Disclaimer: Nikita is so not my property. As a matter of fact, none of these characters are. I just take them out to play once in awhile and put them back where I found them.

Spoilers: Nothing specific

Archiving: Sure, just let me know. Nikitangel@hotmail.com

Feedback: Any and all, even the bad stuff, but keep it constructive, would you? Please review - I always return the favor if you have fic on a series that I know.

Notes: WARNING: This is a spoof, a humorous piece unlike my other work. Don't be expecting toenail polish, bedtime stories, chess games, or ice cream :-) I do have some sequels lying around here somewhere that I'll try to post

I was falsely accused of a hideous crime, and sentenced to life in prison. One night I was taken from my cell to a place called Section One, the most covert anti-terrorist organization known of by most terrorists on the planet. Their ends are just, except for when they are personal and self-serving, but their means are ruthless, pretty much.


Operations slowly paced behind the table, his hands behind his back. "Herbert von Schlechtenmauvais." A rotating hologram suddenly appeared on the screen. The operatives tried to study it, but concentration was difficult, with Operations moving around behind it. "He's a high-ranking member of Le Nombril Rond, a splinter group of-"

"Excuse me," Michael's French tone smoothly inserted. "Are you trying to be French?"

"Pardon?" Operations' eyebrows lifted.

"You're not French. Why do you try to pronounce things as if you are?"

Nikita snorted and looked away, her eyes coming to rest on Madeline. "Hey, why do you come to these things?" The older woman stared back at her. "No, really, I mean, what is your purpose? I thought you were supposed to be so busy."

"Nikita, leave it alone," answered Michael in a low tone. "Remember what we talked about."

"Oh, right. She has to be here so she knows what's going on when Ops asks her later on. Sorry, my bad." Nikita leaned back in her chair once more.

Birkoff sat up suddenly. "Hey, Nikita has a good point. Why do I have to be here? I've got things to do! How am I supposed to keep up if I have to attend every briefing? Not only do I run Comm, but I've got to be there for every mission, sometimes out in the van, sometimes on site, look up every piece of information that anyone wants, do special favors for people who won't even tell me why, track anomalies and satellites, and crack every code we come across! You people don't even let me sleep!"

"Hey, amigo, you think you've got it bad?" Walter spoke up, "Not only am I the weapons expert, but I also have to know everything about chemicals and baselines and toxins, keep track of my entire inventory on my own, help set up deep cover missions, cheer up Sugar over there every time she gets depressed - sorry, Sugar," he added to her squeak of protest, "and come to these damn briefings! I don't even get to say anything! Why am I here?"

Madeline calmly rose from her seat, only slightly faltering when the chair bounced against her knees and rolled across the floor into Comm. "That is quite enough. Your jobs are not to ask questions. Your jobs are to run Comm, be the weapons expert, cheer up Su - never mind. The point is, you don't have what it takes to do my job."

That comment did not meet with approval, and the table burst into angry muttering. Operations scowled fiercely, but amazingly enough, it didn't do any good. Then he frowned, but they continued. He looked to Madeline so she would tell him what to do, but she couldn't see him through her bangs. Finally, he removed his glasses. Knowing it was serious now, the operatives quieted down.

"You people are here because we tell you to be here." He put his glasses back on. "Now, Le No-Schlechtenmauvais is thought to have connections with Red Cell and -" A collective groan was heard throughout the group. "Is there a problem?"

"Haven't we gotten rid of them yet? They can't possibly be behind every single terrorist act in the world," complained Nikita. "I should think we've destroyed them about fifteen times by now. What do they want, anyway? They never make any demands. General mayhem?"

Operations stared angrily at her as he continued. "Schechtenmauvais is moving fast, and this is our only window of opportunity. This is top-secret information, " he continued, looking each person in the eyes, "and you are the only ones privileged with this intel."

Nikita raised her hand. Operations exhaled loudly and nodded, taking off his glasses. "Yes, I've been wondering about that, the privacy thing. If no one else is supposed to know, why do we have this stuff posted on a big see-through screen in the middle of Section?"

"Because ... Madeline, tell her why. I don't have time for these games." Operations turned to her and replaced his glasses.

Madeline slowly inhaled through her nose and smiled coldly at Nikita. "That information is highly classified."

"Anyway," Operations threw another good glare in Nikita's direction, "He'll be in Brussels tomorrow night." The hologram on the screen changed into a picture of a revolving strand of DNA, surrounded by images of cells and chemical reactions.

Michael put a hand to his chin. "Is he involved with a genetics project?"

"No. This is just a very useful graphic." Operations removed his glasses.

"Actually, I'm having trouble following it. Could you maybe have it stand still for a second or two?"

"Michael, you'll go be leading the team, with Nikita on point."

Nikita crossed her arms. "Why are Michael and I the only ones who ever have to go on missions? It seems like no one else ever survives these things. Isn't Section supposed to be a huge organization or something?"

Operations glowered at the troublesome woman. "You'll leave in an hour."

"An hour! Isn't that kind of soon?"

"No. Everyone always leaves in an hour. We can't start making exceptions for you - you lack discipline."

Michael interrupted the exchange. "Am I supposed to profile this one? I'm never quite sure. Last time I profiled it, but sometimes there is a Profiler, and then sometimes you tell us what to do, but that one time Nikita was in charge of everything, but then again she never did that again, even though she was supposed to be promoted and -"

"That is all. Check your panels for details." Operations clicked off the screen, put on his glasses, and strode away from the briefing table.

"That's it?" asked Nikita, furrowing her brow. "That's what the briefing was for? To tell us his name and show his picture? Why can't we just read that on our panels?"

Madeline rolled her eyes as she turned away from the group. They didn't understand the intricate workings of this administration. Madeline needed something to keep Operations busy and out of her hair while she ran things. She felt like handing him a doggie treat, the way he followed her around some days. These 'briefings' he came up with always seemed to make him feel important.

"Michael, we need to talk," Nikita whispered urgently as they left the table. "Let's find a secret place in Section that everyone knows about, but there are no cameras."

Michael patiently sighed. "Nikita, let's just go to my office, where I have a high-tech surveillance system that my superiors know I can turn off at any time."

"Oh, right."