The Droppelganger Process free porn video

The following story is rated R for strong language and lewd and disgusting sex scenes. Anyone who is bothered by such things is hereby officially advised to take a valium and hit the delete key. Actually, there are no sex scenes in it, lewd, disgusting, or otherwise, which is really too bad. I just threw that in to get your attention :). Anyone of a mind to please let me know what you think of it. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. The following story is, in its entirety, copyright (c) 1998 by me. All rights reserved, no deposit no return, and all that. Permission is hereby granted for any free archive that might be silly enough to wish it to include it, if it's kept in its entirety, in their collection. I'd appreciate being notified. Permission is hereby NOT given for it to find its way into any slimy pay sites without my expressed WRITTEN permission. Violation of these conditions will result in bad karma and possible unwelcome attentions of a lawyer-type snake. Thanks, and have a day. Trina The Doppelganger Process By Trina Part I: History in the making. The succession wars of the early 21st century were some of the hardest times the United States of America had seen since the Civil War. But, looking back now, it seems almost like it was inevitable. At little more than 220 years old, we were, and are, such a young country. Like a teenager in a room full of adults, we're still unsure of ourselves and our place in the world. A powerful teenager with the biggest stick and the biggest bank account around, youth and power are always a risky combination. It seems almost inevitable that at times we would turn on each other. I'd like to think that we learned our lesson, but I seriously doubt it. Thankfully the succession wars were not nearly so bloody as the name the press tagged onto the events of 2000 and 2001 would indicate. Many lost their lives but not nearly as many as might have. It could have destroyed us. It could have destroyed the entire world. It didn't. I'd like to think that I had some small part in that. Following the virtual meltdown of the Clinton White House and the eventual impeachment of President Clinton, the democratic party, a fundamental force in American politics for longer than anyone could remember, was in disarray. They might have recovered had Clinton not held on to the bitter end, but then the other shoe dropped. The impeachment of Acting President Gore and the indictments and convictions of most of the DNC upper echelon as a result of the "soft money" scandal left the democrats a party in name only. A name that had become a curse. With Acting President Quayle in office the republicans now controlled both the executive and legislative branches of government for the first time since the early days of the Reagon Presidency. But it was a pyrrhic victory at best. The democratic "scorched earth" policy had left almost everyone's skeletons out in the open and there were few politicians who weren't either politically wounded or political terminal cases. The republicans did as little as they dared, most being smart enough to know they were merely caretakers and only a few with continued hopes of governing. The economy was in the dumpster, the public was angry and rebellious, most could see that something big was on the horizon. Something bad. Most just wanted to get out of Dodge while the getting was good. Nature abhors a vacuum, political or otherwise. The elections of November, 1999 showed just how much the political landscape had shifted. With only a few notable exceptions, incumbents, democrat and republican alike, weren't just voted out of office, they were trounced. Record numbers of unaffiliated politicians, not beholden to any party structure, joined the ranks of freshmen legislators headed to Capitol Hill. Libertarians, finally becoming a real political force to be reckoned with, were the next most populous beneficiaries of the political storm. Lastly was a sprinkling of legislators from a variety of fringe parties, most of which hadn't even existed prior to 1999. Politics as usual was as extinct as a dinosaur but no one knew what the politics of the future would be. Everyone agreed that something had to be done, but no one was quite sure what. There were some who called for a Constitutional Convention but there was little support for that either in government or from the public. People just wanted things fixed, they wanted the economy to get better, they wanted government to govern but the new government didn't yet know how. On February 18th, 2000, the senior senator from Massachusetts, one of the few incumbent democrats to survive the 1999 election cycle, quietly introduced the Federal Powers Act. Through a series of parliamentary moves the very existence of the Act, let alone its contents, was kept mostly secret almost up to the day it was voted on. Had it not been for Senator John Souza, a Libertarian from California, the public might not have learned of the Act until well after it was implemented. The bulk of the 20th century had seen a slow but steady shift in power from the states to the federal government. From the Reagon years on, however, that shift had reversed itself. The utter and complete failure of President Clinton's abortive attempt at nationalized health care was one example, the state of Montana refusing federal highway funds and thumbing its nose at the federal speed limit mandates was another. The carrot and stick approach was no longer working quite so well and it was obvious that the amorphous "The People" didn't want federal control in their lives. The problem was that many in Washington in 2000, including even many of the newcomers, believed that federal control was exactly what the country needed more of, not less. It was believed in many quarters that the only hope for recovering the economy and restoring social order was full, perhaps even Draconian, control by a centralized federal government. As long as each of the fifty states was allowed to chart its own course things would only slowly, if ever, turn around. The Federal Powers Act was simple, it was designed to put a stranglehold on state legislatures and put the fifty governors directly under the President of the United States. It seems insane now that anyone thought such a thing could even pass, let alone that it would be a good idea, but these were desperate times. Societies, young or old, do not easily or quickly assimilate major changes in the social fabric. There was unrest everywhere, riots in many of the major cities, a new worker's strike on nearly a daily basis, stocks went through the floor and, overnight, America's retirement funds virtually evaporated. The secrecy surrounding the Federal Powers Act was unprecedented and patently both illegal and unconstitutional. That seemed to worry very few of those involved, however. Politicians, both new and old, did what political whores have always done, they rationalized, they made excuses, they sold their souls to the devil in the vain belief that, no matter what, they were right. Many Libertarians betrayed their supposed core beliefs and happily signed on, others were left purposefully out of the loop. Independents, for the most part, bargained for their own districts with little worry about the "big picture". The remaining democrats and republicans stood behind it in hopes that with restored order would come a restored balance - more than anything else they knew they needed each other and wished to be rid of all of these newcomers. On March 1st, 2000, Senator John Souza held a press conference in which he handed out copies of the Federal Powers Act, which had been secretly leaked to him by a worried staffer for another, un-named, Senator, to the press. He railed against both the