Eliza: Queen of Death
By Littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
Locked up on death row, can Eliza fight her way to freedom?


The trial had been a media circus. A female serial killer with the muscles of
a bodybuilder and the beauty and femininity of a supermodel? A long list of
male victims? A creative variety of methods of killing, with men beaten to
death, sniped with crossbow bolts, machine-gunned, sliced and diced with
swords, strangled, or simply stomped and perforated with high-heeled boots?
Yes to all of those questions. The verdict - guilty on 22 counts of
first-degree murder, and those were just the bodies that had been discovered.
And finally, the sentence. Execution by lethal injection.

Throughout the whole trial, Eliza hadn't said a single word. She hadn't
testified, and she hadn't made any statements to the media. And her beautiful
face had never shown one hint of emotion, not even at the reading of the
guilty verdict, not even at the announcement of the death sentence. She
remained an enigma to all those who wondered about her. What was she thinking?
Why had she done it? And why was such a brutal, ruthless, determined woman
seemingly so accepting of her fate?

Now, she was here, locked away in the state's highest-security prison to await
her destiny. Because she was the only female death-row inmate at the facility,
she had an entire wing to herself. A dimly lit hallway led to a massive, heavy
steel door, openable only with a qualified guard's palm and retina. Beyond the
door was a long row of empty cells. At the very end was Eliza's cell, eight
feet square, concrete and windowless. There was a cot, a toilet, a sink, and
not much else. Two guards were stationed just outside her cell at all times.
There were three pairs of them, each working in eight-hour shifts. From their
little security station, they monitored Eliza at all times through the cameras
in her cell, and delivered her food through the slot in the heavy cell door.

Eliza stood up from the cot. She began warming up for her gymnastics practice
that she performed each day in her cell, stretching her arms and legs, then
showing off her flexibility by dropping into a full 180 degree split. She knew
they were watching. They always were.

She was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Twenty-four years old, she had
shoulder-length wavy dark brown hair, large dark brown eyes, and the elegant,
high-cheekboned face of a supermodel. Years of gymnastics training, heavy
workouts, and excellent genes had granted Eliza her 5'6", 147-pound body,
heavily muscled but still feminine. Her ass was round and steel-hard, her wasp
waist was surprisingly slender for a woman of her build, and her buxom C-cup
tits were firm and perky. Her part Latina and Middle Eastern heritage had
given her deeply tanned brown skin that remained dark even hidden away from
the sun.

Eliza stood up and stretched her heavily muscled arms one last time,
deliberately angling her body so that her rock-hard six-pack abs, showing in
the gap between her pants and top, were aimed directly at one of the cameras.
She knew the guards outside were getting excited. No matter how much they
claimed to hate her for what she had done, men couldn't help but be attracted
to her for her muscles, gymnastics skills, and femininity. Even in the orange
prison uniform, her body still looked sexy.

She began her routine with a straddle press handstand, showing off her upper
body strength. Her bulging biceps and massive forearms, displayed by the
short-sleeved top, rippled with power. Eliza's thick wrists measured almost
seven and a half inches around, and they held up her body weight effortlessly.
She did the splits in her handstand, spinning herself around before gracefully
flipping back onto her feet.

She then moved to a corner of the cell, doing a standing tumbling pass of a
back handspring, whipback, full twist. That was about all she had room for in
the tiny cell. Turning around, she then performed two standing back
handsprings to a double full. She turned around once again and executed a
perfect standing full, raising her arms in the stereotypical gymnastic "Y"
shape after landing.

Then Eliza did another standing full. But this time, something went wrong. She
landed hard on her head and lay there motionless.

"Shit," said one of the guards, looking up from his monitor. "We'd better
check on her."

"What if it's some sort of trick?" asked the second guard.

"How could someone do a trick landing like that on her head? It's got to be
real. Come on." He unlocked the cell door with his key, entering cautiously
despite his confident words, his baton ready in his hand. His comrade
followed, pressing a button on his walkie-talkie.

Eliza moved with almost superhuman speed. Before the guards' brains could
process what was happening, her foot crashed into the first man's jaw with a
lightning-fast kick. The sound of bone shattering accompanied the heavy thud
as he fell backwards directly into his companion. Both men toppled to the cold
concrete floor. The baton and the walkie-talkie clattered down a second later.

