Getting that feeling that you can only get when you sleep in late, Dr Director woke up and spread out her arms, stretching out, and yawning as she did so. She looked at the time, it was almost mid day, she rarely got such an opportunity to sleep in late, but then again, she was jet lagged.

Her house was situated in the Great Britain's islands, and her secret base, where she worked most every day, was situated near Azores. So the difference was minor, only an hour to her regular schedule, but the effects of that hour were clear from the way her grogginess was being revealed. She stretched out again, and looked around, her room, much like her office, wasn't that much decorated, only with a few pictures, her bed and her bedside table. The room was spacious and as such it felt empty, but she enjoyed the sense of space it gave her. She had a clear view, given to her by the windows when she opened her curtains, of the city that spread out under her. She quite enjoyed the view, but she didn't plan to stick to her bedroom or house, in her one and only day of rest.

She went into the washroom to prepare herself for the day ahead, bare necessities done, she looked at herself in the mirror. She liked what she saw, without the trademark eye patch she frequently wore (once again, in reference to a Marvel character), her black eyes stood up against the whiteness of her pupils, her hair, which she hadn't combed yet, fell in soft, gentle streams up to her shoulders, her smile was as white as it was marvellous. She wasn't the vain kind of girl, in fact she wasn't into that makeup nonsense, which was revealed by the near total absence of makeup of any kind in her washroom, but she had to admit, she looked good. She posed with an imaginary gun (not keen on getting a true gun from her gun cabinet, which would take some time), and then she combed her hair. Preparations done she picked an outfit. – Not feminine or revealing in the slightest yet not masculine – And she went out, making sure to "forget" her pager where she had left it, in the small table on the dining room, grabbing only the keys. If someone had a problem they could fix it without her, today she was off schedule and of the job, she was leaving it to the sub-director, and the vice director, to handle any sort of situation that appeared.

She walked through the familiar streets not worrying much about direction or purpose, just enjoying the fresh air. The secret base – which was underwater – was full of air, needed for breathing, but the air was recycled and felt stale. – The air on the city, polluted as it might have been, at least was fresh, to some degree. Her cheeks reddened as she felt the cold air hit her, but she wasn't worried about the cold, by the hour that was, now pass mid-day, she was sure that the weather would heat up at any moment now. In actuality with her thoughts the sun shied away from its cloud coverage to shine on and reflect on the dirty sidewalks and glass panes of buildings. Seeing the sun was rarely a thing for her, as well as the air, underwater the sun didn't reach, much less with all the concrete that had been sunk in to form the base. When she had left for her day off it had already been night, so she enjoyed the beams that went on her face, as well as the heat they provided.

Without a sense of direction the woman found herself into the shady parts of town, she knew what those were – the badly constructed shelters, the coating of paint peeling off in the rare apartment building, the doors that were obstructed or out of place, all the garbage, the disgusting smell... – While she wasn't worried for her own safety, she had protection, even without a gun she was capable of defending herself in several different styles of martial arts, she felt her nose wrinkle at the smell. She tensed up, she had been taught that an opponent could be anywhere, and while she wasn't worried for her own safety, as was previously established, she was much more likely to be attacked here, where any security cameras that could be had been vandalized or painted over with black spray paint, than in the main roads and downtown, with all the pristine buildings. She passed through a shack and she heard the unmistakable noise of things being thrown, identifiable by the sound of the smack against what she presumed was the wall and the swoosh as they flew though the air. She continued walking, cautiously watching where she stepped (for the sidewalk was littered with beams of wood and mud, where nothing should have been)

Despite the hour that was – Early afternoon – No one was in the streets, and besides the occasional throwing of heavy objects and the barking of dogs – Which Betty, the true name of Dr Director shivered when thinking about the conditions they lived in – there wasn't any sound, any cars, or any sign of human life. She felt she was being watched. She passed the occasional rusted car, that if they worked, which she doubted, would be an hazard do any driver on the road, as they might fall apart mid turning.

The good thing about this desolate and bad part of town – she thought as she passed through it – was that they were totally self contained, while they were tolerated by the authorities (who, with the advent of the internet had been pressured into leaving those residents of the slums of town alone, lest them be victims of a witch hunt online) – the authorities had minimized the contact they had with any other residents. Betty had heard the stories, the place was full of junkies and drunks, that couldn't hold a job and would rob you blind for another chance at a drink of booze or a dose of crack. – She didn't know if they were exaggerations but she felt pity for those who lived in such conditions. While she wasn't exactly a millionaire (she felt the huge budget her organization had would be better employed in training and new tech than her own salary) – she still held a steady income every month, to not have it, and to be addicted was, in her own view, a waste. Still though, maybe due to the way she handled herself, or the soft muscles that stood up against the fibers of her shirt, noticeable even at a distance (she was after all in top psychical form), she wasn't being attacked. She crossed the streets without any worries, other than the smell – and everything else – this place was actually sort of tolerable.

She could have just as easily run the distance, but she decided to calmly walk it, she started noticing little details, the smell she couldn't identify at first. The one that made bile come to the back of her throat and caused her nose to wrinkle, it was the smell of unwashed dirt mixed with puke – she knew the smell from when of her agents puked out of exhaustion after an intense training session – she didn't let them take it easy, and held them to high standards. – She wished she hadn't solved the riddle of the smell, it was nauseating just thinking about it. Whomever had puked (and she decided to watch her steps even more closely, not to land on some odd puddle), had done it all over the place and frequently enough that the whole place reeked of it. The poor bastard must be seriously ill – she thought, she was nearly out of the slums though, so she hurried her pace.

Though she would never admit it to anyone, she felt a short sense of relief to be out of that place. It wasn't just the smell that had bothered her and nauseated her, no, it was also the fact that she could have been easily attacked.

She figured she would take the long way around when returning home, so that next time she wouldn't have to pass through that whole place. The weather had started to pick up, and the shadowy places she had passed gave way to sunny, almost hot enough to be bothersome weather, as the streets widened out and the buildings became cleaner and cleaner. She let out a sigh – though she told herself it was of the jet lag from yesterday and not from relief – and she kept on walking. She was nearing the river, she could smell the water and feel the humidity as she approached.

Dr Director had always liked water – though the city's river was polluted beyond measure – so much so that swimming in it was a bad idea – she could see observe it and enjoy the view, instead of clear, pure blue waters, the waters were a murky brown and black, and some objects floated in there – but she let her imagination freely wander and for moments the stains in the river disappeared to give way to waters that would rival the Caribbean ones. She didn't let her imagination float around that often, but when she did, she had such detailed dreams...and visions. She could almost smell and touch the waters. It was a shame though, that they were so unreal, so fake, she didn't let it affect her, but when she turned back to reality, she felt a sense of despair – as quickly swallowed as the guilt from sending her men to attack yesterday – and she shock her head, focusing.

She rarely drank, and she almost never ate properly cooked food, almost always heating up something to bite between files of paperwork, but today she was feeling adventurous, the place she was, near the river, was bound to have some pubs or restaurants that served fish. She had never been much of a fan of fish and chips, traditional as it might have been, but hunger was striking her (she had, after all walked miles, and hadn't had breakfast), and she had some spare cash to burn. She looked around, looking for a pub. One with a good image, not some dirty backwater one that would give her an aching stomach.

She wandered around between all those places, looking for one, finding one that satisfied her needs, she entered.