Act and the secrecy surrounding it and, for his trouble, was arrested and jailed later that day on charges of contempt of congress and violating national security. It didn't matter, the damage was already done. Public outcry was so loud that he was allowed out of jail the next day and promptly resigned his seat, retiring to his home state in disgust. Over mounting public outcries, the Federal Powers Act was passed on March 3rd, 2000, and signed into law that very day by President Quayle. For a short time it seemed like maybe the storm had passed, it was like the whole country was holding its breath. Then, in a special session, the legislature of Vermont voted to succeed from the union on March 17th, 2000. Nothing like this had happened since the days of the American Civil War, and for a short time no one knew what to do about it. In Washington it was agreed that this simply could not be allowed and the Vermont legislature was given one week to rescind their declaration. They refused. The President ordered the governor of Vermont to declare martial law. He refused. On April 3rd, 2000, federal troops marched into Montpelier. No one expected that the citizens of Vermont, armed mostly with baseball bats and hunting rifles, would attack armed soldiers to defend their capital, but they did. On that day 3,596 people, mostly civilians, lost their lives. Over 5,000 died in the fighting that continued for the next week. The federal government retook Vermont, but the price had been high. Higher than they realized. On April 11th, 2000, the state of Maine voted to succeed. Utah followed the next day. California two days later. The day after California voted to succeed federal martial law was declared and the state legislatures were dissolved before any more could vote to leave the union. Bloody fighting broke out all over the United States but it was contained, for the most part, and an uneasy and uncertain calm settled in. The federal government didn't dare try and go in and retake another state. Its hold on power was already tenuous at best and the states that had already declared were now far better prepared for the consequences than Vermont had been. But yet the current circumstance could not stand. The states could not be allowed to go their own way, they were not independent countries. Besides, the federal government needed the states, especially California. By itself the fourth or fifth largest economy in the world, depending on how you ranked things, California was a jewel in the federal crown that simply could not be let go. The stand-off lasted for weeks, and then months. Diplomacy was tried, to no avail. Offers were made, to no avail. The federal government tried to pretend that things were as usual, but no one, not even them, believed it. At one point Utah threatened to bomb Washington D.C. back to the stone age if she saw a single federal soldier within twenty miles of her borders and there were many who knew she was not only capable of it but might very well do it. Maine unsuccessfully petitioned the Canadians, who wanted nothing to do with this mess, for protection. California beefed up her already formidable defensive and offensive capabilities and acted as if she had every intention of remaining a separate country forevermore. Even going as far as to ask Nevada and Utah, to much federal consternation, if they wished to join the new confederation. Things couldn't last this way. Something had to be done. But what? Part II: The meeting. I was a very different person back then, I guess that goes without saying. Back then I worked for the federal government at an agency called the Federal Bureau of Investigation. After almost thirty years with the FBI, much of that spent in D.C, I thought I'd seen it all. But by January, 2001, everyone had seen things that no one had ever expected to see. I'm not ashamed to say that I was a federalist back then. I didn't like the Federal Powers Act much but then I didn't think that there had been much in the way of better options available at the time. I thought that going into Vermont had wholly been the wrong thing to do but that seemed like ancient history now. The main thing on my mind, on everyone's mind back then, was how were we going to get out of this a whole and productive country? I remember the day I was called into the AD's office all too well. It was January 2nd, 2001. It was snowing in Washington, a rare enough event, and most people were still a little hung over from New Years. After I got the call I went upstairs to the AD's office and was waved in quickly by his secretary. We exchanged greetings and sat in silence for a moment, he was obviously waiting for someone. A minute later there was a knock on the door and two men, a young man in an air force uniform and an older bespectled man in a lab coat, walk in and were quickly seated. "Gentlemen," the Assistant Director started, "this meeting is not happening, never happened. What we are to discuss here goes with you to your graves. Understood?" My attention level ratcheted up a couple of notches as there were nods around the room. For the AD to even feel he needed to give such a warning, let alone in such strong terms, meant something serious was up. "Good," the AD said, nodding himself. "Kevin, I'm told that you know John Souza personally?" "We went to school together, Sir," I responded. "And you've been friends ever since?" I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "Until last year, Sir." "Would you say that you know him very well, Kevin?" "I suppose so, Sir," I said with a shrug, wondering where all of this was going and not liking it one little bit. "Better than anyone else in the Bureau or in D.C for that matter?" "Yes, Sir." "Good, good," the AD said, turning to the air force man. "Captain?" The air force man reached into a briefcase and brought out a file. There was something about him I didn't like, something that set off all of my alarm bells. I would have bet that the guy wasn't air force, he just didn't look right, didn't move right. Maybe CIA or NSA, who knows? Some kind of spook anyway. You don't spend as much time in law enforcement as I had without getting a good feel for people. "Put simply," the air force guy said, laying the folder on the AD's desk, "we have identified and located Mr. Souza's courier." "What?" I said in surprise. We'd known for months that John had some sort of way of ferrying things in and out of the country with ease but we still didn't know for sure how. Given how tightly we had things locked down the only logical answer was that he had some sort of trusted courier or couriers, he was doing things the old fashioned way. My group had been working on it for months but we still had no idea exactly how or who was involved. "We have identified the courier, Mr. Solomon," the air force guy said to me. "We know who they are, where they are, and where they are going to be. And we have the resources in place to intercept them." "For what possible purpose?" I asked. "Arrest his courier and he'll just get another one." "It's not that simple, Mr. Solomon," the air force guy said with an odd smile, "but we do have a plan." "A plan?" The more I heard the less I was liking this. Sure, identifying the courier was a high priority, but to track them, to try and figure out what in the hell John was up to. Not to interfere directly, that would just likely make things worse. "A plan, Kevin," the AD said quietly. "We intend to replace Mr. Souza's courier with an operative of our own." I looked at him blankly. "You, Kevin. We want you to replace the courier." "Are you all insane?" I demanded. "I just told you the man knows me, we were best friends! He'd recognize me instantly." "Not necessarily," the AD responded. "Doctor?" The lab coated man smiled thinly. "I've performed