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What starts off as scary, Enterprise-styled credits (Jake 2.0, emblazoned across our big blue marble of a planet) quickly boils down to a sleek, modern, Minority Report-looking intro scene. We zoom down through the atmosphere, onto the continent, then onto a government office plaza: The National Security Agency, which, as I've learned from Keckler, is a real branch of our government, not fictitious as I said in the recaplet. What the fuck, may I ask, was the NSA doing on September 11th, 2001? NSA and NORAD, I'm asking? Hello?
But I digress. On this barren and sterile government office plaza are ant-like worker bees, filing in to start their day. One is the delicious Christopher Gorham. I like skinny tall guys, and I like to spell things out. My feelings on Christopher? Y-U-M. In his trench coat, he cuts a nice figure. He swipes his laminated badge and punches a code into a keypad to enter a war room of sorts, which is noisy and bustling. He strides up to a man with a headset and asks, "What are we looking at?" Headset guy says grimly, "It doesn't look good." Beat. "It's been frozen since I booted up this morning and the floppy drive is jammed." Hee. Our hero is an IT guy. I have always loved IT guys. I love smart nerds. Smart nerds that are hot get fifty points. Our hero does not say, "MOVE!", but rather "scoot over." He gets to work on the problem, then says he'll have it fixed in two minutes. Mmm, I love efficiency. But take your time, my dear. Headset Guy echoes my sentiment when he says he's due for a coffee break, and takes off. This gives our hero a chance to drink in his surroundings. There's a guy dictating missiles intercept orders to NORAD over there, a woman adding elements to an FBI watch list over here, night vision footage of what looks like the White House, and then a guy stands up and makes an announcement about the CIA's most wanted terrorist list. Jake can't help himself from blurting out, "This is so freaking cool." The man that made the announcement is all, you are? Jake Foley, IT nerd, just getting off on the super-spy element of his nerdlinger job. And, uh, he didn't hear anything too super-secret. And the job he was called in to do is now done. The man is all, great. Now please leave, Jake Foley. Jake gets his stuff together, but thoughtfully leaves behind a little spray can of air, "just in case." The Man is all, thanks. The door is that way. Jake leaves, a little crushed, but still buzzed from his dose of the spy stuff.
Jake and his annoyingly perky-yet-unambitious best friend Darren hang in a noisy bar. Darren is all, remember what I told ya, man! Chicks dig it! Jake is less than thrilled with the idea of using his security laminate to pick up chicks. Darren is all, no way! We're like spies, but better! He says that since they aren't "PROPS," or property of the state entrusted with government secrets, they can "quit any time and start a band, or open up a restaurant." Wow, a slacker IT guy? Most of the IT guys I know are working their asses off and looking forward to being that dirty old man in a Porsche with a chick a third their age. Of course Darren is a slacker; he's sporting facial hair and wearing a Buddha t-shirt, a flannel, and a vintage leather jacket. Let me guess the footwear: Chuck Taylors or Docs? I'm surprised he isn't whistling a Nirvana song and wearing a stocking cap. Darren orders two tequila shots, and Jake toasts him with "you're the only guy I know whose life ambition is to keep his options open." They drink their shots and wince. Gah, tequila. Darren says he "hate[s] tequila." Of course he's a masochist. He's Grunge Slacker. Grunge Slacker spots some prey (a.k.a. hot chicks), and encourages Our Hero Jake to whip it out. His laminate, I mean. Why? "Chicks. Dig. Spies." Jake echoes his delivery and says, "But they don't. Dig. Geeks." On the contrary, my dear nerdlinger. I loves me some geek. In fact, if you aren't smart, you don't get any from me. Dumbasses are shit out of luck.