ask.

"Now, we wash our hands."

I turn the knob to let out some water from the faucet. It streams gently, rushing down the drain and letting out the gurgling noise all drains give. We wait for a moment without a single thing happening. I'm beginning to feel like we might've done something wrong.

"Um, something's not right here," I comment.

"I think I know what the problem is," Clyde says confidently. He pushes me aside and stares down into the sink, spitting and having some of his saliva run down the drain along with the water.  "Ispio head quarters always need a DNA confirmation."

His words are true as the sink falls into the floor and the wall behind it lifts upwards. Instead of the elevator that we are used to,  the only thing behind the wall is a silver fireman's pole.

Clyde grabs a hold of it and slides down. "Whee!"

I laugh at the unexpected sound he makes as I wrap my gloved hands over the pole and chase after him. The ride isn't a long one as we hit the bottom in eight seconds. This place is not even remotely set up like the one back home. It's much bigger with an industrial-style controlling the theme. Giant monitors are installed in the walls, all displaying different things. Some have live camera feeds, others have random statistics about ongoing conspiracies that I haven't even heard of.

Clyde and I stand in awe for a brief moment, processing our new surroundings and realizing that this is where we work now. Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder comes from a tall suited man with a ridiculous looking horseshoe tie.

"Mr. Hearth? Mr. Barker?" he asks, looking intensely at my mask.  Maybe the featureless mask isn't the best mask to make good impressions, but it's all I have to cover up my entire skin.  "Would you two kindly follow me to Mr. Marston's office? He's been expecting your arrival."

We both nod and let him take the lead, guiding us down the many hallways that this place holds. Each wing we enter has a different function, all of it being completely practical to the line of work that we do. There are debriefing rooms, strategy huts, combat training gyms,  computer research labs, and a few other rooms that I don't even know the purpose of. We swivel our heads around until we reach a metal door with the initials, "C.M." stamped on it in what seems to be pure gold.

The suited man turns around. "Mr. Marston is ready for you. Just walk right on in," He extends his hands in a double-handshake pose. "By the way, it's a real honor to meet you two. I'm kind of a fan."

Wow, we never get treated like this back at Hartford! We both shake his hands simultaneously before he takes his leave down another hallway.

Clyde nudges me closer to the door. "Ladies first."

I fake laugh and turn the shiny silver knob, pushing the door open all the way. This office is actually very resembling to Adams' office. I'm quite surprised to see something so ordinary in a high-tech place like this. Yet again, there are two chairs positioned in front of a wooden desk, presumably for us to sit in. The leather seat behind the authoritative furniture supports an anthropomorphic armadillo dressed in a fine white suit with a matching Western hat.

He grins at us. "Troy Hearth and Clyde Barker! I got the memo that y'all were comin' down here, and we're glad to have you in the saddle. Come in and sit."