FOUR.
TO BE A KINGSMAN

Bex had no clue what the hell she was doing.

She had stormed out of her flat with determination, but now, as she roamed the streets, she had no idea what was next. She had no jacket, no money, and no place to stay. Bex sighed and scuffed the corner of the concrete sidewalk with her shoe. It was starting to get darker, and colder. She shivered against the damp, chilly air that clung to her skin in icy pinpricks.

Bex had finally gotten her independence, and for what? To wander aimlessly through London at night? She knew she couldn't stay out here much longer. Night was when the streets started to get even rougher than they already were, if that was even possible. Things were bad enough by the light of day in her neighborhood. She didn't fancy hanging around here when the truly nasty characters came out to play, when the shadows came alive, creeping out of alleys and forming men.

Bex always seemed to find a way to screw up, that was for sure.

She craned her neck towards the sky, comforted by the sight of the moon in all of its pearlescent glory. No matter where she was, she could always tilt her head back and stare at the silvery light. Everyone looked at the same moon, no matter where they were from. The stars shimmering above were so drastically different from the broken glass and fast food wrappers Bex stepped over down on earth.

She took a long look at the streets around her. She was surrounded by cheap apartments placed in uniform rows, with graffitied walls and weeds poking through the cracked sidewalks outside. Her neighborhood had the air of something that had once been polished and shining, but had become tarnished by drugs and crime. Ruined, just like everything Bex had every known.

On the surface, it was dead. A faded, cracked, ghost town. But underneath, it lived. It rippled and boiled with the heat of shattering glass and neon lights and echoed with the sound of knuckles breaking bone and alcohol-fueled yells.

It was a gladiator's arena, where only the strong survived. Bex had been chewed up and spit out, but she was still here, breathing, heart beating, and more powerful because of it.

It had a kind of dangerous beauty to it, the kind that would scorch you if you looked at it for too long. It wasn't a pretty place, and it wasn't made for pretty faces, but Bex had fought her way through.

Bex walked along the wet, dark pavement, neck prickling and ears listening for the slightest noise. Her fingers beat out a nervous rhythm against her denim-clad thigh. She walked in the shadows, feet moving silently against the pavement. It never hurt to be careful.

"Bex," a voice whispered.

She let out a yelp, whipping her head around to find a middle aged woman standing in the shadows.

"Aunt May, you fucker! You can't just creep up on me like that!"

May stepped forward, letting the light wash over her wrinkled, round face. She wasn't really Bex's aunt, but she was as close as she had to one. She had a stained mattress she let Bex crash on when things got bad at home, and she always made "special" pancakes, even if "special" just meant they were burned beyond recognition and laced with pot.

Her eyes were crinkled up in silent laughter. She had kind eyes, the same blue as Bex's mother but infinitely brighter. Bex liked looking into people's eyes. You could tell everything you needed to know about a person from their eyes.

"Sorry, love. You know I can't resist a dramatic entrance. Although, really, they should replace that bulb."

She jerked her thumb towards the lamp post above them.

Bex sighed. "You know they won't, Marge. They never do." She eyed the older woman. "What are you doing here anyway?"

She was wearing a flowered apron over her blouse and yellow rubber gloves, which Bex found suspicious.

"What's with the outfit? You don't clean. I've seen your flat. It looks like one of those landfills they show in global warming adverts."

She snapped the rubber sleeve of her gloves. "Just taking care of some business. The floral pattern hides blood splatters."

Bex stared at her.

"Joking, love. I just got job for some kotzbrocken cleaning his massive house."

"Aunt May, I know what all your German curse words mean now. You can't shield me from the fact that you swear worse than half the men in Vinny's gang."

"Even arschkriecher?"

"Even arschkriecher, Aunt May."

"Well, its honest work. I thought you'd be proud."

Bex rolled her eyes. "I would be proud if I didn't know what you were doing lurking in this area."

May widened her eyes and pressed a hand to her chest, feigning innocence.

"Me? I would never seek out Fryer's Creek, where drug dealers are known to roam and I could accidentally stumble upon a little something."

"May! We've talked about this!"

"Sorry, Mom," May grinned. "I'm a woman of simple pleasures. And besides, I wouldn't have to be hanging out in Fryer's Creek if you were still dealing."

"I don't do that anymore, you know that," Bex hissed. "That was just for three weeks to get the cash for textbooks."

