VENOMA: FIRST STRIKE, Part One

She was sure of only thing: it was going to be far, far too easy.

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No one really knew much about her, and that was pretty much the way she liked it. It made it easier for someone like her, someone who had to know how to slip in and out of the shadows. Someone who dealt with the gritty underworld of international affairs; the kinds of goings-on that they didn't teach you about in Political Science 101.

At its heart, the world was a brutal place, and her first and only overriding instinct was to tame it, to smash it, and to bring it to its collective knees.

Luckily, she was born into a world where this was possible. While the world was a place she hated and was fascinated by, in equal measure, she could truly call herself a citizen of the entire globe. Her father had been a wealthy rogue from London who cheated his way to a gargantuan bankroll on the backs of cheap East End labor. He didn't worry about the cancer caused by the chemicals used in illegal and unsafe conditions in his factories, and when he sold off his interests and retired to mainland Europe, he lost no sleep over it.

He did lose some sleep over his spouse, however. She had come from the finest of the Paris jet-set, and no one was really surprised when he swept her off her proverbial feet and took her to Monaco as his wife. From there, they spent their days traveling about the world, even after the child was born.

And it is with this child that our story truly begins. Or, rather, with the fiery crash that ended the lives of her parents.

Kristianne LeSeau. Child. Orphan. Child of wealth. Teenager. Student. Briefly, European tabloid material, which faded as she moved into her 20s, and maintained a "low" public profile.

Public profile.

Secretly, she yearned to be someone else. And with the means given her, she was able to achieve the ends of which she dreamed. Ends which no one could have guessed.

It was true that public interest in her life eased as she aged; it would seem that the nearly rabid fascination the public and the tabloids have are trending younger and younger with each passing year. Once, at a charity ball for a disease she didn't bother learning the name of, a press agent referred to her as being "a little long in the tooth."

Kristianne furrowed her brow at the man over her martini glass. "Long in the tooth?"

"You know, a bit elderly for the press these days, and all," he followed up meekly.

Her puzzled expression didn't change. "But I'm only 21 years old."

He laughed a bit, and smiled a little sadly at her. "Yes, my dear, but it might as well be 2100. The world moves more quickly than it once did."

The reporter then moved off into the crowd, and every fiber of Kristianne's being went into the effort of outwardly stifling her joy. Could it be true? Could her days in the limelight truly be fading? She knew his soft intonation and his pitying gaze were both meant to simultaneously break the news to her gently, and yet also provide a little dig at her ego -- even an aging 21 year-old has-been might still generate a few newspaper sales if she threw a big enough public fit of rage -- but it didn't work. She merely put on a pouty-lipped expression and excused herself from the function, even as she rejoiced inwardly.

Because it would allow her to travel more easily. To regions where she would have otherwise been noticed, engaged in dealings she otherwise couldn't have.

Up until then, it had been difficult. She had only been able to visit Nepal and Kashmir for a few months at a time. She felt her studies had suffered for it. Of course, the monks who had begun her training at such a young age didn't think so; they had never seen a student with the focus and raw power of will that Kristianne had demonstrated. As her training progressed and she mastered more and more of their ancient and deadly arts, her teachers had begun to grow worried. To what end would their most prolific student use her abilities? She was forced to move from region to region, from master to master as more and more of the houses of training refused her inquiries. But the only thing more relentless than her desire to learn was her refusal to be denied... she searched until she located the man who had, until that time, only been known through hushed whispers and unfinished sentences.

She never learned his name. In fact, no one ever spoke it. She saw his face only once, briefly. In her mind's eye it swam up out of the murky depths of time; a worn, aged face, totally beguiling, yet wracked with rage and panic. Rage and panic over what she had done. Only six months of his training, and yet she had done it. She remembered his face, glimpsed only for an instant, as he shouted the name of "Rubalo!" It was the only time she heard him speak. He shouted the name of Rubalo, his greatest student.

Greatest, that is, until she had come along. For now, the body of Rubalo lay at her feet, twisted at unnatural angles, and twitching madly in its last throes of life. It had taken her only a few seconds to deal the series of blows which had robbed Rubalo of life, and her master flew into first a rage, and then... was it fear? Or worse, panic?

