Broken Republic and all affiliated Chapters and characters are copyright Steven Swanson 2000-2001. The characters and events in this document are purely fictional, any resemblance between the characters and any person, living or dead, are purely coincidental. UNATCO, the FBI, the CIA, the NYPD, INTERPOL, the Spetznaz, the Mossad, and the NSA are all real organizations and should not be cited as the creation of any single person. Mason Industries is not affiliated with any existing corporations in the real world. Due to mature content, reader discretion is advised. No part of this document may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission of the author. Steven Swanson is not responsible for any difficult reading caused by the influence of drugs, alcohol, or just plain idiocy. If you are offended by some of the content in this script, that's your problem. Conspiracy theorists are warned not to take this seriously, and that this disclaimer is to simply cover my ass and make aware to plagiarists that ALL the aforementioned agencies feel that that practice could be bad for your health. Uh, well, that's pretty much it. Don\x92t say you haven\x92t been warned, and get reading!

May 26, 2020

Dana was furious. She couldn't understand the logic behind the matter. One moment, she had been finishing the perfect day, then, with no warning whatsoever, her job was on the line! It was almost as if some demonic force had obtained control of her life and was currently taking pleasure in ripping it apart. She looked into the cold, droopy eyes of the Hospital Administrator. He was a fairly slim fellow with wavy chestnut hair, broad, Caucasian facial features, a pair of circular spectacles, and a fixed appearance of fatigue that made him look like a sleepy old shark.

"Dr. Calabrese\x85"

"Don't give me this 'Dr. Calabrese' crap, Jim, what the hell is going on?"

"Dana\x85 We seem to have a conflict in perspectives. Last week's case with Mr. Bhanjari, the Beurd of Directors feels, was the last straw. I'm afraid we're geuing to have to terminate your employment.

"But, Jim\x85"

He continued with more emphasis and more arrogance. "And, on top of that, our computer records indicate that your attendance is marvelous, but your success rate is less than acceptable. I'm personally surprised that neubody neuticed before, eh?"

Dana couldn't believe what she was hearing. She hadn't lost more than two patients in her entire career, and those two were victims of serious circumstances beyond her control. She was beginning to suspect identity theft and tampering. He slightly tanned face was now blushing with anger.

"Jim, you know that's bullshit! I'm the hardest worker here! I haven't lost more than two patients, ever, and I know that my memory isn't failing me."

"And yet, it says here, thirteen deaths under your watch, six this year. Six, eh? Dana, these are people here, not animals or\x85"

"Don't you dare patronize me, eh? Don't you dare! I know my husband's a UNATCO agent, I know he's a hybrid, and I'm not the least bit ashamed of that, and as for those 'thirteen' deaths, I don't know where the hell that number came from. Ever since I was six, I wanted to help people. Ever since I saw how a doctor saved one boy's life, I wanted to help people, it\x85 it seemed\x85 magic. Every day I'm grateful to help people, and I genuinely care about how they feel! You know that! Come on, check the backup files, there has to be a mistake!"

"I wish there were, Dana, but each and every file has been stamped as genuine by the Canadian Department of Health." He sounded insincere. "I'm really sorry."

She knew it wasn't true, just some scam cooked up by a hacker. She hadn't known that doctors were thrown out by the system like used Latex gloves. She responded acidically. "No, you're just trying to make yourself feel better about firing a woman doctor for NO REASON!"

"Dana, I deun't take pleasure in\x85"

"Yeah, I know you don't, but you don't take any displeasure, either! You know what?" She yanked the ID card from her neck, then took the ball bearing chain and wrapped it around, pushing it across his genuine teakwood table. "You can call this a resignation. I'll call it a suppository. You know where to stick it."

With that remark, she neatly turned around, threw back her hair, and walked out of the office to obtain her office supplies and to requisition her last paycheck. It was a surprisingly easy process; nobody seemed to truly care about her departure. She didn't care either. There would be other jobs, in other places.

She had a plan. First, she'd call Paul to say what had happened, then pack up, get on a MagLev, and hook up with him in New York. She smiled as she passed through the sterile glass doors. She was happy to get out of that madhouse, that bureaucratic machine that had the nerve to decide whether someone lived or died. As long as Paul hadn't lost his job, the two would be okay. She scoffed at herself as she enjoyed the fresh air and the unseasonably warm weather. "Like the loyal terrier would quit his job anyway\x85 hell, they want him to stay."

