A Beach Front in the south of France somewhere;
There are cliffs surrounding this small secluded beach, what light there is comes from the moon and the small campfire further up the beach
A bit of flotsam moves, coughs and rolls over revealing the sand encrusted face of a young woman. Her skin is the pale white that comes from long exposure to cold water. Her short blonde hair a tangled and matted mess in front of her face. Blood trickles from a recent wound above her right ear. Her waterlogged clothing, a black vest, skintight black pants and heavy black boots all look to have seen better days, with rips and tears revealing many scratches and bruises.
{Well, well, what have we here? Hey my friends, what say we have some fun with little Joan Cousteau!} The nasal, spiteful voice brought shivers down the girls spine....she heard the words, understood them but somehow, numbly she failed to comprehend their meaning.
The unwelcome voice intruded again
{Hey girl, whats your name? Don't struggle, I don't want to hurt you.........yet}. His alcohol soaked breath poured over her face, cheap wine and warm beer making her want to dry retch. {Michel, you are sick man.!} followed by a high pitched nervous laugh came from one of the four other figures.
The girl looked up blankly and then in accented but clear french {I...I...don't know!} a look of horror crossed her face, she pushed desperately at the youth above her. Caught by surprise he went reeling back into his friends as the girl half scrambled, half crawled her way up the beach, away from the water and the men.
{F&#$%ing bitch....Joan....Joan.....I'm goanna find her,....and I'm goanna kill her!}
The girl had scrambled for cover behind the beached carcass of an old ship and was now hiding, shivering in the wrecked and ruined remains of the old fishing vessel. "Who am I?" she sobbed quietly to herself, this time in lilting pure english. She rocked back and forth, hugging her knees to her chest.
The five men moved cautiously into the darkness of the hull, the glint of silver moonlight from the leaders blade flashing as they sensed the kill....Michel spots his quarry, and lunged at her with his knife, but before he connected, she grabbed his wrist and reached the knife out of his hand, then before he could act she elbows him to the side of his head, he Droped.
{She, she killed Michel! Run!} called out one of her other attackers. She picked up the knife, with the blade pointing down, at started to stand, they turned and ran. with no eminent threat she turned to the still body next to her, and checked for a pulse
.oO(Good)Oo. she thought in english, .oO(he lives.)Oo.
only then did she realise how natural the knife felt in her hand, like an extension more than a tool
Running on automatic, her brain still milling in confusion, she rapidly strips the unconscious man of his jacket and shirt and searches his pockets.
Coming out of her confusion she was startled to find the knife tucked up her sleeve, the jacket and shirt on, the wallet in her back pocket and a pair of keys with the image of a black Honda chopper on the ring. Looking down the man was neatly bound with his boot-laces. Her new digital watch reveals that 47 seconds had passed since the fight.
The sound of vehicles starting up pierce the night and fade rapidly.
Cautiously the girl steps out into the night, by the light
of the gutted bonfire on the beach a lone chopper gleams. Its custom
paint job black, lending menace to its sleek/ powerful lines, The
word 'Samantha' lovingly spelled out in crimson along the side.
.oO( I have to get out of here) Oo., survival reflexes kicked in
*cue 'Bad to the Bone' by George Thoroughgood*
The girl threw her leg over the saddle and kick-started the hog in one smooth motion, reaching into her new jacket she perched the pair of Ray Bans on her nose.
Squeal of tyres and the beach is empty of all life
New Scene; a service station somewhere north of last
position
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The girl purchases munches, oblivious to the adoring glances of the attendant, as she pays using the 'borrowed' funds the gas boy asks {what is your name?}
The girl looks up startled from the magazine she was flicking through {What...Oh um-mm...} she looks around evasively and then smiles as she sees the bike...{Its um-mm, Samantha....Samantha Caine} she smiles and turns to go, leaving the Christian Press comic book edition of Genesis on the counter.
New Scene; Some time later farther north
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Samantha Caine, in her trip north, comes upon a medium size town, with all the usual, a Bank, a Diner, school, post office, etc... as she drives down the street she notices a 'Help Wanted' sign in the window of the diner.
She idles her bike into the shade of an Oak in a nearby park and parks. Slipping the keys into her pocket she encounters the wallet she 'appropriated' earlier. The wallet is now significantly slimmer than when she first obtained it. {Damn I'm getting low on funds, and the gas is going to only last till the next town}.
