Black-Op is a clandestine, loosely organized, over-qualified group of brainiac scientist/engineer/theorists (Mr. Black, Ms.Black and Sir Black) who hate their day jobs working in secret government projects.
In stark contrast to the exciting lives depicted in such prime time drivel as Alias, our jobs are actually quite bleak. Our offices lack decor. They smell bad.

We sport advanced degrees from some of the most prestigious universities in the world, yet much of our time is spent sharpening pencils and gossiping about cute new recruits in hushed tones as we pretend to deliberate (over the likelihood of NP-complete shortcuts through elliptic-curve cryptology) at the water fountain.
We're forbidden from adding drop shadows and faux-3D gloss to our icons. Boring would be a breath of fresh air.

Black-Op got started when Mr.Black and Ms.Black met on an online dating site. While pitching his NSA-provided cover-story to Ms.Black during a wine tasting date, she became suspicious when salient details of Mr.Black's "life" sounded remarkably similar to the boilerplate cover-story used by one of her male CIA co-workers. Government cutbacks in the creative writing dept., no doubt. On a hunch, she suggested they move "the date" to the end of the bar, 'round the corner, free of disruptions and haughty wine snobs.

At the bar, she slipped Mr. Black some .gov provided Rohypnol (standard issuance to CIA staff), and while he slept it off, she rummaged his wallet, found his car using the built-in alarm on his keychain. Once inside Mr. Black's auto (.gov supplied K-car), she penetrated his briefcase and grabbed his NSA security badge for safekeeping (in fact, fufilling a bona-fide requirement for intelligence operatives who are successful in infiltating staff from a competing agency). With no laws broken and a night of good, clean, fun under her belt, Ms. Black faced the difficult choice of what to do next...

[Cont...]