She would get a job in New York, they needed doctors there, and settle in with Paul. She smiled. It would be so much better than sitting with a direct satellite camera link at dinnertime\x85 she'd be there to see him, to hug him, to pet him\x85 meet some of his friends. He always did have a way of choosing friends, she thought to herself.

The day was blissful, just gorgeous. The air was beautifully warm, her having left the office early gave her a grasp on how slim mid-day traffic was, the trees were green, lilies and hostas lined the little enclosures\x85 Even the dull concrete buildings took on a wonderful midday glow. She breathed in deeply, remembering how the weatherman had predicted that the air quality was only going to be a "code yellow" that day.

Paul was right, she realized. She had to enjoy herself, to suck the marrow out of life. 48 hour shifts and endless and thankless nights at the hospital had turned her into a pessimistic, bitter prude, but now she was out of it. As a large shadow was cast over the area, she looked up to see what had generated on it, visualizing the distant silhouette of an Ozone Distribution Zeppelin looming far above, a halo of light encircling it. Looking back down, she saw a man at a newsstand eyeing her with suspicion. He immediately shirked away, starting a conversation with the vendor inside the ramshackle stand. Dana eyed the man as she crossed. She somehow knew that he wasn't just admiring her figure, and as she glued her attention to him he shrunk away as though her eyes were shooting lethal laser beams. Probably some Section K flunky, she thought to herself. She reflected how the intelligence networks and soldiers had ruined privacy, but, then again, it was all a tradeoff for a safe society.

Section K, Dana remembered, was killed back in the mid 1980's, before she was even born. Paul had enlightened her about the history of numerous federal organizations. She always admired his knowledge of the field, but, then again, as a UNATCO agent, it was his job. "K", as it was nicknamed, was like a Canadian CIA. It was good while it lasted, but terribly shorthanded and not particularly useful to the Canadians in general. It was shut down soon after its conception in the Cold War, deemed a white elephant.

In 2013, when Quebec began stepping toward independence and the National government uncovered a Quebequa spy ring, Section K was resurrected. The government became painfully aware that Canada needed an intelligence agency for self-defense. It had grown since with the impending crisis and the cold war and was now officially staffed with more people than the CIA itself, with many more unlisted men in clandestine operations.

Walking down the street, she noticed a fuel cell Transit Bus pull up to the curb nearby where a cluster of people had gathered. She read the ticker above the windshield, which read "CN Tower". That was pretty close to where she lived, she remembered, and her farecard had just enough credit on it to make it home. Perfect, she thought. This is really shaping up to be a good day.

Stepping on the bus, she relished in the cleanliness and the comfort of the seats compared to the ones in New York. Sitting down in a vacant seat, she slid back into her seat sluggishly, rested her elbow on the window frame, and listened to the small liquid crystal TV set in the seat before her.

"Welcome, to the Toronto City Public Transit Service\x85 we provide friendly, reliable transportation to Canadian citizens and Noncitizens alike, offering a safe, quick means of reaching over 400 destinations in the Toronto/Niagara Falls region."

Another pre recorded voice buzzed through the little speakers, which were acoustically designed to project most of their sound to a single passenger. "All of our public buses are powered by fuel cell technology. Fuel cells are an innovation carried over from spacecraft. The process is very simple. Hydrogen and oxygen are forced together at a controlled rate through a semi- permeable membrane that has a small platinum content, with an anode and a cathode. The by-product is a large electric current and a bit of heat. The electric current is then used to drive an electric motor in each wheel hub. It's only exhaust is water vapor. The original hydrogen and oxygen are separated from water vapor in the air by using electrolysis powered by solar panels. So it is therefore almost completely nonpolluting. It is also a very quiet\x85"

Slipping out of her trance, she turned to the TV and switched it to BBC Canada. Rather than flip manually through 300 channels, she called out vocally, speaking clearly into a tiny microphone. Its cracks were filled with grime and bodily oil, so she hoped it could hear her correctly. "Channel\x85 BBC."

The TV took a second to sort through the list, then hummed and illuminated with a new channel. As the liquid crystals aligned and took new colors, several dark arcs formed, giving way to brown, red, gray, and white, and finally solidified into an image of the U.S. House of Representatives.

