One year later.

"You're late," Denver announced to Irena as she walked into the hustle and bustle of the office. She chucked her jacket over the chair next to her lazily. It was that kind of day really...she wasn't up for anything else. Denver stared at her, appearing to wait for an answer of some sort. Irena slammed herself into her dark grey office chair and opened the metal drawer, shoving her hand into it and pulling out the slim packet of pills. Denver simply walked to stand in front of her with his arms folded stubbornly. Irena suddenly looked up at him.

"I'm sorry, are you waiting for something?" she finally asked.

"An apology?" Denver frowned. Irena scoffed.

"Ohhhhh. Yeah. Not going to happen," she hummed, turning on the Mac in front of her. Denver rolled his eyes heavily.

"You're late," he repeated.

"You said."

"Irena, I don't know why you've been so distant lately-"

"Not distant," Irena corrected him. "Not distant. Just weary. Observant from afar. I'm here now though, aren't I?" Denver gave her a pitiful look before chucking her the small USB stick which she caught perfectly.

"Today's objective is on there. The quicker we start, the quicker we can go home before that storm later," he told her, turning around and beginning to walk away.

"I'm not the one who checks the files!" Irena called after him.

"I know!" Denver called back. "But she's not here yet - so it's all down to you." She grumbled a few profanities before sticking the hard drive into the computer. Her mind ticked away as her mouse clicked away, and in around thirty seconds, she had printed out what she needed, grabbed her coat and left the office.

Irena rang the doorbell to the beautiful penthouse apartment and stood there patiently. There was the distant sounds of footsteps hurrying toward her over a polished floor and suddenly, the heavy door swung open. Standing there was a middle aged woman.

Around 40 years old, divorced, remarried once. Cardigan shows she has an average job – almost too average for someone with this kind of problem. Skirt is made out of recycled cotton so – eco lover. No meat, no dairy, no smoking woman who lives alone. Fantastic.

"Can I help you?" she frowned deeply.

"Michelle Rytard? Irena Holmes, private investigator slash detective from SLATE, whichever you prefer, may I come in? Of course I can." Irena shoved the badge in her face and went straight into the apartment without any hesitation. The woman shuffled to the side and closed the door behind her, her face totally confused.

"I didn't send for two of you-" she began quietly, now following Irena who was beginning to make herself at home. Irena suddenly froze in the kitchen, noticing the air was different from where she walked in.

"You don't smoke," she muttered, spinning back round. Then it dawned on her. "Oh, brilliant. She's already here." Before the woman could say another word, out walked a slender figure. She was dressed in a black figure hugging dress and a black floppy hat, which covered half her face. Her lips were a dark plump red and she was surrounded with the smoke from her cigarette in the sleek black cigarette holder which she held in her black lace gloved hands. "Moira. I should've known," Irena rolled her dark blue eyes and turned away. Moira blew the smoke out of her mouth and cocked her head to the side slightly.

"Hello princess. You're finally here," she sang quietly. "I was wondering when you would actually show up."

"Don't test me Moira," Irena snarled. "You're not even meant to be here."

"What can I say - Denver sent me," Moira shrugged lightly. Irena watched her delicately tap the ashes into the smooth silver ashtray on the marble countertops distractedly.

"Funny - Denver sent me too."

"I thought you both work for the same people? Don't you both work for SLATE?" Michelle finally inputted anxiously. Moira and Irena both turned to her properly.

"Yes, sorry. We just have to ask a few questions and we can get down to business," Irena coughed. She settled herself down at the cream coloured swivel chair of the breakfast bar and took out the iPad, opening a new document and sliding it to Moira who sat next to her. Michelle simply sat on her leather sofa and took a deep breath.

"So let's start with the money situation," Moira got down to business. "You said you transferred £200,000 to the safety of SLATE and it was taken and completely drained before they even received it?"

"There's no record of the money ever reaching your banks," Michelle confirmed quickly. "I spoke to the president of the company and he denies its existence completely. It's insulting really because I know I transferred it."

"So you're implying...that it was stolen?" Moira concluded, putting the cigarette out completely. "Stolen online?"

"Yes. And I would like full compensation because I know it reached your records."

"Right. Well I can't promise they'll agree to do that but...may we have your bank details anyway?" Moira nudged Irena slightly with her elbow, a nudge that asked her if everything seemed okay. But Irena didn't know what she was missing here.

Something was off and she couldn't figure it out, the more she stressed herself about it, the more she began to panic. Suddenly, her skin began to crawl and get hot, the most unpleasant feeling in the world. Reaching into her back jeans pocket she felt the rim of the tablet packet, popping the back of it so one small rounded tablet came out. She put it in her mouth and immediately calmed down. This was normal for her when she felt pressure.

Suddenly, everything was clear.

£200,000 transferred directly to Slate, no one has any record of it and the money hasn't even touched our accounts yet. The cardigan suggests she's in an average job but anyone with that amount of cash surely doesn't have that kind of money to just give away to a government agency. Moira's ashtray – ashtray in the apartment but she doesn't smoke so-

"Who sent you?" Irena suddenly asked. The air fell silent. Moira sighed and pulled out another cigarette - she knew what this question meant.

"P-Pardon?" Michelle stuttered. "I did." Irena let out a little laugh. Totally in control again.

"You're nervous now - that stutter hadn't developed until I asked that question. This isn't your house. Everything polished but not a sign of being used, not even for a clean person. Everything except one thing - the slightly dirty back door windows. Why would you clean everything but them? You didn't offer us a drink or biscuits at all, why? Because you have none. No bin liner in the bin, no fingerprints in the surfaces - this isn't your house. You were sent by someone to do this, presumably to kill us, who sent you?" Michelle's breathing became incredibly irregular then, as she reached into her back pocket she began to cry.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. Moira didn't move, she just continued smoking graciously.

"Yes, me too," Irena muttered. Within a second she had pulled out her own pistol and shot Michelle clean in the shoulder. She let out a screech of pain and fell backwards before she could even get her own gun out of her pocket successfully. Moira simply hopped off the swivel chair and stood over her.

"Again, I ask you," she whispered, kneeling down so she was closed to her level. Blood was spilling everywhere at this point, pooling at their feet. Moira removed the cigarette from the shoulder and swiftly pressed it into the bullet hole, basically putting out the cigarette in her wound. The sickly sound of burning flesh and screaming hit their ears. "Who, sent you?" No reply.

"Well done genius. She's passed out," Irena yawned.

"Shoot. I've always wanted to do the burning of the flesh trick," Moira frowned, hopping back up.

"Yes I know," Irena smirked. "That's why I shot her for you."

"You're a true friend," Moira rolled her eyes. She snapped her gloves back into place and took out her sleek black mirror to re-apply the lipstick. "The story was ridiculous anyway. As if Vixen could ever hack SLATE."

"Even if they did there would be record of foul play in our systems," Irena chewed her bottom lip. She grabbed her coat and threw it on.

"Yeah well," Moira mumbled, fixing her hat. "Maybe next time."

A/N: Yes first of all this chapter is so long, I apologise! Secondly, it's just an insight into the two main characters and what their jobs are, what they do and how they work together. There are a few hints and keywords in there but anyway, here comes the full storyline! Thirdly, MERRY CHRISTMAS!

- J x