The Facility, Part Four
by Seldom (seldomlasts@yahoo.com)
Felicia's first mission. Our little bundle of terror is all grown up.


***** AUTHOR'S NOTE *****

I love hearing from you. I really do. Please e-mail me if you like this story, and even if 
you don't, tell me what you didn't like. Feedback please!

I apologize for the long delay between parts three and four. I hope you've been enjoying 
my other stories, and I hope you enjoy this one. Have no fear, I have not abandoned 
beautiful and deadly Felicia!

* * * * *

Mission Report, CIA Field Agent Felicia, 14 May 20XX
Project: FELICIA (Feminine Elite Licensed Indestructible Controlled Ideal Agent)
Subject: Felicia, Generation 1 Engineered Hybrid Lifeform

Request from Project Director William Harkin: What follows is a complete report of the 
events of Agent Felicia's first mission. Recommend immediate termination of Subject 
Felicia and Prisoner Randy Goats, followed by re-evaluation of Project FELICIA. (See 
attached Project Request Form 00853A)

Pre-Mission Brief, 8 May 20XX

Mission Area: Middle East, Mediterranean coast, Turkish-Syrian border

Situation Report:
Members of the terrorist faction Brothers of the Red Dawn, an extremist Muslim sect 
advocating the return of Israel to the hands of Islam, kidnapped Jared Yamin, son of 
American ambassador James Yamin, from their home in southern Turkey at 2:30AM, 7 May 20XX. 
James Yamin is crucial to the current round of Middle East peace negotiations. Permission 
to launch a covert recovery has been obtained from Syrian President Bashar Assad. 
American-Syrian relations are strained, so extreme care must be taken to ensure no loss of 
life to civilian Syrian nationals.

Primary Mission Objective: Return Primary Target Jared Yamin unharmed.
Secondary Mission Objective: Eliminate Secondary Target sect leader Muhammad Alef Mustafa.

Mission Outline:
Field Agent Felicia will perform a HALO drop 5 miles off the coast of Syria, approximately 
7 miles from the suspected headquarters of the Brothers of the Red Dawn, at 2:00AM, 10 May 
20XX. She is to execute a covert penetration of the sect headquarters, terminate Secondary 
Target, and extract Primary Target or obtain proof of Primary Target's demise. Agent 
Felicia and Primary Target will rendezvous with American forces in Latakia.

Backup: None.

Estimated probability of extracting Primary Target unharmed: 0%

* * * * *

Jared Yamin was ashamed of himself. The men in black suits had swooped down and killed his 
two bodyguards. When they grabbed him he pissed. Now he was alone in a cold, dark, stony 
room with only his sticky pants for company. He ran his hand under his teary eyes and 
wiped up his snot as best he could. He knew strong men didn't cry, but he was sobbing and 
shuddering. He knew he was dishonoring himself and his family with his whimpering and 
soiled jeans.

The eleven year old boy walked stiffly to the barred window and looked down on the 
courtyard. Men with automatic rifles walked alertly back and forth. He knew another large 
man with a gun waited outside his door.

He ran his hands over his jeans. The piss had already dried, but the pants were moist from 
his tears and mucous. He could barely smell the pee anymore. He looked up at the sky, 
wondering if they would send tanks or helicopters to save him.

"Please, mom, dad," he whispered. "Please come save me. I know you can do it. You'll send 
people to come save me, won't you?" He looked down at the courtyard and began to cry 
again. The terrorists would kill him long before even the United States Marines could 
fight their way through to him.

Jared was a smart, precocious boy, and his mind was well-developed enough to understand 
irony. So he could laugh while he cried as he thought about how twenty-four hours ago he 
was playing Tekken 3 on his PlayStation 2, and in another twenty-four hours he could be 
dead.

* * * * *

A large dark figure fell out of the jet at thirty thousand feet and plummeted to the black 
ocean below. The cold and lack of oxygen would have required any normal human to wear what 
amounted to a spacesuit. The plunging figure continued to gain speed, hurtling faster and 
faster to the barely visible surface.

At ten thousand feet, the figure shifted from a straight-down descent to lie parallel with 
the ocean. The dark shape spread its thickly muscled arms and legs to slow its rapid fall. 
At two thousand feet, the figure grasped a cord on its shoulder. A few seconds later, at 
eight hundred feet, it pulled the cord. A parachute blossomed above the plunging figure, 
jerking it with enough force to snap a man's neck. Four seconds later the parachutist 
dropped below radar profile at two hundred feet and slowing rapidly. At fifty feet the 
dark shape separated from the parachute pack and reversed itself in mid-air to dive 
gracefully and rapidly into the warm ocean water, allowing the parachute to splash safely 
into the water behind it. The parachute and pack gathered water and quickly sank.

Felicia kicked for the surface with smooth, powerful strokes. She broke into the air and 
gasped desperately for breath, taking several moments to breath and shake off the damaging 
effects of the severe pressure differentials she had undergone in the past minute. Her 
genetically enhanced body quickly repaired itself.

She looked up at the sky and oriented herself by the stars, then started her five mile 
swim to shore. Her immensely strong and tireless arms and legs propelled her through the 
water nearly as fast as a dolphin's fins, and she made the swim in under an hour.

As she approached shore her keen night vision picked up landmarks familiar from the 
mission briefing pictures. Sewage from the terrorist headquarters drained directly into 
the ocean along a freshwater underground stream. Clean upstream water was pumped into a 
well and waste was dumped a little farther downstream. Felicia located the underground 
current where the stream fed into the ocean.

She tread water for a moment, breathing in and out quickly. Then she breathed air out in 
one continuous stream until she felt her lungs completely empty. She dove under the water 
and took in a deep breath. The warm salt water burned her throat and lungs. She exhaled 
and breathed in again. Her lungs expanded and different cells took over to extract the 
oxygen dissolved in the ocean water.

She could survive for several hours by breathing water, depending on how much oxygen was 
dissolved in it. Even so, she would be hard-pressed to swim up the freshwater stream fast 
enough to reach the compound before she ran out of air.

The stream drain was covered by a metal grate. Felicia positioned herself over it, 
preparing to simply tear the steel cover off. She hesitated for a moment, remembering.

* * * * *

Thwack! The pointer descended hard upon Felicia's knuckles. She shook her stinging hand, 
glaring angrily at her teacher.

"You're not paying attention," he said. Charles Thatcher was an expert in killing. He 
could take out a roomfull of people with both arms and one leg tied behind his back. 
Felicia didn't understand why she had to sit here and listen to his boring lectures on 
human anatomy. He didn't look so tough. She often thought about meeting him in the arena 
and the pleasure she would take in snapping his neck.

"Am I boring you?" he asked mockingly. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were not.

"Yes," Felicia said. Her voice was challenging.

"You know, Felicia, you are quite possibly the smartest person on this planet. You are 
terribly clever, and phenomenally strong." She smiled at the unexpected compliment, her 
beautiful face and sparkling green eyes lighting up. "And yet," he continued, "you are so 
horrendously stupid it is almost criminal."

Felicia's smile dropped. "What?" she growled.

He whacked her on the hand again, harder. She put her hands under her desk and tried to 
control herself. "I said you should listen to your betters. You don't know everything. Not 
by a long shot. You are stupid not to listen!" He whacked her on top of the head.

"Stop it!" she said.

"Stop it, sir!" he bellowed back, smacking her resoundingly on her cheek.

Felicia's hand whipped up and grabbed the pointer, easily wrenching it from her 
instructor's grasp. In a rage she broke her desk standing up and hurled herself at the 
ex-marine, murder in her eyes.

