Harris recalled yesterday’s events. And especially, a slender young man that shut down his mechanical left arm in an instant.

The next day, Harris stood in front of the tallest building in the city - an abomination of metal and glass, reaching above the clouds. Not like that was a tall order, considering Parascythe itself was floating above the planet’s surface. 

Zero Overt Operations.

His eyes were looking up at the sign and the tower-like building like an ant in front of an anthill - small and insignificant.

What can a single person do?
Nothing. That’s what...

...but joining an organization like Z.O.O. might change that. They were not often in the media, but when they were covered, the news seemed like a science fiction movie.

“The police were struggling with the hostage situation until the agents of ZOO stepped in. We can’t get any closer to the building but as you can see, all of the terrorists were dealt with swiftly by just two agents in a matter of minutes.”

It always made him feel… kinda jealous. 
Harris took a deep breath and walked in. His suit was clean and straight and his tie would choke him if it was any tighter around his strong neck. He wore gloves in hope of not throwing his ‘enhancement’ into the mix of the first impression. His shoes were polished and the revolving door smelled like Poochie’s perfume in an instant.
The lady at the front desk pointed him in the right direction.

“Interviews are on the 97^th floor. Please take the elevator to your right.”

The elevator had glass walls as if the building’s owners couldn’t help themselves but show every one of their guests how magnificent it was. At least it wasn’t claustrophobic.
The twelve people that shared the ride hardly touched each other with their shoulders. The only annoying thing about it was the fact that it stopped nearly 30 times before it reached the floor where the interviews were held. And why the heck were they held almost at the very top of the world? Was it their way to show the potential recruits that if they were serious about joining, they better be treating the thought as if they were joining god’s own army?

Maybe.

Time will tell. If he passes the interview.
After a satisfying ‘ping’ and a lovely female voice informing him that he reached the 97^th floor, Harris finally stepped out into a hallway filled with people sitting on a long row of seats. Some spared him a quick glance.
The office where the interviews were held was at the corner of the building and so the windows opened up to display a magnificent view unmatched by any on the planet.
Mountains of clouds were slowly rolling beneath, bathed in the golden glow of the sun. Thankfully, the glass was customized to ease the light to levels acceptable to human eyes.
He sat next to a man reading through some papers - a decision he would instantly regret.

“You nervous too?” the man asked him, fixing his glasses.

“It’s impossible not to be,” Harris answered and the man continued…

“No one passed. I’ve been here for hours and not a single—”

“NEXT!”

A male voice from inside the office interrupted him, followed by a monotone female voice reading the name Tom Dickens over the speakers.

“Oh my god…” the man suddenly stood up, dropping his papers everywhere. He first stopped to collect them, but then left in a hurry to come through the slowly-closing door of the office.

“Greetings. Um…Hi! Tom, that’s me. Nice to—”

“NEXT!”

Not even seconds later, the man exited the office with his head hanging low and his eyes lost in thought. He dragged his feet on his way to his scattered papers, next to Harris, who observed the whole situation with disbelief while trying to stop the urge to burst into laughter. Not the healthy kind, but maniacal laughter that usually only madmen let out.
His newfound dream of joining Z.O.O. was over before he even managed to dream it up. What a joke.
He stood up and was ready to leave when he heard something peculiar.

“Harris Leonich.”

Having his name read through the hallway speaker system stopped him in his tracks. Suddenly, a dozen eyes were fixed on him and he could feel the burning of laser-hot accusations they all shared. The office door started slowly closing.

“You…just came here. I’ve been here for hours!” One of them finally broke the silence. The only way out… was in.
Out of the hallway full of furious people and into the interview office, at the very last instant. As he entered, he closed the door pressing his back as if to stop a group of undead from breaking through.
He stood there frozen, thinking about what to do next but the madness was not over and now the deepest point of this crazy iceberg finally revealed itself...
With hands behind his nape, the interviewer was seemingly taking a nap. Black shoes on his desk, leaning in an expensive office chair was the man with back-swept red, spiky hair.
Apparently, this man was having a field day breaking hopeful hearts left and right for no apparent reason other than entertainment, so what the hell will he do to him when he figures out that standing in this very office is the guy who just yesterday tried to punch him with a mechanical arm, and now is hoping for a fair interview?
Harris fixed his suit and sat down, trying to look as calm as humanly possible in this laughable situation. The nameplate on the table said ‘Agent Rabbit’.