the necessary tests and he is compatible. We can perform the procedure immediately." "What procedure?" I demanded. "Explain, Doctor," the AD said, sitting back in his chair. "We call it the Doppelganger Process, Mr. Solomon. It's only been used a few times but it's always been extremely successful. Unfortunately very few people are compatible with the process, fortunately for us you are one of them. In very short order we can make you look exactly like this person in question, even give you their mannerisms, habits, and thought processes. In short, we can make it so that you can, in every way, appear to be the person in question. Once your mission is completed we can completely return you to your original state, no harm done." "You're kidding?" I asked incredulously. "No, Kevin," the AD responded, "he's not." Stunned, I looked around at the other faces in the room. They weren't kidding. "Okay," I said, feeling like I'd been dropped into the middle of a bad Twilight Zone episode, "so let's say that you can make it so that I can impersonate this courier. Then what?" The AD nodded towards the door and the doctor and captain quickly left. "Then, Kevin," the AD said after they had left, "you return to Sacramento and do whatever it takes to get close to John Souza. When the two of you are alone you will inject an untraceable drug into him using a needle you will have concealed on you. The drug will kill him almost instantly and completely painlessly. It will look like a heart attack to any kind of medical test, not an uncommon thing in a man his age who's under the incredible pressure he must be facing. The resulting power vacuum will cause the whole house of cards to come down. Without Souza, California will fall. And if California falls the rest of the states will fall back into line. It's as simple as that." I stared at the AD in shock, I had to replay things in my head before I could even believe that I had really heard what I thought I had. "Now I know you are insane," I said angrily. "You want me to impersonate some stranger so that I can use my knowledge of John, my friendship with him, to get close to him and kill him? I won't do it, I won't have any part of it!" The AD nodded. "I told them you'd feel that way." The AD opened a desk drawer and handed a paper across his desk to me. "I have here a signed document from the president of the United States ordering you to perform this service for your country." "I won't do it!" I replied angrily, ripping the page in half. "Then you'll go to jail and rot." "Fine." The AD sighed, stood, and turned to look out his window. "I'm trying to save lives here, Kevin. Thousands of lives, hundreds of thousands of lives. Maybe even millions of lives. Can you imagine what'll happen if we try and go into California? How many people will die? Worse yet, California has nukes, Utah has nukes, we have nukes, everyone has nukes!" He turned to face me. "Can you imagine that, Kevin? Americans using nuclear weapons against Americans?" I shook my head. The idea was just too horrible to contemplate and yet I knew it was a very real possibility. "They've broken the access codes and changed them you know," the AD continued. "It didn't even take them as long as the eggheads said it would." He turned again, looking out over a snowy Washington. "There are a lot of people arguing for a first strike, that bit with Utah really scared the piss out of them. I really never thought I'd hear talk of nuclear war again, Kevin, not ever again. Especially not against our own people for god's sake!" He sighed again. "And yet here it is." He turned and sat back down. "Something's going to break soon, you know it and I know it. This may be our last, best hope." We stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Something was going to break soon, this stalemate couldn't last forever. What was the life of one man, even a friend, next to the horror of full-out civil war in the age of smart bombs and nuclear weapons? But could I do it and still live with myself? Could I not do it and live with myself if a million people died? "I'll undergo this procedure of yours," I said in an almost whisper, "and if it works as good as you say then we'll talk about it then." "Fair enough," the AD replied, obviously relieved. "The time window is extremely tight, we'll need to get started right away." Part III: The Doppelganger Process. The lab was in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover building, behind three high-security vault doors. I'd always wondered what they did down there, apparently it didn't involve looking for UFOs. Or maybe it did, I didn't ask and some of the stuff I saw looked like it came out of a spaceship. I was poked, tested, prodded, and scanned over the next four hours, sometimes in ways I hadn't even imagined possible. Though mostly I didn't have to do anything save sit there, lay there, or stand there while they prodded me, in some ways letting the doctors have at me like that was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. Finally it seemed like it was over, little did I know that it was just beginning. The first doctor, the one who had been in the AD's office for the meeting, brought me into a small side office and we sat down to talk. "This," he said, holding up a holographic data cartridge, "is you. It is everything we need to know about you in order to be able to restore you to normal once the mission is completed. It will be kept safely here until you return." "Why can't I have it?" I asked nervously. "Because there is no backup. Lose this, or if this is damaged, and we have no way of restoring you to normal. In any event, the data is worthless without the equipment here." There was a moment of silence while that sunk in. "This," he said, holding up another data cartridge, "is who you will become. In a few minutes I am going to give you a sedative and you will go to sleep. After you are unconscious you will be placed in a transgene bath and the new matrix will be introduced, the conversion process will take approximately 24 hours. During that time personality implants will also be performed so that when you awake everything should be completed and you will be ready for the mission." "Personality implants?" I really didn't like the sound of that. "You need to be able to impersonate the subject in question perfectly. Looks, mannerisms, vocal inflection, everything right down to the way they think. For you to be able to do that we have to alter some aspects of your basic personality and implant some other aspects, knowledge, and memory. We don't have time to be subtle about it so it'll take some getting used to." "I don't like the idea of you playing around with my mind," I said a bit more petulantly than I'd intended. "I assure you that it's necessary and all completely reversible." "It'd better be, Doc." +++ The next thing I remember I was drifting in and out of consciousness. I think I was laying in a bed, but I don't know. I couldn't get my eyes to open but I could hear voices, people talking. I couldn't tell who they were and what they were saying wasn't making much sense. "The change is absolutely amazing." "Yes, yes it is." "So how long does he have?" "I don't know." "You have to do better than that." "Dammit, I don't know! We've never tried anything like this, not nearly this complete. All I'd be doing is guessing." "Then guess." "Two weeks, maybe three at the outside. Maybe not even that long." "What happens then?" "Personality integration. The two personalities will start to merge. Once that happens we won't be able to extract one personality without destroying the other. It would be a total mind-wipe." "Damn! So what happens if we're too late, if he takes too long and you can't undo things?" "I can't say for sure, it's never happened. Our best guess