"\x85In 2014, the House of Representatives, with fears of genetic manipulation in humans becoming a commonplace practice, hammered out the Sovereign Humanity Bill, indefinitely placing a moratorium on all prospects of genetic manipulation to merge non-human species with humans."

The picture changed, as well as the caption, to "Rome, Italy- December 18, 2013". Images of enraged throngs heaving rocks and setting fires flashed by, with lines of black clad riot police and streams of white teargas abounded. The anchor continued. She had a fairly strong Irish accent. "Primarily, this was a religious argument, stating that, according to the sixth day parable, 'Man was created in God's image'. With widespread religious dissent, primarily catholic nations quickly banned all genetic manipulation early in the century. The United States, while a bit slower to react, has also reacted similarly in numerous cases. Abortion, voluntary euthanasia, cloning, reparative in eutero gene therapy, and interspecies genetic manipulation have all been banned in the United States. This comes as no surprise, as the United States Government has often been quick to denounce science and progress, for fear that science is overstepping the thin line dividing mankind and divinity."

The next few frames showed more modern photographs, most of them terrible, sad, disgusting, and violent images of terror and famine. "After six years, however, the situation has changed. Spirovirus has now killed over 1.8 billion people worldwide, with many more doomed to meet their demise, and the level of violence in nations has skyrocketed. Terrorism, mass riots, needless destruction, and economic instability have all contributed to world chaos. The root cause of most of this is the shortage of the Ambrosia vaccine and the pandemic itself."

Another screen was displayed, this time the main conference chamber of the UN building. Representatives from all over the globe were there, and the room was well fortified with armed UN soldiers. "In order to quell the violence, the United Nations feels that force is necessary. In the past ten years, their authority in world intelligence and counterterrorism affairs has skyrocketed, placing it now as the world's most feared and respected security agency. It outstaffs both the FBI, the NSA, and the CIA combined, operates around the globe, has access to information worldwide, and is probably best known for its unconventional solutions to unconventional problems."

The next images were of agents in the field\x85 it reminded her of Paul. Spooks in trenchcoats, shooting at bad guys\x85 titanium skulls and mechanical bodies\x85 She was glad that her husband hadn't chosen that particular path, that step toward being more a heartless computer than a man. The anchor, taking a quick breath, continued. "The first mechanically augmented agents began appearing in 2010, with many mechanical errors. The following year proved to be far better than the last, and the striking performance and improvement curve had many convinced that cyborgs were truly the future of combat. By 2017, however, compact technologies utilizing EMP, electromagnetic pulse, had killed 57 operatives, 24 in the notorious Squalnomie incident in Washington State, in 2016."

More shots now showed genetically augmented agents, these ones more decorative than the combat troopers and in front of that ball she had attended two years ago. She looked for Paul, but quickly realized that that evening he had gone out to save the UN building. My hero, she thought to herself with a giggling smile. "Through means that were kept private, genetically spliced agents began appearing late in 2018. Ironically, 24 new agents were enlisted in the New York division, UNATCO's top headquarters\x85 the same number that had been killed in Squalnomie. These new soldiers, to some, were in direct violation with the Sovereign Humanity Bill. Since it cannot be determined where they came from, however, the UN has announced that the agents were augmented and trained outside of the United States in a country where such practices are either legal or not illegal. These agents have performed remarkably well, and, most of all, have proven that genetic hybrids are immune to Spirovirus and a host of human ailments."

"Aside from some illegitimate, mostly cosmetic genetic alterations in people, splicing has remained taboo in many cultures, but, in the midst of a world crisis, it seems increasingly rational to repeal the Sovereign Humanity Bill. Growing international support has risen, and, due to the United States' integral role in world affairs, if a motion to amend or nullify the Sovereign Humanity Bill is made, many other nations will likely follow in suit. The implications of such a decision are simply that, under strict government supervision, people who wish to be spliced or have to out of necessity will be able to through private and corporate organizations. It also could mean, however, that a lot more animal hybrids will be running around, and a lot more people would no longer fall under basic human rights. Basically, if this bill passes, we can expect a lot more political activity in the future. This is Aerie Neeson, reporting from Washington D.C. for BBC Canada."

