Seeing Scarlett CHAPTER ONE:

"Do you hear me?"

Her voice came over the small speakers set up on the table. Much better than they used to be, John Mortimer thought. Not tinny-sounding at all. I wonder if Bose makes speakers for the military?

He brought his attention back to the task at hand. This wasn't easy for the scientist; his intellect usually found ways to stimulate itself even when the situation didn't call for it. Worse, it usually picked the wrong time to entertain itself with wild flights of fancy... this being one of them.

He sat in the small meeting room, rubbing his hands nervously under the deeply polished table. Three men joined him at the table. Two were from the State Department; he knew and detested both of them. The third however, was new to him. This third man was tall, dark featured, broad shouldered, and wore an immaculate gray suit. Definitely with the agency. Well, an agency. John had no illusions about his own intelligence gathering skills; he was a lab geek, not a super spy. All he knew is that the mysterious agent gained them access to this State Department building without having to show the guard so much as an ID card.

A fourth man stood by the door, obviously some kind of sentry. But when the female voice came over the speaker, the third man dismissed him with a wave, and the four men sat in silence, waiting to see if their grand little experiment was going to work.

John Mortimer had been working with defense contractors for nearly 20 years, ever since he had graduated from MIT when he was only 20. He usually had been placed on projects of low security clearances, but he clearly remembered the day some years past when his project leader, Michael Grant, had approached him.

"I need somebody to help me in the lab on this one, John," Mike had said. "Serious stuff. You up for it?"

"Sure, Mike."

"I mean it," Mike said again. John looked into Mike's eyes and saw no humor there, and maybe even the first hint of trepidation. Wow... he'd never known Michael Grant to shy away from anything before. It made John even more interested than he had been. Whatever the new project was, at that moment he made up his mind to be part of it.

Little did he know that it would change his life, and end that of his friend.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"The proper term is "read" me, Mrs. Grant," one of the men beside John spoke into the microphone atop the table.

John rolled his eyes. Here they were at the first official trial of a dynamic new stage of human evolution, and the bozo beside him was caught up in using the correct military lingo. Apparently he wasn't the only one put off by it. The voice on the speakers huffed in a humorless chuckle.

"Okay, fine. Give me a hard time about it and I know somebody who will be paying you a visit next, and trust me, you don't want that.... do you "read" that?" Her tone was playful, but the thinnest edge of malice was barely concealed.

John saw the man beside him pale, and look at his shoes in embarrassment.

"Besides, I'd appreciate it if you called me Ms. Grant. I'm single, remember?"

"How could we forget?" John asked back.

There was a pause; she must not be sure how to read that comment, John thought.

"Right, okay. But Ms., please. Or Helen, even better."

The stranger leaned forward and spoke for the first time. "All right, Helen. Whatever you say."

"Who is that?"

The man glanced around at the three scientists at the table. "You can call me Alan."

"Okay, Mr. Alan. No chance that's your real name, is it?"

The stranger calling himself Alan was expressionless. His face was ageless; John couldn't even tell if he was 30 or 50. The man didn't even crack a smile as he answered with the old company clich#.

"Well, now, Helen, I could tell you that but I'd have to kill you."

"Oh." Her voice was small, and John could imagine her out in the field, totally unsure of herself... even though she had already proven herself an able operative. That is, at least half the time.

"So how are you doing, Helen?" Alan asked.

"Okay, I guess," was her reply, her voice tinged with worry. "I'm... well, I'm a little nervous."

"No need to be."

"Yeah, you guys keep saying that. But I am."

Alan finally smiled, as if she would be able to sense this small reassurance over the secure connection. "It's just a simple recon detail, Helen."

"Right," was her reply. Her voice playfully imitated a young Marine. "A little rekkie."

"You've got it. You go in, look around, maybe pick up an item or two, and get out."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that. Are you there yet? Can you see the building?"

+++++++++++++++++++++

Hundreds of miles away, near the entrance of the Port Authority, it was raining.

The rooflines of the massive gray buildings hung ominously over her head; she felt as if they would tumble out of the leaden sky at any moment and swallow her alive.

Keep moving, Helen.... Keep moving, she told herself. Cause if you stop you might just turn around. And who knows what they would do to you then.

And so she moved on, this small woman in the rain. Her frame was slight, around 5'4" and 115 pounds, give or take. A sheet of silver plastic covered her dark auburn hair from the rain, and she wore dark sunglasses to hide her eyes. She wore a long black duster-style coat, and only a pair of shiny red boot heels clicked smartly in and out of sight as she moved along. Her vision slid from side to side, to make sure no one was close enough to hear her. This was mostly just excessive caution on her part; there had been no one at the Port Authority gate and, so far, she had seen no one as she approached the docks. Not that she could blame them. Who would be caught out in this weather? And even if she had encountered anyone, would she have been worthy of much notice? Sure, a woman alone, walking through the docks in the rain was probably a fairly strange sight, but while she was mildly attractive, she was hardly a looker. She would have faded from their memories easily... one reason the agency had such high hopes for her.

Once she was doubly sure no one was around, she spoke aloud, seemingly to no one. But the tiny earbud placed deep in her ear canal picked up the vibration of her speech and transmitted it to the mysterious Alan and his crew.

"Yes, I can see the building."