Suddenly she found herself on her back, severe pain shooting up her shoulder. She looked 
down in surprise to see two of his fingers pressing lightly on her skin.

"If you had been paying attention, you would know that these are pressure points," he 
explained calmly. "In a few months your skin will harden to the point where it can deflect 
bullets, and you will no longer be vulnerable. However, for now, you have the same 
vulnerabilities and kill-spots as me. What you do not have is half my experience. I am 
trying to teach it to you so you don't get your dumb self killed on your first assignment.

"You see, I know you are still vulnerable. I know that your skin has not yet hardened. 
This is what you must learn. Your enemy outnumbers you. He knows that you are coming. He 
is smarter than you. He is faster than you. He is stronger than you. He will not hesitate. 
He will kill you. So, how do you beat your enemy, Felicia?"

"How?" she gasped out.

Charles released her, then held out his hand to help her up. "By listening and learning 
from me," he said with a grin.

* * * * *

Your enemy is smarter and better prepared than you, Felicia thought to herself. How do you 
beat him? Caution, cunning, and care, she answered.

Felicia closed her eyes and concentrated, then wrapped her large hands around two of the 
metal bars. Almost below the range of even her extraordinary sensitivity, there was the 
tell-tale vibration of a low-level electric current running through the bars. She smiled. 
These terrorists were well-prepared and highly competent. She looked forward to the 
challenge.

She slowly bent two bars outward, being extremely careful not to break them. She wriggled 
her large body through the opening. She had to squeeze her large breasts through, hoping 
the bars would not break from the extra bending. She cursed her huge chest. They may be 
useful for sexual distraction, but she could have done without the two mounds getting in 
the way. She also had her suspicions that her voluptuous figure wasn't entirely due to 
functional requirements.

She swam against the current for another hour. There was very little waste generated this 
early in the morning, so the water was relatively pure. Unfortunately, this also meant 
there was relatively little oxygen. By the time Felicia reached the compound's intake pump 
she was breathing hard.

The old well that used to provide water for the large estate house before the pump was 
installed was four feet wide. Felicia swam up the tube. Once at the surface, she breathed 
out hard, ejecting water from her oxygen-starved lungs. She was careful not to cough too 
loudly. After a few moments her lungs adjusted and she was able to breathe air again.

She clamped her arms and legs on the walls and started slowly climbing up the one hundred 
fifty foot well. She grasped the top and hauled herself up, peeking over the well wall. 
The compound was poorly lit and the moon was a mere sliver in the sky. Felicia lay beside 
the well and allowed her aching muscles a few minutes to recover.

Her keen hearing picked up the sounds of dogs whining on the other side of the compound. 
She closed her eyes and concentrated. Hormones raced through her bloodstream, subtly 
altering her bodily functions. Nitrates and other wastes were sent back into her blood to 
be processed by her slightly enlarged kidneys. Her bladder expanded to take up the full 
room allotted to it. Felicia's sweat changed to pure water, odorless and undetectable even 
by dogs.

All this translated in Felicia's head into a constant urge to pee. She concentrated on the 
sides of the mansion. Before long a guard rounded the corner. A leashed dog sniffed the 
ground in front of him. Felicia waited patiently, barely breathing. The dog never paused, 
never even looked over at the old well, smelling only familiar scents and hearing nothing 
out of the ordinary.

Felicia could have crossed the distance between them and killed both dog and guard before 
either could raise an alarm, but this was a covert mission and if the guard failed to 
report in, alarms would be sounded. So she merely waited until the guard was out of sight 
before running to the building in a silent crouched gait.

She pressed herself to the wall and listened. All she heard were the normal sounds of a 
household, but quieter than usual. The terrorists were cautious this week because of the 
kidnapping.

From the layout of the house, Felicia knew the most likely location of Jared was in one of 
the internal rooms on the top floor. Unfortunately simply climbing the wall would be far 
too noisy. She had to find a way inside and make it upstairs undetected. Once she was 
assured of Jared's security she could search for and terminate Muhammad Mustafa.

Felicia crept around the outside of the house. The kitchen entrance was unguarded but 
well-lit. She decided she would have to take a chance, and ran to the door. She slipped 
inside, padded feet silent on the cold stone floor. She heard a hummming from the kitchen 
interior. Muscles coiled and ready to strike, Felicia turned the corner.

A young Middle Eastern woman stared at her in shock. Felicia cut an imposing figure in her 
skintight black outfit, nearly six and a half feet of broad steely muscle with the face of 
a model and the grace of a cat. Smiling, Felicia put one finger to her lips.

The woman opened her mouth and inhaled. Felicia was on her instantly and clamped her large 
hand over the woman's mouth. She gripped the young woman's face and whirled her around so 
they both faced the kitchen's interior entrance. She lifted the woman off the ground so 
her struggles generated no noise. A guard walked by, not even glancing inside. Once he was 
out of hearing, Felicia jerked her hand, instantly snapping the woman's neck.

She quickly found a hiding place and efficiently broke the woman's dead body until it fit, 
not flinching at the grisly sounds of bones snapping and skin tearing. Before she left to 
complete her mission, she paused over the body. She had taken no joy from killing this 
woman. She had simply done what she needed to do to ensure that no alarm was raised before 
she could rescue Jared.

Her training told her she had done the right thing. But for some reason Felicia wasn't so 
sure.

As Felicia slipped down dark hallways, her highly trained and intelligent mind constructed 
a map of the building. She passed several stairways that she ruled out because of traffic 
or lighting.

"Aram, is that you?" a voice called out.

Felicia stopped. Her throat contorted. "No, I think he's upstairs," she responded in the 
same heavily accented Arabic. Her normally smooth and melodic voice was deep and gravelly, 
male.

The man seemed satisfied with that. "Ah. Thank you," he said, continuing on his way. 
Felicia breathed a sigh of relief. That was too close.

The sound of many voices travelled down the hallway. Felicia pressed herself into a side 
corridor.

"Are the devices ready?" the man in the front of the group asked. She recognized his voice 
from her briefing. Her enhanced eyes searched the dark and picked out his features. It was 
Muhammad Mustafa. Felicia listened intently.

"Yes, we think so," one of the other men said.

"Good," Muhammad replied. "For what we payed the damn Russians, those nukes better work."

Nukes! Priorities instantly shifted in Felicia's mind. Her primary and secondary 
objectives took a back seat to her standing orders: find, disable, and, if possible, 
destroy any nuclear weapons.

How had a relatively small and under-funded terrorist sect managed to buy nuclear bombs?

Felicia slipped out behind the small group of men and followed them down a long set of 
stairs into the building's basement, a large rocky room scattered with crates of weapons 
and supplies.

Just as she reached the entrance and was about to slide along the wall to find a better 
hiding place, bright lights came up on the whole room, including spotlights hidden in the 
stairway behind her. Felicia was lit up in plain view.

She saw twenty machine guns in the hands of twenty very serious terrorists.

Felicia tensed, preparing to leap away, but paused when Muhammad shook his head.

"You," he said in accented but perfect English, "are very, very good. We might never have 
known you were here. In fact," his smile broadened, "you might have killed me and rescued 
our young friend before we even knew you were here." His eyes travelled the length of her 
tall, voluptuous body and he licked his lips. "You are a very beautiful girl for a 
Westerner," he said with a grin. "It is a shame to have to kill you."

Felicia subtly thrust out her chest and shifted her body to enhance her sexual features. 
Her muscles suddenly seemed smoother and more feminine, her firm breasts larger, her ass 
softer and not quite so muscular. "What are you going to do, fuck me and kill me?" she 
asked.

