You lay back on the sofa, relaxing as you browsed through the latest issue of The New York Times. A once respected magazine, its now grayish pages contained what seemed to be gossip from all around the globe - with headlines such as, "Russian ships are a provocation of new war!", "The Chi-coms are taking over this economy.", and "Will Toranpu's secret love affair finally spark a debate?" It's all nonsense -- a result of the CIA abandoning the sinking vessel and cutting all of its lines of communication.
"Still reading that crap?"
You glance upwards as your roommate Igor strides into the room. Tall; short, sandy blonde hair; chiseled musculature; and what girl would describe as 'handsome', he was the target of men's envy and women's desire. Born in Boston to a pair of Russian and Ukrainian immigrants, he was recruited to the TFPD at a remarkably young age and trained by the brightest counterintelligence agents. Hailed as a genius, this was all owed to a special genome that was present in him since birth. Remarkably, it allowed him to essentially mutate his body: turning fat into muscles, control the flow of blood within his veins and arteries, and hair growth, among others.
You, on the other hand, were recruited at an old (for a counterintelligence officer!) age, at a ripe 19, and thus were considered to be an upstart, given your position. Your recruitment story is also quite unorthodox, considering you were just a normal civilian who studied in college, aiming to become a mechanical engineer. Yet that all turned about when Igor, having been chasing after a high profile target, committed a blunder by stabbing your lung after he rounded yet another corner in chase, surprised by your presence. Fortunately, the resources of the TFPD kept you alive, but the near-death experience also awoke something deep within you -- a genome that resonated with Igor's -- that held quite a few secrets.
Yet now, after being promoted to corporal within the ranks, you were one part of the famous duo that thwarted world-ending crises using wits and skill, deviously combating madmen to ensure that people get to see another tomorrow.
"Eh, it's not even that interesting," you reply, tossing aside the journal. A swift press of the button and out comes the champagne bottle. You gently twist the cork and pour yourself a drink.
"Already drinking this early in the morning?" Igor tuts, clearly displeased. "Seems you haven't been drilled enough. To think that an ace of the prestigious counterintelligence division is drinking his ass to a stupor! How shameful."
"Oh shut it, will ya? It's not as if you guys aren't putting me through the runner in each day. I haven't had a break in so long... give me some slack!"
He shrugs his shoulders. "Considering that you're on duty now, I don't see why I should."
You groan, "The old hag's got another mission for me?"
"The mission never ends, friend. The world is always in danger and we, the counterintelligence agents of the TFPD, are always here to save it."
"Well that sounds a hell of a lot of work for me," you sigh, slamming the champagne bottle back into its ice bucket. "What's the disaster this time?"
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