It loomed up before her, one of the last warehouses before the docks. Its facade swam out of the gloom slowly, the fading light of the twilight doing nothing to enhance its weather-beaten appearance. She paused, and ducked around a corner and leaned against the wall, her heart beating fast. Too fast.

"Okay, Helen. Listen to me. Easy stuff, okay?"

"Right, easy."

"Now, you say that, but it doesn't sound like you believe it."

"I don't."

"Helen, you can do this."

"The operative word there is 'Helen.'"

"Now, Helen, we talked about that. A lot. Didn't we?"

"Yes."

"And we promised you that this was as safe an assignment as we could get for you, didn't we?"

"Yes."

"Well, there you go. Easy."

She closed her eyes and focused on trying to calm herself. "And... and you're sure? Sure that you... that we won't...."

"I'm sure."

"...You know.... you're sure we won't need... her?"

There was an awkward pause as the voices on the other end of the connection wondered about how to answer the question tactfully.

"No, Helen, we don't anticipate needing her. Why does that concern you so?"

"Because I don't like her." She opened her eyes and peeked around the corner. The building stood just as they had explained it to her, just as it had looked in the photographs. She could feel her blood warming a bit with the conversation, though. But as she watched, a wrinkle appeared in the plan: a lone figure, dressed in a heavy overcoat, appeared near the front entrance. A sentry.

"Oh, my God. There's somebody out front."

"Never mind that now, Helen. Why does she concern you so?"

"She just does," she muttered softly. "Because I... because I don't like her."

"You don't like her?"

"No."

Alan's voice was soft, reasonable. "And why not?"

"Because... because I'm afraid of her."

"You are." It was not a question this time.

"Yes. Afraid of her... and what she does. What she might do. I don't like what she does."

There was a pause then, a measured silence of which Helen felt every ticking second acutely. Then, Alan's cool, reasoned voice spoke in her ear once again.

"But... Helen... you are that woman. She is you."

"No!"

"One and the same."

"No."

"Helen."

"Never."

This last escaped her mouth in a near hiss, barely contained disgust and rage nearly bubbling to the surface. Even her ears felt warmer now, she had forgotten her fear and reluctance and was now imagining giving this Alan guy the finger, first chance she had.

"Okay, Helen, I think you're ready now."

"What?!"

"Just getting you into your A-game, Hel."

John sat back and took in the situation. Helen wasn't the brightest candle in the box, to be sure...at least, not in her everyday form, not as Helen Grant. But he was still a little surprised at how easily Alan had mastered her fear for her, and tricked her into getting riled up. He had underestimated this agency man, and would be careful not to do so again.

This same revelation came to Helen as she stepped from her alcove and began walking toward the building once more. How she hated being manipulated like that! Alan was definitely getting the finger if she survived this mission. Hell, maybe he'd get all five fingers, and a fist to boot.

But as much as she hated to admit it, it had worked. Most of the fear she had felt was gone, and had been replaced not by steely resolution, but of a kind of quiet desperation. She realized now that she had to go through with the mission, no matter what. So she was able to resign herself to it with little more of the anxiety she had been feeling.

She was much closer now, the rain pattering down on her hair net and her boots splashing in the tiny shallow puddles. So close, in fact, that the lone man she had seen pacing in front of the door minutes before came to a slow, ambling halt before her.

He looked pretty much as she had expected. He was a huge man, easily four inches over 6 feet, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in five days. Thick black stubble covered his acne-scarred face, his nose bent to one side, undoubtedly from a barroom brawl some years before. He wore a tight knitted cap, the same coal colored material as his coat, but she could tell his head was clean-shaven beneath it. He regarded her coolly, and did not smile, even a basic greeting. She stopped in front of him, looked up into his face, and did her best to look like a frightened little woman... not much of a stretch. Much of her former trepidation returned when she saw his frightful appearance up close.

"Well? What do you want?" His voice was gruff, nearly rusty, as if from disuse.

She batted her eyebrows, and dropped her gaze to about his knee level. "Well, I.... I'm from the company... Uh...."

"Jesus Christ, spit it out, lady. What the hell are ya doin' here in da rain, huh?"

"I'm from downtown?" It came out almost like a question.

Not good, Hel, she thought. Not good at all.

Evidently the brute didn't think so either. His gaze traveled up and down her form for a moment, and he made an ominous gesture, one hand going inside his coat.

"You don't look like you is from downtown."

"...Oh. Well, how am I supposed to look, then?"

"Hell, I dunno. You's a little older'n most, I guess. Was they busy down there tonight or somethin'? Was they busy, like a burger joint at lunchtime?"

He snorted a little at his infantile example of humor. Helen actually felt the first faint stirrings of anger mixed in with her fear, but she played it stupid -- scared and stupid. "I dunno, maybe a little. So... what? You gonna make me stand out here in the rain?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"How do I knows you is who you says you is?"

"Hey, I could say I was the Queen of Egypt, but if I came in soaked like a rat, I'd be a rat, right?"

The goon just looked a little confused at that, and Helen could sense that her time to act was near.

"What's your name, anyways?"

"They call me Ginger," she said. She swallowed the reluctance she could nearly taste in her throat, and stepped closer to the sentry. She reached out slowly and traced a finger down the front of his coat. She raised her eyes to him, but not her head. "But you... you could call me whatever you want, whenever you want... if ya let me in, and ya know, maybe... maybe I could see ya later."