Muhammad and his men were nearly drooling over her display of raw sex appeal. He laughed 
and said reluctantly, "Unfortunately no. You are much too dangerous. We are just going to 
kill you. Shoot her," he commanded his men.

Twenty bullets crossed the space where Felicia had been a split-second ago and impacted 
into the wall. Each man steadily followed her streaking form with his gun. She was fast 
but not fast enough. She felt intense burning pain as each bullet struck her skin and tore 
through it, shredding her body. She willed herself to continue, racing for the safety of 
some ammo crates. Machine gun fire ripped into the ammunition and the force of the 
explosion threw Felicia's damaged body into the wall, where it impacted with a resounding 
crack. She crawled to the safety of a doorway and ignored her pain, ordering her torn body 
to keep moving.

"Find her!" she heard Muhammad order in Arabic. "Find her and kill her!"

She stood, every movement intensely painful. She limped her way further into the maze of 
caverns under the house. Genetically engineered platelets quickly swarmed and locked over 
the bullet holes, stopping the bleeding. The terrorists had no way of tracking her, so 
they split up and started searching through the miles of tunnels.

Felicia came up to a small rocky dead end and collapsed. Her adrenalin rush ended and pain 
flooded her system. Her body automatically released pain-killers while it repaired itself, 
and eventually all she felt was a dull throb.

Her skin was harder than a rhino's, she knew. She was designed to take anything less than 
a direct hit from a hand grenade or explosive rocket. There was no way bullets should have 
been able to do that much damage. She eased open a bullet-hole in her calf and reached in, 
gritting her teeth against the fresh pain. She looked at the bloody bullet in her hand. It 
was heavier than regular assault rifle ammo. The tip was heavy and pointed. Armor-
piercing.

They knew she was coming. She had kept her eyes open for any sign of security; hidden 
cameras, unexplained wiring. Nothing. Muhammad was right; she should have been able to 
kill him and rescue Jared without anybody knowing.

* * * * *

Felicia wandered around her spacious underground apartment, bored. She didn't feel like 
working out, or watching television, and the day's training was over. She went into the 
bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, hefting her tits and inspecting her large 
muscular body with approval.

"Sexy, sexy lady," she sang with a grin.

She went into the bedroom and plopped herself down beside Randy. He looked up and blinked. 
"What time is it?" he asked.

"Eight o'clock, lazy-head," Felicia teased.

"In the morning?"

She giggled. "No, silly! In the evening."

Randy looked up at her, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Oops," he said.

"Oh, it's okay," the beautiful girl purred throatily. "Just as long as you're ready for 
me!"

Felicia pounced on Randy. It wasn't long before she had him begging to let him inside her, 
which she did accompanied by a great deal of grunting and squealing.

Afterwards, Randy lay his head on Felicia's shoulder and attempted to fall back asleep. 
Felicia stared at the ceiling, her pretty face troubled. She stroked his broad back with 
her strong hand. "Randy?" she said.

"Yeah babe?" came his muffled response.

"Do you love me?"

He kissed her muscular side. "You know I love you, babe," he said.

She drew away from him. He propped himself up on his hand, looking at her. She sat on the 
side of the bed, her head lowered, shoulders slumped.

"But you don't want to stay. If you could leave me, if they let you I mean, you would. 
Wouldn't you?" she asked. She hesitantly turned her face back to him, hoping he would say 
no.

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. His eyes and apologetic face provided the only answer 
she needed. She nodded and clenched her eyes trying to stop her tears. He reached out his 
hand but she drew away.

"I'd let you go, you know. I wish they would. I want you to be happy," she whispered. 
Randy didn't know what to say.

Felicia left the room. Her workout nearly broke her reinforced weight machines.

* * * * *

Jared heard machine gun fire. Several moments later an explosion rang through the 
compound. He ran to the window, wondering if the marines were here to save him.

His eyes scanned the horizon. No boats, no tanks, no helicopters. No marines. He slumped 
onto the bed's thin mattress. No rescue.

The large Arab terrorist broke into the room and roughly grabbed Jared's arm. The tip of 
his assault rifle jabbed painfully against his back. Jared thought he was going to die.

The man flung Jared onto the floor next to the bed and unslung a pair of iron shackles 
from his hip. He clamped one end on Jared's wrist and the other around the leg of the bed. 
The bed was bolted into the floor.

Jared nearly cried with relief when the huge man left.

* * * * *

Dabir was a big man, about six-four, maybe two-thirty. He swung his flashlight in a 
careful arc, machine gun ready. She was just a woman; still, she was big and dangerous. He 
knew he personally had put at least five rounds through her, but other than a few initial 
splotches there was no blood trail. It was like she just disappeared.

He saw a hint of movement in the corner of his eye. He started to turn, bringing his rifle 
to bear. A thick fist propelled with much greater than human force smashed into the side 
of his head. The bones of his cranium yielded with a sickening crackle. His body flew into 
the opposite wall of the rocky tunnel. The damaged skull cracked loudly against the stone. 
His body slumped to the floor, the mushy head leaving a trail of blood on the rough stone 
wall.

Felicia limped her aching body over to the fresh corpse. She picked up the dead man's 
assault rifle. She leaned into the wall for support.

Her body was quickly repairing itself, but it had sustained a considerable amount of 
damage. She couldn't afford to wait. She had to find the nuclear weapons, destroy them, 
then, if he was still alive, rescue Jared. She clenched her fist. She would deal with 
Muhammad, too.

Felicia had to think fast. She was weakened and damaged and not at all sure she could take 
out all the terrorists in a frontal assault. They were well-trained, well-armed, and 
highly dangerous.

She scanned the tunnels. Her keen vision and sensitive hearing located the searching men. 
She forced herself to get to her feet and walk without limping. She drew up every reserve 
of willpower and relied on her body to keep the pain down. Her shredded organs attempted 
to repair themselves while fighting the fresh stress her constant movements applied.

She moved in silence, her stealthy progress worthy of a cat. Thick cords of muscle flexed 
easily, propelling her quickly through the dark in spite of torn muscle fibers. Not 
wishing to waste bullets, she gauged the distance to one of the searching terrorists. She 
ran forward, her padded footsteps silent. She was on him before he sensed her presence. 
She clamped one huge arm around his neck and yanked. His neck snapped easily.

Felicia grinned. Her blood sang. Despite her pain, she was beginning to enjoy herself.

The genetically engineered, not-quite-human female stalked through the dark corridors. She 
tried to ignore her pain and weakness.

She stumbled and fell against the wall. The two terrorists further down the corridor 
whirled around. Felicia recovered and released a quick controlled burst of machine gun 
fire. The heavy bullets tore right through the men's soft tissue, nearly cutting them in 
half. The same weapons that only damaged Felicia sliced through their weak merely human 
bodies like butter. She licked her lips.

The huge, muscular genetically engineered predator stalked through the corridors like a 
pale brunette Angel of Death. She locked a terrorist between her thighs and looked down 
into his face, smiling as she squeezed his middle, moaning at the snapping of his rib cage 
and his death gurgles. She disarmed a two-man search team and slowly shot pieces off one 
guy while crushing the other's head into her chest. She smiled down at him and turned her 
rifle against his head, firing one round straight through his skull.

"Yuck," she said with a grin, wiping gory bits of his brain and cranium on his shirt. She 
let him drop to the ground. She turned to the other terrorist, writhing in pain on the 
ground, his limbs broken and stained dark-red. "Your turn!" she said brightly, and stomped 
on his head. The sound and feel of his skull crunching under her inhumanly powerful foot 
sent shivers of pleasure vibrating up her leg.