She shrugs to herself and drifts into the Diner. The bell above the door jangles as she steps into the room, her eyes adjusting rapidly to the darkness inside. There are several locals inside taking their two hours off for lunch, sipping in ordinaire as they eat their steak and chips. They all look up as the stranger moves into the room, her black bikers clothing at odds with her cheerful demeanor.
The Diner is mainly patronised by large Males, and by there dress and deaner you would hazard to guess the work at that steel mill down the road.
Her eyes drift over them and come to rest on the owner of the establishment. A large burly Male comes out of the kitchen as Samantha walked up to the counter, he is Dressed in blue jeans and a Greezy White t shirt, and wares a white cloth cap on his bald head.
{What can i do for you Missy?}
{Bonjour, I saw the sign outside, Misure is the position still open sil vous plait?}.
{Aye, thats why the sign is still up. You have any waitress-ing experance?} Was is grunted reply.
Eyeing the customers but then thinking of her empty wallet... ::sigh, how hard can it be...a week here, under the table should get me to Paris::
{I have some experience and I learn fast, why don't you give me an afternoon to prove myself before we discuss pay?}
*Then maybe I can get some sleep, I haven't had a bed in two days*
The owner eyed up Samantha, he seemed to think hard then replied {Alright, I'll give you a go. You shifts will be 4PM to 1am, as that is my busiest time, apart from the Lunch hour, as I get a lot of Truckies stopping on their way to and from Paris. Your uniform is in the storeroom out back. My Name is Pete} as he stuck out out his hand to Samantha, {And welcome to Gritz, Any Question?}
She grinned and shook the proferred hand firmly. Her eyes looking askance at the door through to the back. At his nod of agreement she made her way to the back of the diner tossing over her shoulder {Merci, Monsieur. You won't regret it}. She strode though the kitchen area
and into the storeroom where she vainly looked for a uniform that fit *Don't these people have chests or waists? Oh yeah! Thats flattering to my hips...* Eventually she found an unstained semi fitting uniform, changed and emerged looking something like a seventies drive in diner girl advert. She did not look amused *sigh! The things we do for money*. For some reason that phase brought her a sense of vague disquiet. She shrugged uneasily, the starch itching along her neck and back as her hand reached up unconsciously. Her fingers brushing the scar recently healed on her temple beneath her bangs.
She walked back into the diner acutely aware of the gnawing emptiness of her memories.
After a long afternoon, serving tables, Samantha has enjoyed the day slipping into your stereotypical role of your Road-side diner waitress, much to the delight of the customer. though through out the day she keeps on noticing the same blue van pass in front of the diner very slowly (or was it the Bank on the other side of the road).
it is now about 4:30 pm and the Van is back, though this times it stops on the curbside of the road (on the Bank's side) and blocks the view of the doors to the bank.
Taking her coffee break slightly early. Samantha took off her apron and, in a casual gait, strolled across the street, towards her bike. Her clothes remain bundled into the saddle bags that are strapped to the back of the hog, along with her only armament, a flick knife. Her face betrays none of her thoughts as she hums a tune she doesn't consciously remember.."...Yeah Starbaby, take me higher..."
::"Hmm...interesting, bank-robbers? Amateurs from the way they cased the bank on the same day they hit it.
Figure at least three, but up to six...no more, they haven't the organisational skills. Assume their success, at least in getting the money.
Can't afford to be seen, on film or otherwise. At least not till I figure out who I am/who shot me. I'll follow them, the cash could be helpful."::
Five men com hurrying out of the Bank, three are carrying bank money bags, two have a large backpack connected to their unusually large guns, probably energy weapons, Samantha thinks, by a clear perspex tube. The quickly scramble into the side-door of the van as the alarm goes off. as sone as the last on is in the Van takes off, sliding the side-door close. there was something unusual about those men that you couldn't quite pin point.
Samantha gives them a slight lead and is pulling away when two police cars turn up (as well as a gathering crowd)
two blocks down the road the Van turns a corner. when Samantha turns the corner the van is not insight, actually the only vehicle insight is a black Van heading away from you, different plates.
::OK...Amateurs with nice toys...Cyborgs?...Going to have to be careful here...::
Samantha shadows the black van at a distance, careful to not be seen.
about an hour out of town, the van pulls a U-Turn and starts heading back towards you.