is that you'll either end up with a totally new person, a cross between the two personalities, or a raving psychotic. I can't honestly say which would be worse but I will tell you this..." I drifted back off to sleep. +++ When I finally awoke I still felt a bit groggy but I also felt very, very good. Energetic, alive in a way I couldn't remember feeling for a very long time. I felt like I could run a marathon! Trying to sit up in bed quickly disabused me of that notion. My spirit was willing but my body apparently wasn't awake yet, I got halfway to sitting up before falling back prone. Everything felt odd, my body didn't seem to want to obey me. I didn't have more than a second to think about it before two faces came into view, the AD and the Doctor standing to one side of the bed I was laying in. "Good morning," the AD said. "Morning," I replied and then giggled. My voice sounded so odd, like I'd just inhaled a hit of helium. "Good morning, young lady," the doctor said, watching me closely. "May I ask you your name?" I looked at him stupidly, wondering how on earth he could have forgotten my name. "Mandy," I finally replied, "Amanda Bierce." The doctor nodded and checked something on the clipboard he was holding. "And how old are you, Amanda?" Why the twenty questions? "Twenty-four," I replied, then shook my head. That wasn't right, was it? Some part of me said I was forty-eight, and yet another part insisted I was twenty-four. Something was seriously wrong here. "The Doppelganger Process was a complete success," the Doctor proudly told me and I wondered what in the hell that was. "I'll have to run more tests, but the personality implants seem to have been a success as well." "We don't have time for more tests, Doctor," the AD said sternly. "Excuse me," I said, "can I get out of bed please?" The AD looked at the Doctor, who shrugged. "I don't see why not." The Doctor lowered the rail on that side of the bed and offered his hand, helping me to sit up on the edge of the bed. It belatedly occurred to me to wonder if I was wearing anything underneath those covers. Fortunately, I was, a black satin negligee. The thing was, I couldn't remember having put it on. In fact I couldn't remember ever having seen it or this room before. "How did I get here?" I asked quietly. They both said nothing, standing back a few paces and watching me closely. I looked down at my feet, wiggling my toes. Something was wrong, I didn't know what but something was definitely wrong. I held out my arm and stared at it. Thin nearly hairless arm, my arm? Long delicate fingers tipped by long blunt tipped nails. Something was way wrong. I looked down at my chest. Breasts, large breasts. What had happened to me? Why did everything seem so odd? I stood and neither man made a move to either help or hinder me. My ankles hurt for some reason. There was a mirror on the back of the door, slowly, almost trance-like, I walked over to it. I'd never seen the woman in the mirror before in my life and yet I knew everything about her. Every line, every curve, every blemish on her body. I knew her, knew her body... Better than I knew my own? Where did that come from? I waved my hand in front of the mirror just to be sure that the person I was seeing there was really me. Tall and leggy, very buxom and extremely pretty. No, beautiful. Long wavy raven-black hair, oversized deep blue eyes, aristocratic nose, pouty cupid's-bow lips, long thin neck, she was the kind of woman you would expect to see on the cover of a fashion magazine. Or maybe more likely a playboy spread. She was... She was exactly the kind of woman that would be undeniably attractive to John. "You bastards!" I screamed in my new contralto. "You fucking bastards! You never told me the courier was a woman!" "You never asked," the Doctor said somewhat smugly. I spun around on one heel and slowly advanced on him with every intention of strangling the life out of him. Slowly. Very slowly. "Amanda," the AD said, "calm down!" I ignored him. "Don't do anything rash," the doctor said, fear evident in his eyes as he backed away from me. "Kevin!" The AD thundered. I turned on him in rage and fury. "Don't call me that!" I screamed. "You! This was all your idea, wasn't it? You sucker punch me and, what, I'm supposed to just go along?" "You don't have much choice I'm afraid, and neither did I. You never would have gone along if we'd told you." "You're damn right I wouldn't have. If you think I'm going to do anything you want now you can just go fuck yourself!" "I don't think you realize the magnitude of your situation here," the doctor said slowly. "I don't give a flying fuck, Doctor!" I laughed hysterically, my voice jumping up an octave. "Don't understand the magnitude of my situation?" I hefted my largish breasts in my hands. "How's this for magnitude, Doctor? Is that magnitude enough for you?" I took a deep breath and tried to stop shaking. "I understand this much, you're going to change me back right now or I'm going to fucking kill you. Do you understand the magnitude of your situation here, Doctor?" "I... I can't," he replied, sweat dripping from his brow. "Can't? Or won't?" I demanded. "He can't," the AD said calmly, "your data cartridge is in my office safe." "Then get it!" I demanded. "No." I started to advance on the AD, maybe the Doctor wouldn't be the first one to go. "I'm quite sure that even in that body you're very dangerous," the AD said, pulling out a gun and pointing it at me, "but not as dangerous as a 9mm." I stopped. Standing there the murderous rage drained out of me almost as quickly as it had come. "Kevin, I..." "Don't call me that!" I screamed. "It's the personality implants," the Doctor said, "don't call her Kevin, okay?" I caught the AD nodding out of the corner of my eye as I turned to the doctor. "What did you do to my head?" I asked, almost crying. "Nothing that can't be undone," the AD said curtly. "Why should I cooperate," I asked slowly, "why should I go through with any of this after what you've done to me?" "To stop a war, Kev... Amanda. To save lives. Isn't that what you care about?" I looked down at the floor, tears in my eyes. God, I was getting so sick of that argument! "And because it beats the alternative." "Alternative?" I asked softly. "You are an exact match for Amanda Bierce, young lady, right down to her DNA. We three are the only ones who know that you are not her." "You wouldn't dare," I said, finally figuring out where this was going. "I wouldn't hesitate," the AD replied, "I would do anything to prevent a war and if that means sacrificing you then so be it. If you won't cooperate, if I can't be rid of Mr. Souza, then I will see him humiliated and pray that's enough. I will have you arrested as Amanda Bierce, tried for treason, and publicly executed." "I told you that you didn't understand the magnitude of your situation, young lady. As far as the rest of the world is concerned you are Amanda Bierce." "You can think I'm Satan incarnate if you want to, and I don't blame you," the AD said as gently as he could, "but I'm trying to save thousands and thousands of lives here. I'm trying to save the nation for god's sake! Next to that you, me, Souza, none of us mean anything." "Just pawns on a chessboard?" I asked bitterly. "Essentially." "How do you expect me to be able to pretend to be a woman?" I demanded, seeing a fatal flaw in their insanity. "Have you looked at yourself?" The AD asked, almost laughing. "Look at the way you walk, the way you talk, your reactions? Kevin," he held up a hand before I could say anything, "no matter how bad the situation, Kevin never would have reacted as emotionally as you have." He was right. I hated to admit it even to myself, but he was right. "We didn't have time for subtleties," the Doctor interjected, "so some of