The man broke out in a hideous gap-toothed grin. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah. One ain't never enough for me anyway. 'Sides, I'm really working up a heat waiting here in the GODDAM RAIN!" She suddenly smacked the goon's chest, not hard, open handed, like a real powerless waif of a whore would.

It was a risk, but it must have been the correct thing to do. He grinned even wider, laughed aloud at her helplessness, and stood aside. "Okay, lady, okay. Just go the hell in there. I guess they is expectin' ya, anyway."

True -- a prostitute from the one of the local escort services was expected, but none of the targets in the building knew that the whore who had been sent was now laying stone cold on the floor of a State Department van at that moment.

"Aren't ya goin' to open the door for a little helpless lady?" she asked.

"Fuck, no," he laughed. "Whores get their own doors." He turned his back gruffly to her.

She pulled the massive steel door to the warehouse-like building open, the handle was wet and cold, and she had to struggle a bit because it was so heavy. There's one good thing about her, Helen thought. She wouldn't struggle with a damn door. It groaned open on its hinges, she stepped inside, and slowly pushed it back into place. The sound of the rain was instantly muted; it quieted to a low drone on the incredibly high roof of the structure. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom, it was hard to believe, but it was actually darker inside the building than it was in the gray twilight outside.

The building stretched out before her, its hugeness making her feel even more like a small trapped animal. The ceiling was high, at least twice as high as a gymnasium, and a web-work of iron walkways and railings ran up both sides of the structure. A row of doors ran along the wall to her left, down as far as she could see. At the distant end of the building, the corridor branched left and she suspected stairs to the second story led from that direction. To her right, a row of offices stuck out from the far right wall, the kind that had no roof and shared a wall. Each had a series of dirty, yellowed glass panels set into the doors. Some of these were lit from the inside. A series of cone-shaped tin lamps hung by their wires over the main corridor, but their meager light did little to illuminate the scene.

"Are you inside, Hel?" Alan's voice in her ear was hushed; she sensed the slightest amount of tension in his tone.

She was about to answer him when a figure stepped out of the shadows to her left and seized her arm. She jumped in fright, a tiny scream leapt from her throat and echoed in the great hall of the building.

The man who had grabbed her forearm was different than the one out front, but he was just as big. Obviously, more sophisticated, however. He wore a goatee on his face, and his hair was stylishly cut in what Helen instantly recognized as a "Euro-mullet," short on the sides, long and permed-looking in the back. A scar traced its way through his left eyebrow. He wore a dark wool sport jacket, and glancing down to take in his size, she noticed expensive leather shoes.

He held her arm firmly, and slowly pulled it up. Judging from his size, he probably could have lifted her off the ground one-handed. The tension he exerted on her arm increased, she gasped a little.

"Ow! Hey.... hey! Ow! You're hurting me."

A smile slowly crept onto his face. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice menacing. He had a slight accent of some middle European origin.

"Hey! Ow! ohhh..." At the moment, all she could think of was the pain in her forearm; it felt as if it was caught in a steel vice. "Ginger.... ow! My name is Ginger.... Ugh! I was sent from downtown.... ugh! Please let me go!"

A door opened somewhere on some unseen floor above them. Another man's voice called down to them.

"Vladic! What's going on, what was that? Who is there?"

Vladic stepped further out away from the wall, draggin' Helen roughly, her toes barely on the floor. He held her out even higher, and she could now see another man, several floors up, leaning over the railing. He was dressed much the same and had the same, quasi-exotic look about him. This was it then, this was the place after all.

"Ginger," Vladic said simply, and shoved Helen away roughly. She staggered a bit from the force, boots clicking on the concrete floor, and nearly went down. She caught her footing a little, and pinned her coat closed with one hand as she pin wheeled the other for balance. Above it all, she remembered to stay in character. Not that hard, because anger was actually creeping in among her feeling of fear.

"Hey! Asshole!" she spat.

Vladic only smiled and pointed at her. "It's just another bitch, Merrick." The other man nodded in what seemed a familiar, tired fashion; it must be the same drill as he was used to.

"Hmm," he grunted. "Well, send her up, she's late," the man named Merrick said and waved a hand upward. "Marco's been waiting."

Well, that seals it, she thought. This was the place.

WAITAGODDAMMINUTE!

Marco Davian! Arms dealer! The man responsible for over two-dozen bombings throughout Europe and Southeast Asia! The man the Defense Department suspected got nuclear triggers out of Germany just after reunification, only to sell them on the black market! He was here?! The men at the agency had prepped Helen to arrive at the warehouse Marco had been using at the port. The time had been chosen so that Marco wouldn't be there; she would feign waiting for him, then she would collect any loose evidence about a suspected meeting between Marco and several local crime lords as she waited. Marco would have been detained by an arranged "traffic stop," long enough for her to ---

So something was wrong, something was seriously wrong. It was all she could do to keep from stomping her foot in anger at that very second. Easy mission, my ass, she thought.

"You heard him," Vladic muttered, and shoved her in the back toward the stairs. The man above shrugged and went back into whatever room he had been occupying.

"Hey!" Helen managed, and stumbled again. "Knock it off. Jeezus." She removed her sunglasses finally, her blue eyes taking in the entire situation as best she could. She needed to do something, it was all wrong, something was wrong. She had to stall for time.

"You heard him, get going."

