El pushed the trash down the hallway as she trudged behind it, her shoulders slumped to show just the right amount of calculated weariness. Her hair was in a utilitarian bun, messy strands poking free from the cheap band after a long night of work. Red spots of acne coated her face, mouth of yellow-brown and uneven teeth screwed up in a permanent scowl. 

She was the perfect picture of a stereotypical night-shift janitor. World-weary and down on her luck. Just trying to get through her shift, to survive until her next paycheck, when she’d have a few days of life before being forced to return to the daily grind.

And so, when a claxon started blaring an alarm overhead, painful after the silence of the night shift, she reacted like any other janitor: jumping in place and then hunching her shoulders before continuing her rounds.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway as a bevy of men dressed in black and blue, sporting uniform augments and chipped rifles, ran past. El squeezed her cart against the wall to make room, emptying the next garbage can along her route and replacing the bag as they passed. She looked on curiously at the running men, but not so curiously as to actually interrupt their obviously important mission. A few of the men glanced at her as they passed, but after a quick scan of her ID from their optics they put her out of mind. 

She resumed her route, uncaring of the continued wails of the alarm and muffled yells from the security teams. More teams passed her in the hallways, but none paid her any more attention after she passed their scans. Until, after mopping the floor of the last bathroom on the third floor, she started on her way down to ground level, finally finished with her shift.

“Any idea what’s goin’ on?” she asked the guard who manned the security desk by the elevator, as he bid her walk through a scanner before giving her a careful pat-down. She tensed under his hands, but he was a professional, and his only response was a frown and a stern shake of his head.

El shrugged at his non-response. She hadn’t actually expected an answer, but a polite ‘no’ would have been nice. She waited for the man to finish scanning her cart, only to be surprised when he made no motion to push it through the scanner.

“Nothing comes out,” the man finally said, shortly, upon her questioning look.

“Are you serious? When’s that ever been a thing?” she asked in incredulity. “This never happened before.”

“Policy,” he grunted back, entirely apologetic.

“Aw, come on. I’ve gotta get that cart back to the first floor, or it’s comin’ out of my paycheck. You scanned it – what am I gonna smuggle? Top secret garbage?”

The man just shook his head.

El groaned. “Well, I can’t afford the penalty that’ll come if I lose the cart – I’ll just wait here then,” she said, stepping back toward the cart on the other side of the scanner, but the man stepped in her way, his broad chest like a wall in comparison to El’s small frame. 

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“You aren’t authorized for entry at this time.” 

“Are you kidding me?!” El half-yelled, attempting to step around the guard, who simply shifted to continue blocking her. “I was just in there! I’ve been out for like five secs, max. And you aren’t gonna let me back in?!” But the man was immovable, his gaze hard and uncaring. “Freakin’ drones…” El muttered, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

And then, at the height of the motion, her hands shifted, blurring forward in a lightning-quick motion. The guard’s optics might have warned him had he been a bit further away, the auto-reflex augment triggering in response to the attack. But she was already too close, her hands too fast, for him to respond.

Even so, his auto-reflex tried. His arms started to raise as his head jerked back, but Em had accounted for that. One hand grabbed his chin while the other smoothly snagged the back of his bald skull. And with a quick twist, there was an audible snap as the man dropped to the ground.

El continued grumbling as a new claxon sounded, this one much closer and louder than the earlier alarms. Moving much smoother, El stepped back through the scanner and pulled a small black box from a hidden compartment of her janitorial cart. Ignoring the small turrets that sprang from their hidden compartments along the roof and walls, she walked back out through the scanners, ignored the waiting elevator and took the stairs down four at a time.

Security on the rest of the floors was much sparser than on the third floor, but El was more careful after she emerged from the stairwell. Staying in the shadows, she dodged into one corner she knew was a blind spot in the building’s security, before changing.

Over the course of three seconds, the rumpled janitor was gone, replaced by an elegant and confident businesswoman in a sharp suit-jacket with long, straight hair. Acne, crooked teeth, and world-weary expression were replaced by clear skin, an immaculately white smile, and no-nonsense competence. Perhaps the only thing similar was the small black box the businesswoman clutched in her hand.

In no time at all she was through the building’s lobby and on the sidewalk outside, nodding to the guards that stood on either side of the door. Despite the late hour, the streets of Hope City were as busy as ever, the never-ending cacophony of horns, yells, and the occasional gunshot easily audible now that she was outside of the sound-proofed building. A nondescript black car pulled to a stop along the road, ignoring the angry honks of those behind it, and El stepped into the door that opened upon her approach.

“EL-1554. Have you retrieved the target?” 

“Of course, boss-man!” El replied with a wide smile, the persona of a serious businesswoman disappearing as if it had never existed. In place of her suit-jacket and slacks, she was now wearing jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt with a cartoon lobster wielding a spatula, with the phrase ‘Kill the Cook!’ under it. “How could you ever doubt me?”

“EL-1554. Your mission has not yet been completed. Remain professional until debrief,” her handler said while holding out a hand. El placed the black box in his hand, which the man proceeded to examine with his optics.

“I gotta say, I don’t know why you used me for this mission. Pretty much all drones in there – felt like more of a job for jugs or spider. Know what I mean?”

“EL-1554. This is your second warning. Until debrief, remain professional,” the man said without inflection or looking up from the device in his hands. 

El grumbled but didn’t speak again, though neither did her clothes shift to something less eye-catching. 

A few moments later, the car abruptly turned and sped up as the man spoke again. “Confirmed acquisition of target. Returning to base.”