Felicia leaned against the hard stone wall gasping. She didn't know why she felt 
differently about torturing and killing these men. Perhaps it was that they wanted to kill 
her, or that it felt more like a horribly sadistic game. She didn't care much. She forgot 
her pain and earlier hesitation as she exercised her physical superiority over and over 
again, slaughtering the searching terrorists. The frightened men could only cringe as they 
heard the horrifying screams of their dying comrades before they, too, met the American 
she-devil.

She knew something inside her had shifted, her personality subtly altered, when she was 
shot up and smashed into the wall. She had felt it before, in the arena and the night she 
ran rampant through Silver Spring. The rush of killing. Her training taking over, 
consuming her, submerging the small spark of doubt that should not be there in the first 
place. Her keepers' triumph.

Felicia stopped before re-entering the storeroom. There would be guards out there, three, 
possibly four. She had to think. If she merely ran out into the room they would shred her. 
In her damaged condition she would simply not be fast enough to take out four men before 
they killed her. She needed a strategy. She had to think. Her superior brain worked hard 
to figure out how her superior body could complete this mission. Her creators made her 
better to do what they could not. She would not let them down.

* * * * *

Felicia's head lay in Randy's lap. She nuzzled her beautiful round face against his thigh. 
His hand rested on her broad shoulder.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Felicia asked, indicating the skinny model on the television.

Randy shrugged. "Sure," he said.

Felicia looked down at her massive body sprawled on the big couch. "I thought you liked my 
big tits," she said.

He looked down and grinned. "I do," he said, playfully pinching her nipple.

"And my muscles?" she fished.

"You know it, babe."

She fell silent for a while, watching. "How come people like me aren't on television?" she 
eventually asked.

Randy laughed. "There is no one like you," he said.

"I know, but I mean muscular women. I mean, there are muscular guys. But muscular women 
either aren't on at all, or when they are they're a big joke. How come we're not sexy?"

Randy's grin grew puzzled. "I don't know," he said. "I always thought muscles on a girl 
were sexy. I felt guilty screwing skinny women, like they'd break in two."

"I won't break!" Felicia said.

Randy tickled her. She laughed. "I know," he said. "I'm more afraid of you breaking me!"

"I wouldn't do that!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"I know."

* * * * *

Felicia tossed three grenades she had taken off the terrorist corpses strewn in the 
tunnels. They rolled into the storage room. One knocked up against a container of 
explosives. Felicia hunched back in the tunnel and allowed herself a satisfied smile when 
the grenades went off.

As soon as she judged it safe (for her), she launched herself into the cavernous room. In 
one smooth turn of her head she spotted two shredded bodies and one knocked unconscious. A 
fourth shook his head and took a moment to recover, a moment he didn't have. Felicia's 
several hundred pound frame crashed into him, sending him sprawling to the floor. Before 
he could look up, her foot crashed into his face, collapsing his jaw rocketing straight 
into his brain in a spray of blood.

She spun and fired a spread into the unconscious man just to make sure. He jerked as each 
bullet tore him apart. Felicia didn't stop moving until she reached cover back in the 
tunnel she started from. Her prudence payed off. A hail of machine gun fire sprayed into 
the wall mere tenths of a second after she dove into her hiding place.

Two more men hiding in the stairwell, she estimated. They were smart. This would be 
tricky.

Felicia took several breaths, waiting to see if the men would emerge from their hiding 
places. To their credit, they were not that stupid. She would have to do this the hard 
way.

She knew she was relying too heavily on her damaged body. Even through the endorphin rush 
she could feel its pain. It needed more time to repair itself. The bullets lodged in her 
tissue seared her nerves with every movement. But to stop was to die. She had to keep 
moving, and hope her body could hold up to a level of abuse it was not designed for.

A plan formed in her mind. She didn't like it. It was too risky. But she didn't have time.

She threw herself back into the storeroom. She ran along the wall with impossible speed. 
Her hand shot up and a heavy grenade arced across forty feet to bounce into the stairwell 
entrance. The two terrorists barely had time to look surprised before the detonation tore 
their bodies apart.

Fortunately the rocky opening survived the explosion. Felicia altered her trajectory to 
send herself streaking up the stairs. At the top she snapped the guard's spine before he 
recovered from the grenade blast.

As she ran through the compound following the map in her head, Felicia thought furiously. 
There were no bombs in the storeroom. If they had nukes, where would they be? She had to 
find Muhammad. She made her way to the upper floors, leaving a trail of bodies in her 
path. Dammit, she thought, this was supposed to be a covert recovery, not an assault. If 
they hadn't already killed Jared, they soon would. So many things to do, and just not 
enough time!

Whole, healthy, and fully alert, Felicia probably would have noticed the trip-wire. She 
went crashing to the floor of an upstairs room, cursing herself for her stupidity.

"We got her!" a man whispered in Arabic. Two figures crept into the light, keeping her 
carefully covered with their rifles. Felicia looked up at them silently. Why didn't they 
shoot?

One of the men licked his lips. "American!" he said in English.

Felicia cautiously got to her knees. The men nervously stepped back. She was careful not 
to make any sudden movements. "Yes?" she said.

"I want to fuck you, yes? That is right, to fuck?" Felicia nodded. "Good. I wish to fuck 
you before we kill you. Do not do anything stupid, or we kill you now. Do you understand?" 
She nodded again.

He took a nervous step forward. Felicia didn't move. She watched him out of icy-calm green 
eyes. She slowly leaned back. "Do you want to be on top?" she asked in Arabic. The man 
nodded excitedly.

"Semal, this is stupid. We should just kill her now," the other man said. Sweat poured 
down his face. The woman looked tough, sure, but not that dangerous, but he knew from the 
explosions downstairs that she must have killed many of his brethren.

The first terrorist, Semal, carefully put aside his rifle. "I've never seen a woman so 
beautiful," he said. His eyes never left Felicia's as he slowly pulled down his pants. 
Felicia stripped off her skintight black suit, careful to keep her hands in sight at all 
times.

Once she was naked with her legs spread wide, Semal lay down atop her. His hands explored 
her broad muscular shoulders and huge proud breasts. He looked at her in complete awe and 
lust. She pressed her thighs against his side and drew him into her. Her strong inner 
muscles closed tightly around his shaft. He thrust, slowly at first, then with increasing 
vigor. Felicia's hands moved around to hold his sides. She moved them slowly up his body, 
fondling his chest. He leaned down to kiss her large nipples. They responded, growing to 
their full erect size. He moaned with pleasure.

The other man kept a close watch, but he couldn't help his arousal. He wondered what it 
felt like in her pussy, touching her phenomenal body, kissing her beautiful face. He 
started to envy Semal.

Felicia pulled Semal in close to her and pressed her lips against his face. "You should 
have listened to your friend," she whispered. His face registered confusion and fear as 
she suddenly launched him through the air. The other terrorist, surprised, accidentally 
fired. Semal's body jerked in mid-air. By the time his corpse crashed to the floor, 
Felicia's hand closed around the other man's neck. Her other hand easily wrenched his 
rifle from him. She squeezed her fist and his neck broke with a wet crunch. She dropped 
him next to Semal.

Felicia shook her head, chiding herself for her stupidity. If these two had been any 
smarter she would be dead.

* * * * *

More explosions rocked the compound. The large man entered again. He grabbed Jared and 
hauled him roughly to his feet. The huge terrorist slammed the door shut and regarded it 
fearfully, assault rifle ready. Jared wondered what was happening, and if he dared hope to 
survive the night.