"Hey, wait a second. I can't go up there looking like this. 'Sides, I gotta... you know."

Vladic's expression was unchanged. Apparently he didn't know.

"You know... I gotta go."

Vladic's brow furrowed in thought. "But... you just got here."

"Wow," she said with a little forced half-laugh. "He sure likes 'em big and dumb, doesn't he? I gotta go -- you know, to the bathroom."

Vladic just looked at her, unsure.

"I have to pee! You know, el banyo?" She waved her hands in frustration, as if that would help him understand.

"Oh," he said. "To pee. Okay. Whatever." He pointed behind him, the right side of the corridor. There was a dark oak door next to the first office, obviously a restroom entrance. "There. Go now. Hurry."

"Thanks," she said quickly, and hurried to the door.

"I said hurry. Make it quickly," he said. And almost as an afterthought, he spat "...bitch."

Helen stopped and turned slowly to face him, the blood thumping dully in her temples. Oh, if this guy only knew how lucky he was at this second.

"Thanks. You're too kind." She ducked into the bathroom and slid the tiny iron bolt into its notched perch.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"She's in!" Alan said, his voice not excited but quietly pleased.

"Tell her," John said.

"In a moment, she has to--"

"Tell her," John said again. His voice was firm.

Alan studied his face for a long moment, and clicked the dynamic mic in the middle of the table to the "off" position. "Look, Mortimer, I know that you were close to her husband, and you feel somewhat responsible, given what occurred, but -- "

"Please. Just tell her. While there's still time."

Alan paused, and sighed to himself. "All right. She would find out soon anyway." He clicked the com unit back on and the sound of Helen's panicked voice filled the room.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Oh my God.... oh my God.... what am I supposed to do?" she asked in a barely hushed voice. "You guys hear me? Hello?! Alan? John? Anybody?" She felt tears begin to form in her eyes.

The tiny voice crackled once more in her ear. "Copy that, Helen, we're here. We're with you."

A tiny amount of relief washed through her; she sagged against the wall in near emotional exhaustion. "Thank God for that. What am I going to do?"

"Helen, listen."

"What am I going to do? He's here, do you hear me? He's here, and he's not supposed to be. You said he wasn't going to be, all I had to do was look around --"

"Helen--"

"...All I was going to do was look and grab what I could. I didn't think that..."

"Helen, listen to me."

She grew quiet, and wiped away the tear that ran down her cheek. "What?"

"There was a complication; we weren't able to get him detained long enough."

"Well, great."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, sometimes these things happen. You're going to have to learn how to adapt, how to roll with the punches. This is still just a lesson, an easy assignment, like homework from school."

She sniffed in growing fear. "It doesn't feel like one."

A huge pounding came to her then, the thick oak door shook in its frame. She jumped in shock, and Vladic's voice, muffled, came through it.

"You! You, bitch! You hurry up, huh? You hear?"

She jumped in shock. "Oh no! What do I do?"

"Helen, listen. The meeting that we suspected Marco was going to have? With the five crime lords?"

"Y...Y...yes," she stammered through her fear.

She could hear Alan blow out a breath of surrender. "Well, he's having it. Right now."

"What!"

"Bitch! I said hurry!" Vladic wasn't kidding around, apparently.

"We've just been told he's having that meeting upstairs, right now."

"Oh my God," she mumbled to herself. "John! John, can you hear me?"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

John spoke into the mic, and his gaze didn't waver from Alan as he answered. "I'm here, Hel. I can hear you just fine."

Her voice came over the speakers, the panic apparent in her voice. "John, is that true? Are they all up there now?"

John paused, and with a slow blink if his eyes, he dropped his gaze from the steely one of Alan. "Yes, Hel, it's true."

Each man in the room eased just a bit, and Alan waited patiently for what was to come next.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Oh my God, what am I going to do?"

Vladic's voice came once again, followed by another pounding on the door. "Bitch! I am speaking to you, bitch!"

"Ugh!" she moaned in terror. "Oh my God, what am I going to do? I don't even have a weapon!"

Alan's voice crackled in her ear once again. And what it said didn't really surprise her, deep down, but it still managed to catch her off guard and make her head swim.

"Helen, you are a weapon."

"What?"

"Helen, I hate to have to tell you this, but your objective for this mission has just changed."

"What?"

"You know how long we've been tracking Marco, and his buyers. How hard it's been to get good intel on him?"

"Yes, but-"

"And how many have died getting that good intel?"

She sighed, the shock wearing off. "Yes, but-"

"Helen, listen. We don't have much time. Your objective has changed. Marco has gone from an intel mark to a target. As have the buyers, all five of the crime lords. They have all become targets. Targets for elimination. Do you understand?"

"Oh, God."

"Do you understand? You have to do it, Helen."

She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. "I can't do it, you know that, don't you Alan?"

"Bitch!" Pound, pound. Vladic again.

Helen closed her eyes, and spoke quietly into the mic.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"You need her to do it."

The words hung in the air, and no one spoke for a moment. John just stared down into his lap in shame, the other two science advisors sat quietly; only Alan had the peace of mind to address her.

"I suppose that's right, Helen."

"And you swear, you SWEAR, that you didn't arrange it this way?"

"I give you my word."

Her chuckle came from the speakers. "That's not what I asked."

"All right, I swear."