Rabbit opened his eyes and glanced at Harris once before shouting...

“NEXT!”

* * *

He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror. The sound of distant sirens was mixing with a low hum of a microwave finishing his dinner. Harris was observing his own features, thinking back about what has happened there in the office. It was over in a flash, yet there had to be more to it than just simply a man taking a piss and shooting down potential recruits. If years of detective work had taught him anything it was this…There had to be a clue.
What exactly was the trait that the interviewer was looking for? Harris looked at his muscled torso and a few scars. His left shoulder was grotesquely merging into his dark, metallic left arm, and his dark eyes were carrying large, tired bags underneath them. The one thing that stood out more than his prosthetic limb must have been his haircut - eight grey braids forming what could only be described as a palm tree sat on top of his head.
What? Can’t a man have his own style?
Even during the days at the precinct, his hairstyles were often a subject of lively discussion and gossip. It never bothered him though. At least everyone knew who Harris Leonich was.
Be that as it may, today was different. It first occurred to him right after the interview had ended and during the excruciatingly long drive downward in the ever-stopping elevator as he was forced to stare at his own reflection in the glass. Thinking back, the interviewer - Agent Rabbit glanced at him for a mere second before shouting his favorite line of the day. But it was where he glanced that was peculiar to Harris.

“He… didn’t look me in the eyes,” his fingers slowly made their way from his brown eyes and over the eyebrows, following an ascend up his strong forehead, finally stopping as they reached the root of his gray hair.

“My hair…He didn’t like… my haircut?”

* * *

Beer cans, half a kebab, cigarette buts, videogame disks, a dirty magazine, origami-divorce papers. 
All, straight into the bin.
Bed made, floor vacuumed, laundry spinning.
Showered, warm toast in mouth, towel around neck and shoulders, pot-noodles steaming. Fingers at the keyboard.
Harris surfed the net faster than a rich boy surfed the artificially made waves over at Heavenly Hills beach. The sound of the keys being pressed like a machine gun, occasionally stopping only to chew on the already cold remains of toasted bread. He searched for any and every info about the Z.O.O.
He found nothing. Not a single valuable piece of information that didn’t look like it was fabricated as a front for whatever was the truth.
He wasn’t going to succeed. Not the legal way.
Going in through the back door would be neigh impossible, for other people maybe. Harris’ hobbies from his younger days sure came in handy. His ‘skillz’ were still there, and he finally dug up some of Z.O.O.’s genuine files.
It was 3 AM. Again, but this time, he was in control. He found what he was looking for. A second chance. A final chance…

After a glass of milk, he went to bed.  

* * *

 Harris came to the barber’s shop ten minutes before opening, just like the barber himself.

“Morning Mr. Leonich. You’re early today,” he unlocked and let the man in before putting his palm out as if expecting something.

“No. Not today,” Harris said.

“No photo reference?”

“Nope. Today I’m asking you a favor, as a friend… I’d like you to make me a haircut that… fits me.”

The barber raised an eyebrow, before simply pointing at the chair.

“I thought you’d never ask. I thought… you’d never ask,” he pressed the scissors twice. 

* * *

The lady at the reception tried to call him, but Harris rushed to the elevator with hurried steps. The door closed just as she was about to reach him.

“I have an appointment with Agent Rabbit.”

A lie, but one that got him all the way to the 90^th floor before they manually stopped the elevator.
As soon as a metal fence started lowering to stop anyone from exiting, followed by the sound of the alarm, Harris force-opened the elevator door and rolled under the fence. They didn’t count on his left arm, which is probably why there were still no armed guards waiting for him at the elevator’s exit. He went for the staircase, busting the lock that would usually require a card key. Knowing the blueprints by heart helped.
Heavy breaths and the sound of shoes on marble filled the halls as he jumped the stairs two-by-two. He heard voices coming from the exit on the 95^th floor. Peeking through, he saw armored guards with shields and electro-batons rushing toward him.
Harris pulled a metal pipe out from the handrail and bolted the door. Twisting the handle as well, for good measure and effectively locking them out of the staircase.
Sweating and out of breath, he reached another floor and stopped. Looking up, his eyes met with a woman in a suit. Not a second later, he dodged and grabbed with his left arm what seemed to be a whip.