"Well, Mama needs her hashbrowns."

Bex pressed a palm to her forehead before sighing. "That's not even a slang term for illicit substances. You are incorrigible."

"I sense a "but" coming."

"But, if you really want some of that stuff, I'll send you over to Tommy, okay? I don't want you buying that corner-store crap. God knows what it's laced with."

May patted her shoulder. "Bex, dear, I think you kind of like me."

"Whatever. I like your stupid pancakes," she grumbled. "Now, get out of my sight. Remember to tell Tommy I sent you and he'll take care of it."

"Does he owe you a favor?"

Bex finally grinned. "Doesn't everyone?"

☂

Bex was walking, mind wandering back to her dilemma, when the shine of golden light seeping into the wet concrete caught her eye. She glanced over to see the pub from the day before. Bex watched the people laughing talking inside, and thought of Harry Hart. She remembered his offer with a jolt. Savile Row.

That's where she would go, to Harry's tailor shop, she decided. She felt instantly lighter with a plan and a solution in sight, and she turned around with her hands in her pockets to head in his direction.

Bex had barely taken two steps when she slammed into something hard and very much alive. She craned her head upwards until she saw what, or who, she had collided with. Bex's heart dropped and she felt a jolt of panic.

"Crap on a cracker," she breathed.

Looking down at her was the leader of the gang, flanked by his three cronies. Their menacing snarls were accented by the bruised and scrapes Harry had left. If possible, they looked even more terrifying. It might have been the six-feet of solid muscle, or the pissed expression on every single one of their faces.

"Hullo," she called out with false cheeriness. "It's a nice night for a stroll isn't it?

"Bit quiet for my taste," the leader said, his eyes fluttering dangerously. "I fink it could use some livenin' up."

"You know, I don't think I ever caught your name."

"It's none of your business."

Bex extended a hand to him. "Lovely to meet you, None Of Your Business."

He didn't take her hand and she quickly retracted it. "Nothing?" she said. "I thought that was pretty clever."

Bex was stalling. She knew it, and they knew it too. They were slowly advancing as she talked, and she felt the hysteria bubble up in her chest when she realized she was being backed into an alley.

"Yes, you're very clever," he sneered. "We'll see how clever you are when they're loadin' your body into an ambulance."

"Hard pass. Sorry. Normally, I love this sort of stuff, but I think I've overstayed my welcome. Wouldn't want to take up any more of your time."

The men just stood and glared. Bex's incoherent ramblings were cut off as the leader stepped forward menacingly. Bex could've sworn the tattoo of a tiger being eaten by a dragon on his neck had not been there the day before. And had he gotten even taller? She swallowed hard, feeling her heart pound as her mind raced, scanning the sooty walls for a way out.

"Obviously there's somefin' wrong wif you, so we'll go easy on ya. How's a coupla broken legs sound?" the ringleader chuckled threateningly.

"Could you make it arms? My legs are important to me," Bex said weakly.

"How about both?" he offered, advancing on her.

Bex didn't like fighting. She wasn't weak, far from it. Years of street brawls and attempted robberies had taught her everything she needed to know. But fighting was something she only did if absolutely necessary. There was no joy in feeling someone's bones break beneath her fingers. However, as they started to corner her in the alley, Bex wasn't left with much of a choice.

Her back was pressed against the hard bricks now, her palms flat against the wall. "Can't we just hold hands and sing kumbaya?" she suggested feebly.

The leader snarled and curled his fingers into a fist, the veins popping out through his skin. He threw himself towards her, arm reached out in a punch. Bex lurched to the side, his fist hitting the bricks behind her instead. He let out a howl as Bex popped back up.

"Didn't you know it's not nice to hit girls?" said Bex, eyes glittering as she pushed up her sleeves. The adrenaline returned, turning her blood to steel.

The four men surged forward at once, and Bex raised her arms. She blocked a hit, spinning to land a kick to one of the men's ribs. If this neighborhood had taught her anything it was to fight hard, and fight dirty. While they lumbered towards her heavily, trying to punch her with their meaty fists, she weaved through them, taking them out one by one. They might be strong, but she was fast. Bex slammed her elbow back into the throat of the man behind her, then shoved her foot into his groin. He fell to the floor, gasping.

One down.