She was magnetized to the story, for not only did her husband fall into that a category that was, for the most part, illegal, but she also had a lifelong affinity for animals. She loved wolves in particular. She remembered how graceful and peaceful they looked during her trip to Manitoba, their stoic grace, their beautiful savagery, their isolated splendor... During her crazy teen years she even had a half-wolf personality on those internet chat rooms, posting her half lupine pictures up for the world to see what she thought would be the ideal person. Then again, those were childish thoughts. When she grew up, she stopped her childish pursuits and put her childish things away, looking forward, throwing her wolfen personality into the distant corner of her busy mind, but still within easy grasp of her memory. She had always harbored thoughts of her former personality, but always denounced them in the face of reason. The new bill, if passed, might actually let her be able to\x85

But that was silly. There couldn't have been more than a couple hundred people in the entire world that would actually want to splice themselves for fun. She was an odd one, she had to admit. Then again, who hasn't thought about taking on the characteristics of an animal and breaking free from the rat race? She always had this sensation around Paul, one she wasn't sure happened to everyone in every relationship. She loved him as a human being, but there was more. A few seconds of uninterrupted thought produced the answer. She was jealous! Paul had gotten a gift she had only dreamed about for years, something she wanted for herself, something so unimaginable and seemingly irrational that it could only make a person's urge to obtain it stronger. It would be perfect if she one day surprised him, maybe after taking a vacation or something, and came home a wolf hybrid, just like him. Half of her mind screamed that the entire idea was just crazy, stupid, and an all-out bane, but another part of her mind said, "What have you got to lose?"

Reason, the entity of distrust and dream snuffing, kicked in again. "Only your rights as a human being, your acceptance as a human being, and all the perks of being a naked ape!"

Reason changed the subject. Suddenly, she began wondering why exactly she had been fired. It simply didn't make sense. She absolutely knew that two patients had died under her watch. She remembered the cause of each, the stories, the tears and pain and suffering they had to endure. Being a hematologist, she was lucky not to have taken the path of the General Practitioner. With the Ambrosia Pandemic, they were likely the most troubled group of doctors, with patients dying inch by inch, innocent people being slaughtered by a relentless, terrible, degenerative disease\x85 it was not a lifestyle she wished to pursue. She couldn't deal with death like that, not on such a scale.

Suddenly, a smile formed across her face. She was a person who knew all the risks of a computerized age and had kept copies of her important work, insurance, financial, and personal records in two locations: her safe deposit box and her apartment, both cases under lock and key. If she came up with the paperwork, somebody was going to be a little bit embarrassed about firing her on false pretenses.

She watched the dapper men in suits go about their business, with their formal calling and speaking and arguing\x85 She couldn't really care less right now about what they were saying. If there hadn't been 300 channels, this American issue wouldn't be showing, and if the other 299 channels weren't more boring or trashy, she would have gladly viewed something else. Watching the concrete and glass spires coast by outside, she reached into her pocket and fidgeted with her safe deposit box key. She then fought sleep and just thought about the greater scheme of things as the bus drifted ominously toward her home.

She was overwhelmed by solitude on the way up the elevator. She caught herself craving Paul's company again, thinking about all the horror stories that she had heard about long distance relationships. Sure, he came over at least three times a week, and the maglev was so cheap between Toronto and New York, but she just wanted to be with him full time, not just when the time was convenient. The view from her stance was immaculate, the white, blue, gray, and gleaming yellow palette of the city skyline all around. As she looked at the CN tower to keep a bearing on her altitude, she assumed that the elevator would stop soon, hissing and locking into place.

As the elevator's vertical momentum slowed, then disappeared altogether in a slight jolt, she heard the "Clomp\x85 Cla-CLICK" of the elevator securing, then the hissing of a hydraulic door. Half of the cylindrical booth opened to a waiting area with a small lobby and a check in, where one could get mail, parcels, information, and such. A hole in the wall housed a Public Service terminal to the left, a big screen that provided emergency services and information, as well as the news. Five years ago, the things started replacing newspapers. They were favored for their ability to customize news, to keep information while not worrying about space restrictions, and for their complete public access, which allowed even bums who couldn't afford computers to become enlightened. She drifted by it, having had enough news that day. As she stepped up to the Formica cherrywood counter, a computer screen greeted her.

"Hello. Welcome to Stoic Arms apartments. Please insert your key card into the nearby slot and place your thumb over the fingerprinting indexer."

She did as such, placing her credit card shaped key into the black slot, then placing her exposed thumb on a black, smooth, grease stained plastic nearby.

"Thank you\x85 Dana\x85 Calabrese. Today's mail has not arrived yet. Would you like to access any of our services?"

