Mirror, Mirror

Alexia blinked at the deadened vidphone for a moment, then let out an exasperated breath.

"Damned rude."

She realized just how filthy she felt, inside and out. She retrieved her head gear from the floor and slid over to the saniclenz aperture. She fought her way out of her coveralls and stuffed the whole pile of clothes into the aperture's mouth, punched the controls, and turned her back on the machine.

She surveyed the penthouse conapt's interior. Nothing seemed amiss, but that was what she had expected. Formerly the residence of a high-power foreign political leader, the conapt was secured and fortified in every way. Luxurious, to boot. The dusky blue illumination picked out intriguing patterns on the Persian carpet. Below the carpet, natural hardwood flooring spanned the entire living area. The politico either had the conapt done before real hardwood was illegal or had the money and influence to get it on the black market. She really didn't care. It was hers now. For what she did, she deserved it.

She picked her way into the kitchen, grasped a clear crystal flute, and poured herself an icy cold vodka. One crimson fingernail tapped the flute as she mused to herself. Thorne considered himself a businessman, not a politician. A wry smile curved one side of her lips as she pressed them to the cold glass. Well, he was into politics now, but not in the way he thought.

No, the reps did not have combat training, not in the traditional sense. That much was true. She grimaced as the icy liquid turned to fiery heat as it made its way down her throat. But, as all reps do, these reps had received training. Political assassins. A standard combat model would be an easy target compared to these monsters. She wondered if Thorne would survive this assignment. That was not her problem. She strode into the bathroom, still clutching her drink.

She stripped off her remaining clothes and rid herself of them in the bathroom's saniclenz. She set down her glass.

"Illumination - ultraviolet."

She stepped into the shower compartment and adjusted the water temperature and pressure to a pelting hot jet that assaulted her slight but lithe frame like a weapon. Her taut skin reddened as she scrubbed herself from head to toe in a near frenzy. It always seemed like she could never rid herself of that dirty sensation when she served a man up to die. Finally finished with the punishing sterilization, she turned off the controls and wrapped herself in a large thick towel, picking up her drink and heading back into the living room.

Sprawled across the metal and glass table before the lush charcoal colored couch were an array of papers, documents, passports. She looked at each with amusement.

"Mirror, Mirror, On the wall, Who shall I be when I next stand tall?"

Here was her identification from Omni Biogenics. Next to it, her credentials for Tyrell Corporation. Another yet, for a foreign trade consortium. And on it went.

She left her wet towel on the back of the couch as she slipped back into the kitchen to refill her drink. She returned to the couch, stretched her willowy body into the cushions' comforting embrace and pondered the day's events. What was Tyrell up to this time? And why had Omni stepped in to circumvent their plans? Hell, Omni wasn't even real, just a front for a larger, darker entity.

It wasn't her job to think, not right now. She had done her work. She sipped her drink, eyes slowly drooping. The glass tumbled from her fingers as she lost consciousness, her blond hair massed about her face like a halo. The halo of a fallen angel.

Date: 2002-06-11 16:30