Summary: Carmen didn't think this would be the difficult part.

Disclaimer: I'm just a fanfiction writer. All hail the rightful owners.

There are moments in life when even the most competent person feels dwarfed by youth and inexperience. As Carmen stood, straddling the threshold of her new apartment, it occurred to her that this might well be one of those times.

These living quarters were small. Two hundred square feet it had to be, two hundred and fifty tops. However, the humble span of drab carpeted space became disproportionally huge under these conditions. Shaking her head at her own trepidation, Carmen derided the notion. She'd seen the Grand Canyon. In fact, there were already plans in place for her to steal the thing. They weren't immediate plans; as of now she was at best a two-bit art thief, with a touch of traitor mixed in for character development. Still, how could a mind that understood how to make off with entire mountains be intimidated by mere… living space?

Well, moments like these were why Carmen took such care to make detailed plans. She'd sorted everything on her packing list meticulously, discarding everything unnecessary and throwing what remained into a huge box beneath her bunk in the Acme dorms. Then she'd shipped the whole ensemble to her future self. Very well then… time to unpack the box.

Considering the number of layers of packing tap involved, the thing opened quite cooperatively when faced with a good sharp pocket knife. Carmen pried the cardboard tabs open and discovered:

Bubble Wrap…

More Bubble Wrap…

Pink Bubble Wrap…

A Smaller Piece of Bubble Wrap…

The Bottom of the Box…

For a moment, the novice thief simply stared at the cardboard. Then, abruptly, Carmen broke into barks of hysterical laughter. An empty box… she had shipped herself an empty box. The sheer force of the chuckles brought tears to her felonious eyes. It was hilarious. Wasn't it?

Trying to get herself back in control and look less like a mental case, Carmen shook her head sharply.

Surely there'd been something.

Books? Those weren't hers. She'd returned those she'd had to the library.

Clothes? Shoes? Makeup? Irrelevant because her style of dress was about to totally change.

Bedding? Toiletries? Easier to replace than ship, those were.

Pictures? Memories? Carmen shook her head. She'd deliberately left those behind. One couldn't afford sentimentality in this line of work, and a clean separation from Chief and Suhara was best for everyone, really.

Carmen hadn't possessed kitchen equipment or much in the way of cleaning supplies. Her old suitcase had been worn and she was planning to replace it anyway. She didn't own a television or a CD player. Her computer and old communicator were at her professional office.

And what an office it would be… no mere workspace but the command central of the largest criminal organization in the known universe. Someday this measly hideout would become many, all over the world. She'd have bigger apartments, houses, cabins, mansions either. How could it mean a thing if there was nothing in them?

Outside of this oppressive room, there was ambition and majesty. A criminal empire, her brainchild, was clawing its way out of the ground to take its place in history. Yet here, in this room, none of it seemed to matter. There was nothing but empty space.

"Until I create something…" Carmen whispered, and suddenly she understood. This place wasn't deficiency but potential.

"Here…" She decided excitedly, gesturing to one wall. "I'll have bookshelves to cover the whole wall. I'll fill them with all the classics, my own copies not borrowed. I'll have all the best new literature too."

Suddenly, Carmen felt exhilarated, overjoyed by her discovery. Her legs kicked the empty box under the bed, barely noticing the discarded cardboard.

"And here…" She turned ninety degrees. "I'll get postcards of the things I've stolen and I'll cover this side with them."

The novice thief didn't notice that she was speaking aloud. She was too enthralled. The question of whether the things she was describing were actually personal or merely professional cleverly disguised never crossed her mind. A counterfeit epiphany would be just as effective here.

Her head turned slightly and her eyes fell on the cheap nightstand, part of the meager furnishing provided for the apartment by the less than generous management.

"And here…" She announced. "I'll have portrait frames."

She couldn't have said what the picture frames were for. She'd promised herself not to keep any sentimentality for her old life, and she had no intention of backsliding. However, her instinct was the primary guiding force in this decorating rush, and she didn't gainsay it.

Without overanalyzing, the joyful thief turning to the next wall "And here…"

THE END