"Canada One Bank, please."

She waited a moment, the orange bulbs emphasizing her face, which was more tanned than normal. As the screen blipped and changed color, an interactive video interface came up, as well as a pre programmed animation. A friendly male voice chimed in, sincere and trained to add a morsel of personality to the computerized interface. Cheesy muzak ensued.

"Welcome to Canada One Bank. We provide direct service to over 14,000 terminals in the Toronto/Niagara Falls region, giving advice, financial information, retirement services, and an array of banking facilities to all of our customers. The interface on the left provides a\x85"

She cut off the inane chatter and pressed the "BankDirect" button, sending her over to another screen, where she briefly searched and chose "Deposits/Withdrawals". A feminine voice now came up, bubbly and superficial as usual.

"Welcome. This is the login screen. Please enter your name, PIN, and account number, or if you're at one of our commercial terminals, simply press the serial number of your bank card against the screen."

Searching through an overstuffed wallet, she pulled a black striped, zebralike card from a leather pocket and pressed it against the screen. A short wait ensued.

"Invalid card number. Please try again."

She counted to ten in her head\x85 one to five to calm down from what was becoming a decisively bad day, and the last five so she could attempt the card process again. She pressed the warming plastic against the screen.

"Invalid card number. Your card may be expired, that account may no longer exist, or it may have been sealed pending further approval. If you would like to know what has happened, press "Y" for Yes, and "N" for No."

She pressed "Y".

A highly computerized voice ensued, purely synthetic, forming out of individual symbols and words stored in a memory bank. "Mrs\x85 Dana\x85 Calabrese\x85 Customer 149-0784-230-8\x85 Your\x85account\x85has\x85been\x85sealed\x85until further notice\x85 There\x85 will\x85be\x85no access \x85 by\x85 any\x85 persons\x85 until\x85 you\x85contact the\x85 proper\x85 authorities. Have\x85a nice\x85day."

The bubbly recording chimed in again. "We will send you a note outlining our policies on account sealings and closures within 24 hours. Thank you, and have a pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Calabrese."

As the program logged out, she rubbed at her scalp with an irritated sneer. "Shit. Why? Why? WHY\x85 IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME??" Counting to ten again, she slowly began walking to her room, her irate, twisted facial expression defying her casual, beautiful appearance.

At least my room key worked, she thought to herself as the blue Formica door slid open, the ID label sliding aside. She waited for the plaque labeled "D. Calabrese" to slide into hiding, then entered her apartment. It was a comfortable apartment, filled with many stylish, yet economical innovations of the time. In front of the main doorway was a recess in the floor, in which a miniature living room was set. There were sofas up against the sides, each in a pleasant tan with synthetic leather, and a real mahogany coffee table in the center that had been in her family for generations. Magazines like "Modern Medicine", "Better Homes and Gardens", "TIME", and "The New England Journal of Medicine", sat in silent disorder on top of the artistic masterpiece. A mock fireplace that was really just a TV set with a looped video and a convincing, soothing sound system stood in front of it all, with a small collection of Nanodisc videos and music CD's nearby.

A number of sliding maple doors led to different rooms. A simple doorframe on the left led to the kitchen, a cozy green tile setup with a small family setting. Straight ahead was the master bedroom, with a smaller bedroom to the left that she used as an office. To her right, towards the end of the large room was a sliding door to the storage room. It basically resembled a large set of stainless steel doors and lockers in a cubelike room with a terminal and some small cabinets in a pillar in the center.

The room was different, though, today. It seemed lived in, and Dana could have sworn she smelled the tinge of cigarettes in the air. She never smoked. Immediately, she began looking around. The black tiled floor of the living room always had a bit of dust on it; the pollution made sure of that. She stooped down, looking at the floor, and glanced a myriad of footprints on the floor, of all shapes and sizes. They were quite fresh, leaving clean imprints on the floor. Suddenly, her phone rang, the "Dleedledledleeep!" almost surprising her off her feet. She walked into the floor recess and picked up the phone on one of the end tables, placing it to her ear in the swish of long hair.

"Hello?"

A friendly, fairly deep feminine voice with no discernable accent flowed into her ear. "Dana! I didn't think you'd be home so early!"

"Oh, hi Katie! What's going on?"

"Well, I think I got it."

"You did? Congratulations!"

"Yep, and I'll be heading up to City Hall tomorrow to start work."

