The Secret Service [KINGSMAN]

v. WATER WE GOING TO DO

FIVE.
WATER WE GOING TO DO

When she leaned her shoulder against the door, throwing her weight forward to open it, Bex heard the sound of a seal making a hissing noise as she broke it. The hulking door swung open, and she tumbled inside, tripping over the laces of her shoe. Bex only had a moment for her cheeks to flame in embarrassment as nine pairs of eyes swiveled to face her before the door swung back into place.

It locked into place with a firm thud. Bex looked back at it uneasily, wondering why the door needed a seal. She couldn't help but feel as though someone had just locked her into a cell, trapping her. She tried the handle. It didn't budge. Bex was stuck in here, whatever this place was.

She slowly turned, her eyes taking in the room. The panels of fluorescent lights overhead lit the concrete walls, a large mirror gleaming on the opposite wall. She could faintly see her ragged reflection in it, warped by the strange tint of the glass. There were no windows, and Bex realized they must be underground.

Each side of the room was lined with simple metal cots, which were painted dark green. A set of plain sheets and a large lump of rubbery fabric were folded neatly and sitting at the end of each bed. Bordering the beds were metal lockers, painted the same dull color, useless to Bex since all she had were the clothes she was wearing. Under the mirror against the back wall were a row of metal toilets and crude-looking showers. It was strangely spartan for an organization that was obviously filthy rich.

Beneath the concrete and fluorescent lights, was a group of young men and women standing at the center and speaking in hushed voices, their eyes darting towards her. Bex noticed the way they all seemed to stand with their shoulders thrown back, chins lifted and spines straight. They were all dressed in blazers and collared shirts, some with wool sweaters and striped ties peeking out from under. She shifted in her own battered converse as she noticed their expensive-looking leather shoes. They were all glinting gold and rich fabric, just like everything else in this place.

Bex tucked a tangle of brown hair behind her ear, feeling their eyes burn into her. She clenched her jaw, meeting their gazes coolly. She walked forward, ignoring the way they scanned her ripped jeans and blood-stained jacket up and down. There were only two other girls, one with a round, friendly face and the other with black bangs framed by severe cheekbones.

Joan of Arc, my ass, she thought. The patriarchy strikes again.

One boy stood off to the side, away from the others. His shoulders were slumped, but she could see the tension in them. Underneath his cap, his eyes were scanning the group of candidates with as much apprehension as she was. The knot in her stomach loosened a bit as she realized she wasn't alone in this. She wasn't the only outsider.

He looked up at her and the shadow of his hat slipped away to reveal his face. He had a strong jaw, dotted with a shadow of stubble. Messy blonde hair the color of rusted gold poked out from underneath his cap. She wasn't blind. He was attractive. The kind that made girls on the street stop and whisper to their friends, giggling. And, judging by the way his lips were curling up in a smirk as he met her eyes, he knew it too.