Kristianne felt conflicted at this. At first, this saddened her. Certainly not for poor Rubio; the man was nothing to her. Even more so, he had proven an unworthy opponent -- she had been taught to fear his abilities for so long, yet she had broken his frail body with such ease that it both excited and frightened her. Indeed, Rubio was a fool and she was glad -- happy, even -- that she had killed him. He was unworthy and had deserved to die. She was only sorry that she had taken him so quickly, without time to relish the kill.

No, she was saddened by the knowledge that her studies were truly over. The teacher she had known only by the name "Master" had shown her his displeasure with his reaction over Rubio. She would learn no more from him.

And so, she decided that neither would anyone else.

Ever.

The rage on her teacher's face turned to disbelief as Kristianne flew into motion. Her body, perfectly toned and realized, as a fine marble sculpture is hewn from the rock, became a symphony of death and motion in that darkened cave. Despite his reputation as the ultimate purveyor of the shadowy arts, he too fell to the raw force of her will and power. When she emerged from the mouth of the cave - alone - the small army of the Master's faithful moaned in grief at their loss, and fear at her appearance -- she was not so much as bruised. She had then made her way back to the airfield, where her private plane was waiting. She was able to disguise the entire trip as a frivolous jaunt to New York for a few new furs and some diamonds. And the tabloids and the idiot public that devoured them believed this.

And then! The knowledge given her at the ball, that the public had grown tired of her affairs and moved on to younger fare... she rejoiced. And immediately began to plan her next bit of research. It was time for drugs.

Not the usual concoctions devoured by the manic upper class; no, she was after the ones that would aid her in her pursuits.

Faster. Stronger. Smarter.

She had to be all of these.

It was not enough that she was wealthy beyond her wildest dreams; the sole heir to a family fortune big enough to bankroll a small country. Nor was it enough that she was, by all accounts, extraordinarily beautiful. Her entrance at events, like the charity ball, always brought the party to a screeching halt as she swept into the room. Every eye was upon her, and she both reveled in it and reviled it. Every eye took in her height, nearly six feet, her womanly but curiously... firm... and athletic appearance; the width of shoulders that was slightly greater at second glance than originally thought... her thick mane of raven black hair and fine, porcelain-like features; high, arching eyebrows and cupid-bow lips; chin with the slightest cleft. At 22, she had recently completed her studies abroad and had even finished work on an advanced chemistry degree in the United States, where she maintained not one but three estates in various corners of the country. Every eye was on her; she was wanted by everyone; she could sense -- no, nearly hear audibly -- the accelerated heartbeats of the men (and some women) whom she passed on her way. She saw them as sport, and took those she wished to her bed, but never truly divulged who or what she really was. To them it was merely a wild ride in the whirlwind, and when it was over they were left wondering how and why it had ended so soon, and how they could ever capture her grace again. None knew where her current thoughts went to.

To the drugs. To the surgeries. To the research.

Her newly private life afforded her an accelerated schedule. She researched the newest techniques and those who had invented them. She employed dozens of the world's top geneticists and chemists, all in different countries, all working on different aspects of her plan. None were the wiser. She was able to put her own knowledge to work; the synthesis of this modular research was her territory. And when it became sufficiently complex enough to require help, she sought out the best surgeons and chemists to do the work.

And it all came to a head when she was 23.

In the end, it was fitting that it came to pass on the night of her birthday. It was, after all, a moment of birth... of rebirth. Like the maker of the creature in the Shelley classic, those who had performed the tasks necessary had realized only too late what it was they had done. In a panic, they had tried to stop the proceedings... their work had to end! And it did.

Along with their lives.

She had risen, tingling from fingertip to her toes, the work they had done seething in her form, crackling with life and power. And she had taken them, nearly a dozen of them, in seconds. Quickly, and nearly silently. It was over so fast that only one of them had time to scream; fruitless if a sound ever was, as they were working in her own lab, miles from any other structure or ear to hear the sound.

Her body burned; every fiber sang and she was keenly aware of the power and possibility in every muscle, every joint and every tendon. Each motion of her long, muscled arms was fluid and beautiful to her enhanced vision; no one had ever been so keenly self-aware in the history of mankind. The nanobots placed at intervals throughout her body manufactured the necessary compounds quickly and efficiently; they dumped the drugs into her system and her body stiffened and swelled with the resulting power, and she knew that her time had come.

It was time to make the world burn.

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It was going to be far, far too easy.

