A shaky hand gripped the bathroom sink turning white knuckled...
Max grit her teeth as she reached out for the orange tinged bottle and as she opened it the pills spilt all over the floor. She fell down on the ground, her entire body convulsing in violent spasms as she cringed from the painful seizure, flashes of memories plaguing her mind-
DISCIPLINE!
DUTY!
TEAMWORK!
The Drumming sound of children's footsteps running in military precision down corridors filling her ears...
She took the Tryptophan pills, put them in her mouth and swallowed. She lay there on the bathroom floor clutching her knees as the seizure passed, her body still shaking and in a cold sweat.
A botched job! That's how she referred to herself; being created in a test tube gave her awesome abilities and a knack for kicking ass, but because it was imperfect human scientists that made her there were flaws. Somewhere along the line wires got crossed; 'faulty brain chemistry' they called it, not enough serotonin produced in the brain. So she was forced to live like this, off theses pills used as an amino acid that occurs in proteins; essential for growth and normal metabolism. A botched job!
*
After taking a shower Max came into the kitchen. Another side effect of what she was is that she rarely slept. It was now around four in the mourning and still quite dark outside. She sat down at the make-shift table where she and Kendra ate their meals and her mind trailed off in thought...
She had found out where she could find Sergei Petrovic; Mikhail had told her that he was on a freight ship out in the ocean off Mercer Island hiding out; the Katia Pusscuss. What she was still weary and slightly perturbed about was that she and Logan still had problems because of what had happened between her and Eric...
Max's chain of thought was broken by the sound of moaning...
She got up and turned to Kendra's room. Walking silently she moved the curtain that hung as a divider over the doorway and peered inside. Max's heart jumped into her throat; there on the bed was Kendra stark naked and riding her lover. Max could see her slick pink pussy slip up and down the man's hard cock sheathed in a condom. Kendra was bent over him going wild as she ground her hips into him trying to bite back her moans, her long blonde hair following the soft curve of her large breast as it swayed as she fucked.
Max raised an eyebrow as she spied on her friend. So this must be Mr. 'Multiples' she thought. Kendra had gone on about how he was able to 'bang the gong' all night long, bragging that they never got out the house because their evening started out naked and lasted till sunrise.
Max decided she would stay and spy on just how good Mr. Multiples was.
*
The black van parked along side the Urban Shack and a man got out. He walked into the strip club, his long leather coat flapping behind him. As he entered he surveyed the scene before him: There were half a dozen men in heavy grade military armour with assault riffles looking down at a crowd of Rastafarians and strippers, all kneeling with their hands behind their heads.
He looked at the crowd and spoke in an intimidating calm voice, "ladies and gentlemen I apologies for the inconvenience my men and I may have caused you. I am Colonel Donald Lydecker, and I work for the government, I am here on matters of national security; I assure you, you are in no danger whatsoever, and will not be detained longer than is necessary."
Lydecker turned to one of his men.
"Sir, his in the back; he put up a fight so we had to shoot his kneecap out."
Lydecker walked through to the back of the club where he found Dada-man clutching his bleeding leg.
"Mr. Marley," he said keeling down in front of him as he spoke, "I understand you own this, establishment."
"Who dah fuck are yah?" Dada grimaced.
Lydecker looked into his face, his eyes stern, "who I am is not important young man..."
"You and your, thugs, are vermin who bleed an already collapsed society dry. I'm here to offer you the chance to give back..."
"I keep my ear to the ground Mr. Marley; in my line of work it's a necessity. At roughly O-two-hundred hours this morning we picked up radio chatter about a girl roughly between eighteen to twenty years of age..."
Dada-man looked up at the man still twitching in pain, a memory of Max flashing through his mind.
"A girl," Lydecker continued, "who single handily incapacitated five ex-Russian KGB soldiers without breaking a sweat. Then you and this girl dragged off Ivan Litvan, better known to the criminal community as Mikhail the Bulldog."
"I don't know where he is," Dada spat.
"You're not listening to where I'm placing the emphasis Mr. Marley; Litvan is unimportant. I'm not interested in Russian mobsters. I'm looking for the girl; she belongs to me you see."
"Go fuck yah sel-"
"YAAAGGGHHH!!!!"
Lydecker had taken a knife and stabbed it into Dada-man's wounded leg tearing it through jean material and skin; blood spilling out.
"This girl," Lydecker said, pushing the blade in and twisting it raising his voice above Dada-man's agonising scream, "is worth 20 billion dollars. There is no measure to the lengths I'd go to to get her back; even if that means peeling the flesh off your bones with a tweezers, piece by piece..."
