A/N: I do not own Nikita. Please review if you like this prologue, I need to know if there is interest in the story. It is a Birkhoff/OC fic, though he does not appear in this chapter.

Only the clicking of her fingers whizzing over the keyboards could be heard in her apartment. The sounds of the street had long since faded, and could barely be heard behind the glass. The steady hum from her computer and the clicks of her fingers as they whizzed across the keyboard were the sole sounds in her apartment. The curtains were closed tight, so the only light breaking the sheet of darkness was the soft, steady glow of the computer screens.

Her eyes scanned the screens, hunting for specific details. She muttered the information back to herself, as if she had seen it all before. Finally she zoned in on one little, minuscule detail.

"Got you," she whispered.

She saved the information and then shut down her computer, making sure that all traces of her escapade were gone from the other servers. She didn't want anyone to know what she was up to, not yet at least. The element of surprise was what she was going for this time.

Grabbing a small handgun, she walked silently to her bedroom, opening the curtains a little bit on her way. While she was confident that no one was watching her, and they probably never would, she didn't want to raise any flags. Even though she was getting ready to abandon this place, she still needed to make a clean getaway.

That was her life now; running away. She had to move from place to place otherwise she wouldn't get anywhere. She knew that if she was caught; she'd never see the light of day again. The only advantage that she had was that they didn't know her real name- her true identity. 'They' only knew her handles, fake names that she created and purposely left behind to mark her work; Phantom, Magpie, NightCrawler, to name a few. They hadn't put together the puzzle pieces yet. She was one person, but they didn't know that. Certain places had more of a leg up than others; some didn't even know that she was a woman.

Breathing in, she closed her eyes and blocked out the world. Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow, she would return to the United States. She had to stop running now, she had to come home.

Back at Langley…

A CIA operative got up from his desk, a file folder in hand, and walked over to the elevator. He walked over to another desk and handed it to the man sitting behind it.

"Can you bring this up to Barbara? I have a few other things to finish down here," he said, holding out the folder.

"No problem, I'm about to leave anyways. I'll make sure she gets it," the other man replied.

As the two men were talking, the computer that the first man had left on started to flash. For a brief moment, the screen turned read and 'Warning' was written across it. It was so fast that even if the man had still been sitting there, he would not have noticed it. Unbeknownst to the entire CIA, that brief moment was a major data breach. Someone had just gained access to some very high-security files. That someone was incredibly dangerous as of the time that the screen flashed.

A woman with shiny, pin-straight, white blonde hair walked out of the airport, her black stilettos making clicking noises as she did so. Her only piece of luggage, a non-descript thing, trailed behind her. The rest of it was already packed away; she had been planning this for awhile. She hailed a cab, gave the driver an address, and was quickly out of there.

When he dropped her off, she walked out and towards a building, then knocked.

"Hi, I was supposed to move into the apartment today; do you have the keys? I was told by Ethan that you would have them," the woman said when the door opened.

"Yes of course, here you go. Let him know if there's anything that you need," the man replied.

"Thank you," she said, taking the keys from him. She turned to walk away and when the man blinked; she was gone.

She disappeared like a puff of smoke; there one moment, gone the next.

The woman rounded a corner, and looked up to the apartment building in front of her. She nodded to herself and made her way up to the unit that she had purchased. Putting the key in the lock, she entered the apartment. Once the door was shut and locked once more, she took off the sunglasses hiding her eyes.

Her piercing grey eyes surveyed the apartment and she muttered to herself:

"America's not ready for me. Not in the slightest."

She threw some papers onto the counter and walked towards the window. These papers were the only things that held her true identity on them. The name etched onto the headings of every page was Imogen Grace. No last name—nothing. And she intended to keep it that way. Too much was at stake now.