She glanced through her sunglasses at the uniformed agent as he made his way through the market. Of course, to an observer it would have not been obvious, it was merely a black sweater over a black pair of cargo pants; but she recognized the attire immediately. With a strange, fluid grace she rose from the street-side table and left payment for her tea next to the glass. She picked her way through the crowd, exotic languages bubbling around her. The man she followed was not of this land; his nationality was not important to her. Only his destination.

He rounded a corner, and paused for a quick glance over his shoulder. She was able to stop and peruse the cart closest to her nearly before he had even begun turning; agents these days certainly were slow, she thought with a grin. Satisfied he was undetected, he continued on his way.

She snuck a glance around the same corner, and watched him stride quickly down the seemingly dead-end alley. The heat of the day was sticky and oppressive, yet he did not stop at the small alcove built into the stucco walls where a water fountain was provided. Instead, he continued to the dead end, where he raised his hand and touched a spot on the stucco wall just beneath a sign that read "No exit" in the native tongue.

Suddenly a small doorway appeared; a sliver of stucco had rolled up before him and he stepped forward. Another agent, dressed in a similar fashion but armed with a sleek black submachine gun, greeted him. A brief word was spoken, and the wall swung shut; all was silent in the alley again.

So it was true. The intel she had paid so dearly for was correct; the installation was here after all. Of course, her payment was short-lived, as was the man who had provided it to her.

Now, it was time.

She didn't bother to cast the same glance around; she knew she was undetected as of yet. Despite her striking appearance, her teachings had shown her how to move with a near invisibility when she desired. Not literally, of course; despite the unbelievable capabilities of her body, some things were just not physically possible. But she entered the alley with a fluid grace and she remained unseen. She slid into the alcove undetected, and there, decided it was time. Time for the change.

She loved this part.

It began, as always, in the deepest part of her body. It spread outward, like the flames of a fire reaching for the oxygen at its boundary. Her fingertips began to tingle, and the heat radiated through her neck and up the back of her head; her mind buzzed with the sensation.

Kristianne's frame lengthened ever so slightly, to just over six feet. Her thighs, her chest, her arms... all thickened visibly as the tiny implants throughout her body responded to her iron will. Thick ropes of muscle grew on her frame; her forearms bunched and swelled, her calves cramped and exploded with hidden power. Her shoulders widened further, every muscle on her frame stood out in stark relief. While she did not grow into the exaggerated thickness of a bodybuilder, within seconds she demonstrated muscle definition any fitness competitor would kill for.

More importantly, however, a change was happening in her musculature, as well as to it. All throughout her body, her muscle fibers were threading together, forming an ever stronger bond with one another. The compounds surging through her body acted as a catalyst; her muscles did the rest. As they visibly expanded in size, perhaps as much as an extra 50 or 60 percent, they also increased in mass inwardly. Her musculature increased in density more than 300 times. This hyper-dense musculature served three purposes.

First, it obviously gave her greatly enhanced strength. Since the reactive power of the fiber was exponential, she guessed that she now possessed the raw strength of nearly 500 human men. No one had ever possessed power like this, and she reveled in the sense of it coursing through her veins.

Secondly, the hyper-dense musculature also hardened her lithe body; the skin was smooth and tight to the touch, almost like living steel. In this state, she knew that she was far more durable than the average human. She had been stabbed with steel knives on previous missions, and felt little more than a slight prick in her side. Small arms fire struck her a glancing blow just one time, and it had ricocheted off her body with a whine and a stinging sensation. She suspected she was nearly bulletproof; only a straight shot from a relatively high-powered firearm would be able to break through the dense skin and muscle of her pumped up form.

Lastly, her new muscle density affected her weight. As her muscles grew denser, she grew heavier. By the time her transformation was complete, she weighed nearly five hundred pounds, although her lithe, muscular form belied that number. She found it was a valuable asset as well; the leverage she gained from the extra weight made it possible to physically overwhelm any opponent with ridiculous ease, and move objects of far greater weight than she would otherwise be able.

Her hair, stylishly short, thickened; it grew thick and wavy and lengthened to her shoulders; the deep auburn began to take on a green hue, a byproduct of the massive amounts of drugs and chemical compounds rushing through her system. Her senses, already keen, suddenly amped up into a superhuman state; the world positively tingled with possibility. She sighed to herself... the best part was over. The sense of the power flooding her body was always the most pleasurable moment of her missions.

Except for maybe the art of the kill. But that would come soon enough.