Still, three full grown men was too much for her to handle, and she could already feel her punches weakening. She managed to knock one man's knees from out from under him. Bex stamped on his face, feeling his nose crack underneath her foot. He fell to his side, groaning, and something near his head caught Bex's eye as she wildly dodged the onslaught of fists. A rusty drainpipe, hanging precariously from its hinges.

Her attention was diverted as a third man growled, blood already dripping from his chin. He sprang forward, hands outstretched. Bex dodged his fists, but he grabbed her ankle and she went down hard. The wind was knocked out of her the concrete slammed against the back of her head. He pulled her to her feet roughly, pinning her arms behind her. The leader walked over to her, and the world spun around her slightly as tasted blood in her mouth.

He was close now, too close, and she had to do something fast. Without thinking, Bex bit down on the man's arm. He released her with a cry of pain and she jammed her elbow back into him, then knocked him to the floor. She broke free, and stumbled over to the drainpipe as fast as she could.

She grabbed, pulling it as hard as she could, but it wouldn't budge. Bex let out a noise as she saw the leader of the gang advancing towards her. She was so screwed. With one final, desperate tug it broke off and she swung it up. It slammed against his temple with a sickening crack and his eyes rolled up before he crumpled to the ground.

She stood over him, her chest heaving. "Holy shit," she breathed. "That actually worked." She let out a disbelieving laugh.

Bex let the pipe clatter to the ground as she took a deep breath. She brushed her hands off on her jeans, allowing herself a moment of pride and badassery. She wiped the blood dripping into her eyes off her forehead, wincing. Then Bex straightened her jacket and resumed her walk to Savile Row, picking her way through the bodies laying on the floor.

Her work here was done.

☂

Bex had been walking for what felt like hours. Her jacket clung to her damply from the rain, the chilly wind piercing the fabric. Her bones ached. Her forehead throbbed where she had hit her head on the pavement, and she could feel the bruises that no doubt lay beneath her clothes. Bex was exhausted. And really out of shape, she thought, huffing. Obviously, running from the police wasn't enough exercise.

She looked up to see the sign for Savile Row and breathed a sigh of relief. The white lettering seemed to glow in the dark, and she tapped it once for luck before turning the corner. The street was lined with shops towering up into the skyline, marble steps stretching out into the sidewalk. Most of the shops were already dark, with signs in cursive lettering saying they were closed, but golden light spilled from the one labeled Kingsman Tailor Shop. Bex peered through the heavy glass at the neatly tailored suits and rich velvet, inhaling sharply. She hadn't been expecting it to be so elegant, adorned in deep gold and smooth granite.

Bex hesitantly placed her hand on the bronze doorknob. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her lungs fill with air. She felt the cold metal underneath her fingers, listening for the steady cacophony of traffic for a moment. It was strange. All the sounds of the city seemed muffled over here, as if it was a different world entirely.

Bex opened her eyes and turned the knob, pushing the heavy oak and glass door and stepping inside. A small tinkling noise came from a bell somewhere as she walked in. The inside of the shop was just as grand as the exterior, all gilded metal and dark velvet and carpets so elaborate she was afraid to step on them with her muddy shoes.

"Hello," someone said. Bex's head whipped around to see Harry Hart sitting in a high-backed green velvet chair, sipping a glass of amber-colored liquid. He looked up at her slowly, placing the crystal glass on a dark wood table next to him. "I was hoping you'd stop by."

"Have you just been sitting by the door all day? Because that's a little creepy," said Bex, making a face.

"I prefer to think of it as dedicating myself to the cause," said Harry lightly.

She crossed her arms. "And what is that cause, exactly?"

Harry's sharp brown eyes peered into her own. "My cause is you," he said simply.

She swallowed hard. "Okay. Well, I'm here, so...How does this go exactly? Do I put on a Sorting Hat or something? Do you knight me or like, a blood oath, or-"

Harry rose from his chair, cutting her off. He smoothing his suit and offered her a hand. "Come with me."

"That's what she said," Bex said under her breath, chuckling to herself. Harry looked at her, shaking his head slowly, and she quickly straightened her shoulders and re-arranged her face. "Er- Yes, sir. Lead me to the lair."

Harry opened the door to one of the dressing rooms, holding it open for her. She stepped inside of it carefully. It was nothing more than an average dressing room, a bit more posh than she was used to, but still nothing more than a large mirror and two walls decorated in gilded wallpaper. "This is it?" said Bex, raising an eyebrow. "This is your lair? This is so disappointing."

