The Transformation of Ms K Part 1
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Patterson and his driver and two other cars with two officers each headed northeast. SG was unconscious in the back seat of the chief's car. They were well beyond their department's jurisdiction, but the city owned 22 acres of land in the country that officers were supposed to use for training. An abandoned limestone quarry had been turned into a lake, and there was a firing range, a lodge and three cabins.
Superman and the Defense Department officials weren't due to arrive at the county airstrip until 8 o'clock that evening. It was now only 3:30. Plenty of time to have some fun with Miss "Sallie Gale."
They parked in front of the lodge, and Patterson slipped a noose made of nylon cord around SG's neck. He yanked the cord, and she tumbled out of the car. He dragged her up the wooden steps of the lodge and into a big high-ceilinged room with wooden rafters. There was exercise equipment on the far side of the room, a ping-pong table to the left, and a fireplace and big sofa to the right.
Patterson looked around, then sniffed. "It's musty in here. Let's get those windows open."
"What if she starts screaming?" an officer asked.
"So?" Patterson asked. "We're 20 miles from town. Nobody lives anywhere near. Anyway, I don't think she'll be making much noise. In fact, let's give it a test."
SG was lying on her side, near his feet. He kicked her savagely in the stomach. Her breath rushed out, and she curled into a tight ball.
"See, no screams. Now, let's strip her."
They pulled off her jeans and ripped her sweater to shreds. Then Patterson pulled her upright with the noose, and the others looked at her with mouths agape.
"Shit. What a body!" one whispered.
They bent her face down over the ping-pong table and raped her repeatedly. When she moaned and seemed to be regaining consciousness, Patterson slammed her on the back of the head with a club.
After they had finished, Patterson dragged her to the middle of the big room. "Watch this," he said.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small bottle of smelling salts. He had found it in the same safe where he had found the file on her, and the powdered kryptonite.
He opened the bottle, then grabbed her hair and lifted her head. Barely had he put the bottle under her nose than she began coughing and her eyes fluttered open.
"Do you know who I am, bitch?" he whispered.
She looked at him without comprehension.
"Do you know where you are? Of course not. Well, let's just say you're in purgatory. You'll be out eventually, but while you're here, you're going to suffer."
He leaned down until his face was inches from hers. "And you're going to enjoy it." He had read her file very carefully, especially the comments of young Louie Ungtjur about how much she seemed to enjoy being gang raped at Lackanooka Junior College, and Dean Toopermann's on what she perceived as SG's sexual perversion.
He pulled SG up to a kneeling position, opened his fly and put his prick inches from her mouth.
"What are you going to do with this?" he asked.
She said nothing.
He yanked the cord hard, and the noose tightened around her neck.
"What are you going to do, bitch?"
"Suck it," she croaked.
"That's right. You're going to suck it til I cum and swallow every drop. Then you're going to do the same for my men. Every one of them. And why are you going to suck them?"
"I don't know," SG whispered.
Patterson kicked her in the groin, but before she could fall to the floor he yanked the cord and pulled her back onto her knees.
"Why are you going to suck us all off?" he demanded.
"Because I'm slut," she said, almost inaudibly.
"Because you're what?" he shouted. "Speak up, bitch, so the rest can hear you."
"Because I'm a slut." She spoke loudly this time, in the tone of someone completely defeated.
She sucked all six of them, starting with the chief. And when she was finished, they took turns testing her ability to take a punch. One would hold her from behind while another hit her as hard as he could in the stomach.
The blows were painful, and she begged for mercy. But she didn't collapse or lose consciousness.
"She's tough," the sergeant finally said. "Is that why the Defense Department is interested in her?"
"I guess so," Patterson said. "All I know is that someone brought it to Washington's attention that she had come out from under Dedkaff Road. I get a call from the Pentagon saying they're coming to pick her up. Some important project. And Superman's going to be with them."
"Won't he be pissed that we've raped and beat up his little cousin?"
"Guy from the Pentagon said we could do whatever we wanted with her. They plan to do a lot worse. And it's all okay with the guy in the blue tights. It seems he thinks it's his patriotic duty to sacrifice Super Slut if it'll enhance national security."
SG lay on her belly, conscious but limp. Patterson slipped his shoe under her and flipped her onto her back.
"She really is a honey," he said softly. "All the punishment we put her through, and she still looks like Sleeping Beauty."
"Only there ain't no prince gonna kiss her pussy and make a happy ending," said the sergeant, to everyone's amusement.