Her hands, still tingling from the sudden rush of intoxicating power, flung the burlap-like material of her robe open in an instant. The specially-made bodysuit she wore underneath clung to her frame in seemingly impossible ways; every curve, swell, and line of muscle definition could be seen clearly through the dark green, vinyl-like material. The suit was made from an experimental latex-like compound; it was incredibly thin, barely a few atoms thick, yet was resistant to tearing and scuffing, and it could expand to hold her now super-powered frame. The light reflected off the suit in long, shiny, ribbon-shaped designs that danced across her frame as she stepped from the alcove and strode briskly toward the end of the alley. Her heels clicked, but barely audibly; her sleek black knee-high boots had soles coated with a special material that helped absorb shockwaves and decreased the noise of footsteps. The edge of her slick, ruby shaded lips rose in a one-sided grin as she fell into the last stage of preparation: it was time, and whoever she met from this point on was going to have a very bad day.

Her hand rose; the wall thrummed beneath her gloved fingertips. She was already standing at the edge of the hidden wall before it even began to rise up. She ducked and stepped inside the installation before the door was even halfway up its opening trip.

It was more or less what she had expected: nearly bare gray metallic walls everywhere; the facility was little more than a labyrinth of interconnecting hallways snaking out from a central location, in this case, a highly secret lab doing highly illegal research into viruses used for military purposes. Everything was expected as her green eyes darted across her field of vision and took in everything in sight in less time than a normal human takes a breath. Everything, including the single guard at the door.

She stood before him before he could even straighten into a full standing posture. With a wry grin, her right hand flashed out in a blur too fast to fully see; her extended fingertips stove in the man's throat with terrifying ease. The guard staggered back a step, dropping his gun in his sudden panic at not being able to speak or, more importantly, breathe. She dipped her shoulder and caught the weapon out of midair before it had fallen more than three inches; she didn't want the noise of it clattering to the ground to bring his friends running. At least, not yet.

She set his weapon down on the control desk that was at her right, and again regarded her foe. His eyes were wide and unbelieving, his hands waved frantically about. She watched him realize the severity of the situation, and stepped lightly to her left to meet him as he went for the panic button on the wall with his right arm.

She seized his wrist in her left hand, and with a sudden tensing of her thumb and forefinger, heard the delicate bones of his upper hand and wrist snap like kindling. His head arched back in agony, but no sound came; he was unable to scream in pain nor even gasp in a breath through his ruined throat.

She spun on her right heel, still holding his wrist. Now facing away from him, she drove him backward into the wall, and jerked savagely on his arm, which was now draped over her shoulder. His frame was no match for the combination of her speed, skill, and augmented body; his shoulder separated with an audible tearing sound. Again, his head arched back, but now his eyes were fading; he was passing out from the pain, as it was still too soon for the lack of oxygen to affect him.

She turned to watch him slide slowly down the wall, and when he was halfway down it, her right knee flashed up to meet his forehead in a perfectly placed strike. His skull was caught between two unmovable and unforgiving objects: a steel wall and her knee.

His head buckled with a brief grinding sound; the bones of his cranium separated and fractured in too many places to count. He was dead the second she struck him, the boneless drop of his body to the floor was merely the encore.

The entire attack had taken less than five seconds.

While his body slid to a stop, she turned at the hip and shot her right arm out straight, fingertips slightly curled. The small black mass was about the size of a jellybean, and her toss was quick and true. It flew through the air without arcing where it hit the lens of the security camera near the ceiling. The force of the impact made the black material flatten, and it covered the lens perfectly and stuck there.

Barely waiting long enough to observe the throw, she then flattened herself to the wall at the closest bend in the corridor. She was right; in just a few seconds, the agent she had observed moving through the market came around the corner. He must have heard the dreadful impact of the guard's head and had returned to investigate. But she had anticipated this too.

As he hurried around the bend, she slipped in behind him with the silence and grace of a stalking cat. In a flash her left hand was positioned over his mouth, her right cradled the back of his head. His body went rigid against the overwhelming force she exerted against it. It was too early to start playing her games, but she just couldn't resist it any longer; the ease with which she broke her opponents always excited her and led her to toy with them before ending their suffering. She leaned in, and put her lips near his ear.