“Hah!” she rejoiced, pressing a switch on the whip’s handle and sending a surge of electrical current down his mechanical arm, effectively sending it into a frenzy. Luck or no, his wrist started spinning uncontrollably like a mad drill, and pulled the whip out of her hands. 
As the shock subsided, Harris threw her weapon down the abyss that was an infinitely long and dark staircase.

“Sneko!” she shouted before jumping over the rails after it.

Taking only a few moments to rationalize what he just saw, albeit to no avail, Harris continued going up, while his adversary went down after her whip.

“Almost… there!” he barged into the 97th-floor hallway and rushed toward the office.

Storming in, he frightened the person that was being interviewed so much that the man simply fell out of the chair, screamed, and ran away through the broken door. 
Turned with his back toward them was the man with red, spiky hair, looking out the large office window. He let out a deep sigh, saying…

“And when I finally thought I had a candidate, he turns tail and flees like a coward. Tsk, tsk, tsk… ”

But before Harris could take a step forward, a whip spun around his throat like a black-skinned snake. The woman was back, and the lightning would soon follow. She went for the switch.

 “Wait!” shouted the red-haired man, “… Agent Turtle. Slow as always, I see.”

“Sorry Bun-… Agent Rabbit. I encountered unexpected problems,” she apologized to her colleague, to which he replied…

“Release my dude, at once. He is in my office after all.”

Both Harris and Turtle looked down and saw that he was indeed one step into the office while holding the edges of the doorway to stop her from pulling him back out. She released her hold on his neck and cracked the whip back into her hands, bowing slightly and leaving as if nothing happened.
Harris tried to close the door but couldn’t really make them stay closed because the lock was broken.

“Leave it. Sit down,” said Rabbit.

Harris did as he was told.

“I—”

“Shut up,” the young man interrupted Harris before he could even attempt to explain anything.

“Now, let’s see,” said Rabbit as he turned around and glanced at Harris’ haircut, which was now pointed forward proudly and yet oozing with style, long and curved upward like it was about to launch rockets into space.

“You pass,” said Rabbit.

There it was again: a surge of frustration rising up like lava in a volcano ready to erupt at any moment. This man...
This man annoyed him to no end.
The burning sensation was climbing up his face, filling it with hot blood and turning its color bright red. He was right... It was the haircut. What the absolute-

“WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK!?” Harris’ stood up. His lungs burned as he squeezed out the last of their strength.

“You think you passed because of your haircut?” said Rabbit calmly but then suddenly smacked the table with both hands. Leaning over to Harris, he grabbed his tie and pushed him back into the interviewee’s seat, shouting right at his face…

“Deduction! You were in here for exactly 12 seconds yesterday, and yet you managed to deduct from a single glance of mine that I was focused on your haircut!

Self-control! You packed your things and left without a word. Got home, got over yourself, and got a haircut - cut your own ego short.

Perseverance! You got failed, yet you wouldn’t let that stop you. You decided to grab the bull by the horns. Jump straight back into the fire!

Hacking! You dove into our database and got the crucial info you needed: An Agent’s office is his own world. Inside it, the residing agent is a god!

Observation! From our two short meetings, you managed to figure out what kind of a guy I was. At least enough to warrant a bet I’d want to interview you for the second time if you manage to reach my office.

Strength! That left of yours sure will be handy! No? Not funny? Okay.

Agility, stamina, competence! How the fuck did you manage to get in here? We are ZOO, for fuck’s sake! And finally…

Guts! Fuck me…” he was out of breath “…if I’ve ever seen a cop with that much…guts…”

Rabbit let go of the tie, corrected it, dusted off Harris’ shoulders and fixed his collar, then put out his gloved hand.

“Agent Rabbit. But my friends call me Bunny.”

After looking at the man’s hand for a few moments, Harris stood up and accepted the handshake.

“Nice to meet you. My name is— ”

“No. Not anymore,” Rabbit, interrupted him, “Welcome aboard…

Agent Lion.”