* * * * *

Felicia fired in a tight arc. Two guards fell to the ground. She was glad they were using 
armor-piercing bullets. She didn't have to worry about survivors. Two rounds were enough 
to rip a man nearly in half.

The door they were guarding was locked. Felicia punched the door handle. Her fist crashed 
straight through the iron and wood. The door still didn't open. She judged the height and 
punched again. She felt a bolt snap. The heavy wooden door swung open.

Muhammad Alef Mustafa stood behind a large desk. To his side were two large missiles. 
Radiation warnings were printed on the sides in Russian. The corners of Felicia's lips 
twitched. The nukes.

The terrorist leader aimed a large pistol at Felicia's ample naked chest. She didn't 
bother dodging. She let him fire round after round into her. Her breasts and pecs softened 
the impacts. She felt heavy thuds.

"Didn't whoever warned you I was coming tell you that I'm bulletproof?" Felicia asked, not 
bothering with Arabic. She knew he understood English well enough. "Your little fanatical 
troops couldn't kill me with their heavy weapons, what makes you think your little pistol 
will do any good?"

Muhammad swallowed hard and tossed the useless gun away. Felicia closed the door behind 
her and walked casually over to the missiles. She stroked the metal casing. "You know I 
have standing orders to either capture or destroy these?" she asked. She brought her 
finger forward in a tsk-tsk motion. "You were only a secondary target. You might have 
lived. But now that we know you have access to these, we can't very well just let you go, 
can we?"

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked.

Felicia reached into the control pad for one of the nukes and tore out the wiring. She did 
the same for the other. She tore open the metal casing with her tough, immensely strong 
fingers, revealing the small atomic starter devices and the shielded plutonium cores. 
Muhammad looked on in awe at this incredible display of strength.

The beautiful deadly agent frowned. "Give me a bag," she ordered. Muhammad wordlessly 
tossed her a backpack. She dumped its contents onto a floor: binders full of paper and a 
gun. She put the guts of the nuclear devices into the backpack and zipped it up.

Felicia turned to Muhammad and smiled. He backed away from her terrifying, feral grin. 
"What am I going to do with you?" she asked huskily and licked her lips. "Maybe you should 
have tried to fuck me. Your two boys who tried that died real quick. I think you're going 
to take a while." She advanced on the frightened man, stretching her naked body, towering 
over him, flexing muscles slick with blood and gore.

"Please, kill me quickly," Muhammad begged. He was a proud, strong man. He knew he was 
going to die at the hands of this American super-agent. He just prayed she wouldn't 
torture him first.

Felicia trailed long, strong fingers over his body. She swirled her hand around his 
crotch. She brought her mouth close to his face. He felt her breath wash over him, hot and 
sweet. "You should be afraid," she whispered. She kissed his sweaty brow. "I can do 
anything I want with you." Her grip tightened on his crotch. "I could rip you in half. I 
could tear off your leg and beat you to death with it. Would you like me to do that? I've 
done it before. He didn't seem to enjoy it."

Muhammad gulped. Felicia moved behind him, snaking her body around his, flexing her steely 
muscles into his side. She bit his ear. She thrust her hand into his pants, easily tearing 
them off. She fondled his limp member. Her voice became gentler. "Or I can give you 
pleasure. Your choice. You can die slowly," she tightened her grip on his hardening shaft, 
"or you can die happy."

He cursed his body for betraying him. "What do you want?"

Felicia's legs closed on either side of his. She leaned back against the wall, drawing him 
close into her. He felt her incredibly large and firm breasts pressing against his back, 
her erect nipples digging into his skin. Her muscles grew and grew to seemingly impossible 
girth, solid and hard under pale satin skin.

"Where did you get these bombs?" she asked. "Who sold them to you?"

Muhammad considered. Would he betray his god by telling her? He tried to rationalize it. 
The ones who sold the bombs to him were just Russians; what did he care if they died? 
Besides, he really didn't want to be tortured. On the other hand, they were one of the few 
remaining sources of old Russian nukes.

"I cannot tell you," he said sadly.

Felicia pressed her full lips into his cheek. "Too bad," she whispered. "I rather liked 
you." She clenched her hand into a fist. His genitalia imploded in a mess of sperm and 
gore, leaking out of her fist and dripping on the floor. The scream he unleashed was one 
of unnatural pain, a howl that echoed through the compound and terrified the remaining 
guard and his eleven year old charge. Felicia merely chuckled.

"Oh, I do love this," she said. She moved her hands over his stomach. "Do you know what's 
next?" she asked. Muhammad was barely conscious, his world a haze of pain beyond belief. 
He forgot his brothers and his god.

"Please," he gasped out, crying. All he wanted was a quick death. "His name is Petre 
Micula. He's an old communist general. We bought them in T'bilisi. Now please, I beg you, 
let me die."

Felicia kissed him gently. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked. He felt her wet 
crotch humping his back, soaking through his shirt, before she dug her fingers into his 
soft stomach, tearing right through the weak flesh. She grasped two ribs, slick with 
blood, and tore his belly open. He looked down, shock momentarily overwhelming pain.

The huge brunette dropped him, letting his bowels spill onto the floor. She picked up her 
backpack and turned to leave.

Muhammad was in a pain he had never imagined possible. The numbness of shock wore off and 
he realized his intestines were spilling onto the floor. He was going to die slowly and 
painfully. "Please don't leave me like this," he gasped out.

Felicia hesitated. Her brutal actions excited and aroused her, but through the ecstasy 
shone some tiny shred of decency. She ground her teeth. Her body and training wanted her 
to leave now and let the bastard suffer before he died. She closed her eyes.

She turned around and looked down at the terrorist leader. How many people had he raped, 
tortured, and murdered? she wondered. More than her? Did it matter?

Felicia knelt down next to Muhammad, ignoring the spreading pool of slick dark blood. He 
looked up at her, eyes glazed, on the verge of madness. "Shh," she said, running her hand 
over his face. She lifted her rifle and fired.

She stood and made a half-hearted attempt to wipe pieces of his exploded skull off her 
hands and thighs. She took a deep breath. Time to find Jared.

* * * * *

Guarding Felicia was an easy task these days. She hardly ever caused trouble anymore. 
Sometimes she was even chatty, although today she seemed troubled. Ross followed her down 
the corridor, alert but relaxed.

They arrived at Douglas Forster's office. The door was open. Felicia knocked. Doug looked 
up and smiled at Felicia. "Come on in," he said.

Ross stood at the doorway. "Can I speak to him privately?" Felicia asked him. He looked at 
the scientist.

"It's all right," Doug said. "Wait outside, please." Ross nodded, saluted, and closed the 
door.

"What can I do for you, Felicia?" Doug asked. He looked her up and down. She was growing 
more strikingly beautiful every day, he thought. Of course, she ought to; he designed her 
with a few of his own personal fantasies in mind. Still, her voluptuous figure and 
overdeveloped musculature were quite a sight to behold.

The object of his stare avoided his gaze. She looked at a picture on his desk, Doug and 
his family at the beach. She regarded the picture with longing. Family, she thought to 
herself. Normalcy. A life I'll never know.

"How old are they?" Felicia asked, indicating his two daughters.

"Fourteen and eleven."

"How old am I?"

"Don't you know?"

She shook her head. "You've never told me."

"Why are you asking now?"

Felicia shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well," Doug said. "We took you out of the incubators a little over nine years ago. 
Biologically you are almost fully grown, say the equivalent of sixteen or seventeen. You 
can live about two hundred years depending on how well you take care of yourself."