"Lights out," she said in a breathy voice, and without even really trying, she torqued his head, pushing down with her right hand and left with her other in a savage jerking motion. His head spun well past the 120 degree mark necessary to separate the spine. His vertebrae snapped with a rolling crunching noise, and she allowed his body to fall to the floor, where it immediately spasmed wildly for a full ten seconds. She watched this dance of death and reveled once again in her power. Knowing that the entire staff of the installation was helpless against her was almost a narcotic, and it took a noticeable effort for her to maintain her focus on her mission.

She leapt nimbly behind the control desk, and with a few seconds worth of spliced wiring and a custom made program from a disk she produced from her green bodysuit, the installation was instantly locked down. None of the 5 exits would function, communications in and out were down, and the security system was rendered inoperative. The most dangerous task already accomplished, she was now free to roam the facility, engaging the staff in any type of conflict she pleased on her way to the lab at the heart of the building. There were over 30 agents on the security team alone, and they were hopelessly outclassed by this one assailant.

The woman known as Venoma had arrived.

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No one knew anything about her, and that was yet one more thing that she held over her victims. She was a shadowy figure in the world of stealth and intrigue, a green catsuit-wearing nightmare better suited to the pages of a comic book. But she was all too real, and she went about her work with impunity. Politics weren't important to her, for she had struck nearly every country in Europe, North and South America, and half of Asia, all in the space of just a few years. Southeast Asia and the desert countries were harder, even for her. But that would most likely be her next area of concentration; it was time for a new challenge.

She was a complete mystery. No video footage ever survived her attacks. Few people did either, for that matter. Those that lived through it were often only vegetables, bodies ruined in more ways than one could count. No list of demands. No religious causes. She only seemed to have one driving force: the desire to cause mayhem.

And no one seemed able to stop her.

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She walked briskly down the hall, her footsteps muted by her textured boots. She was far out of her way, judging by the maps of the facility that she had committed to memory after seeing them for all of two minutes. It didn't matter, however, she was not in a hurry to get to the lab. It was time for a little fun.

As she rounded a corner in the hallway, two men walking side-by-side came into view about 15 feet from her. Their eyes widened in surprise, and one actually managed to shout, "Hey!" before she was upon them.

Her body, encased in the gleaming green bodysuit and covered in armor-like amplified muscle, whirled into action. She became a symphony of violence in the narrow space. She took a quick step and was in the air; she covered the distance between them in a single leap. Her right foot pistoned out before her, the slick booted surface smashed into the jaw of the man on her right, exploding his jawbone to dust. He staggered backward, hands to his face.

His partner turned and raised his sidearm, a 9mm handgun. She turned to face him, and blasted his face with a right cross. His head snapped on his neck as if it would come off, but miraculously he remained conscious. Her left hand snapped down on his, and she began to squeeze.

The narrow gray hall was instantly filled with the sound of every finger on his hand breaking under the force of her grip. He wailed weakly, his face bleeding, his left hand gripping fruitlessly at the steel-like surface of her forearm. She gritted her teeth, in satisfaction, not effort, and powered down more. His hand broke with an audible pop. Now there was a new sound, a high squealing noise. With horror the man realized it was the sound of his gun bending. Who the hell was this woman and how could she bend a fucking gun with her bare hand!?

With a chuckle, she released her terrible grip on his hand. It was really only now a fleshy nub on the end of his arm, the metal of what once passed as a handgun imbedded in the pulped mass.

"Ahhhh!" was all he was able to manage. He wheezed and cried out with the pain from his wound.

"Shhh, now," she mocked. "See this?" She made a fist in front of his face with her deadly left hand. His eyes focused slowly on it. "See it?" she asked again.

He didn't reply, only stared at the hand that held so much strength in its grip.

"Well, it sees you."

Her hand closed the foot of space to his face in a flash. It impacted the middle of his face with a dull thud that went from his forehead to his toes. The soldier toppled over backward, lifeless.

By now the jawless man was coming around; he actually leaned in a bit to charge her. She grinned at the ludicrous nature of his attack, and stepped into it. In a blur of movement, she was on one knee before him, and her left arm shot out before her with an audible hiss of moving air. Her closed fist buried itself in his belly; it went beyond a simple punch. As he doubled over her hand in a silent crab posture, she could feel his innards succumbing to the force of her blow. His entire midsection was a pulped bag, loosely held together by the skin of his abdomen. For just an instant at the last of her fist's forward momentum, she actually sensed the bony hardness ahead that was his spine. It was intact, but it didn't matter. When she withdrew her hand and stood, the man fell forward and lay at her feet, twitching weakly as the life left his body. She smiled to herself and wasted no time; with a kick of her heels she continued her way deeper into the facility.