The helicopter didn't need an airstrip for landing, but Patterson had recommended it because it was an open space that was easy to get to but wouldn't be busy after sunset. The three police cars were parked next to the tarmac, on a concrete pad in front of the Jeff's Air Service hangar.
The cops themselves were standing, waiting. Two of them held SG upright. She still seemed shaky.
They had dressed her in some of the finery left by hookers who joined the cops for occasional weekend festivities: hot pink shorts cut so low that the top barely covered her pubes and a white bikini top that did a similarly inadequate job of covering her nipples. They had used some makeup left by the hookers to tart her up. Her lips were brilliant red and they had turned her eyes into something out of a vampire movie.
"Wait'll Superman gets a load of this," Patterson had chuckled.
Now they smoked and talked and waited.
Finally, the sergeant said, "I think I see them."
A light was approaching from the north, moving just above the horizon. A few seconds later they heard the motors.
When it was about 100 yards away, Patterson recognized it as a CH-47. It bore no markings.
They had left their car lights on for guidance, and the chopper set down barely 50 feet away. They prop wash blew off the chief's cap.
He retrieved it, and when he looked up six men and a woman had exited the chopper: two MPs with sidearms, two soldiers with M-16s, an older soldier with two stars on his fatigues, a big guy in a suit, and a black woman captain with a medical bag.
Patterson rushed up and introduced himself.
"I'm the police chief here. These are some of my men. And this, of course, is the young lady you're interested in."
The general snapped an order, and a member of the chopper crew turned on an adjustable searchlight and aimed it at SG.
The general looked at her and snorted. Clearly, she wasn't what he expected. "Is this her?" he asked the big man in the suit.
The big man stepped close to SG and lifted her chin.
"Yes," he said quietly. "That's Kara."
SG opened her eyes and her body stiffened. "Kal-El," she whispered. "Is it you?"
The man in the suit turned away. "Get her in the chopper and let's get the hell out of here."
The woman captain and one of the MPs helped SG up the steps into the helicopter. The general, the man in the suit and the other MP followed.
As the big civilian ducked to enter, the captain whispered something to him. He turned and looked at the cops, then quickly descended the steps.
"Climb aboard," he told the soldiers with the M-16s.
He had to speak loudly. The engines were revving for take-off.
"Captain Stevens says my cousin has been raped," he yelled into Patterson's face. "There's cum dripping down her thighs."
"Hey, I don't know nothing..." Patterson started his denial but never finished. The punch almost knocked his head off. The man in the suit dispatched the other officers with equal efficiency. Within seconds, six bodies lay sprawled on the tarmac.
The general, looking down from the helicopter, muttered, "He never used to be like this."
The captain said softly, "Maybe that's because he's never had a cousin raped before."
The general sighed. If Superman got this upset because some small-town cops had a little fun with his blonde bimbo of a cousin, how was he going to handle the really rough stuff that was in store for her?
The Chinook landed at an army base during the night and refueled. SG slept through it. She didn't awaken until the sky was turning light in the east. They were flying north; she could tell that much. But she didn't really care where they were headed. All that mattered was that she was safe. Kal-El was a stuffy pain in the ass, but he would protect her.
At the moment, though, he was up front, talking with the general. She was sitting next to the woman captain, who had been kind and solicitous through the night. Twice she had taken SG's blood pressure, and one she had given her a couple of small white tablets that she said would help her sleep.
"Okay, folks, buckle up," said the pilot. "We're almost there."
SG looked out of a small window. Below was a collection of low white buildings scattered on nicely landscaped grounds. An illuminated sign said "DRI."
They landed on the roof of one of the buildings.
"Okay, listen," Capt. Stevens told her. "You're still pretty shaky, so I want you to lean on me and Harry here. We're going to get you down nice and slow."
Stevens was right. SG's knees buckled twice as she tried to make it down the steps. They held her tight.
At the foot of the steps were two men with a stretcher. "I don't need that," SG protested, but she let them help her get into it. It was strange, looking up at the early morning sky, then at the soft overhead lighting inside the building. The men carrying her, Capt. Stevens at her side, the others walking briskly in the corridor — everyone seemed busy but quiet.
"What a nice place to work," she thought, then she dozed off again.
When she awakened again, she was in a sunny room with big, open windows and a pleasant breeze filling the gauzy white curtains.
A nurse and a doctor stood at the foot of her bed. The nurse was watching her intently, while the doctor read a chart.
