In one swift and theatrical motion, the woman flung the doors wide, as though to accommodate not only herself, but her ego as well. She sashayed inside with an equal, if not greater, flaunt.
Beneath her silken veil, the woman could be everyone and no one: a crowd or a ghost. With anonymous certainty, she did her work and made her business with self-assured grandeur.
The base's vast interior lay before her, and she found herself in a receptions office. The walls were beige concrete accented with red embellishments. She was alone, save for a small seating arrangement in the middle of the room and a large wooden desk smothered in stacks of paper. The woman came up to the work desk and looked it over. Messy would have been paying the heap a compliment. In between piles was an antique lamp that sat, pushed far away in the corner as if trying to avoid being swallowed by the rest of the mess. Beside the lamp sat a rectangular nameplate, and on closer inspection of it, the woman found that the rambling clutter belonged to Pauling.
Then, as if on cue, a petite woman in a purple dress wandered out from a nearby hallway. Humming gently, she shuffled in holding yet another stack of typing to her chest. Her head was low, and she didn't yet seem aware of the newcomer.
The suited woman cleared her throat loudly, impatiently.
"Oh!" piped the daintier woman. Her face shot up quickly in shock, setting her cat's eye glasses askew. Startled, she turned to the source of the sound. "Hello," Pauling chimed cheerily. The shorter eyed the taller woman before her. She placed a portion of her paperwork among the other mounds. "You must be the new recruit; it's so great to finally meet you! I'm Ms. Pauling," she said, adjusting her glasses. Pauling smiled cordially, giving her cheeks a near cherub glow that contrasted heavily against her tightly bound coils of black hair. "I hope you didn't have any trouble finding the place."
"Hardly," the masked woman spoke with a light French accent. Her voice seemed to purr, as though her words came from the back of her throat. Her tone was frigid cynicism: controlled.
"That's good to hear." Pauling's eyes suddenly lit up behind her glasses. "Before I forget, I'll need to you sign your contract. Then you'll be an official employee of TF Industries, or more accurately, Reliable Excavation Demolitions." Pauling fumbled with her typing a bit, and then separated the stack in half. She extended the larger half of the pile to the suited woman, and Pauling pulled a pen out from behind her ear for signing.
Eyes narrowing from behind the mask, the woman took both the stack and the pen. It was a hefty pile, and the taller woman estimated it to be at least one-hundred pages of loophole free, lawyer-proof legalities. Peering down, the woman skimmed over the agreement; she signed and initialed when necessary. Most of the contract was conventional and even reasonable, aside from an idiosyncrasy here and there. Apparently, she'd be obligated to own at least five different hats. There was no such thing a perfect contract, so she was generally unbothered by the oddity. She'd had other jobs under stranger circumstances, but she couldn't help but feel that she was signing away more than just her career specialties. Perhaps signing in blood would have been preferred.
The woman ended her final signature with a flourish and handed everything neatly back to Pauling like some kind of atonement for the papery bluster. Pauling simply placed it on the table to be "sorted" later.
"Okay, let me be the first to welcome you to our happy, little company!" Pauling offered her hand, as though to finish the process.
Their hands met with a brief but definitive shake. There was no backing out now.
"Alrighty then, great—on to the orientation; come with me." Pauling extended her arm out in a showy fashion and lead on through the concrete halls. The masked woman followed at Pauling's side. The petite woman had short strides like a scuttling spider, so the taller of the two slowed her feline gait to accommodate. Fluorescent light pooled in from the ceiling, and Pauling's heels clacked and echoed throughout the institutionalized maze of the RED base.
"The cafeteria is right here; the food is decent, but I'm sure it's not what you'd be used to over in Europe, I'd suppose," Pauling explained, pointing towards the left. "It's real empty in there right now, but that's because the boys aren't in yet."
"My colleagues, then?"
"Yeah, they're…nice, kinda loud, but all in all a friendly enough bunch, for mercenaries anyway," Pauling said with a little laugh that trailed off at the end. "Just don't ask Soldier about his heads," Pauling added "He gets really passionate and extremely defensive over his heads."
The taller nodded, slightly confused but noting the tip. "So, who are these men?"
Counting on her fingers, Pauling listed "You'll be working with the Medic, and the Engineer, the Demo-,"
"Their names, they must have names," The masked woman interrupted.
"Given names are never used in our mercenary divisions. It's mostly to protect anonymity and to prevent fraternization. I think you of all people can appreciate that." Pauling spoke a little more seriously now.
"I can."
"Fraternization cases never end well," Pauling's voice was low. "Don't get into that situation." The lights above whispered warnings through the noiseless corridors. The pair stood quietly, but then Pauling chirped, "On with the tour!"
They walked on, and Pauling continued to explain all the lovely features offered at the base. RED supplied the basics: a mess hall, a locker room, bathrooms and showers, and then finally the on-site bunking area.
"Here's your room: Room Seven; it's a little bare right now, but I'm sure you'll grow to it," Pauling pushed open a plain door to an equally plain, unappealing room. The woman in the mask strode in and made an audible groan of distaste as she set her suitcase down. Surrounded with concrete, the room was cramped, dank, and prisonlike. A tiny pine-wood desk and chair was crammed into the left corner under a pitiful window, and an uncomfortable looking bed was shoved into the opposite one with a partially rusted metal cabinet at its foot. At the immediate left, a puny closet was set into the wall, and it was only big enough for a few articles of clothing.
"Cozy, eh?" Pauling sounded sincere.
"Does it come with an orange jumpsuit too?" The tall woman remarked sharply. She was completely straight-faced.
Pauling couldn't tell if the woman was joking or not, but decided to jest anyway. She placed her hands on her hips and said "Sorry it's not up to par, Princess."
The tall woman snorted "Tell me something," she turned to Pauling and questioned, "Princess is not my title, is it?"
"You're funny," Pauling laughed, pleased that she had guessed correctly. "To answer your question, no. While you work here, you will be the Spy."
"Appropriate, considering a Princess class would be hardly terrifying." The new Spy wandered over to her sad, little window, hoping for a passable view. Aside from a thin sliver of deep, crimson sky, her sights were constrained to a vast jungle of mining equipment, brick buildings, and more walls, not particularly beautiful. "When will my coworkers arrive?"
"It shouldn't be too much longer, so enjoy the silence while you have it though; it's rare." Pauling said "If that's everything, then I'll be going to finish my paperwork." She made her way over to the door and glanced back, "Good luck tomorrow." And then Pauling closed the door.