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"Where do you suppose everybody is?" Braddox asked his companions. When he received no reply, he turned to glance behind him, and froze at what he saw.

The two other soldiers with whom he was assigned to this area lay on the floor. The first was bent nearly double -- backward. He was on his side, the back of his head touching the back of his upper thigh, his face frozen in a mask of pain; his eyes had already begun to glaze over. The other was somehow even worse; both arms extended outward from the sitting body, slumped against the wall, but at the elbows, the lower arms dipped sharply in a direction the limbs were not meant to go. This man's eyes were rolled up into his skull, and he sat with his back against the wall, twitching in a strange, spasmodic fashion. Braddox's vision traveled up and behind his fallen comrades, and his eyes widened.

A woman stood there, crouched in a combat ready pose. A woman dressed in some kind of gleaming green suit, with piercing emerald eyes and even a green hue to her hair. The suit clung to her body, and he could see every cleft of muscle outlined clearly as she stood above her prey. Braddox's breath stopped short.

He knew who she was.

Or, at least he had heard of her. Whispered tales that the men scoffed at audibly but secretly wondered about; stories of a mercenary so deadly that no power on earth could stop her... the woman who they called Venoma.

"Who... who are you?" he managed to get out.

One corner of her mouth ticked upward in a half-smile. Her voice was low, slightly husky in tone. "I think you know the answer to that."

"This is impossible."

"Umm-hmm. And why's that?"

"They were just right here."

She smiled down at the now still forms of the men, and nodded. "And now they're not."

"But... but I was standing right here and I didn't hear anything!"

"I can be very quiet when I want to be."

Braddox's eyes darted to the panel of switches mounted to the smooth gray wall of the corridor. There was an alarm switch there.

"I can also be very fast. I wouldn't try it."

Braddox's heart raced. A bead of sweat dripped into his eye, stinging him into action. He leapt for the control panel.

Almost before he could move, he was stunned to see a greenish blur of motion, and she seemed to materialize before him.

"Are you deaf? I told you not to try it," she spat.

Her left hand shot forward and she seized a handful of the olive-colored uniform he wore, just below the collar. With no grunt of effort or any other sign of strain, she jerked him off his feet and held him suspended two feet in the air. He might as well been hanging form a 10 ton crane. By the feeling, his 230-pound frame didn't so much as waver a fraction of an inch. Her strength was incredible!

"Now it's time you learned to do what I tell you," she growled. She slowly raised her right arm and drew it back in a frightening, ominous claw shape. He could see the muscles of her arm tensing beneath the emerald coating; her hand looked as if it were made of sculpted steel and he knew she could drive it straight through him with ease. He looked down into her face; white skin... framed by the green tinted, mostly auburn hair... ruby lips... eyes the color of metallic jade... she made a frightful and threatening appearance, yet... as astounding as it was to him, he was entranced by this woman who would surely kill him as she had his companions.

"Wait!" he stammered. "I... wait..."

She paused for a moment, her right hand still drawn back in preparation to strike.

"Why... why are you.- How... how are you..." his eyes betrayed him. His vision drifted away from her beautiful face and traveled along the arm that held him aloft. The muscle of her limb stood out in stark relief like steel cords, still he did not waver in the air.

"How... how can you..." he was unable to finish a sentence. With most of the thinking, rational part of his mind completely turned off, he did the unthinkable: he raised his hands and touched her arm.

He ran his hands along the bodysuit. It was perfectly smooth, seemingly to be almost slippery in texture; yet it was also unfathomably hard. It did nothing to disguise the power of the muscle beneath it. His hands traveled up and down the length of her arm, and his touches changed from exploratory in nature to those of a caress.

Venoma's eyes narrowed just a bit, and once again her mouth became a one-sided grin, but this time it was wider. This kind of reaction was rare, but it had happened from time to time in her travels. Every so often, a victim of her skill and power would suddenly find themselves entranced by her, and it made them so much more fun to play with.

His hands continued to rub her arm back and forth, along the rock hard forearm and over the slippery, granite-like mound of her swelled bicep. His eyes had taken on a glassy stare, his breathing had increased and she could sense his pulse accelerating.