A long silence filled the room. Then, she spoke again, and no one was prepared for what she said.

"...No. I don't believe you. I'm not going to do it."

Alan's eyes widened in disbelief. "What?!"

"I'm not going to do it. Clean out your ears, Alan."

"But...you have to! It's your new mission!"

"No. Screw the mission, just like you just tried to screw me. I'm going to walk out of here." They could hear gathering up her coat as she stood.

Alan pressed the button beside the mic controls, and the sentry stepped in from outside. "Make the call," Alan told him.

John's expression went from a smile to concern in less than a second. "What? What call?"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Bitch!"

That one's getting old, Helen thought as she moved back toward the door. Then came the distinctive sound of the ear bud coming alive once again.

"Helen, listen."

"No, I'm done with this, Alan."

"You may think so, but you're not. Two minutes ago a call was placed from the warehouse to the escort service, Helen. And one replied thirty seconds ago."

She stopped short. "What?"

"They're onto you."

"What, how? How can this be?"

"Because your descriptions didn't match, Helen, we tried to get close but it wasn't a good match, I don't know, we don't have time for that now --"

"Bitch, you hear me?" The pounding suddenly stopped, and so did Helen's breathing. She crept to the door, and put her ear against it. Someone else, someone besides Vladic, was out there now. She could hear them muttering back and forth to one another. Her heart leapt back into her throat, her pulse pounded in her temple and she felt the high, fluttering sensation of terror in her gut.

"Helen, you've got to do it. There's no other way."

"No... no no no no..."

"Helen, I'm giving you an order. Do it!"

"Bitch, come out NOW!" Vladic roared, and after his voice she heard the distinctive click! of an automatic pistol being cocked.

Helen closed her eyes. Her panic settled and the fear left her suddenly, for she knew there was no other choice.

"I'm going to count to three, bitch! Then we come in and you will wish we did not!"

"One!"

Helen stepped away from the door a bit, and dropped her sunglasses and handbag. She exhaled slowly, deeply, and drew in a breath. She hated this part. She focused on her breathing, everything else fell away.

"Two! Get ready bitch!"

And in the final seconds that she was really Helen Grant, she thought, You better believe it. Get ready yourself, bitch. She doubled her hands into fists before her, closed her eyes, and tilted her head toward the ceiling.

"Okay.... you asked for it, whore! THREE!"

And at that second, Helen Grant felt her mind and body slip into another gear; the stimulae she was used to detecting, no matter how minute, were amplified; her consciousness blew apart in an expanding, all-encompassing ring as two words flashed through her mind; she could see them as black letters on a white background, and they were there, and she was there with them, and her body exploded in mind-numbing pain as every nerve and muscle fiber, every bone and every joint, and every ligament and every tendon cried out at once, her coat exploding off her frame in tiny torn fragments, the hair net flew off her head and her hair shot out to its new length, the sheer black bodysuit she wore underneath suddenly expanded to meet its new demands as her body swelled outward and upward in a fraction of a second, her gloves and boots stretching to contain the growing appendences, and over all of this, the words exploded in her mind.

MUSCLE UP!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

" THREE!"

The words had barely left his mouth when Vladic heard a loud noise that sounded half like a hollow booming and half like a thick tearing sound, like wet burlap a foot thick being torn under great stress.

The next thing he realized was that he was lying across the hall, his head against the wall.

Tiny shards of wood stuck in his exposed skin. They had to be pieces of the door. Had that bitch been carrying a bomb after all? The other man, the one that had come down to warn him about the phone call, was only halfway across the hall, and struggling to his feet. A cloud of splinters, dust, and debris hung in the air in the doorway, and Vladic looked deep into it.

And then she stepped out.

Vladic didn't know how it had happened, but that stupid little bitch must have blown a hole in the wall to let in reinforcements, or something. Because the woman that loomed before him was NOT the same woman.

Or was it? Her eyes. Her eyes were the same, the same cool blue he had noticed earlier. But everything else....

She stepped into the hall and his eyes wandered up from the floor of the hall. Her feet were encased in a red, shiny, latex or vinyl-looking material, mounted on a three or four inch heel and rising to just below her knee. The material of the boot flexed and groaned as she moved and her calf swelled and danced beneath the material; it was evidently having a hard time fighting the stress being exerted on it.

Her thigh, as well as the rest of her body, was sheathed in a skintight shiny black covering. It had the smooth, nearly slippery appearance of latex or vinyl as well, but looking closely, Vladic could see small, threadlike fibers running to and fro across it, obviously for strength. It too seemed to creak under the strain of meeting the demands put on it. Her thigh swelled outward impressively, the quad bunched visibly as she put her weight on the leg.

His vision continued up, up now, over her smooth hips and groin; she turned to one side slightly to see her surroundings and Vladic caught a glimpse of a hugely full yet taught glute around one side. Higher now, and his eyes widened at the sight of her abdomen. The material must have been razor thin, for he could see every slight indent and crease in her skin; her abdominal muscles were obvious and flexed impressively just as she drew breath.

The material clung to her frame like a second skin, and he now saw her torso; thickly muscled with the size and density of no woman he had ever seen. Her chest expanded as she straightened up, swelling to what had to be an impressive 42 or 44 inches, capped by what had to be the best D-cup breasts he had ever seen, set on top of thickly muscled pectorals.