"Bex," Harry said, closing his eyes in exasperation. "Please be quiet before I change my mind."

She quickly pressed her lips together. The two stood facing the mirror, Harry's face calm and Bex's twisted up in confusion. She flinched when she saw her reflection. Her hair was wet and tangled, clotted with blood where her head had slammed against the ground. There was a gaping hole in her fraying jeans, and her shoes were splattered with mud and something crimson-colored. Bex touched the wound on her forehead, feeling the dried blood beneath her fingers. The rusty color framed the side of her face where it had dripped down. Most of all, she noticed how tired she looked. Not the kind of tired that came from sleepless nights, but the kind of pure exhaustion that seeped into the hollows of your eyes, creating purple shadows, that tore at your heart and stole years of your life away from you.

Harry spoke suddenly, jerking Bex back from her thoughts. "When you look into this mirror," he said absentmindedly. "What do you see?"

"What?" asked Bex, bewildered.

"Who looks back at you? Who stares at you, day after day?"

She glanced at her reflection again. All she saw was a little girl, wearing the face of someone much older. And she saw cracks. Tiny little fissures all over her heart, as if she wasn't quite broken yet, but one push could shatter her into a thousand little pieces. "I don't know," she said quietly.

"But I do. When I look at you, I see a young woman with all the potential and power in the world buried deep inside her. You grew up in the harshest of places, facing battles everyday. Some would've given up, but not you. It made you strong. You are a fighter, Bex, a survivor. This is your destiny. I believe you can help me change the world, Bex, and so I am offering you an opportunity. The opportunity to become a Kingsman."

"Like my father?"

"Yes. You'd take his spot among the world's heroes."

"Wow, Harry," she said sarcastically. "It's a really tough choice. I mean, I could become a total badass and actually make something of myself, or go back to my old life." She pretended to weigh a scale with her hands. "I mean, I'll miss being broke, homeless, and unemployed, but I think I'm going to have to go with being a spy."

"Sarcasm aside, I'll take that as a yes," said Harry with a small smile. "But, Bex, this doesn't guarantee you a ticket home. You will be risking your life, testing your limits. At the end of the day, it could be you in a bodybag."

"I haven't got anything to lose," said Bex with a hollow smile.

"In that case-"

"Wait," she interrupted. He turned to face her, face expectant. "I do have one condition," she said slowly, holding up a finger.

Harry nodded, face tense as he awaited her terms.

"I want one of those badass umbrellas," she grinned.

Harry exhaled, groaning and rolling his eyes. He turned back to the mirror, making eye connect with her once, then passed his palm flat against the glass of the mirror. "So was that a yes to the umbrella, or-"

Her sentence ended in a gasp as the floor beneath her shuddered and gave a jolt. The fitting room was moving, slowly deciding into the earth and taking the two of them with it. She looked up, watching the light above them faded to a small square as the brick walls rose up around them. Bex pressed a hand to the wall, trying to suppress the vertigo wrapping itself around her head.

Harry cleared his throat. "Since 1849, Kingsman Tailors have clothed the world's most powerful individuals. In 1919, a great number of them had lost their heirs to World War 1. That meant a lot of money going un-inherited, and a lot of powerful men with a desire to preserve peace and protect life. Our founders realized that they could channel that wealth and influence for a greater good. And so began our adventure. An independent international intelligence agency operating at the highest level of discretion, without the politics and bureaucracy that undermine the integrity of government run spy organizations. A suit is the modern gentleman's armor: the Kingsman agents are the new knights."

His speech sounded as if he'd said it thousands of times before, rehearsed it over and over. "Oh, Harry I bet you say that to all the girls you take down in your fitting room elevator thing," said Bex.

"Yes, its quite cozy isn't it? Helps me score with the ladies all the time."

She turned to him, mouth turned up in a grin. "Did you just make a joke Harry?"

"What a ridiculous notion," he said, but he was smiling.

Something had bothered her during the speech, and she'd been turning it over in her mind. "This all seems a bit focused on men, which begs the question: what exactly am I doing here? I haven't got that particular appendage in case you hadn't noticed," Bex asked.

"Knights can be women too, Bex. Ever heard of Joan of Arc?"

"She was burned at the stake!"

"Well if it makes you feel better, your most likely not going to be burned at the stake. A bullet wound will probably do you in. Or a hand grenade. We've got an excellent supply of those."