"Hmmm...ten to one they've spotted me....Uhuh, now its certain" as the van swerved to the side, blocking the narrow country road.
Her eyes narrowing, Samantha gauged the distance between her still moving HD and the now stationary van.
::I can still make it, got to time this juuuusssst right::
The side door of the van opened up, and the two bank robbers with the large energy weapons of unusual design stepped out and to the side giving their three friends behind a chance to fire.
All hell broke loose.
As the bad guys opened fire with an assortment of weapons Samantha slid down to the side of the harley putting its bulk between her and any uncommonly accurate shots. She needn't have bothered, all the shots passed about where her head and torso had been. The energy weapons spraying strange spent cartridges out of the cartridge port.
The two outside the van had time for a brief look of despair as the bike slammed into both their bodies as they tried in vain to leap away. The sound of screeching metal on tarmac stopped with a sickening crunch.
As the bike ground to a halt, the wheels still spinning. Samantha launched herself into the air, momentum carrying her forward, feet first into the chest of the man with the shotgun, breaking several of his ribs as he was carried across the van and into the opposing wall, breaking Samantha's fall. She bounced neatly into a crouch in the entrance to the vehicle.
There was a brief moment of silence.
::Did I do that? I must be insane, what am I thinking taking on these people?::
As these thoughts raced through her head some instinctual part of her brain far removed from any reasoning or thought reacted to the two immediate threats to her safety. As the man on the left brought his gun around in an attempted pistol whip at Samantha's unprotected head her flick knife, snakelike and glittering appeared in her left hand. Her head dropped low, below his swing as her arm slithered inside his guard to suddenly sprout, as if by magic from his eye penetrating the brain.
Before the unfortunate corpse had even hit the floor Samantha continued the movement, spinning on the ball of her right foot. Her left leg provided the power to surge inside the others pistol arm and through until she was actually behind him, back to back. As he desperately tried to swing around to face her, slim feminine hands reached over, taking his head almost gently by the jaw and cheek. Opposing momentum collided ceasing all movement. There was a soft crunch of breaking cartilage as the man fell heavily to the ground, his head at an unnatural angle. The mans uselessly lolling head lay on its side. Its wide starring eyes fading mercifully fading as death claimed him.
::The driver!::
As Samantha turned to look towards the front the vehicle slewed in an attempt to dump her out of the side door she had entered through. As she fought to maintain her balance she heard a noise to her side. The man she had hit with her feet on entering the vehicle was up and lumbering clumsily towards her, the shotgun held at an angle to crush her windpipe if it connected.
Samantha stopped fighting gravity, she dropped to her right knee and both hands as her left leg went rigid and caught him with sufficient force below the chin to actually lift him off the ground. His body sailed through the open door, carried by the motion of the van as well as his poorly timed lunge. His head fell back on the step into the van with a dull thud. as blood trickled from his ears.
With a squeal of tires the van found purchase on the verge of the road and took off away from the three bodies.
With a passive expression on her features as she entered a meditative state of 'no think' Samantha slid across the cramped confines of the van towards the driver. A sudden swerve made her lose her stance as she got to the drivers seat, dumping her over his shoulder. She desperately grasped for the wheel, trying to seize control of the steering as the man fought back. As he attempted to swing at her stomach with his fist she rolled onto her side and elbow smashed him in the stomach. Listening to his laboured breathing she easily gained control of the now wildly spinning wheel. turning her attention back to the driver, his face contorted purple by his efforts to breath she noted how his face was identical to the ones she had already fought.
As she noted this her right hand, almost of it's own violation delivered a viscious kite to the forehead staving in a section of the skull without actually breaking the skin. His body slumped on the accelerator the van drifting like a stoned dog.
In her current position between the seats Samantha was unable to see the road. Hoping she was still going in a straight line she seized the body with her free hand and, straining at the stiff arm effort, heaved him over her chest and dumped him unceremoniously into the passenger seat.
Squirming to put her head up briefly.
::CORNER!!!::
She dived down and hit the breaks with the palm of her hand as the van screeched to a halt inches short of a copse of trees. She doubled back to the Harley Davidson and the three corpses before pulling to a halt.