your new personality traits may be a bit... Well, a bit stereotypical. But otherwise you have everything you need. You have all the skills the real Amanda Bierce has, even some of her memories that we were able to fake. You look like her, move like her, talk like her, in many ways you even think like her." "Great. Thanks a lot, Doc." "We don't have much time," the AD said, "I need your answer. Will you do it or should I put the cuffs on you right now?" "When all of this is done you're sure you can change me back no matter what?" I demanded. "Yes, 100% sure," the AD replied, giving a quick cryptic glance over at the doctor. "Fine," I said after a moment, "I'll do your dirty work. Not for you, for my country." I glared at the AD. "But when I get back, when I'm back to my old self, I'm going to take your ass out." The AD shrugged. "You manage to do this and I'll gladly resign." Part IV: Assassin. They gave me a half hour to get ready, I had a plane to catch. It somehow seemed unfair that my first few hours in a totally new body would be spent on a deadline. Or maybe that was for the best. Maybe the pressure was the only thing that was keeping me sane. After they left me alone I sat on the edge of the bed and had myself a good cry. I don't know if it was hormones, the personality implants, or just so much pressure that anyone would have cracked, but I needed some sort of release. I hadn't shed a tear in over fifteen years, not since my wife had died, and I was surprised by just how good it felt to let it out. The Doctor had been telling the truth, somehow I did know how to be a girl. Or at least how to dress like one. I almost absently picked clothes and shoes out of the amply stocked hospital room closet and quickly dressed. I then sat down at the desk, finding its drawers equally well stocked with cosmetics and jewelry. It wasn't until I was putting my lipstick on and caught myself wondering where my purse was as I would need to bring some of these things with me that it dawned on me just how far and how easily things had gone. I put my earrings in, ran a brush through my long hair, and then stood, staring at myself in the full length mirror on the back of the door. Why? Why had I chosen this dress? Why a dress at all, why not slacks? But slacks wouldn't have seemed right somehow. No, this was perfect. Red satin minidress, fitted bodice, covered belt, flared skirt. Why so low cut? Was I proud of my new breasts? Did I want to show them off, was that it? I looked like a slut. Low cut body hugging dress, almost heavy make- up, back seamed pantyhose, spiked red pumps, this was all wrong! I should change. No, no time. Besides, I looked perfect, exactly the way I always looked. No, the way Mandy always looked. But I was Amanda, and I wasn't. It was like I was two people in the same head and I couldn't be sure which person I was thinking as at any given moment. Slowly, deliberately, I turned away from the mirror and sat at the desk. I picked out a gold heart pendant on a long chain and placed it around my neck. It rested just above my breasts, looking down I was still stunned to see all of that cleavage on display right beneath my nose. This was insane! No, I could do this, had to do this. I'd just proven to myself that I could do things with ease that I'd never done before in my life. Things I'd never imagined doing or wanting to do. They'd given me the tools, I had to forget for now how badly they'd screwed me over, I had a job to do. I had to keep that foremost in my mind. I only had to be Amanda for a few days and then it would be over, I would be back to my old self and, hopefully, war would have been averted. Hundreds of thousands of lives saved. That was worth a little difficulty, wasn't it? I slipped some bangles on my wrist and admired the tinkling sound they made when I moved my arm as I picked up a ruby ring and looked deep into the stone. Such a pretty thing... There was a knock on the door, interrupting my thoughts. I sighed and slipped the ring on, it must be time. An older woman in a white blouse and a peasant skirt opened the door and walked in. Closing the door she paused and gave me the once over. "Very good," she said with an arched eyebrow, "you're a perfect match." What did she mean by that, I wondered? Did she know who I really was? No, impossible, I was quite sure that no one but the AD, the doctor, and maybe whoever was above them would ever know that. "Do I look okay?" I asked nervously. "Honey," she responded with a snort, "in my younger days I would have killed to look half as 'okay' as you do." She walked over a knelt in front of me, looking my face over carefully. "My god, you look exactly like her! It's amazing what they can do these days. You must have looked a lot like her to begin with?" "I guess," I said, suppressing a semi-hysterical giggle. "Well if I were you I think I'd keep those looks when all of this is done. I'm sure you were pretty before, but this girl is a real stunner. It's too bad, really." "What's too bad?" The older woman shook her head and stood. "Nothing, don't worry about it." She reached into a pocket in her skirt and pulled out a small jewelry box and handed it to me. "Down to brass tacks, I'm afraid we don't have much time." I opened the jewelry box and took out it's contents. It was a beautiful ring, a large amethyst stone set off by two diamonds to either side. "Amanda always wears this ring," the older woman said, "it was a gift from Mr. Souza and no one will think twice about it. It's been modified, however. Push the large center stone gently and then twist it 180 degrees and a small needle will poke out from the base of the ring. Not particularly original, but quite lethal." I stared at her, not bothering to try and hide the horror I felt at hearing those words. "Are you okay, honey?" The older woman asked me after a moment. "I... I guess." "Here," she took the ring from me and slipped it on my right index finger. She tried to smile. "I know this is hard, I've been there." "You?" I asked, surprised. She nodded. "Why do you think they sent me? Now you be extremely careful with this ring, okay? One prick with that needle is all it takes and if you accidentally prick yourself, well..." I nodded, wondering if maybe I should just use the ring on myself and get it over with. But no, I had a mission to do and unfinished business for when I got back to being my old self. The older woman took my hand and helped me up. "You should do your nails on the flight out, I'll make sure you have everything you need okay?" I nodded absently. "Listen," the older woman said, putting her hands on my shoulders as the door opened and the AD walked in, "are you sure you're going to be okay?" I ignored her, instead glaring at the AD. "This is a bad idea, Johnston," the older lady said, releasing me and turning to the AD. "Why?" He asked, seemingly genuinely surprised. "This girl's a mess, she needs more time to recover from whatever you butchers did to her. Besides, she's way too naive and innocent to be a good assassin. I'm not going to see some girl barely more than a teenager sent out on a suicide mission. I'll go over your head if I have to." Assassin? Was that what I was now? Yes, I had to admit I was. I was an assassin being sent to kill a man who had once been my best friend. "No, Mrs. Farly, you will not. Amanda has been recruited and this mission set in motion by presidential order. Trust me, there's a lot more to this young lady than you see on the surface. She'll do fine, won't you Amanda?" I just glared at him. "Well," he said after a moment, "that's settled. Mrs. Farly, would you please take Amanda to the car? She has a flight to catch." Mrs. Farly hesitated for a moment, then nodded and took my hand. "Good luck, Amanda," the AD said as Mrs. Farly led me out of the