Meet number 2

After what a long, exposing drive we entered the courtyard of a large compound. The place was filled with women, on every tower and post. I could tell by their posture and attitudes they were trained, soldiers or bodyguards. They all wore matching black cargo pants, combat boots and tank tops.

The driver screeched to a stop. I rose from the cart, straightened my ruffled skirt and smoothing down my wind swept hair. From the doorway to the largest building a woman emerged. She wore a pin striped business suit and was surrounded by more guards. She was older, probably fifty, but thin and strangely beautiful, tall and carried herself with grace. She approached me calmly, with an arrogant swagger. I felt silly, standing in front of this woman dressed in ill fitting clothes. Still, i wasn't about to let my discomfort show.

"you must be 2." I said with all the confidence i could muster.

"Of course. A pleasure to meet you 6." She said, extending a hand. I stared at it in disgust.

"What's with all this 6 stuff?"

"You are 6 my dear." She said with a smirk.

"No! My name's Natasha Lestat! I'm a field agent for the CIA, and I demand you tell me what's going on!"

To my surprise no one was intimidated by my name and rank. Instead they all laughed. Confused, angry and flustered, I felt blood rush to my face. I tried to remind myself to conceal my emotions, but was far too upset. I was overcome by the urge to tear this two woman apart. I lunged forward to attack. unfortunately, my ill fitting plastic shoes were not designed for combat. I took one step and fell flat on my face in the dust. I winced with pain and slowly rose. The laughter just increased.

"be careful six." 2 said between chuckles. "I wouldn't want you hurting yourself."