Operations sat in his office, scanning over Sports Section of the local newspaper when Madeline knocked at his door.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Have a seat," Operations greeted, motioning to a chair. Madeline walked to Operations' desk and seated herself in front of him. Operations cleared his throat importantly.

"The operatives need a little R&R. They're losing focus, and our missions are suffering."

"That's not regular protocol," Madeline protested. "Maybe we should test our ops and send the ones that don't pass in for re-training?"

"No. We've done that and performance still suffers. I want to try a different approach."

Madeline looked at Operations quizzically. "How does this concern me?"

"I want you to arrange an outing. Preferrably at night, in a crowded environment where operatives are less likely to be noticed. I want you to break Section into smaller, more blendable groups, and send them to different places to have 'fun'."

A smirk snuck across Madeline's face. "I think you're asking the wrong person. I forgot what 'fun' is long ago..."

"You'll think of something." Operations assured her, handing her the newspaper he'd been perusing. He gave her a quick, superficial smile, then turned back to his computer, signalling the end of their conversation. Madeline silently stood and excused herself from his office.

*************LATER THE SAME DAY*************

"We're going WHERE?" Niktia asked, not sure she'd heard Madeline correctly.

"What brought this on?" Walter asked, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"We're giving you the opportunity to go out and 'play'," Operations reiterated, looking around at the faces of Walter, Birkoff, Michael,and Nikita. "We believe you've earned it."

Birkoff was smiling like a kid in a candy factory. "I'm there! When do we leave?"

Madeline handed each operative their ticket. "We're meeting in front of the box office at 19:00 hours sharp. Every operative is expected to be there, dressed in casual civilian attire. That's an order."

Nikita looked at the ticket in her hand, still not believing Madeline and Operations were being serious. "This is for real? You're notjust pulling our legs?"

"We're not pulling your leg, Niktia." Operations assured her. "You're all dismissed."

The operatives turned to leave, Michael at the end of the group. "Oh, and Michael," Operations called after the Level Five Op, "You WILL have fun tonight." he ordered.

Michael nodded, acknowledging Operations' comment, but silently seething.

"And Michael..." Madeline added, "Wear something other than black. Our goal is to blend-in here."

*************THAT EVENING**************

Operations stood impatiently outside the box office, ten minutes before 7:00 pm, waiting for the other operatives to arrive. He had definitely down-played his power-house image: He wore a leather jacket, a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a ball cap. No one even took a second glance as they passed him.

"Hi." Birkoff said breathlessly as he approached his boss. "Am I late? I missed the first bus and had to run to the next stop to catch one."

"Actually, you're early." Operations replied. Birkoff looked pleased with himself. Operations quickly glanced over his attire. He'd left the glasses at home for the evening, which made him even younger than he usually did. He wore a pair of overly-baggy jeans, which where pulled down over his hips, a grungy T-shirt, and an earring. He looked like a typical High-School teen.

"Hiya, Birkoff," Nikita greeted as she joined the two, Walter in tow. She wore a pair of overalls, a bomber jacket, and sneakers. Both she and Walter looked pretty much like they did everyday at Section, only more casual.

"Where's Madeline?" Operations checked his watch three minutes to seven o'clock.

"I'm here." Madeline replied, coming just within earshot of Nikita's question. She wore a black leather jacket, a spiked collar, and a pair of leather pants. In nearly any other place, she would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but in these particular surroundingsl, she was the "norm". "Now, we're just waiting for Michael."

The group looked around, anxious to get out of the cold air and find their seats in the arena.

"I see him! There he is!" Nikita said after a few moments of searching. She had almost missed him, he blended in so well!!! Michael strode towards the group in a pair of tight jeans, a green button-down shirt, a pair of cowboy boots and a black stetson.

"Howdy, folks," he greeted, playing up the Southern drawl, "Whaddoya say we go find our seats?"

Nikita stifled a laugh at the drastic change in Michael's attire as the group turned towards the turnstyles at the admittance entrance. Minutes later, they entered a throng of yelling, chewing-tobacco-laden red-necks as they searched for their seats in vain.

"It looks like everyone is just sitting wherever they feel like it..." Nikita mused as she noted a really large woman sitting in the seat her ticket indicated was hers.

"Um, excuse me sir..." Walter said, tapping an especially mangey-looking character on the shoulder. "I think you're sitting in my seat."

The grizzley man turned and looked distastefully at the group. "Oh yeah? You wanna make something of it???"

Walter immediately backed down, noting the man's significant size, and not wanting to cause a commotion. "No, no... you go ahead and sit there," he said, raising his hands in defense.

"Hey, sugar... you can come sit over here..." A large, buxom woman in biker attire called out to Walter, taking a swig of her beer andletting out a loud belch. "Hey, and bring your friend," she added, eying the backside of Michael's tight jeans.

Walter winced. "Now that I've heard "sugar" come out of her mouth, I'll never use that word again," he muttered under his breath to Nikita.

"So, where do we sit, Paul?" Madeline asked, looking at Operations expectantly.

"I see a few empty seats over there," Birkoff called out, pointing exitedly at six vacant seats a few rows down.

"Lead the way," Nikita said, glad to finally be able to sit down. The group casually sauntered down the steps toward the seats Birkoff had pointed out.

"Hey, watch it!" Nikita snapped after a large, burly man pinched her butt as she walked past.

"Hi sweet thing... Come to daddy..." the man leered at her, showing a rotting, toothless smile.

"The lady doesn't appreciate your advances." Michael said evenly, coming to Nikita's defense.

"Oh yeah? And who are you? Her fairy godmother?" the man sneered, standing to a towering six inches over Michael's head.

"Maybe I am." Michael shot back.

"Michael, it's OK..." Nikita assured him, not wanting to create a scene.

"Stay out of this, Nikita," Michael ordered, testosterone thick in the air. But, as he turned to look at Nikita, the man threw a blow to the right side of Michael's face, sending him reeling.

"Michael!" Nikita gasped, "Are you OK?"

By now, the rest of the group from Section, who had long taken their seats, turned to look for Michael and Nikita, and, seeing the specatacle that had just taken place, got back up to come to their aid.

Birkoff threw the first punch, hitting the offender square in the jaw. The man's buddies sitting around him joined in the squall, and soon it was an all-out brawl, flying fists, legs, teeth, and various appendages caught in one big entanglement. By the time the cops came to bust up the mob, the group from Section had slipped quietly out the door, unnoticed.

"That's the last time I buy us tickets to a Tractor-Pull!" Madeline said with a nervous laugh, as she looked around at the bruised and swollen-eyed bunch.

..........THE END.

This story © Copyright 1999, Isobelle