"Oh, Harry you're so comforting. You're like Santa."

"Santa isn't real," he muttered.

There was a loud clang, and Bex look down to see a patch of silver light spreading over her feet. The light came from a gap, which grew larger and larger until the room came to a shuddering halt and Bex was left facing what looked like an old subway station, lined with faded tiles. Harry walked out briskly, and she hopped down, following him. In front of them where the rails should've been sat a bullet-shaped silver tube with two tartan plaid seats facing each other inside. Harry took a seat, settling back and gesturing for her to take the other. Bex looked around at the tiny metal walls, feeling the blood roar in her ears. Still, she sat down, every muscle in her body rigid.

There was a hissing noise, and the doors lowered. She winced as she heard another another clang outside. Just what she needed. More doors sealing her into this little metal tube. If this thing got stuck, it might as well be a coffin. She gripped the seat rests until her knuckles turned white and tried to breathe evenly. Harry looked at her with concern as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Claustrophobia was a bitch.

"Stop looking at me like that," said Bex. "I'm fine. Just not a huge fan of small spaces. I kind of hate them, actually."

"Don't worry. This will be over fast."

Before she could get the chance to ask him what he meant by that he was pressing a small red button on the sleek panel built into the armrest of his chair. The small tube shot forward with so much force Bex's head was knocked flat against the seat. She bit down, her stomach churning as the tiny tube bounced along. Well, it was certainly fast.

She lurched forward as the train jerked to a halt with same dizzying speed it had started with. The doors hissed, and the metal walls peeled away to reveal a control room. Harry clambered out, and Bex followed him all too willingly, exhaling in relief. He was looking at her in concern. "Do you always travel like that?" she asked.

"Only when I'm late," said Harry, checking the face of his gilded watch. "And we're definitely late. Merlin will have my head. Quite literally. He's got the most terrifying set of Chinese ring daggers."

He pushed open the door and her vision suddenly flooded with light as they left the small, dark control room. Bex slowed to a halt and she felt her mouth drop open. Stone turned to glass as she faced an enormous bunker through the window that stretched from floor to ceiling. Rows and rows of cars, motorcycles, planes and helicopters sprawled out beneath her, reaching so far she could barely make out where it all stopped. A clock hung from one of the swooping arches that lined the towering ceilings arcing above her head, chiming as people scurried around below. Bex knew posh. She knew rich. But she had never seen anything like this before in her life.

A grin crept across her face. "Now that's what I call a lair."

Harry chuckled and motioned for her to follow him. She took one last look at the vast expanse of luxury before turning to follow him down the hall. They walked through the hall, gray walls lined in fluorescent light. They passed hundreds of doors, and Bex wondered how big this maze of a place really was. Harry stopped when they reached a set of heavy metal doors.

A man stood next to it, waiting for them. He was tall, and bald, although his face was unlined. He stared at them severely with dark gray eyes through a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. His shirt was buttoned stiffly, with a thick wool sweater and a tie so tight it looked like he couldn't breathe. The man was carrying a clipboard with his arms crossed, his shoulder straight and rigid.

"Merlin," Harry nodded in his direction.

"Galahad. Late as usual," Merlin spoke in a thick Scottish accent. "Another recruit?" he asked, looking over at Bex, who was half-hidden behind Harry.

"Merlin this is Rebecca-"

Bex fake-coughed.

"-Bex Alden. Since Gawain is still out from that poison dart, Arthur asked me to select two candidates," he replied evenly.

Merlin gave him a look, but stepped aside all the same. He held his hand out towards the heavy, steel doors. "Well, in you go."

Bex looked back at Harry, who nodded. She took the cool metal handle in her hand, but made no move to open. She swallowed hard, preparing herself for what lay on the other side. "I'm steeling myself," she said. When there was no response she turned around. "Get it? Because the door is made of steel-"

Harry was rolling his eyes exasperatedly, while Merlin looked at her strangely. "Bex, I can revoke your candidacy."

"Okay, fine, old man," said Bex. A flash of pain and guilt washed over Harry's face for a moment, but before she could question it she was pushing open the heavy metal door and stepping into the room that held her future.

───────

a quick note:

im literally watching this movie again as i write this. i even watched it like 4 times in theaters, which means i'll be paying off my debt for the next 42 years since movie tickets cost 1000 dollars and your first child now.