Her back had an impressive spread that tapered down in a perfect V at her small waist. Her delts stood proudly from wide shoulders, and her arms.... God, her arms...she held them slightly off of her body, and he could see the swell of the bicep, the diamond shape of her triceps as she turned from side to side, and the sheer girth of her forearms. Her hands were encased in the same red material as her boots, and as she clenched and unclenched her hands, he could hear the material stretch and groan in protest.

Her neck rose, similarly encased, thickly muscled but still very much feminine. Her face! He saw her and knew without thinking that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Her chin, the hint of a cleft. Full, shining ruby lips. High cheekbones set beneath slightly tanned porcelain skin... thick dark eyelashes framing those eyes... those eyes! So clear, so blue. Vladic thought his heart would stop if she were to turn those eyes on him. All of this capped off by the fullest, most vibrantly colored mane of red hair he had ever encountered; it stood from her head in a wild French-style cut, mushrooming up and away from her head, low in front, high in back, with just enough part for her to see through, its bottom length just below her chin. He took in the entire sight of her.-

She was bigger and more muscular than the biggest fitness competitor he had ever caught a glimpse of on television, yet she did not have the comically exaggerated bulk of a bodybuilder, either. Still, there was something about her, some characteristic he could not put his finger on. She was one of the biggest women he had ever seen, as she was easily six feet tall, but it was more than that. She exuded power from every pore somehow, she was a vision of beauty and power, and.... and now she was looking down at him. Yes! Those eyes fixed upon him and the right corner of her ruby lips slowly rose in a one-sided grin....

And then the muted, muffled report of a silenced gunshot!

Merrick had gained his footing and actually fired a shot!

The redhead gasped and spun to her left, the bullet striking her upper arm. But instead of the scream and collapse he expected, Vladic saw her twitch briefly and heard the whine of a ricochet. Amazingly, she turned back to Merrick, her face now contorted in pain... wait, not pain.

Rage.

In a flash almost too fast to see, she closed the distance between them, her frame, now as large as that of Merrick, was now directly before him. Her bright auburn eyebrows furrowed downward in a frown, her teeth bared in a snarl. When she spoke, he voice was lower than it had been -- for Vladic was now sure that somehow this was indeed the same woman -- and it was now fuller, throaty, yet musical and alluring. But what she said with it chilled his blood.

"Okay asshole," she spat. "You hurt me..."

She batted his gun hand away with her left hand, and drew her right arm back, fingers splayed into a claw shape. In a flash, she powered it forward, and the sound of her hand impacting Merrick's chest echoed throughout the corridor. The sound of calcium bones cracking was plainly heard above it all as Merrick threw his head back in silent protest. Amazingly, he didn't fall, and then Vladic saw why: this amazing woman had her fingers wedged into Merrick's very body, her claw-like grip now seized him by the bones of his upper chest.

"...And I hurt you back!" she finished, and grinned that beautiful and terrifying grin once more.

She jerked her arm forward, back, then up and to the right, all in the tiniest fraction of a second. The hallway filled with the sound of an explosive CRACK! as Merrick's sternum snapped cleanly in half.

Merrick drew in a breath to utter a scream that would never be heard. As the sound was about to leave his mouth, the woman pistoned her left had forward in a fist, and it smashed square into his face. She might as well hit him with a steel club fired from a cannon.

Merrick's head caved in around her fist, the bone crunching inward and actually folding around her fist, the momentum of which carried it more than halfway through the depth of Merrick's skull. She released his chest a fraction of a second after impact, and the force with which she had struck him was suddenly transferred to his body. It seemed to leap upward and back, away from her, where it flew, tumbling end over end, to smash into the wall on the left side of the corridor, some fifteen feet away and seven feet high. It slid the distance to the floor, leaving a crimson trail behind not too different in shade than the hair of the beautiful assassin.

"All right," the redhead practically moaned to herself. "It has been waaaaay too long." She looked back over her left shoulder, and remembered she wasn't alone. "Hey there, cutie pie."

Vladic's senses were coming back to him. He stood as quickly as he could and drew his own pistol, a nickel-plated .45, as quickly as he could. It still wasn't fast enough, for in a blink of an eye she now stood before him.

He raised the gun but couldn't pull the trigger fast enough. Her right hand looped up into his field of vision and seized the gun around the barrel. He saw her forearm swell suddenly, and heard the tortured squeal of bending metal. As quickly as she had seized it, his gun was free... and completely deformed into a ball of silver metal attached to the pistol grip he still held.

His eyes went to the spot on her arm where he thought she had been shot... on her upper left arm was the tiniest hint of a lead colored smudge, and his eyes were drawn back to her face when she uttered a harsh little chuckle.

"Oh, that? Don't bother looking. I'm not hurt or anything, although it does sting a little bit. Those things seem to just kinda bounce of me." She stepped even closer, and her right hand snaked itself into an underhanded grip on his belt. Without so much as a grunt or sign of strain, she curled his entire body weight, his huge frame coming quickly and cleanly off the floor, his shoes dangling eight inches off the concrete. Her smile widened further at his shock and disbelief.

"Hmmm... speaking of bouncing. What do you say I bounce you around a little, huh? How bout that... bitch!" She half laughed, half hissed this final word, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent the 260 pound man flying across the hall, where he collided with the wall just the to the right of the exploded doorframe. A cut opened over Vladic's cheekbone where his head smashed into the wall. Before his bulk even came to a rest, he sensed her presence near, and felt the telltale iron grip of her glove on the back collar of his shirt and jacket.