She slowly brought him down. His feet nearly touched the floor now, but not quite. Her face was now only a few mere inches from his, and when she spoke, her voice was lower than before, softer.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

His answer was immediate, no thought was necessary. "Yes..."

"Do you like my muscles?"

"Yes... so hard... you're like steel."

"Hmmm... and what else do you like about them?"

His hands drifted down to her shoulders, he tried to squeeze with his hands but he could not make her skin dimple, even with his entire grip.

"They're big... so big... so strong... yet..."

She uttered a soft, throaty little laugh. "Yes? Go on."

"So strong... so big... yet... not huge, all bodybuilder-like."

"Umm...you're wondering how muscles like mine got so strong for their size, hmmm?"

"...Yes."

In a flash, he was standing on his toes again, and her steely arms were wrapped around his midsection. Her strength surrounded him on all sides now. He felt the paralyzing fear experienced by those unfortunate to find themselves trapped by a python, before the final crushing embrace commences.

She leaned in close and whispered into his ear; her total dominance of the soldier was delightful to her, and she allowed herself more play time than usual with this one.

"Hmm... I've got you now, don't I?" she asked playfully.

When she got no response, she briefly tensed around him, and he groaned as his ribcage creaked audibly.

"I said, I've got you now, don't I?" she asked again, with more edge to her voice.

"Uhh... yes..." he managed.

"Good. When I ask you a question, you will respond immediately. Do you understand?"

".... Uhh.... yes.... please... uhhh..."

She brushed her cheek against his, and felt him stir against her. Apparently he was responding in more ways than one. She grinned a little at his predicament.

"So, this is it. I have my arms wrapped around you, and in a moment, I'm going to tighten them, and I will crush your ribs to powder. There's nothing you can do to stop me. No one can stop me. In an effective sense, you died the moment I saw you. How does that make you feel?"

He gave no answer.

She gave him a huge, sudden, vicious squeeze. Several of his ribs snapped instantly, sounding like gunshots in the closed space. He writhed, and threw his head back in pain, squealing softly.

"I said, how does that make you feel?"

"Arrrgghhh! Please.... stop..."

She sighed. "Pity. I was hoping for more from you."

She began. The helpless soldier couldn't believe it, but he could feel her arms grow even harder as she flexed them against him. They cut into his chest and midsection, compressing first flesh, then muscle, then the bones structure beneath began to buckle and give. The breath left his body in a steady whooshing sound; he was under far too much pressure to be able to take another in. The ligaments holding his ribcage together shifted and some broke free with a grinding sound; sharp points of pain arrowed into his chest. Still she pressed on; her face looking up at him as she lifted him bodily once more, this time in her tight, final embrace.

A rib snapped with an explosive pop, then another, then two more. His eyes opened wide, his mouth opened in a soundless scream. She bit into him with an explosive burst, and his entire ribcage collapsed while his sternum tore in half with a clean, loud breaking SNAP!

His agony now almost over, his limbs seized in a final shudder. His eyes bulged from his sockets, testament to the power and pressure being exerted on his body and internal organs. Through what remained of his midsection she could feel the hard knot of his heart, fluttering madly in its last moments.

She did what he could not; she took in a breath, and this simple act caused him even more pain, as her chest swelled up and out and made the space allowed for his body even smaller.

She uttered a small sound, an almost gentle "Huuh!" sound, and delivered the coup de grace.

Her arms totally encircled him, her fists locked together behind his back. With her sound as an exclamation, she took his body further than it was designed to go.... A final massive jolt from her arms snapped his spine like kindling and ruptured the delicate sac containing his spinal cord. She released her lethal hold quickly, and his now misshapen body fell in a boneless heap on the floor, jumping and twitching as neurons fired away in a last desperate attempt to survive. Then, his body stilled, and his eyes became glassy as the last life left him.

She paused, just for a moment, partly in wonder at the enormity of the event. This man was now dead. All he had been, everyone he had known, all the places and things he had seen... all were now gone, forever. And it had been taken from him, by force and violence. Taken by her will and by the power of her body.

And she paused for a moment, and then smiled, her ruby lips spreading into a wide grin. Yes, she had taken it. And it had been so easy.

With a sigh of contentment, she turned her attention back to the matters at hand. Best not to forget her mission... for there were many new people for her to meet in the next few moments.

TO BE CONTINUED...