psychic assassin

When Joanna McCoy was rolled into the lab on the flat bed, she was as dead as a nail.

Her bloodied face from the accident had been wiped clean and the exposed parts of her body was as pale as a sheet of white cardboard. The parts where the trauma of the accident she suffered was established had changed from the thick red gashes of breaking flesh to the indigo hue of old wounds. A funereal procession of silence led her into the working theater of The Area.

Not a word was said as the procession that guided her into the laboratory moved through the corridor, lined on both sides with doors marked with strange icons which was identifiable only by the scientists themselves. There was a reason it was secret location and that reason was everywhere.

The odd one of the thirteen people who followed the bed- the man in a suit who looked surprisingly out of place in the midst of the others adorning their white lab coats brought up the rear. His graying hair informed of ancient days and the frail movements of his body witnessed a man who had worked past his prime and agility but who was so excellent at his work, a replacement would only come when he was dead.

It would take quite sometime, he thought and kissed his teeth.

"John" the odd man called, stopping short of the door into the theater where Joanna's body was rolled into.

A man turned, a bespectacled man whose lush brows jumped higher than the frames which his eyes hid behind. He heaved loudly, relieving himself of the enormous duty which had been placed on his shoulder once more by the Director of the only true Secret Government Agency in the country.

"When do we get her?" The odd man in a suit asked, throwing his gaze away from the man whom he addressed as though speaking to him directly where a burden on him.

John overlooked the dismissive attitude and noted nothing of it.

"We are not miracle workers, Director. What we do is science..."

The director's hand came up with a finger up slowly to interrupt the doctor's speech. The corridor was immediately quiet and empty left to the sake of them both.

"I know these things, John. But you see, we need someone in our ranks and her data fits the bill perfectly. She should be brought back to life with no memory left to her and given to me" the director's statement was with a final tone of a command, one that demanded nor desired any response.

The doctor understood and said nothing as the director made his way back the same way they had come. The director was unlike any man he had ever known. He never saw with the president. The president saw with him. He was that powerful.

John wondered what was special in this one that had brought him to the Area. She had died thirteen hours ago, the records showed but he wanted her brought back to life for him, for the Service.

John knew these things too. A missing person's report would be filed on all media for a certain Joanna McCoy. It would be few days and a body would turn up conveniently burnt or hacked to an unrecognizable mash. It would be taken as hers. Of course, the DNA tests would match hers and there would be no knowledge of where the real Joanna McCoy was. She was dead any way, to the world. But not with the Service. Her memory was all but wiped from the accident and when she was up and alive served with the boosters, even the forces of heaven would find her a difficult match.

Dr John turned around slowly and headed into the theater.

Joanna wondered where she was when her eyes parted for the first time since the accident had killed her. Her throat was a scorched plate and the fore of her head pounded as though there were a thousand savages dwelling therein beating their drums. She tried to scream out in pain as a sharp pain quickly travelled through her head and down her spine in a brief moment, a moment which was enough to break her down to her knees.

Blood oozed from her nose and she tried to bring the back of her hand to wipe it even though she struggled with consciousness. She noticed a restraining hold. A massive locked chain that held her to the earth. She concerted some effort on it and the chain broke as though it were made of butter and she wiped the blood of her nose.

"A small plane would tear in half if it pulled itself that way from that hold" a young scientist in the observatory noted enthusiastically, like a keen college student watching a guinea pig react to stimulation.

The second chain came off with similar ease and the Director could not be any prouder of the specimen that was before him.

There she was, the perfect poster image of what an All American lady should look like. A tall, slender blonde with straight hair that went over her shoulder. She would need a little bit of more help in the costume department but she looked the part. She would be face of American diplomatic community. That was all the public could know. She looked so innocent she could have him fooled.

He chuckled, if that was possible.

What the public would not know was that she was a killing machine who had been brought back from the dead for the singular purpose. She would taught to speak thirty five languages in a fortnight and it was a good place to start. All records have been falsified to give her a new identity. She would be the newest member of a team of psychic assassins and perhaps be their most important member for a reason.

"Hello" the director saluted as the door came open and he entered to meet her.