A swift cartwheel took Eliza over to the second guard. She looked down at him
dominantly. His fallen walkie-talkie squawked. She stomped down on it,
crushing it to pieces underneath her heel, enjoying the look of terror in her
victim's eyes.

"Your turn." With that, she stomped hard on the man's throat, crushing his
windpipe.

Eliza backflipped over to the first guard, who had just opened his eyes and
was rubbing his broken jaw. Still dizzy, he looked up at her.

"You'll never get away with this...You can't get out without my palm and my
retina..."

She jumped on him and grabbed his wrist, noting with pleasure how much thicker
and darker hers was compared to his, then grabbed him around the throat with
her other hand. "I have them both right here."

She saw the beads of sweat from his fear roll down his face, but she also saw
something else. Sexual attraction. She smirked. "You're turned on that my
forearms are bigger than yours even though I'm a girl and you're supposed to
be a man." He turned away in shame, guilty as charged.

She laughed. "What a schmoe."

The man began to beg, trying to get the words out from behind her hand on his
neck. "Please...my wife... my kids...I can't..."

With a flick of her muscular wrist, she snapped his neck one-handed like a dry
twig, shutting him up.

Eliza stood up straight, knowing she didn't have much time. The guards in the
central command center had surely seen what had happened on the cameras.
Picking up the corpse of the man she had just killed, she hurried out of the
cell, able to handle his weight easily. She didn't waste time going through
their equipment. Guards inside the walls didn't carry guns, and her fists and
feet would be more lethal than any baton.

Reaching the heavy steel door in the middle of the hallway, she pressed the
dead man's hand to the palm scanner. There was a beep and one of the two red
lights turned green. She then swiftly gouged out the guard's eye, not
flinching at all from the gruesome work. She held it up to the retinal
scanner. Another beep and the second light was green. She pulled the door
open. The end of the hallway was forty feet away...

Suddenly, a maze of red laser beams filled the hall, blocking her path. A rat
that had been scurrying around was hit by one of the lasers and vaporized into
ashes.

Eliza's expression remained calm. Raising her toned arms, she performed a
roundoff followed by a series of back handsprings, backflipping like the
pro-gymnast she was safely through the lasers. At the end of her tumbling run,
she looked directly into a nearby security camera, blew it a mocking kiss, and
laughed.

She turned serious again, knowing she still had far to go. There were cameras
everywhere, and the guards could track her easily as long as the cameras were
running. It was time for the next phase of her plan.

In the central command center, two male guards with female gymnast fetishes
were talking, hoping that the other men in the room wouldn't notice their
hard-ons. "Did you see the way she just backflipped through those lasers like
they were nothing?" whispered one man, unable to hide the awe in his voice.

"Yeah, that was incredible," the other guard whispered back. "I know she could
and would easily slaughter us all, but her athleticism and femininity are just
such a hot combination."

Meanwhile, in the middle of the room, the warden was shouting orders into his
walkie-talkie, his face pale with fear as he watched Eliza move swiftly though
the corridors on the security screens. "She's heading for Cell Block D! All
available guards inside, try to cut her off!" He paused for a quick breath,
then pressed another button. "Dammit, I need men with guns in here! I want six
men to head straight for Cell Block D, and six more to come straight here. She
knows we can track her, so she'll try to take out the cameras. The rest of the
men, spread out and be ready to move on a moment's notice!" He stamped his
little feet. At 5'6", the warden had something of a Napoleon complex. But that
shouldn't matter now, he thought. If there was ever a time he needed to be
aggressive, this was it.

Eliza was almost obsessively prepared as a serial killer. She had known that
she might be caught someday, so early in her career she had studied the
blueprints of every prison she might possibly be sent to and committed the
knowledge of all the plans to her excellent memory. Now, it was paying off.

As she rounded a corner, she almost bumped into two baton-wielding guards.
Dodging their wild swings easily, she unleashed a high crescent kick, striking
both men in their faces and knocking them to the floor. Raising her leg into a
full vertical split, she brought it down onto the first guard's head in a
lethal axe kick, shattering his skull like a ripe melon.

The semi-conscious second guard tried to lift himself off the floor. He was
greeted with Eliza's rising knee as she smashed it into the underside of his
chin, breaking his neck with a sickening CRACK. Watching on the cameras, the
warden gulped, shouting into his walkie-talkie for the armed men to hurry.

