The Secret Service [KINGSMAN]

ii. MANNERS MAKETH (WO)MAN

TWO.
MANNERS MAKETH (WO)MAN

As Bex sat in that tiny cell surrounded by nothing but metal and rust, she figured she probably should've been contemplating her mortality or asking forgiveness for her her sins or whatever, but the only thing she could think about was how damn bored she was.

It didn't really matter anyways. She was going to jail no matter what. Bex took a shaky breath and shivered, feeling the nervous energy constantly pumping through her veins bubble to the surface. Her eyes darted around the room as she twisted the gold ring on her finger over and over again. She could never keep her hands still. When Bex was little and her mother still took her to doctor's appointments, she'd been propped up on a paper-covered bench and lectured on attention-deficit and hyperactivity disorder. ADHD. They'd given her a tiny bottle of blue pills to keep her still, but she never took them.

Bex was glad she didn't. It kept her on her toes, hyper aware, always looking for the next move. It kept her alive. She was always looking two steps ahead, scanning the streets for an escape and planning her punches. Bex always had a way out. But now, she had no plan, and no way out.

Her stomach churned just thinking about living in a cell for the next year and a half. Between her crippling fear of small spaces and her inability to sit still, prison was practically guaranteed to be one long party. But mostly, she was worried about the food. Food was one of her main priorities and concerns in life. What did they serve in prison?

If it was salad, she'd dig her way out of there with a spoon. Lettuce was for rabbits, not teenage girls.

Bex bit her lip, counting the stained, grey tiles on the floor. She'd been in here for what felt like hours, and she could feel exhaustion pulling at her eyelids. It had been a long day, and all she really wanted was to sleep. Just as she was laying her head down in her arms, there was a loud clang that reverberated throughout the hallway. Bex's head jerked up as she watched the doorway, listening to the echo of footsteps.

The door burst open, revealing a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman in a tailored suit. He peered at her with sharp, intelligent eyes from behind a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses. The man had neatly combed brown hair tinged with silver, and his mouth was turned up in a mysterious half-smile. He looked strangely familiar to Bex, although, judging by his shiny shoes and gilded watch, he wasn't from around here.

"Miss Alden, I presume?" the gentleman asked in a low, soft voice.

"Where's John?" said Bex, taken aback.

"Miss Alden, my name is Harry Hart. You've been released and I've come to collect you."

"You're my get-out-of-jail-free card?" Bex stared at him apprehensively. "Who are you?"

"I believe I just told you. I'm Harry Hart," he replied pleasantly.

She shook her head. "No. I want to know who you really are. No one bails a stranger out of jail-"