"Two hundred years," Felicia said softly. "That's a long time." Doug nodded. "I'm only 
nine years old?" Felicia had suspected she was about that age, but the confirmation still 
came as a shock. I'm nine years old, but you'll never let me play with your daughters, she 
thought accusingly. I'm nine but I'll never be a little girl.

She stared intently at the pictures on his desk. She leaned forward and picked one up. It 
was a school picture of the older girl, all dressed up. She looked younger than Felicia. 
The big woman rested her fingers on the picture. "She's very pretty," Felicia said.

Doug shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Thank you," he said. What would you do? he 
wondered. He didn't usually mix work and family, tried to keep what he did with Felicia as 
separate as possible from his duties as a father and husband, but he couldn't help 
wondering. Would you kill them? Would you hurt my babies? Or would you play with them? 
You're different, Felicia, different from the others. Why? What made you develop a 
conscience? Where did you go wrong? Or right?

They sat awkwardly for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Doctor Forster?" Felicia said. "I want to ask you a favor."

"What's that?" he asked.

"I want you to let Randy go."

Doug frowned. "What? Why? Are you unhappy with him?"

She shook her head. "He's unhappy with me. He needs to be free. He doesn't like it here."

Doug sighed. "That's really a question you should take to Director Harkin, not me."

Felicia looked down at her lap. "I know. But...I don't think he likes me very much."

I know, Doug thought. He wants you to kill without question and stop when ordered. He 
doesn't like your unpredictability. He's not satisfied with your loyalty. He's scared of 
you. Out loud, he said, "I'll talk to him, Felicia, but you know the answer."

She nodded, struggling not to show emotion. "I know," she said. She looked up and caught 
his eyes. He was unprepared for the depth of feeling he saw there. "I love him. I love him 
enough to let him go."

Some two-bit ex-con, uneducated, uncultured, what did she see in him? What did he do to 
inspire such loyalty, the same loyalty she had for her creators?

"I'm sorry," Doug said.

Felicia leaned forward. "Please," she said. "I'll do anything you want, kill anyone you 
want. I'll enjoy it. I'll be good."

Doug's eyes got hard. "You will do that anyway, Felicia." It was an order, and a threat.

She nodded. "Yes. If you let him go, I'll," she looked around, at the stacks of biology 
journals and genetics papers, at the genetic display software running on his computer, at 
the pictures on his desk, settling on his wife. She gave a half-hearted smile. "I'll sleep 
with you," she said. "I'll fuck you. I'll make it good. Whenever you want. Please let him 
go."

Doug's heart beat faster. She was such an intensely sexual creature, erotic and dangerous, 
his fantasies brought to life. "Don't," he forced himself to say.

Felicia brought her hands to the neck of her sweatshirt. She pulled it up, revealing her 
huge upper body. Her breasts thrust out proudly on thick sheets of pectoral muscle. She 
was naked from the waist up. "You've wanted me for years," she said.

"I'm married," he said.

"I could smell it," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "All those times you let me into 
the arena, before I left, watching me, wanting me. You can have me." Felicia allowed 
herself to transform, no longer a pleading little girl, now a sexual goddess. She let the 
eros flood into her. "I'll fuck you. I'll hold you. I'll love you."

Forster closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe normally. He opened his eyes. 
Felicia was hunched over the desk, deliberately squashing her big firm breasts onto the 
tabletop.

Doug licked his lips. "Stop it, Felicia," he said. The urge to give in, to accept her 
offer, to do what he'd wanted to do for years, was nearly too strong to resist. Nearly.

Felicia sat back and put her shirt back on, instantly shedding her sexy demeanor. Her 
ability to channel and control her sex appeal was unnerving. How did she do that? It 
certainly wasn't in her training. It was in her genes.

She could have continued seducing him. Forster wasn't sure he could have held her off. 
Hell, she could have raped him and forced him to say whatever she wanted at the height of 
ecstasy. She wouldn't, though. She was designed to obey.

"Please," she said simply, artifice gone.

Forster shook his head.

* * * * *

They heard soft footsteps approaching the door. The terrorist nervously grabbed Jared and 
held him in front, using the small boy as a shield between him and the door. Jared was 
terrified. He had no idea what was coming. All he knew was that a very large, very nervous 
man with a gun was behind him.

The heavy wooden door shattered. Pieces of it flew across the room and splintered against 
the opposite wall or flew out the window into the dark night.

In walked the biggest person Jared had ever seen, male or female. She was dark and 
shadowy, but glints of light picked out features covered in blood. She was impossibly 
proportioned, with a beautiful round model face, a centerfold's breasts, waist, and hips, 
and solid, rippling, bulging muscle everywhere else. A backpack was slung over one 
shoulder. In her hands was a gun identical to the one the guard held.

Jared barely had time to take in this spectacle. The guard lifted his assault rifle. 
Before he finished the movement the gory vision aimed hers right at Jared and squeezed off 
one round.

The boy stood in shock, eyes tightly clenched. A few moments later he heard a female voice 
telling him to open his eyes and pay attention. Wonderingly he did so. He heard a noise 
behind him and turned around.

The massive woman was at the window. Jared's guard slouched in the corner, his head a 
sloshy mess of brains and bits of skull. He looked at the dead man for a moment before 
turning around and puking.

He felt a large hand grip his shoulder. He instinctively tried to escape, but he couldn't 
move. The woman shook him. "Listen. There are still more of them, and I can't afford to 
get into a gunfight with you around. So grab onto my back and stay quiet."

"What--" Jared started to ask.

The enormous gore-covered naked woman violently grabbed the boy's shoulder and yanked him 
over to the window. "Grab on or I toss you out," she growled. He hesitated and she lifted 
him to the edge.

"Okay okay!" he yelled, frightened.

"Shut up!" the woman whispered fiercely, allowing him a moment to find purchase on her 
broad steely back. He clung to the backpack straps on her shoulder.

While the frightened Jared clung to the woman's broad back for his very life, she slipped 
backwards out the window. Her strong hands clutched the window ledge for a brief moment. 
Then one hand let go, lowered, and punched straight into the brick wall. That hand 
securely anchored, the other released the window ledge and did the same thing. Jared 
gasped. Confused and terrified, he was still awed at this incredible display of strength.

The impossibly strong creature descended the wall rapidly while Jared saw her superhumanly 
thick and powerful arms piston into unforgiving brick and felt her magnificent broad back 
muscles strain against his cheek under pale skin. At the bottom she took a moment to flex 
raw and bleeding hands before running full-tilt towards the southern end of the compound.

Spotlights found the two before they reached the safety of some low hills. Two jeeps came 
screeching towards them. "Fuck!" the woman snorted. Jared barely had time to grin. The 
woman roughly shook him off her back. "Run!" she commanded. "Get away from me!"

Jared did not need to be told twice. His wiry legs propelled him quickly across the 
ground, away from the mysterious woman and dangerous jeeps. After a few moments of 
running, he turned around to see what his new captor was up to.

The muscle-bound beauty ran straight towards the jeeps, firing her gun. At first Jared 
thought she was firing randomly, but that opinion quickly changed when the hood of one of 
the jeeps burst into flames. Two of the men were gunned down as they leapt from the 
burning vehicle.

Jeep number two continued straight towards her, unfazed by the short bursts of machine gun 
fire. The woman raised her rifle and aimed very carefully. The driver's head exploded and 
the jeep careened wildly and nearly tipped over before grinding to a halt.

