#1

"George has arrived, Sir," a voice announced. "Have him shown to Committee," Operations' terse response.

To Madeline, "He's here about budget overruns again...acts like it's his own damned money. Doesn't the man see the big picture? We can't maintain an acceptable POS with last year's tools."

"Isn't that precisely his intent? To lower our numbers to the point he can sway the rest of Oversight to his side, and against us."

"Of course," was Operations grudging reply. Making his way to Committee, he briefly wondered if he shouldn't add a bonus to Madeline's pay for her insightful comment.

#2

Dinnertime. Reaching deep into the last pocket, she felt a few more coins. Counting, "Ten, twenty, one, two, twenty-seven." Added to the 75 cents she already clutched, it made just enough for a 99 cent burger. While placing her order she hoped the counter woman would let her slide on the tax...this time.

Relishing the final bite of bread spread liberally with ketchup and mustard she heard a contented mew from her dinner companion. The tiny orange kitten curled into a ball, nestling a bit deeper into Nikita's jacket. "At least he'll sleep with a full belly tonight."

“Hey, Sam – get a load of this! Blondie’s been splurging on lingerie again.” The pasty-skinned accounting tech snorted lecherously. “No wonder Michael’s been looking so tired.”

As if they ever had a chance to see Michael.

Sam snatched the Visa bill waggling over his cubicle divider; skimming quickly, his eyebrows shot up at the entry from Chachnil’s. “Holy shit! Two thousand dollars?!”

“Madeline’s gonna croak. I swear – we’ll see limits on operative’s credit cards one of these days.”

“Maybe,” Sam murmured. “Maybe not.” And kept the bill to process himself.

Sam did what he could to repay Nikita’s small kindnesses.

It was unnatural, insidious. It lured like the Eden-serpent, deceptively innocent, utterly necessary.

“I really shouldn’t.” She touched it, sighed; walked away, a sterling paradigm of willpower. Her mind wouldn’t relinquish what her eyes coveted. She returned for another longing stare.

“It’s not like this’ll break them,” she rationalized. “They’ve got bottomless coffers.” Decision made, she calculated the cost and succumbed. Hand in pocket, fishing for the serpent, feeling the strike, gripping the neck and retrieving it with a shudder.

Green and dangerous, inciting war, corrupting youth.

She slapped it down on the counter and snatched up the chocolate bar.

The Budget Meeting

"George's budget cuts have caused some problems."

"Not unexpected."

"The new mission pay schedule—based on each operative's dead-body count—doesn't quite work when explosives are used."

"Obviously, George lacks field experience."

"Walter's considered assessment of the Bullet Recycling Program: 'it would be *tricky* retrieving bullets from bodies during missions.' "

"OKaaayyy………What else has been affected?"

"Nikita's thermal underwear budget cut, Birkoff's switched to generic brand Oreos, Michael's suits purchased from K-Mart, my orchids replaced with daisies."

"Difficult, but we can live with it."

"Christopher's Coq au Vin budget cut to once a week."

"Now, George has gone too far."

A blur of demin and leather rushes down the corridor toward her. “See you tomorrow, Sugar.”

“Where’s the fire?”

Grinning, he stops, then rubs his thumb and forefinger together. “Payday. Time to paint the town red.”

She rolls her eyes. “Off to blow it all on booze and broads, I suppose.”

“Whiskey and women, Sugar.” Walter winks. “A subtle but very important difference.”

“Going anywhere I know?”

His grin becomes a smirk. “I doubt it, but you could always come along and find out.”

Her own plans involving a stolen few hours with Michael, she just smiles. “Maybe next time.”

Michael's words chattered in her brain...

"Everything you need is in there. Credit cards, ID... if anyone asks, you're between jobs..."

The clerk behind the counter stared in disbelief at the pile of bizarre clothes in front of her, then at the disheveled blonde Amazon standing waiting.

"All of these?"

"Yeah. All of 'em."

The clerk shrugged as she swiped the woman's credit card. Probably stolen. Her other hand was on the alarm button beneath the cash register, poised to summon the security guards.

Nikita smiled as the ticket printed out her purchases, ignoring the clerk's amazed expression.

"Cool, huh?"

Birkoff glanced at the card in his hand and then up at the door in front of him. Room 5155 - this was the place. He knocked softly, waited, and knocked a little louder.

The door opened.

“Come in,” she said. He entered the hotel room and tried to smile at the woman in front of him. If he squinted, she looked like Nikita. Walter hadn’t mentioned that.

“How much?” he asked, his hand squeezing the wad of bills resting in his pocket.

“Five hundred for the whole night,” she said.

“Okay.”

“What should I call you?” she asked.

“Michael.”

#1

Getting paid to save the world. That’s how most tried to see the money Section gave them. But each item purchased during a shopping spree was a reminder of the lives lost as she earned her paycheck.

Then, as she grew into her role as Center’s mole, another spree meant another mission closer to the freedom from Section Center promised as part of their endgame.

Now that she, by virtue of her own promise, was to remain in the underground world she had always longed to escape, shopping became a momentary diversion from the daily hell that was her life.

#2

He came home and readied dinner. He could have ordered anything he desired without leaving his residence, but sometimes he liked to do things for himself.

Little chance of running into anyone his favorite store, far removed from Section as it was. Putting in so many hours, the last thing he wanted were falsely cheerful greetings or surprised and wary looks from lower level operatives.

His sometime dinner companion arrived punctually with a perfectly suitable and incredibly expensive bottle of wine. The seemingly unlimited coffers of Section had been significantly reduced today. But no matter, just a small executive perk.

“ ... and $27.95 is your change from $100. Thank you for shopping with us.”

$27.95 -- damn, that’s how much we got the first time -- slapped the cashier, grabbed her till and ran. It didn’t take that much, just attitude and speed. It was too easy, we got cocky as the take got bigger, and then we killed that old guy.

We were 16, but the judge made us do adult time, so we went to prison. And from prison I came to hell.