room. "I'll see you when you get back." I stopped and turned, bringing Mrs. Farly up short. "I'm looking forward to it, asshole," I said, giving him my most sickly-sweet smile. Mrs. Farly gave me a double take and her eyes narrowed as she watched the AD's surprised expression. She started to say something then must have thought better of it as she pulled on my hand and led me out of the room. +++ The trip to Washington National was short and mostly silent. I could tell that Mrs. Farly wanted badly to ask me what in the hell was going on but she didn't dare. Probably deep down inside she knew that it was better if she didn't know. After a quick security check we were waved through one of the airport's side entrances and we drove straight to a small private hanger where a LearJet was already warming up. I'd only known Mrs. Farly for a short time, only a few hours, but I somehow felt very close to her. Closer than I'd felt to anyone in a very long time. Maybe closer than I'd ever felt, I'd never been one to let people get very close to me. There were tears in both our eyes as we hugged, I wished that she could come with me. "Don't mess up your face, honey," she said, looking up at me and wiping a tear out of my eye. Then she laughed, "Oh, hell, go ahead, you can fix your face on the plane." I had to laugh at that, the whole situation was just so ridiculous and yet so dangerously real. "Thank you for everything, Mrs. Farly," I said as we broke our hug and I started to head towards the waiting plane. "Heather," she said, "my name is Heather." I smiled. "Pretty name." "Can I ask you," she said, so softly I almost didn't catch the words, "can I ask you what your name is? Your real first name?" I paused and turned, not sure what to say. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I said, saddened by the disappointment evident in her eyes. "Maybe I can tell you all about it when I get back?" She brightened. "I'd like that." I smiled and nodded to her before heading up the stairs into the plane. "Don't forget to do your nails!" She called out just before they closed the hatch behind me. "Yes, mother," I said with a laugh, sure that she couldn't hear me. +++ Aside from being unused to such a small plane, the flight was uneventful. As Mrs. Farly had suggested, I spent the first hour or so doing my nails. Whatever they'd done to my head, it'd worked well. As with the other unfamiliar feminine skills I'd so far exercised, I was able to do my nails without much thought or effort. Whatever I tried, it seemed to come to me naturally. In fact I found it somewhat calming and comforting and I even had to admit to a little bit of pride at how my long red nails looked when I was done. Aside from bring me the make-up bag Mrs. Farly had sent ahead, the air force steward mostly left me alone. I caught him staring at me a few times, but I can't say as I was really surprised or even all that bothered. I had just decided to lean back and try and get some sleep when it dawned on me that I had no idea where we were going. Not that it really mattered that much, my ultimate destination, California, was what was important, but out of curiosity I asked the steward our destination. St. Thomas was the reply. St. Thomas, I thought as I set the seat back and closed my eyes, figures. And here I don't even have a bikini. Part V: The Friendly Skies. I awoke with a start, someone was shaking me. "We're on final approach, Miss," the air force steward said, returning to his own seat. "Could you please raise your seat back and fasten your seat belt?" "Certainly," I replied groggily. Looking out the window I could see the island quickly approaching as we dropped in both speed and altitude. The pilot was so skilled that I didn't even realize that we'd touched down until the reverse thrusters kicked in. In less than a minute the plane had taxied to another small hanger that was a near twin to the one in D.C.. Once the plane had stopped moving the steward quickly opened the hatch and came back to help me up as the engines wound down. "It was nice having you fly with us, Miss," he said as he helped me out the hatch. Why didn't it feel weird when people called me 'miss'? I shook my head, ignoring the thought, and flashed him a smile that brightened his face instantly. "Thank you." I smiled to myself at his reaction as I walked down the steps and onto the tarmac. A few yards away a man was waiting next to a car. Dark suit, dark glasses, obviously a government guy, he gave no indication that he even saw me as I walked up to him. "Ms. Bierce?" He asked, finally deigning to acknowledge me. "Miss, please," I said automatically. Where the hell had that come from? "As you wish, Miss Bierce," he replied stiffly. "I'm sorry," I said, nervously tossing a lock of hair over my shoulder. "Just Amanda will be fine." I held out my hand. A thin smile crossed his face as he shook my hand. "Amanda, then. Could you please get in the car, Miss?" I nodded and walked over to the passenger side of the sedan, surprised when he followed and opened the door for me. I flashed him a smile in thanks but didn't get nearly the reaction I had from the young air force steward. This guy was definitely a spook, my bet was CIA but it's hard to say with those guys. He walked around the car and got in the driver's side. Turning to me he slowly took off his glasses and looked me up and down, his eyes resting on my amply displayed cleavage way too long for my comfort. "Is something wrong?" I asked him nervously. "No," he finally replied, "nothing wrong at all. I'm just a bit amazed. You look exactly like her." "So I've been told," I said dryly. He shook his head. "Truly amazing. You even act like her, right down to the weird little way you flip your skirt before you get into a car." "I do not!" I said defensively, not even sure what I was being defensive about. "Yes, Miss," he replied with a smile as he reached down to start the car, "you do." He drove in silence for a minute as we exited the airport through a side gate. "Your purse is in the back seat," he said after we were on the highway, "I suggest you familiarize yourself with it's contents." I retrieved the purse and opened it. Brush, wallet, passport, make-up, the usual things you'd expect to find in a woman's purse. Somehow it was all decidedly familiar. I picked out the passport and flipped through it. "Wow," I said, mostly to myself, "that's quite the forgery." "It's not a forgery," he responded, startling me, "it's the original. The real Amanda Bierce won't be needing it anymore." I stared at him, stunned. "You killed her?" "She's still alive," he replied in a calm tone that did more than just imply "for now". "What are you going to do to her?" "That's on a need-to-know basis," he replied with an almost sigh, "and you don't need to know." I shoved the passport pack into the purse and closed it angrily. "I don't fucking believe this," I mumbled under my breath. He turned to me, his eyes deadly cold. "You'd better believe it, Lady, this is the big leagues." I almost laughed at him, he had no idea just how big. "How much do you know about this?" I demanded in as authoritative a voice as I could muster. He shrugged. "Enough." "Do you know who I am?" He shrugged again. "No, just that you're someone who knows Senator Souza personally. An ex-girlfriend or something like that would be my guess." "Not hardly," I said with a snort. "Well who you are is also on a need-to-know basis and I don't need to know." He had a good point. We drove on in silence for a few more minutes until he finally pulled into the parking lot of a very large and very expensive looking resort hotel. "You're in room 304," he said, parking the car and turning to me, "the key card is in your wallet and your bags are already packed. You have," he glanced down