"Our girl is awake, doctor," said the nurse.
He looked up. He had a kind, intelligent face.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
SG thought about it. "I think I feel fine," she said. "In fact, I feel wonderful."
"Amazing what two days of sleep will do for you," the nurse said with a grin.
"Two days?" SG was stunned.
"Fifty-two hours and twenty minutes, to be exact," said the doctor. "Are you hungry?"
"Famished."
"Good, we'll bring you breakfast."
The food was plentiful and delicious. She had never been in a hospital before, but she had heard all the usual complaints about hospital food. Maybe this isn't a hospital, she thought.
It wasn't. After breakfast, she was brought into a small meeting room where the general she had seen on the helicopter introduced himself and several other high-ranking officers and three scientists. Their names meant nothing to her, and she instantly forgot them — except the general's. His was Piric Zafer. She wondered if his friends called him Prick.
"You're at the December Research Institute. Important work is done here, work that is essential to preserving America's survival."
"You mean national security stuff?" SG asked.
"Yes," the general said, with a tight little smile. "National security stuff. Your uncle — excuse me, your cousin — is a valued member of the board of directors of this institute. His ideas and suggestions have opened exciting new areas of research."
"And he's pretty good at watching over our expenses," added one of the scientists. There was quiet laughter. SG noticed that the general didn't join in. He seemed to resent the interruption.
"Where is Kal... where is Superman?" asked SG.
"He will be here shortly," said Gen. Zafer. "He said he wanted to meet alone with you after this briefing. I'm sure you two have a lot of catching up to do."
The general began talking about something called the Close-In Assault Option and how important it was for the Army to have a way to fight an enemy at close quarters, such as in the Viet Cong tunnels, without suffering heavy casualties. CIAO could dramatically reduce the need for our young soldiers to fight, and die, in such situations.
He droned on and even brought out charts. What did all this have to do with her, she wondered. Then he turned the briefing over to the scientist who had interrupted him, Dr. Melton Hand. He certainly looked the part of a scientist, SG thought — frizzy hair that was thinning on top, thick glasses, a bow tie, even a pen holder in his shirt pocket. But his intensity more than compensated for his nerdy appearance.
"This is the most exciting project I've ever worked on," he said. "CIAO started out as just a concept. No one had any idea how to proceed. Robots were considered and rejected. We just don't have the kind of miniaturization yet to create the brains for a fighting robot. Then Dr. Erbaccia here" — he nodded toward another scientist, who smiled shyly — "made an amazing discovery. Melinda, let's have the slides."
Oh God, thought SG, when will this ever end?
The first slide showed a man standing next to what looked like a patch of tall weeds.
"Dr. Erbaccia was doing agricultural research at Iowa State at the time, and he's shown here next to a patch of normal hemp plants. As you can see, they are taller than he is, but not by much. Then he found a way, through genetic manipulation, to create this."
At this point the slide changed, and Erbaccia is shown standing next to a tree, or at least what SG assumed was a tree.
"This is a genetically modified hemp plant that at maturity reached 47 feet in height. It's fibers were so tough, the plant couldn't be cut down even with chain saws. It took a small explosive charge..."
"Not so small," Erbaccia interrupted, to general laughter.
"Okay, a not-so-small explosive charge to bring it down," said Dr. Hand.
One of the officers noticed that SG was nodding off and caught Dr. Hand's attention.
"Miss Gale," he said. Then more loudly, "Miss Gale, if I could have your attention just a few minutes longer."
SG awoke, blinked and said, "Okay. I'm back. Sorry."
"Dr. Erbaccia's work was brought to our attention at DRI, and he kindly agreed to join our efforts to develop..." Here he looked to Gen. Zafer for guidance.
"To develop a bioweapon that won't conflict with the administration's commitment to end germ warfare research," said the general. "We're not talking about microbes here. We're talking mega fauna — living creatures big enough to fight hand-to-hand with any man in the world, and win. And at an affordable price — less than a million bucks a unit."
With that, a new image appeared on the screen. At first, it reminded SG of a big, hairless ground sloth, minus the tail. Its head was round and too small for its body. Its skin was pinkish grey.
"It looks like it's made of Silly Putty," SG said.
"Well, in a sense it is," said Dr. Hand. "The wonderful thing about Silly Putty is that you can made almost any shape with it. And we've been able, thanks to Dr. Erbaccia, to shape a number of new plants and animals, creatures that never before existed."