Eliza didn't even bother to give the corpses a second glance as she moved on.
In the next corridor, she saw a man with his back to her, mopping the floor.
The word TRUSTY was on his orange uniform in large black letters. She snuck up
behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned around, she smashed a
lethal palm strike into his face, driving the cartilage from his nose into his
brain. By the time his corpse hit the floor, she had already turned the next
corner.

She found what she was looking for, what she remembered from her research - an
ordinary-looking, unmarked door. It was locked, but a swift kick from her
dancer's leg shattered it to pieces. Inside the room, she smiled as she saw
the main server for the prison's computer system, placed here for easy access
for the IT personnel if need be. And now, it was easy access for her.

The warden froze in horror as he saw what Eliza was about to do. How had she
know about that room? How had she outsmarted them all? The last thing he saw
on the screen was the sexy babe ripping away the wires before all the monitors
in the command center went black.

Eliza entered a block of occupied cells. The male inmates inside stared at the
beautiful woman, hard-ons appearing in many of their crotches at the sight of
her muscles and hourglass figure.

"Okay, boys, listen up," she announced. "Looks like you're getting early
releases. Go on, get out of here. Just stay the hell out of my way." She
pressed a button, unlocking all the cells. Most of the inmates began running,
but a few of the men approached her.

"Hey, baby," said one prisoner, licking his lips as he advanced, eyeing her
hard body up and down. "I could use a woman like you. And I bet you could use
a real man like me."

Eliza rolled her dark brown eyes. As the dim-witted inmate stopped in front of
her, she suddenly performed a standing back layout, breaking her victim's neck
with the sheer power of her backflip kick. She landed perfectly on her feet,
while the dead prisoner collapsed in a heap, his head swinging at an odd
angle. The other men who had been advancing on her quickly reversed course and
ran away with the rest of the inmates.

She nodded in satisfaction. The more resources the authorities had to put into
tracking down other escaped prisoners, the fewer resources they could spend on
tracking her. She began running again, but suddenly whirled as she heard
something behind her.

Two men in tactical gear were standing about thirty feet away, aiming
submachine guns at her. "It's over," said one of them cockily. "Now just
surrender. You should know that there's no escape for you."

Eliza's heart was racing, but she didn't panic. Instead, her soldier's mind
was running through her options. She chose the one with the best chance of
success. It was risky, but she had to try it. There was no way she was giving
up. She knew that if she did, the guards wouldn't give her the chance to
escape again.

She raised her hands. "All right. You got me." The men smirked in triumph,
looking at one another arrogantly.

Eliza suddenly hurled her body into a roundoff followed by a series of
whipbacks directly at the men, elegantly backflipping to them with blinding
speed, becoming a blur of dark brown hair and dark brown skin. By the time the
men looked back at her and their brains processed what was happening, she was
on them, having covered the distance in less than two seconds. She completed
her tumbling pass with a full twist, kicking both men as her body rotated,
knocking them down. She landed right on top of one guard and snaked her
muscular thighs around his neck. From the look in her opponent's eyes, she
knew he was enjoying having her damp crotch right in his face despite his
mortal fear.

She gave a quick twist of her powerful hips, snapping his neck. "A moment in
heaven before I sent him to hell," she thought to herself with a giggle.

The second guard, dizzy and wounded from the impact of her flip kick, began to
cry as he pleaded for his life. "Please! I have a wife and kids..."

Eliza rolled her eyes. "You guys can't even come up with creative begging
lines. Muh wife, muh keeids. That's what the last guy said. Didn't work for
him, won't work for you." She snatched up his submachine gun.

"No, please, don't shoot me..."

"Okay." Eliza reversed the weapon and simply beat him to death with the butt
of it. Smirking, she gathered up the other gun as well, along with each man's
combat knife.

The warden was pacing in agitation inside the central command center. Six
guards stood ready with assault rifles and shotguns, while six more were
frantically trying to fix the security system.

"It's no use," said one man, standing up from a computer. "She fried the
entire server at the source. There's nothing we can do from here. We'd have to
send the IT guys back to the control room, and we can't do that while that
psycho bitch Eliza is running loose. If soldiers didn't stand a chance against
her, what chance would nerds have? And anyway, even when they can get access,
it'll take hours, maybe days, to fix."