"Well, I wish I were that lucky." She began observing the floor again, looking at all those footprints. There was no way there could be so many footprints in her house that were so fresh. The last time she had a party at her apartment was three weeks ago. Her friend replied with concern.

"What do you mean?"

"I lost my job. Don't know what happened, to be honest."

"That's awful! I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be. I'm glad to be out of that madhouse. I'm pretty sure someone else will hire me after I find my real records."

"Real records?"

She got up, walking over to the storage room. As she slid the door open, she replied.

Dana sighed. "Yes. I got fired because my record had been altered somehow. I think it's a case of identity theft."

"You've got backup records, right?"

She knew exactly where to go, finding a large, secure filing cabinet with a keypad. "Of course! You know how careful I am."

"Well, now you'll be able to work at another madhouse!"

She laughed a bit. "Katie, you're such a tease."

She pulled out her work drawer with metallic whisper of wheels and bars, noticing that the drawer felt a bit light to the touch. She was shocked when she opened it, as all the files were in disarray. After bodily searching through the mess, she soon found that half of them were missing. The important half was missing. She thought quickly, remembering not to trust anyone until she knew for herself what was going on.

"Um\x85 Katie, it's been nice talking, but something's turned up."

"Hmm?"

She went immediately to another locker, praying to God. As she typed in the four-digit code, she opened it with mounting fear. "I've got a water problem. My toilet blew up. I'll have to call my plumber really fast."

The cabinet was also in disarray, with stored items, furniture, and goods strewn about everywhere. She dug in deep to feel a scored section of metal. She gripped onto the smooth, firm, cold metal and pulled out carefully, revealing first a black handle, then a hammer, then grip notches and the barrel of a semi-automatic pistol. It was a gift from Paul, a Beretta 2032 Tomcat, and as much as she hated the thought of actually using it, she admitted that it was good for self-defense. Paul had taught her how to grip it correctly, with her weak hand cupping her strong hand beneath and her thumbs in a cross, and how to aim, pointing just a notch low and squeezing, and she found that she was actually a respectable pistol markswoman. She kept it well, cleaned it regularly, and shined the ammunition feed so that it gleamed. This little baby wasn't going to jam up. She aimed it upward, looking into the butt, finding a magazine nestled safe at home. Katie continued.

"Uhmm, okay... I'll talk to you later then."

"Right. Bubye."

She waited for a moment or two after her friend hung up, listening for one thing, and one thing in particular.

"click."

The phone was tapped, her valuables and records ransacked, and he apartment likely bugged to hell. Judging by how they missed the pistol, she figured that whoever was watching her was either inept or was going to be quick to arrest her, using that as justification.

Personal firearms were illegal in Canada, and, while many people owned them in secret, there was a heavy fine for being caught with one. After finally turning off the phone, she found herself scared and desperate, thinking about what had just happened. She had to go to Paul. She had remembered what he had said, just drop everything and meet him\x85

The phone rang again. She picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Dana\x85 it's me."

"Paul! Paul, Jesus, you shouldn't\x85"

"Meet me at the Statue as soon as you can."

She smiled in a mixture of relief and horror. Only Paul and she knew what that meant. It was a code phrase meaning "Get the hell out of there and meet with me at my apartment." The invitation to the Statue of Liberty was simply a lure to trick listeners.

"Oh\x85Okay."

"Go, and hurry! Take only what you can easily carry!"

Dana hung up again, suddenly realizing that she was about to leave all of her worldly belongings behind, except her absolute essentials. She went directly to her bedroom and pulled up a thick corner from the ergoplastic flooring, revealing the dull concrete base of her apartment. In an alcove reserved for a ultra bandwidth computer jack, she had kept a small box of emergency funds. After locating a Dunlop duffel bag, she began jamming as many essentials as she could inside. Money, credit chits, her pistol with an extra magazine, two sets of clothes, her laptop, passport, immunization records, and sentimental valuables all went in, filling up the small bag to a comfortable level.

She knew she had to hurry. Whoever was trying to manipulate her could have come at any time. As she briskly walked out of her room, she winced, thinking about all the valuables she had to leave behind. She gathered her courage. The most important thing was she and she alone.

The soft carpeting in the hallways dampened the sound of her footsteps as she walked back to the elevators. As she approached them, she suddenly stopped in her tracks. Someone was having a conversation, and she couldn't afford to take any chances. The first man spoke with a pleasant, flowing lap.