at his watch, " about thirty minutes to freshen up if you want to. A limo will be by to pick you up and take you to the airport. You will be boarding flight 879, the tickets are in a carry-on bag in your room. Your flight will go to Mexico City, then LAX, and finally onto Sacramento International. I assume you know what to do from there?" I nodded and held out my hand. "Thank you." He took my hand gently and shook it. "You're welcome." Taking a deep breath I and grabbed the purse... My purse, and started to get out of the car. "Miss?" He said, interrupting me. "Yes?" "Good luck." I smiled wanly. "Thanks, I'll need it." I got out of the car and he quickly drove away. It occurred to me, as I walked into the hotel, that for the first time since all of this had started I was on my own. Truly alone. +++ The flight to Mexico City was decidedly boring. I'd already had enough sleep to last me for quite a while and the in-flight movie was some boring western that I had less than no interest in. The only two nice things were that I was traveling first class and that, thankfully, there was no one seated near me. I had to admit that first class definitely beat coach. The deep poosh leather seats and the extra leg room, I'd already discovered what a pain in the butt long legs could be, were welcome on the long flight. I just wished I'd had something to read or something to do, anything. The only things in my carry-on bag were a thick romance novel and a couple of fashion magazines. I didn't think I was ready for either of those things just yet. By the time we landed I had read the in-flight magazine cover-to- cover at least twice, desperately wondering where in god's name they got those silly articles from. Three pages on a woman's terrier that liked to fly? Please! After the plane had docked at the terminal there was the usual chaos as about half of the passengers disembarked. We had a half hour lay-over and I briefly considered getting off the plane myself and stretching my legs some, maybe trying to find something to entertain myself for the next several hours of the flight. But no, something could go wrong and I couldn't afford to miss the plane. So I sat there, feeling even more bored and antsy as they refueled and loaded the plane. When they were ready to let the new passengers on I leaned back in my seat and pretended to be asleep, hoping against hope that no one would have the seat next to mine. Judging by how sparsely populated the plane was I figured that I had at least even odds. No one did try and sit next to me but I kept my eyes closed until the plane had taxied and the engines were revving up for take-off. I was never particularly nervous about flying, but when it came to take-offs and landings it was better to be alert. If there was going to be a problem, that's when it would be. There was someone sitting in the outside seat in the aisle across from me. I glanced over quickly as the plane's engines started to whine. Businessman, thirtyish, maybe late thirties. Rather handsome, really, quite attractive. Attractive? I shook my head as the pilot released the brakes and the 727 raced down the runway. Get a grip girl! Once we were in the air I took the in-flight magazine out of the seat back in front of me and pretended to be engrossed in an article I'd read at least twice already. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him rather obviously watching me. "Boring flight, eh?" He finally asked after the plane was well in the air and had banked in the general direction of Los Angeles. "Yeah," I replied, not looking up. "You fly much? I fly a lot." I had to smile at that. "More than I like," I said, glancing over at him and then back to my magazine. "I hate it, flying I mean, but it goes with the job. You coming from St. Thomas?" "Yes." "Must be nice there." I sighed and set the magazine down, there was no use fighting it. "I wasn't there very long." "Oh, that's too bad. You going to LA?" "No, Sacramento." "That's good, LA isn't safe right now." "Why's that?" I asked in surprise. "Too much gang activity, the cops are trying to clean it up but it's slow going. There was a food riot yesterday I heard, not a pretty sight. LA isn't safe right now, especially not for a pretty young woman." I blushed deeply at that, but I had to admit that it felt good. "No, I don't suppose it is." He fell silent for a moment, glancing out the window at the ocean as the plane banked again, and I looked him over a little more carefully. Maybe he was a bit older than I'd thought at first, but he was obviously in good shape. Even with the suit on you could tell he was well muscled. I briefly wondered what he looked like without the suit on and then turned away myself, embarrassed by the thought. "Listen," he said, turning back towards me, "I'm going to be in Sacramento for a week, maybe a bit longer. Would you like to get together for dinner or some drinks or something?" Was he asking me out? Like on a date or something? I had to almost giggle at that and I was more than a little flattered. "I'd like..." I froze, I could literally feel the color draining out of my face as the import of what I'd just been about to say sunk in. "Are you okay?" He asked, an obvious expression of concern on his face. "I... I don't feel very good. Excuse me, please..." I grabbed my purse and rushed to the bathroom, locking myself inside. I sat on the toilet feeling nauseous, my hand's shaking. I'm quite sure that if there had been anything in my stomach I would have thrown up. Jesus, what in the hell had come over me? I'd been flirting with that guy, I'd almost agreed to go on a date with him! What was happening to me? I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. It had to be the personality implants, that was the only answer. I needed to watch myself more closely, god only knew what all they'd done to my head. I looked at the bathroom door wondering what I should do. I couldn't just sit in the bathroom for the rest of the flight but I couldn't go back and face him either. I stood and looked in the mirror, checking my hair and make- up and absently adjusting my dress. The plane was half empty, I would just find somewhere else to sit. That would be okay, wouldn't it? Yes, that's what I'd do. I exited the bathroom as quickly as I could, glancing up at the first class section. At least he wasn't looking back towards me. I headed towards the back of the plane and found an empty window seat to sit in. I belted myself in, put my purse in my lap, and leaned the chair back in the forlorn hope that I could get some sleep. "Miss?" A feminine voice said. I glanced up, a stewardess was standing in the aisle looking at me. "Yes?" "Are you okay?" "Yes, why?" I asked nervously. "I saw you come from first class, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Was that man bothering you?" I shook my head. "No, not at all. I just... I get nervous about flying sometimes and I didn't feel safe up there. Is it okay if I stay back here?" She leaned over and patted my hand. "Sure, hun, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Is there anything I can get for you?" "A vodka tonic," I said with a wan smile, "a strong one?" The stewardess giggled, like the sound of glass wind chimes. "Sure, hun, I'll be back in a minute." Part VI: Discovery. The mission was a failure almost before it even got started. In retrospect I'm glad for that. Though I think I know what I would have done if I'd ever really gotten a chance, there was so much that could have gone wrong. So many ways things really could have turned into a complete and utter disaster. After the plane landed in Sacramento I sat and waited while most of the other passengers disembarked. I wanted to be sure that the man in first class would likely be well on his way before I left the plane. Once