At this point, the door to the briefing room opened and Kal-El looked in. When SG saw him, she said, "Excuse me, I've got to go," and rushed to the door. She hugged Kal-El, and he clumsily patted her back.
"That's okay, sir," Dr. Hand said. "We all need a break. Why don't you bring her back around two o'clock?"
Kal-El nodded, and he and SG walked down a long corridor.
"You want to go out and get some fresh air?" he asked.
"Sure," she said. "That'd be great."
They walked outside for a while, then found a quiet spot with benches and a fountain.
"Are you doing okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess do. I've missed you terribly. I hated being at Marston, and then..."
"Then you disappeared," he said.
"Yeah, then I disappeared."
They were silent for a while.
"Why didn't you look for me?" she asked at last. "Why didn't you rescue me?"
"I didn't know where you were," he said. She could tell he was lying. He never had been a very good liar.
"Why am I here?"
"To help with our research," he said. When she started to protest, he added quickly, "Oh, I know you're not a scientist. You never did well in chemistry and math. I know, I know."
He looked at her. She was so beautiful. And so vulnerable.
"We've created something that could save thousands of American lives in wartime. A picture of it was on the screen when I walked in."
"Oh," she said distractedly, "you mean the big toy."
"Koko isn't a toy," he said.
"Koko! You've got to be kidding. You all named it Koko? Then it has to be a toy!"
"Okay," he said, with a hint of irritation in his voice. "He's a toy. But he's an eight-foot-tall, 450-pound toy that could flip over an M-60 tank or tear down a reinforced concrete building. He's unbelievably strong. And tough. He's nearly indestructible."
SG had been watching his face carefully. Now she understood. She had been brought here to fight this thing, this... Koko. Or to be sacrificed to him, like some virgin in a pagan ceremony.
Right, she thought. Some virgin.
"Why are you grimacing?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said. "So when do Koko and I meet?"
"In about a week. They want to do a lot tests on you. To make sure you're fit and at full strength."
"Why don't you fight Koko?" she asked.
"You know why," he said wearily. "I'd destroy him. It would be a total mismatch. I've already destroyed several earlier prototypes."
"But I'm fair game," she said. "With me it would be no mismatch. In fact, cute little Koko might even be the betting favorite."
"I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think you would prevail — or at least survive."
"Right," she said grimly. "Just like I survived my college years."
"You got into trouble at Marston because of your own weakness and poor judgment," he said angrily. "You were in a bad crowd. You seemed to want to be degraded. I read the report. You were a little tramp."
The words stung, and her eyes filled with tears. But she wasn't going to let him off easily. "I seem to remember when you wanted me to be a little tramp," she said. "I remember you pulling me onto your lap and..."
"You misunderstood," he yelled, jumping to his feet. "You've twisted and distorted what was just..."
"Just some avuncular affection?" she cried. "Just Kal-El looking for a little love? Poor, pitiful, uptight Kal-El."
He slapped her so hard she fell to the ground.
"I'm sorry," he said, kneeling to help her up.
"Keep your dirty hands off me," she hissed.
From a second-story window looking down on this scene, Gen. Zafer smiled a tight little smile. Maybe this was going to all work out, after all. Maybe the test would be allowed to go to its full conclusion. Maybe Koko would be able to do what he was created to do — to kill, ruthlessly and efficiently, whether the foe was a battalion of mortal men or a lone, lovely blonde superheroine.
SG was assigned a trainer, a large, easy-going woman named Maggie.
"I'm here to get you in shape," she said at their first meeting. "After looking at you, I don't know how you could be in much better shape, but we're gonna try."
Maggie insisted in being kept in the dark about what SG was training for. "They pay me to train, not to pry into their deep dark secrets. I don't want know. You just keep working those triceps and those abs and those lovely glutes of yours."
Maggie didn't seem especially surprised when SG bench-pressed 385 pounds. This was a strange place, and strange things went on. If this gal could bench-press 385 without too much strain, then let's just try 420.
The physical training sessions were in the morning. In the afternoons, SG was instructed in combat techniques. The aim was to make her as effective a foe as possible when she went against Koko.
The instructor, a lithe lieutenant colonel named Mason, explained to her that Koko didn't have much in the way of vulnerabilities.
"He's over eight feet tall, he's incredibly strong, and you can't kick him in the balls because they're inside his body. He's designed that way for protection."
Anastasia
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