"Hmmm, this is fun! You bounce really well... bitch!"

Another flick of her wrist, and the man was catapulted back across the hall once again, this time easily ten feet up the stucco wall. He crashed down in a heap, and again without pause, he blinked and found himself in her grasp once again.

She laughed to herself. It was so much fun playing with these men, and it seemed like such a long time since she had been encouraged to do it. She grabbed a handful of the huge man's shirt and jacket with her left hand and hauled him off his feet with the same ease a person lifts a pencil; Vladic's form rose two feet in the air suddenly and hung suspended there without the slightest sign of strain or wavering.

She performed her punch and release trick again; with a sudden, vicious smile, she released her hold on him and rammed her right fist out in a huge, lightning fast shot to Vladic's gut. His huge body bent double around her fist before being propelled back away from her, where he flew ten feet and slammed into the wall with mind numbing force before collapsing to the ground again.

Without giving him time to rest, the woman grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him, swaying, to his feet. Vladic's eyes swam back into clarity; his thoughts slowly gained a semblance of order. What strength this fearsome woman had, what power! He felt as if he were a rag doll at the mercy of an enraged child... yet he knew, as painful as it was for him, and as horribly easy it was for her, her attacks thus far had been designed to merely impress him, not hurt him seriously.

The woman increased her grip on his shoulders, which creaked in their sockets. He hissed in a breath in pain, squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for it to be over. When it lessened, he opened his eyes to see her give that terrifying... yet... alluring one-sided grin once more. She saw his gaze travel over her face, and the smile widened. She leaned forward, her lips near his cheek, near his ear. Her breath was warm and soft and carried the barest hint of cinnamon-like scent in spite of the pain and furious beating he was suffering at her hands, Vladic felt himself stir strongly. When she spoke, her voice was low, almost a whisper.

"You know, I don't think I like the way you treat women," she said, and half-chuckled, a low, deadly sound that chilled Vladic's blood. "You really need to get a grip," she continued. She looked him in the face, and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead, and the stirring that he had felt turned into a pounding hardness despite the fear he was feeling, a combination of conflicting emotions that left his mind reeling.

"Yes, you need to get a grip... kind of like mine," she laughed, and began to squeeze her hands into fists. The only problem for Vladic was that she still held the caps of his shoulders as she did.

It began with the uncomfortable burning sensation of pinched skin. Vladic hissed in a breath as the feeling grew exponentially. The woman's expression didn't change from its perfect picture of amusement as she exerted a force beyond Vladic's power to imagine. It built and built, time and time again passing a point that he thought couldn't be surpassed. A mind-numbing ache arose in the thick muscle of his shoulders, then a screaming agony as her gloved hands first compressed, then tore the tissue, all without breaking the skin. The bones and cartilage in his shoulder sockets creaked ominously, an audible sound that only made the terrible female assailant chuckle in delight once more. Then it happened: a loud CRACK! of a report as his left shoulder collapsed, then another as his right followed a second later. He hissed in a breath to try to scream but the sheer volume of agony he felt kept him from screaming; his mouth opened, cords stood out on his neck, but no sound emerged but a light airy cry that was drowned out by the terrible cracking noises which came form his own body while the calcium bones cracked and snapped under the woman's onslaught.

With a creaking pop, his clavicles separated from his chest, his upper torso now had a series of strange and unnatural looking angles as the tight construction of his frame was torn apart. His eyes began to roll up into his head, the pain coming from a distance now. He knew that this was it; the damage she had inflicted so easily had been more than enough to kill any single man.

A new sensation now, in addition to the horrible pressure she exerted against him, he felt a hollow tearing in his middle chest. Through his slow fade into unconsciousness, he knew that she was now drawing her hands apart rather than just down. He felt the ribs POP! as they snapped from his sternum, and now felt the deep, meaty tearing sensation of internal organs being torn from their moorings. He had faded to the point that the pain was only interesting, and now he was filled with the new dread of this bone-deep sensation, one that felt like death itself. As he prayed to a deity for the first time, the universe of pain he felt kept him from addressing his sins; he merely wished for an ending.

Oh, please, Vladic Mirinov thought as he died, please let my suffering end.

Vladic's big body jerked as the lethal woman powered down her hold with a sudden burst of seemingly limitless strength. A muffled CRUNCH sounded from somewhere deep inside the man's body, and his torso stayed intact but expanded two inches to each side. He convulsed once, strongly, and grew still.

The woman who until now had been Helen Grant smiled. It gave her a strange and ultimately intense pleasure to render her opponents lifeless; it was partially a sexual thrill but also satisfied a deeper compulsion as well. With a downward glance, she smiled wider as she saw an impressive bulge at the man's crotch.

So weak, she thought. So very, very weak. No control at all.

With a flick of her wrists she sent the huge body of the man across the hall; it smashed wetly into the wall fifteen feet away and fell to the ground in a boneless heap.

Above her, she could hear the sounds of doors opening, pistols being loaded and cocked, and of feet running...in her direction.

"Helen?" The tiny earpiece crackled back to life. "Helen, are you okay?"

The woman's brow furrowed in annoyance, and her familiar, but fundamentally changed husky voice answered.