The woman made short work of the four terrorists still able to walk. One of them was torn 
in half by a few rounds in the stomach. She shot two more in the throat. The force of the 
impact tore one man's head from his shoulders. His body collapsed and twitched on the 
ground.

The fourth man looked at his fallen comrades and raised his arms in surrender, throwing 
away his machine gun. The woman cocked her head curiously before walking over to him. She 
propelled her fist straight through his stomach and lifted, holding his spasming, dying 
body above the ground as he spit and gurgled blood. Jared gasped and watched in sick 
fascination, unable to take his eyes away from this woman and the pain and carnage she 
dealt with seeming ease, even joy.

She dropped the corpse. Her hand and forearm were freshly slick with a bloody sheen. She 
walked over to the two injured men that remained alive. She pulled her foot back and 
kicked with savage fury. Her foot easily tore through his spine. She wiggled her toes and 
pressed in harder, enjoying the feel of soft internal organs and slightly harder bone 
squishing and crunching against her strong foot.

The she-demon knelt beside her last victim and placed her hand over his neck. She looked 
into his eyes as she squeezed, quickly and efficiently snapping his neck.

Felicia picked up her dropped backpack and jogged back to where Jared stood staring at her 
in terror and awe. "Come on," she said roughly. He shrank away from her. She sighed. They 
had no time for this! "Come here!" she commanded. He continued to back away.

"Are you going to hurt me?" he stammered out.

Felicia's hard expression softened for a moment. "No," she said simply.

"Did my dad send you?" he asked.

Her blood-covered face lit up in a half-smile. "In a way," she said.

Jared hesitantly extended his hand. Felicia gently took it. She looked back at the stone 
fortress. There were hardly any terrorists left to give chase. She nodded to herself and 
turned back to the boy. "Let's go," she said gruffly. Jared didn't put up any argument as 
she scooped him up into her arms and set off towards Latakia.

Felicia ran hard for over an hour, the burden in her arms slight compared to her own 
immense weight and injured body. Thoughts came slow and hard; it was all she could do to 
concentrate on the ground in front of her. She was dangerously close to collapsing in 
exhaustion, her abused body constantly protesting. No endorphin rush bolstered her this 
time, only sheer, determined, exhausted will.

They came to a small creek running from the east into the ocean. The once-vast forests 
were still evident along this part of the Syrian coastline, development not yet having 
reached it. Soon she would have to turn away from the coast to avoid burgeoning resorts 
and populated areas, making her way through intermittent forests and farms to the 
rendezvous outside Latakia.

Felicia lowered her charge to the ground and made sure he could stand before stepping back 
and arching her back and extending thick arms above her tall, powerful body. She grunted 
lightly. Jared watched her stretch her glorious body, highlighted against the dawn's 
reddish glow visible through the trees. He was aroused and curious and frightened all at 
once.

When she finished stretching, Felicia moved her hands down to her furry naked crotch and 
dug her fingers deep into her fleshy pussy. Jared's eyes widened. After a moment her 
glistening fingers withdrew, holding two ammo cartridges. She threw them on the ground 
next to the bag, the shiny black metal containers dripping powerful-smelling liquid on it.

The big woman spun and marched into the creek, not flinching at the coldness of the pre-
dawn water. She rapidly and efficiently rubbed water into her skin, cleaning the gore, 
hers and, well, not hers. She shifted her skin secretions back to normal and let her 
much-abused bladder release into the stream.

While she bathed Jared looked around, debating escape. He quickly decided against it. He 
didn't think he could run ten feet before her long, powerful legs caught up to him. 
Instead he reached over to the pack, quietly unzipping it. He saw the radiation warnings 
on the metal balls inside and gulped.

She emerged from the creek, water cascading off her voluptuous curves and thick defined 
musculature. He looked up to see her standing over him, chuckling. He licked suddenly dry 
lips and closed the pack. Rivulets streamed down veined muscles before launching into the 
air and raining down on him.

Now that she was cleaned of gore, Jared saw dark blotches on her otherwise flawless pale 
skin. He slowly reached out to touch one. Felicia looked down at him, not moving, head 
cocked curiously to one side. He ran his finger over the discolored skin, feeling the torn 
flesh where the bullet entered.

"You're hurt," he said, looking up at her. She nodded. "I'm sorry."

Unfamiliar, unwelcome feelings battled inside the genetically-engineered super-agent, 
instincts she shouldn't have battling to for recognition. She watched him move closer to 
her thick leg and hug it, kissing the bruised skin. She didn't know what these feelings 
were, didn't know why she felt fond of him, and...protective.

He came from a different world, a world of video games and diplomatic parties, friends and 
relatives, a "normal life". She suddenly and irrationally thought he was very brave, 
though she knew she was many times braver and more capable than he. Somehow it seemed to 
matter that she was bred and trained that way, while he had to learn it.

"It's not your fault," she said softly.

He nodded in denial. "Yes it is," he said. "You were hurt because of me. You came to save 
me." She stood impassively. "Didn't you?" he asked, suddenly unsure.

Felicia reached out and put her hand behind his head, stroking his hair. For some reason 
the movement seemed comfortable, natural. Doubt clouded his trusting face. "My mission is 
to rescue you, yes," she reassured him.

"I'm going home? You're taking me home?" She nodded.

They gazed at each other for a moment. "Are you an angel?" he finally asked.

Felicia shook her head and snorted. "Far from it," she said. Her hand gripped the back of 
his head, the pressure light and reassuring. He moved closer to her. She wrinkled her 
nose.

"Let's get you washed up," she said. "You don't want to return to your family smelling 
like piss, do you?" He shook his head.

She led him down to the creek. He followed her in, resolutely ignoring the icy chill of 
the water. She pulled off his shirt and rubbed it vigorously in the creek. Her hands moved 
down to his pants and he quickly covered his crotch. She smiled and backed away. Shyly, he 
turned away from her and slid off his jeans and underpants. She held out her hand and he 
gave them to her, still facing away. She cleaned his soiled clothes without comment.

She threw the wet clothes over one broad shoulder and reached out to him. Her huge fist 
engulfed his thin shoulder. "It's okay," she said, and began rubbing water into him.

He slowly turned to face her. No longer covered in blood, her pale smooth face and thick 
red lips were gorgeous. He quickly turned his eyes down, shy. "You're so beautiful," he 
said.

Felicia looked down at her monstrously muscled naked body and laughed. "Thank you," she 
said. She knelt down to rub firm, strong hands over his stomach and back.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Felicia," she said.

"I'm Jared Yamin."

She laughed again, the sound light and easy. "I know, Jared," she said.

He blushed. "Oh, right, yeah, sorry." He looked at the slowly moving surface. "So, uh, 
what's your last name?"

Felicia grew quiet. "I don't have one," she replied.

Jared looked up in surprise, about to ask another question, but her eyes stopped him. She 
reached up to his cheek and cradled it in her big, tough hand, running her thumb over his 
smooth soft flesh. She drew his face close to hers and leaned toward him. He closed his 
eyes as he felt her strong, soft, moist lips press against his cheek.

She pulled away, looking into his eyes. Her own emerald eyes sparkled in the slowly rising 
sun.

He barely breathed. "I've never seen anyone so beautiful. You're so big and strong and 
faced those men with no fear. Nothing can hurt you. You must be an angel."

Felicia drew away and looked at the bank, her pretty face troubled. "Stop saying that. I'm 
not an angel."

"Then what are you?"

She shook her head. "I don't know." She faced him again.