"She's got black, shoulder length hair, bluish green eyes, about five-foot-eight in height. Here's a picture."

A young man responded in a slightly nasal tone. "Dana Calabrese, eh? What business do yeu guys have with her?"

"That's classified, I'm afraid. Have you seen her?"

"Yeah, she lives down there."

"We know. Have you seen her recently?"

" 'Beut ten minutes ago."

"Thank you for your cooperation, sir. Please excuse us."

Dana turned around and began jogging down in the opposite direction. There was a fire escape at the opposite end of the hall she could use to get to the 53^rd floor, where she could utilize an elevator to get to the ground level and escape.

Their footsteps were quiet, just as padded as hers by the carpet, but soon they pronounced themselves at a fair distance.

"Excuse me, miss. Miss?"

She instinctively turned around, then reeled forward. Stupid, stupid! She criticized herself, picking up the pace. In her glance, she had spotted upwards of five people in suits of varying quality. They all, however, had the same trademark badge of Section K, with the Griffin insignia emblazoned on their badges, which were attached to their coat pockets.

"Hey!"

Another agent came from behind, a fair skinned man with jet black, short hair. "Halt! Section K!"

A man gave chase. Even though she had tennis shoes on and he had loafers, his trained, reserved, yet quick sprint quickly closed the gap between the two. She dug deep into her bag as he approached, then round a handle. Pulling it out completely on instinct, she took aim, found the hammer with her thumb, pulled it back, and squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession.

The agent hadn't been prepared for an armed suspect, and his unarmored chest became the destination of two jacketed nine-millimeter rounds. One ricocheted off of one of his ribs, the deformed bullet cracking the bone and spinning into his liver. The other was shot low, into his abdomen, and exited the rear, nestling itself under the nearby carpet in a grayish red cloud.

The anonymous agent screamed in utter pain and collapsed to the floor, flailing a bit, then slowing down and lulling into unconsciousness as black and red blood spurted from his wounds. Both were critical, and as Dana stopped to see the man fall, a cold shock overcame her. She had just killed another human being, by her own hand, by command of her own mind. Time froze. It was as if another dimension had encroached on the moment, lengthening it as much as possible so as to deliver the most anguish and pain it could. The agents stopped. Dana stood, horrified at her actions, yet guilty as sin as the small pistol in her hand puffed smoke and the empty brass rolled to a vacant halt on the floor.

Time's cruel nature then turned against Dana. The following actions occurred blindingly, almost too fast for Dana to react. The agents stood agape in the hall for the tiniest of moments, then took cover behind available doorways and obstacles. She had learned about cover fire from Paul, and how even poorly aimed shots will keep a person behind cover. She began running again, turning her torso around to fire once, twice, three times\x85

She almost missed the fire escape. As the agents began returning fire, she gasped with fright as a bullet ricocheted off the wall a foot from her head. As she pushed the heavy metal door open, she glanced two running figures approaching, their pistols raised. She ducked into the fire escape, slightly relieved not to have heard gunfire.

She ran down the stairs, jumping down each last set of four. She must have been just quick enough, as when she heard the metal door slam up above, she heard the agents above organizing a splitup.

"Haney, take your team up. I'll take mine down. Radio in and get an ambulance for McAllen."

"Right."

She slowed down a tad, catching her breath and silently padding down the stairs on the balls of her feet. Hmm\x85 that really works, she thought to herself as she remembered how Paul's digitigrade feet always generated such a small amount of sound. She read the doors on the way down, listening carefully above to how close the agents were. Just as the noises grew too close for comfort, a door in front of her with a sign reading "Floor 53- Fire Escape". She carefully pressed into it, squeezing through and making a run for it.

As she exited, she took a moment to get her bearings. A crowd was swarming around, as this was the sky lobby and was basically similar to a miniature shopping mall, except for the fact that it was 53 stories higher. She jammed herself into the crowd, popping the safety button and concealing her weapon in her pants. If she were careful, she'd be able to make it to an elevator, but if she weren't, she'd be stuck in some big shootout like in the movies.

Luckily, she wasn't at the movies, and before long she followed the human flow to the elevators, where she was jammed into an express to the ground floor. Taking the back doors out of the apartment building, she nimbly and hurriedly stepped to the nearest subway station, praying vehemently that nobody would notice her or identify her as her new legal title.

Murderer.