"Helen doesn't live here anymore," she said simply.

***********************************

A chill went around the table as the new voice came across the speakers. Not from the quality of the voice itself; indeed, the voice was a throaty, slightly husky example of the female ideal. No, the chill came from the knowledge that a fearsome combatant once again walked the Earth, a killing machine that never tired, never slowed, and never ever failed. Each of the men at the table had seen films of this agent in action, training films whose details were different but whose bloody, twitching endings were all the same.

Alan played it cool. "I'm sorry, I take it we're talking to...Scarlett, now?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out, sweetie."

"How much do you remember pre-switch?"

"Enough."

"Scarlett, we need to know how much you remem-"

"There's a whole bunch of guys in this building, and I have to kill them all. Is that enough?"

John noticed that even Alan was hesitant, tiny beads of sweat appeared on his brow. "The leader-"

"Yeah, Marco. Don't worry about it."

"We suggest you take a defensive position, now that they are aware of an infiltration-"

A throaty laugh cut him off. "The best defense is a good offense. And what I'm going to do to these guys is pretty offensive."

"Well, at least advise us-"

"Scarlett out."

************************************

There was a moment of silence around the table as the reality of the situation sank in. The military liaison was the first to speak.

"How much does she remember?"

The man known as Alan simply waved in John's direction. John sighed, he would rather have not had to go over the intel again, but a slowly expanding circle of government officials were slowly becoming aware of the project, and new faces were not uncommon.

"We're not sure," John began. "It's obviously easier to get information from the Helen persona than from her new... identity. We've found the amount of information loss that survives The Switch, as we call it, varies, depending on environmental stressors."

"Meaning?"

"Uh, well, the more stress she's under when she switches, the less she remembers. And the information degrades a bit as well."

The other military rep spoke up. "I don't understand. Degrades?"

"Imagine video tapes, old VHS style tapes. Or even old music cassette tapes. Did you ever record from one to another? Dub a movie or anything?" John asked, his hands up and moving about. He always had a habit of talking with his hands.

"Sure, a long, long time ago."

"Well, remember how the second copy looked a little worse, fuzzier? And if you copied that, it would get even worse? That's called a generational loss, and that's kind of what happens to her memories when she Switches. Deep, long-known information survives pretty much intact. Her family, her childhood. Normal long-term memory, like information learned over the past 18 months or so, that's a little fuzzier. Maybe one or two generations ago. Info she picked up 5 minutes ago... well, that gets a little dicey."

"That's a hell of a handicap for a soldier," the liaison said.

"Well, the process wasn't designed specifically for-" John started strongly, but Alan laid a hand on his arm and spoke for him.

"That's true, but we're seeing indication that the main knowledge, the "gist" of the situation does indeed survive the Switch. Enough to make the project still militarily viable, that is."

************************************

The corridor that ran the length of the building was long, nearly 80 yards, but the black-suited female figure covered the distance in just a few seconds, her muscled legs pumping and propelling her forward faster than what seemed humanly possible. Even at this speed though she could hear the rising sound of footfalls and pistols being cocked in the web-work of catwalks and corridors above her; her earlier exploits had been anything but silent and they were ready for her. Or, thought they were ready for her. She reached the stairwell at the end of the building, and her enhanced hearing detected the sound of someone (a man, nearly as big as the Vladic, by the sound) rounding the first floor landing. She flattened her form against the wall... and struck as the man stepped from the stairwell. In a flash she was behind him.

The bodyguard only saw the flash of an arm as it snaked itself around his throat, and he dropped his handgun as all the tension ran out of the hold; in a split second more force was exerted on either side of his neck than he could believe; stars appeared instantly in his vision, the pain was unbearable. He tried to choke out a shout, but his airway was completely blocked.

Scarlett chuckled and spoke in his ear. "Now, now, we couldn't have you go warning anybody else, could we?" she pouted, and placed her left hand on the back of the man's head. She tensed her hold just enough to remove any free space; the man's throat was caught firmly in the crook of her elbow. She smiled to herself, and made a fist with her right hand, the red glove creaking as her forearm swelled impressively. Then, with the tiniest hint of an effort, she flexed her bicep.

The round ball of the muscle swelled into a steel hard mound instantly, rising more than three inches in less than a tenth of a second. Her hold was so tight that the new mass of muscle had nowhere to go but inward. With a casual flex, her bicep pushed in against the bodyguard's neck with hydraulic-like force; his c1 and c2 vertebrae instantly exploded into dust; the soft disc material slid the 8 millimeters necessary to sever the spinal cord. Medically, it was known as an "internal decapitation;" the man's skull was no longer attached to his spine, but his head remained on his body.

The spinal bones shattered with a muffled pop and the man's body bucked wildly, just once, and then grew still as his eyes rolled over white. With a flick of her arm, Scarlett threw the man's body away from her; it spun through the air twenty feet down the corridor she had just crossed. But even before the body even slid to a complete stop, she had climbed to the second story and stood above the twitching body of another bodyguard.

She laughed aloud now; the training missions had been such a chore, but now.... now it was worth it. To be able to unleash the force, the power she felt inside herself... it made her positively burn and the only thing that helped was to keep using her power; it was a cycle that spiraled up within in her and seemed like it would never stop, a cycle that she was more than okay with.

TO BE CONTINUED-