the plane was mostly empty I rose, went forward and retrieved my carry-on bag, and left the plane. Once in the concourse I paused, looking at the line at customs and unsure of what to do next. I expected that most likely I would be met by someone, I wasn't disappointed. Before I could even get into the customs line two men approached me. Both in dark suits and dark sunglasses, if this wasn't California I would have taken them for feds. Police was my guess, probably a capitol police bodyguard detail. "Welcome back, Miss Bierce," the taller of the two men said to me, "did you have a pleasant flight?" "Pleasant enough I guess," I replied. "If you'll come this way, Miss Bierce, we have a car waiting," the shorter, and far more tense looking, man said. "Of course," I said as they led me to a side door. +++ The two men were silent but alert as they drove me to the statehouse. Everything seemed to be going well as I was led in, right up until the point I walked through the metal detector and it started screaming bloody murder. "I'm wearing quite a bit of jewelry," I said to my nervous looking body guards as a uniformed officer approached us, "that must have set the machine off." The taller guard shook his head. "No, these scanners compensate for jewelry and such." "Do you have a weapon with you?" The shorter body guard asked me. I shook my head. "I'm afraid you'll have to come with me, Miss," the uniformed officer said, firmly planting himself in front of me. "I don't think you want to detain her," my shorter body guard said firmly, "do you know who she is?" "I don't care who she is, Mister," the uniformed officer replied, still looking me in the eye, "all I know is the scanners detected a poison when she walked through." Oh shit, I was royally screwed! +++ I seriously doubt that there's anyone on the face of the planet who would describe a full cavity body search as a fun thing, under the best of circumstances it's a horrible experience. But when you've only been a woman for less than a day and your new vagina, a part of your new body that you hadn't even allowed yourself to think about up until that point, is just another cavity to be searched, it can be devastating. Long before they were done and satisfied I was a screaming, blubbering, kicking mess. By the time they got me dressed again and mostly back together and then led me, under armed guard, to the governor's, now President of the California Republic's, office I was so heavily sedated that I barely knew where I was. The two bodyguards from the airport were there, each standing in a far corner, along with two uniformed armed police officers to either side of the door. An older man sat in a seat in front of the central desk, smoking a cigar and looking back at me. And, on the other side of the large mahogany desk, was John. Tears welled into my eyes as I saw him. His face was a storm of emotions, rage, betrayal, hurt, fury, anger, all flowed across his eyes like fast moving cloud shadows across an empty plain. Our eyes locked briefly and he quickly looked away in disgust, motioning to a chair in front of his desk. My two guards led me to the chair and sat me down. I set my hands in my lap, there was little else I could do with handcuffs on, and looked down at the tips of my pumps. This was the man I'd come here to kill? My heart broke at the very thought. How could I have? How dare I agree to try and play god like that? I wasn't sorry I'd gotten caught, I was sorry I'd ever even thought of trying. I was sorry I was even still alive. "It's not even the same ring," John said, his voice tightly controlled. I looked up, he was holding the poison ring they'd taken from me, staring into the large center stone. The rest of my jewelry and my purse were in a pile to one side of his desk. "The diamonds are cheap low-quality stones." His face twisted in rage and I flinched as he threw the ring across the room. "What did they offer you, Mandy?" He screamed at me. "What did they give you to betray me?" I bit my lower lip, tears rolling down my face as I shook my head. No, he couldn't think that! But what was he supposed to think? His face calmed, sadness washing across his expression, his hands bone-white fists pressed into his desk. "How could you, Mandy? How could you after everything?" There were tears in his eyes as he looked away, slamming one of his fists onto the hardwood desk hard enough to make me jump. "How could you?" "We don't even know it's her," the old man said in a quiet voice. "Give me a break, Larry!" John responded, "Look at her, are you going to tell me that's not Amanda?" "We don't know," the old man said with a verbal shrug, "there may be more to this than meets the eye. They can do some pretty amazing things with plastic surgery, who knows? Let me have the doctors give her the once over, we might find something." "Fine," John practically spit out, "do it. Just get her out of here before I decide to use that ring on her." +++ Once again I was poked, prodded, scanned, and questioned. I didn't fight them, there was no point, I just went through it feeling like a sleepwalker. A deep depression had overcome me, even long after the sedatives had worn off, that was like a cloud around me, insulating me emotionally and almost physically from everything and everyone around me. At first the doctors and others around me at the medical facility seemed angry, then later, surprised, still later, worried. I barely bothered to try and listen to what any of them were saying beyond whatever they were directly telling me to do, so I had no idea what they might have discovered. Maybe there was some flaw in the Doppelganger Process that they'd discovered, something that made me different from the real Amanda Bierce. Or maybe they'd discovered the personality implants. I didn't know and I didn't care. Finally it seemed they were done. I was led to a hospital room and placed into bed. A doctor who I couldn't remember having seen before smiled at me as he injected me with something. I could see an armed police officer just outside the door as the doctor left and I could feel the sedative start to take hold. I wasn't alone for more than a few moments. The door opened without warning and John, the older man he'd called Larry, and another doctor walked in. The doctor opened a clipboard he was carrying and took my wrist to check my pulse. John glanced over at me for a second, that same storm of emotions, though somewhat less intense, dancing across his face, and then quickly looked away. The older man, Larry, watched me closely, his eyes never leaving mine. "Is she Amanda, Doctor?" John finally asked. The doctor nodded, releasing my wrist. "Retinal print, voice print, finger print, blood work-up, DNA, it all matches. This is Amanda Bierce." I sighed mentally, I'd almost wished they would discover my secret. "Could she be a clone or something like that?" Larry asked. "No," the Doctor said, shaking his head. "If they had a DNA sample they could make a clone, of course, but it would have to develop normally." "Meaning?" "This is a twenty-four year old adult woman we're talking about, a clone would need twenty-four years, or something close to it, to develop to a point where it could impersonate her. Besides, there would be inconsistencies. Voice prints wouldn't match and such. Environment plays a big part in development." "So it's true," John said with great sadness, turning away and starting towards the door. "Have her arrested and charged, Larry." "It might not be what you think," the Doctor said quickly, bringing John up short. "What do you mean?" "We believe that someone may have played with her mind, maybe brainwashed her." "How so?" Larry asked. "We're not sure. Her personality profile matches what we know of Miss Bierce, but some of the psychological tests came