"Fuck," said the warden. "That cunt. How is she so smart? Well, anyway, we'll
get her sooner or later. This place is crawling with guards. It's only a
matter of time. I just wish we had the cameras so we could see what's going
on."

Meanwhile, two of the armed guards were chatting. "Do you think she'll try to
attack this place?" one wondered.

"Nah," his comrade replied. "She's already taken out the security system. What
reason would she have for coming here? There's over a dozen of us. It would be
suicide. No, she's probably running away as fast as she c..."

A perfectly thrown knife came whistling through the air, lodging in the
speaker's throat and shutting him up permanently. A second knife impacted the
man he had been talking to, in the heart this time.

Then, like a beautiful but terrifying apparition, the figure of Eliza
appeared, wielding a submachine gun in each hand. Two quick but well-aimed
bursts eliminated the other four armed guards. Then she mowed down the rest of
the men. The last two, the ones with the gymnast-girl fetishes that had been
expressing sexual attraction to Eliza earlier, were shot in their backs as
they tried to run away, slain by the object of their lust.

She looked around. Her expert markswomanship had ensured kill shots on each
victim. Only the warden was left.

Quivering in terror, he raised his hands as Eliza advanced on him, the muscles
in her thick, dark brown forearms at full strain as she aimed her guns. "I
need you."

"Yes, of course! I'll cooperate! Whatever you want, Miss Eliza!" The warden
was sweating like a whore in church, but also feeling a strange attraction to
this psycho babe. He had always had a fetish for girls with guns, and seeing
this beautiful woman expertly machine-gun a room of men to death had caused
his cock to rise. She stopped a few feet in front of him, a knowing smirk on
her elegant face as she glaced at his boner. He reddened in shame.

Pressing one submachine gun against his chest, she tossed the second weapon
aside and touched his face with her free hand. Looking straight into his
frightened eyes, she smiled at him.

* * *

A platoon of guards was hurrying across the prison courtyard. Suddenly, the
warden appeared on a balcony above them. "I just got a report!" he called
down. "Eliza was spotted running north into the woods. I want bloodhounds,
helicopters, the works... concentrating on that direction. The other escapees
are low priority, focus on her first."

"Yes, sir!" said the commander of the platoon. "I'll get right on it and alert
the others. Let's move out, men!"

* * *

A team of at least fifty law enforcement officials, a mix of prison guards,
sheriff's deputies, state policemen, and federal agents, stormed into the
central command center of the prison. Several of the younger men began looking
sick at the sight of the male bodies in the room, pumped full of bloody holes.

"Twelve bodies, ten machine gunned to death and two with fatal knife wounds,"
reported an agent. "No trace of Eliza in here, but it had to be her
handiwork."

One guard noticed blood trickling out from a storage closet and opened the
door, almost puking at the gruesome sight inside. "We have a thirteenth body
in here."

"Who is it?" someone asked.

The guard took a closer look at the underwear-clad corpse, which was also
missing its face and scalp. "I think it's the warden."

* * *

After killing the warden, Eliza had scalped him and removed his face with one
of the sharp combat knives she had appropriated from the guards. After putting
on his face, she had then put on his clothes, which were loose enough to hide
her feminine figure. A baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses, which the
warden had often worn, completed her new outfit and helped her disguise. The
hardest part had been imitating a man's voice when talking to the platoon of
guards, but she was an excellent voice actress.

She drove west on the highway in the nondescript gray Honda Accord that
belonged to one of the late guards. She laughed as she heard on the radio an
all-points bulletin to be on the lookout for the warden's black Mercedes.
Before driving away in the Honda, she had simply moved the Mercedes from the
warden's designated spot and parked it in a secluded garage. The simple-minded
buffoons who had discovered the warden's corpse and seen his empty parking
space had jumped to conclusions. She smirked at her dominance, physical and
mental, over the men who thought they were the leaders and enforcers of
society.

A couple of hours later, she reached one of her secret stashes that she had
prepared many years ago for a situation like this. In a remote spot in the
wilderness, she had money, disguises, fake identity documents, and weapons.
Collecting her stuff, she put on a blonde wig and a pair of dark sunglasses.
She smiled at the sight of her weapons - a compact miniature crossbow, a .40
caliber pistol, and a knife - as she gathered them up.

* * *

Three weeks later, the second to last escapee was recaptured. Eliza was still
on the loose, as if she had vanished into thin air...

THE END (for now)