A. R. I. A

The Flight to Moscow

Mia's Pov

I groan as I peel my eyes open, cursing the damn alarm clock for yanking me out of a sweet dream. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and plant my feet on the floor. Time to face another goddamn day.

Dragging my ass into the bathroom, I splash some cold water on my face, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. My reflection in the mirror looks like shit—dark circles under my eyes, hair sticking out in all directions—but who the hell cares? Ain't nobody got time for beauty sleep when you're chasing down assholes for a living.

After a quick shower that's more of a necessity than a luxury, I throw on some clothes—black jeans, a plain t-shirt, and a leather jacket that makes me feel like a badass. I check my Glock, making sure it's loaded and ready to go. Can't be too careful in this line of work.

Downing a shot of espresso to kick my ass into gear, I grab my keys and head out the door. The morning air is crisp and cool, a welcome relief after the stuffy confines of my apartment. I light up a cigarette as I make my way to the car, taking a long drag and letting the nicotine soothe my frayed nerves.

The drive to HQ is uneventful, just me and the open road stretching out before me. I crank up the radio, letting the music drown out the noise in my head. As I pull into the parking lot, I steel myself for another day of bullshit and bureaucracy. But hey, it beats sitting behind a desk any damn day. Time to kick some ass and take some names. Let's do this.

I slam the car door shut and march my ass into HQ, the familiar smell of coffee and paperwork hitting me like a goddamn brick wall. Ain't nothing like the scent of bureaucracy in the morning.

I barely make it through the door before some chick in a suit comes strutting up to me. "Mia," she barks, her voice all business. "The Director and the others are waiting for your sorry ass in the meeting room. Chop chop."

I roll my eyes and mutter a colorful curse under my breath. Always with the damn meetings. Can't a girl catch a break around here?

Ignoring the urge to tell Miss Suit to shove it where the sun don't shine, I follow her lead and head towards the meeting room. The halls are buzzing with activity, agents scurrying around like ants on crack. I weave my way through the crowd, cutting through the bullshit like a hot knife through butter.

Finally, I reach the meeting room and push the door open, stepping inside with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. The Director is already there, looking all serious and shit, surrounded by a bunch of other suits who look like they'd rather be anywhere else.

I give them a lazy salute and flop down into a chair, ready to get this shitshow on the road. Let's see what kind of crap they're gonna throw at me today.

As I settle into my seat with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, the door swings open and in walks Mícheál, all polished and professional like he didn't just stumble out of bed five minutes ago. He nods to everyone in the room with that charming Irish grin of his, and I can't help but roll my eyes. Smooth operator, that one.

The Director cuts straight to the chase, wasting no time with the pleasantries. "Mícheál," she says, her voice sharp and to the point. "We need you to explain to us how you're going to find the TechGuard Drive."

Mícheál nods, his expression serious as he takes a seat at the head of the table. "Of course, Director," he says, his voice steady and confident. "Allow me to explain."

He launches into a detailed explanation of the TechGuard Drive detector, his words flowing smoothly as he breaks down the intricate workings of the device. "The TechGuard Drive (TGD) detector operates by scanning for the unique Digital Signature embedded within the TechGuard Drive's software and hardware during its creation," he begins, his voice measured and precise.