She rubbed his legs, her face inches from his crotch. She smiled at his small eleven 
year-old erection. An angel, she thought, amused and touched. She reached out and grasped 
his dick. He gasped and tried to pull away. She looked up at him. "Shh," she said. "Trust 
me." He gazed at her and stopped struggling.

Felicia rubbed her fingers along his dick and over his balls, washing them in the cold 
stream. She did not understand it. She was not aroused, did not feel any desire to fuck 
this little boy. She wanted to return him, clean, unharmed, and safe. She shook her head, 
her own emotions not making any sense to her.

After they emerged from the stream and Felicia squeeze-dried his clothes as best she could 
without tearing the fabric, he got dressed and she again picked him up. She slung the pack 
and its cargo of shielded plutonium cores onto her back and set off to the southeast.

* * * * *

Felicia entered the rendezvous base bleary-eyed and on the verge of fainting with pain and 
exhaustion. She ignored the guard's challenge and headed into one of the buildings. She 
stopped when she saw American CIA agents. She held Jared's sleeping form close to her 
heaving naked chest until a man in a white doctor's smock pried him from her shaking arms.

An agent relieved her of her backpack while two others supported her as she stumbled into 
an adjacent room. With a last burst of energy she crawled onto the reinforced cot and 
collapsed.

Before she drifted into unconsciousness, Felicia opened her eyes and recognized Agent Ted 
Lavaro frowning down at her. She turned her head and saw Jared, awake and looking at her, 
eyes wide in concern and fear. She smiled for his benefit. "Don't worry about me, Jared. 
I'll be fine," she whispered.

He looked up at the doctor. The man nodded. "She'll be fine, she just needs to rest," he 
said. Jared swallowed and nodded. The doctor took him out of the room.

Felicia looked back up at Lavaro. "Teddy," she said.

"Yes, Agent Felicia," he said.

She blinked and her face suddenly seemed concerned. She gripped his hand tightly. He 
leaned towards her. "I did good?" she asked.

His stern face broke into a smile. "Yeah, Felicia, you did good. Real good."

"Thanks," she said, releasing his hand. She snored softly.

The doctor held up a syringe and tapped it. "What's that?" Jared asked. The doctor smiled 
at him.

"Just something to help you relax and forget these nasty last few days," he said.

"Will I forget Felicia?" Jared asked.

The doctor nodded. "You'll forget all about those nasty old terrorists and that monster 
Felicia," he said. Under his breath, he added, "Especially Felicia."

An agent rushed into the room. "Doctor, something's wrong. Agent Felicia's blood pressure 
is falling fast."

"Damn!" the doctor said. "Her adrenals must have been masking some severe internal 
damage." He put down the needle and smiled at Jared. "I'll be right back."

Jared looked at the needle. He didn't want to forget Felicia. She saved him. She was his 
protector. She wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. He loved her and he would always 
love her. He never wanted to forget her.

The doctor returned and saw Jared sleeping on the bed, a bandage on his arm. A puzzled 
look crossed the man's face. "Did I give you your shot?" he mused. He looked down at the 
empty syringe. "I guess so," he said, and shrugged.

* * * * *

Felicia glanced anxiously between Bill Harkin and Doug Forster. The director looked up and 
frowned. "Is there anything else?"

She cleared her throat. "Sir, you've read my report. They were prepared for me. Someone 
must have given them advance warning."

Harkin exchanged a glance with Forster. "Yes, I see that. Thank you, Felicia. That will be 
all."

Felicia looked slowly from Harkin to Forster, then back again. Harkin adjusted his collar, 
suddenly very aware that she was the most dangerous single lifeform on the planet. "I 
see," she said flatly.

Harkin cleared his throat. "It was your first mission, Felicia. We had to be sure that 
even with all your training you could adapt to hostile and unforseen circumstances. 
Consider it the last test of your training, and you passed with flying colors."

Felicia nodded slowly. Harkin and Forster breathed a small sigh of relief. She stood up 
from her chair, rising to her formidable height of six and a half feet. Her standard 
uniform fit too tightly across the chest and she tugged hopelessly at it before turning to 
leave the room.

She paused at the door. "If I had failed Jared would be dead," she said without turning 
around.

"No one else could have saved him, Felicia. You didn't fail. Thanks to you he is still 
alive," Doug Forster said.

Felicia smiled and shut the door behind her, to be escorted to her apartment by two armed 
guards.

Forster stared at the closed door for a few moments. "There was no way for her to survive 
that mission. You sent her there to die," he said.

The project director sighed. "Yes, I did," he admitted. "She is too unpredictable, too 
unstable. The second generation Felicias are nearly ready to begin training, hopefully 
with better results."

"Dammit Bill, I should have been notified. Felicia is my project, and I deserve to know if 
she is to be killed!"

"But she wasn't killed!" Harkin said angrily. "As you said, there was no way for her to 
survive. But she did. I wish to God she had died!"

"Why?" Forster asked.

Harkin shook his head, defeated. "God dammit Doug, we have too little real control over 
her. We've trained her to be the best, and I'm not sure even this facility could contain 
her if she took it into her head to leave. Now that the second generation is almost ready, 
I made sure the terrorists knew what was coming so they could eliminate her. But she did 
the impossible, and now we can't terminate her."

"You committed treason," Doug said with tightly controlled fury.

"You watch yourself! I did no such thing," Harkin retorted. "My decision was cleared by 
the committee as her last training exercise. Jared was doomed anyway. Felicia's death 
would have been an acceptable loss now that we have more viable clones."

Forster shook slightly. "So why not just terminate her now?" he asked.

"Don't you see?" Harkin said. "Because she succeeded. You know as well as I do that the 
chance of rescuing a hostage alive and intact in this situation is nil. Not only did she 
survive, she fulfilled her primary and secondary objectives and defused two nuclear 
devices we didn't even know about. She's too valuable an agent to lose now. The committee 
will want to put her on active duty immediately. I'm afraid they'll be blinded by her 
performance and simply won't see how dangerous she is to us."

"Maybe the oversight committee had no faith in Felicia, but I never had any doubt that she 
would complete her mission," Forster said quietly. "If there was anyone who could save 
Jared, it was Felicia. Ambassador Yamin would have withdrawn from negotiations if his son 
had died. But you told them she was coming. You jeopardized the possibility of a peaceful 
Middle East settlement! Why? Because you're afraid of her, of one agent that we created, 
that we trained, that owes her life and loyalty to us!" Doug yelled.

The director glared at his subordinate. "Thank you, Dr. Forster. You are dismissed." Doug 
turned to leave. "Doctor," Harkin called after him. "I want her closely supervised. I want 
to know her every thought, her every movement. I want her on the shortest leash you can 
make for me. If we can't kill her, by God we'll control her!"

* * * * *

Mission Status: COMPLETE, Mission successful

Request: DENIED

Comment: Quite frankly, Director Harkin, we are puzzled as to why you requested 
termination of Subject Felicia and re-evaluation of Project FELICIA. Her performance in 
this mission was exemplary. She is far too valuable and demonstrably loyal an agent to 
terminate now. We find your fears that Agent Felicia is "too good" an agent and "a threat 
to R&D Facility 4 security" to be unfounded and borderline paranoid. Project FELICIA will 
continue under your direction and Dr. Forster's supervision. Disposal of Prisoner Randy 
Goats is, of course, at your discretion, but it is the strong recommendation of the 
council, based on psychological profiles submitted by Dr. Forster, that you keep him alive 
and unharmed for the emotional and mental well-being of Agent Felicia.

R&D Facility 4 Genetic Research Oversight Committee

END OF CIA MISSION REPORT