The taxi driver considers this for a moment and then nods. He taps at the navscreen in the front of the taxi for a few moments and then presses a green button, setting the navigational sequence in place. Then he steps out of the taxi and holds the door open for Sookhee.

"Thanks!" she says, and boys, and climbs into the dark blue transport. The seat is very comfortable.

The taxi driver shuts the door, still standing outside the open window. "Do you know how to -- once you pay --"

"Yes, yes, I've got it. Thank you, sir!" Sookhee taps her pocket computer to the taxi navscreen. It beeps, and the screen lights up with a confirmation of the purchase. She confirms, and the navscreen lights up a happy yellow, the motor purring. 

The taxi zooms off, whisking her towards the hills. The scenery continues to be pleasant. As she gets further away from the airport, buildings begin to appear clustered in the foothills: lots of pretty, white sky scrapers, and clumps of smaller ruddier buildings scattering up the mountain slopes. Sookhee can imagine all the rich skyscraper-dwellers going to fancy lunches with each other in their fancy clothes and basking in the scenery.

Becoming a spy was such a good decision.

After an hour the taxi stops and the door opens automatically. She's arrived at her destination.

The swan in front of the Glass Swan Hotel is not, in fact, glass, but the same sort of flickering neon holographic that Napo-gu had overflowed with. The doors beyond the installation were the kind that swung open manually, dark brown with glass paneling and weighty golden knobs that might even be real.

Sookhee lugs her suitcase around the swan and tugs the doors open. (Definitely not real gold). The inside looks like what she's come to expect from hotel scraper lobbies: smooth black granite surfaces and cool blue lighting and and a chromed silver check-in desk attended by a sleekly dressed young woman.

The woman wears a trim black dress, and her hair is pulled back into a bun more neat and perfect than any aspect of Sookhee has looked her entire life. The girl's had some work done on her left arm; a neat stretch of blue and white ports, some of which are glowing, extends out from under her sleeve.

Sookhee feels very outclassed. "Hi," she says as she reaches the check-in desk and bows. "I have a-- a room. A reservation. Yes."

The desk girl nods and turns to the screen of ledger, keying in a passcode with a click of evenly trimmed, chrome-painted nails. "Of course, miss. Your name?"

"Tamako. Eri Tamako. The reservation should've been placed, ah --"

"I have it here. Can I see your ID, miss?"

"Right here, yes!" She opens her new wallet and offers her new ID.

She looks at it. Looks at Sookhee. Hands it back with a small bow.

"Thank you, miss. I have a key for you..." She unlocks a drawer and rifles through it, passing Sookhee the small key chip a moment later. "Your friend got here a few hours ago. Do you need help with any luggage, miss?"

"No, thank you, I've got it."

Her partner is in their room, probably waiting to meet her. Unless they aren't? Maybe they've gone out to explore the city after checking in; that's what Sookhee might do, were she the first to arrive.

Her heartbeat titters fretfully as the lift glides up 42 floors. It's embarrassing, really, how nervous this is making her. She's met a handful of other agents by now, and most of them were perfectly bearable. She's done more than a handful of things that were much, much more dangerous than meeting another spy, and she was fine. Why now of all times does she have to feel so anxious?

It doesn't matter, she tells herself. It doesn't matter if we get along or if he's an asshole or if we hate each other. I'll tolerate it and I'll get the money out of it and I don't have to care at all, really, about getting along with this person.

She gets off the lift and weaves through the hallways. 4207, 4211, 4215... 4219. She hovers her hand over the door for a full minute before she knocks.

There's no answer.

Hhhhh. Yeah. Probably outside somewhere.

Sookhee inserts the hotel key chip into her pocket computer and taps the keypad with it. The keypad beeps quietly and a blue light shines its approval at her. The door clicks, and then glides open, sliding to the side.

She tugs her suitcase through the door and sets it down against the wall, shuffling to kick off her shoes and then nudge them into plausible neatness behind the door, where -- another pair of shoes already sits. A woman's shoes, sleek and slim and silver.

Sookhee looks up.

Sitting on one of the beds with remarkable posture is a very pretty girl about Sookhee's age. Most of the agents Sookhee's encountered have worn gloves; her partner's are of a fine, silky black velvet that looks unbearably soft to the touch.

Other than that, this girl doesn't look much like an agent at all. There's something of a doe-eyed quality to her.

Ohhhhhfuckshespretty.

Why the fuck wasn't she warned. Is she expected to just deal with this -- how on earth is she supposed to focus on her job in the presence of -- how is anyone expected to do precision work around this girl, whose idea was it to let her become a spy -- aaaaaafuck.

She's staring like an idiot. She needs to stop and instead start -- producing words, yes. Words. Language.

"Hhh. Ah -- nice to meet you, miss, I'm." She bows hurriedly. "I'm S-- Tamako. Nice to meet you."

This is going so much worse than she ever could have imagined.

She was expecting it to be a man. She doesn't know why, really. This is better.

"Tamako?" Hideko rises from the bed and walks forwards, bowing slightly. "Is there a reason to call me miss? We're partners, I think." She offers a delicately gloved hand. "My name is Miya."

That's a great point. There was no reason to call her miss, just like there's no reason to kiss her offered hand despite it feeling alarmingly appropriate. "Miya, it's nice to meet you. Is that -- your real name, or --"

"I hadn't thought we were supposed to share real names. In general, though, I'd like us to be honest with each other."

Yep yeah another excellent point.

She takes a deep breath and makes an effort to pull herself together. "That sounds useful, where it's safe." It usually isn't. As a general rule, it's a bad idea to be honest about anything other than the facts of the mission. Miya must be new to this.

"Don't know how safe it'll be, really. I don't really know... what we're doing? My contact said there would be more information at the hotel."

"Apparently I have more information than you. There was a case waiting in the room --" She pointed to a thick, buckled trunk that sat closed on the table. "With clothes for our assignment. I was sent more information when I opened the case. Tomorrow night we're attending an event. I guess we call it... infiltrating?"

"Yes? Infiltrating is correct. Are you -- new at this?"

"Is it so obvious? I'm new to the fieldwork. Until now I've done some low-risk research for the agency, some messenger jobs... I think you're supposed to mentor me, somewhat. While I'll mentor you in the sort of gala etiquette we'll need at the gala tomorrow." A small smile. "I have some experience attending expensive parties. I know they're foolish things."

"Oh - no! I don't think going to expensive parties are silly, don't be embarrassed! Of course I'll help if you -- need guidance, or have questions. Whatever you need. What's the gala tomorrow? My contact said this was about human trafficking, potentially."