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."
*