Three minutes later Lydecker came out the back room wiping his bloody hand with a hanky. One of his men walked over to him giving a military salute. Lydecker looked up at him, "Briggs, get things cleaned up here, we're moving out."
"Sir, we found Litvan's body in a freezer in the basement," the soldier reported.
"Dispose of it..."
"And I want the location of a freight ship, the Katia Pusscuss, ASAP."
"Sir," the soldier answered.
"And Briggs, put that sack of shit out of his misery," Lydecker said as he walked away.
"Yes sir."
*
Max was standing atop a building overlooking the streets of Freemont...
She saw the dilapidated building down below where she had found out Nick Yasinski operated out of. She had refused to go to Logan for any Intel on Nick, deciding to do the reconnaissance work herself (because she was really pissed at him for laying into her over the phone). She found out that Nick Yasinski was actually Nikolai Yasinski, and like Logan had said, he was Petrovic's nephew, the son of his sister Yelena Yasinski. Turns out Petrovic didn't like his nephew very much because he was westernised, only tolerating his little gambling and racketeering business because of his sister. Because Nick's uncle was the head of the Russian mob the other gangs didn't give him any hassles.
As it was, Nick Yasinski made trips to his uncles ship once a month to give him a cut of the profits; Max guessed this was the reason Logan had dropped his name; so that she could hop a ride with him. All she had to do is convince Nick that this was a good idea.
The pupil of Max's brown eyes expanded allowing her to enhance her vision, zooming in on the building. There were two Russian men standing in front of a large rusted metal door. Both looked like they were packing sub-machine guns telling from the bulge in their coats. It looked like that was the only security preventing entrance into the place, so Max spun on her heel and dropped down four stories into an alley; her feline DNA allowing her to land gracefully and unscathed...
*
With a loud crash, a large Russian male flew through the office door taking it off its hinges. A second later Max came into the office with another thug; locking up the joints in his arm so that he couldn't move. She kicked his feet out from underneath him then hit him hard in the face so that he slumped down on the ground unconscious...
Nick Yasinski sat behind a desk on which there was countless dollar bills strewn, astonished at the young woman that had fought her way through his club. His hair was dyed a colour that was crossed between a dirty blonde and a goldish straw. He wore a loud stripped pink shirt and a white pin stripped suit; there was a thick gold chain round his neck, a large gold watch on his wrist, and he wore two platinum studs in his ears. On his neck was a tattoo of an eagle catching a fish.
He looked Max up and down smirking, "who the fuck are you?" he asked in a very American accent.
"I heard you were a bad ass Nicky, big playa playa from the Himalaya" Max said as she sauntered over and sat on his desk, "I'm here 'cause I need a favour," Max said flashing him a smile.
"You didn't answer my question lady, who are you and why the fuck are you busting up my guys?" Nick asked rising to his feet trying to intimidate her.
"That's not important," Max said dismissively, "what matters is that you're gonna help me get on your uncles ship."
Nick laughed, "really, and why am I gonna do something as stupid as that?"
"Because your uncle doesn't treat you with respect," Max whispered in a seductive voice running her finger over Nick's lips making him swallow involuntarily, "because if his out of the way you'll be the big fish in the Russian pond."
Max forced herself to continue; she kicked her legs over the desk and wrapped them around Yasinski's waist.
"I-huh, I think you're forgetting about Mikhail," Nick groaned feeling the heat radiating off Max's sexy body.
"Haven't you heard, Micky went and got himself cut up," Max purred her lips now almost brushing over Yasinski's.
"Wh-why are you doing this?" Nick asked in a strained voice, his hand resting on the 9mm Beretta in his desk drawer. Max caught this and quickly groped him through his trousers, smiling as his body went rigid. Nick had no idea who this lady was, but he knew one thing for damn sure: she was a dangerous vixen, and hot as hell. He knew he ought to call for backup (assuming he still had men conscious in the place), or pull out his gun and shoot her; but with her curvaceous body in front of him, and her giving him a handjob through his pants all he could do was groan in pleasure.
Max could feel his hard cock raging in his pants as she jacked him off. It had worked with Mikhail; whoring herself for information had got her the location of Petrovic's ship, so now she had to control the seduction, give and take just enough to get what she wanted; temperance, avoiding excess.
"So," she breathed throatily, "how about it?"
"What?" Nick groaned coming out of his sexual daze.
"You give me a ride," Max stopped ruffling his cock and popped the button of his pants so that it pooled at his ankles, "and I'll give you a ride."
Just then, one of Nick's men who had a bad, bloody cut over his eyebrow came rushing into the office pointing a gun at Max, "boss spuskaemsya ("boss get down")," he yelled in Russian.