::What have I done? I just killed six people...Uh clones. How the hell did I do that? Who or what am I?....Normal people don't pull those kind of stunts. How many other people have I killed? Okay so they 'did' try to kill me first...::
During her internal dialogue she was half aware of dragging the corpses back in to the van, and after a moments reflection, the Harley joined them in the back.
::I have to get rid of these bodies::
After a brief search of the glove compartment she found a map of the area with a red circle marked 'pick-up point' about an hours drive away. More importantly, she found an old ravine that led off the road a short distance away. Driving up it enough to be well out of sight of the road she heaved the six still warm bodies out into a pile. Searching them she stripped the bodies of their pistol shoulder holsters and then set them ablaze under a mass of dry brush collected from the surrounds.
Samantha noticed a strange scrabbling sound from the backpacks that powered the energy weapons. Curious, she examined one of the packs. Flipping it open she saw a number of strange rodent like creatures inside the pack. Disgusted, she threw both energy weapons on the fire, revolted that someone could use genetic engineering for such purposes.
As she sat contemplating the fire, her eyes dark in the evening light as she pondered her future she looked down with a sigh. At her feet lay eight bags stuffed with high denomination bills and beside her a Remmington Police 870, about seventy rounds and two Beretta 9mm semi automatic pistols with twenty full clips between them. The flick knifes comforting weight resting inside the sleeve of her right arm.
"Well, whatever trouble I'm in, I'm better equipped to deal with it now."
Samantha, having decied it would probalbaby do to get some ID, and some how launder this money, Heads on north to Paris.
Once there she goes about getting herself a wardrobe, checks the Harley into a Gararge to be fixed, and piks up a pair of throwing knives, she dears not by more, with straight cash. all the while she keeps her ear to the ground for a contact for her more shady 'products' on her shopping list. after a couble of days and semi-libral amount of cash, she hits a location to find the person she needs! she presides to make her way to a the down town bar she was informed about, it was quite a classy place so she dressed apropreatly.
the only Security she can find at the glance she managed to give the place without looking suspicious was about 3 men scattered around the bar that were doing pretty much what she was doing, keeping an eye on the place with out try to draw attention to them selves, which seems out of place in such a high class bar.
When she got there and made her way to the Bartender and asked for Francis.
"Who wants to know?" was the responce
She gave him her most dazzling smile and say "Someone who is interested in doing business with him...I have heard he is in a line of work my employer would find useful on a regular basis. Can you help me or am I speaking to the wrong person?"
She is looks very closely at him at this point, in particular his hands. Just to make sure he isn't pressing any buttons.
the Barkeep returns her smile still drying the glass, though you suspect it is only for some thing to do with his hands. "And what type of business is that? Though I should warn you now. he will only talk to the customer themselves no go betweens, bad for the health."
"In this case you may take me to be the principal. This is my personal project. Though my manager may bring further work should my own requirements be met satisfactorily. As for the work I require...I have been led to believe that he can provide high quality printwork. I am dissatisfied with the existing literature my 'company' has. Due to previous time overruns I am also willing to pay a rapid work bonus. The work is of course, of a confidential nature, you understand. Do you understand my requirements?"
He puts down the glass on the bar and pours a Red wine. "Have a drink, while I see about getting you an appointment." he then leaves her and walks into a back room (he isn't the only bartender on duty).
Samantha rests on her stool at the bar nursing her drink and holding the glass in such a position as to be able to see the reflection of anyone if they approach her from behind. She doesn't actually drink.
She waits for something to happen whilst she wonders who the hell she is and how did she learn to do business with people like this.
Samantha savoured a few sips of the red wine. An obviously superior wine with a price tag to match. She waited ten minutes until finally the bar tender she had spoken to reappeared. "Francis will see you now" He motioned for her to follow him through into the back.
Francis was a well dressed though nondescript man with no features that would make him stand out in the crowd. After a brief flurry of introductions and pleasantries they settled down to business.
"What can I do for you madam? To judge from your appearance you could afford the originals rather than copies of the great masters works. Why would you require my services?"
"Ah, well the work I require is a rewriting of my company literature."
"And what form might the company take?"
"It is a Private company with myself as your client. I wish to expand my advertising campaign to include other members of the EU than France."
"And why did you come to me in particular? There are many who offer 'similar' services to my own."
"I had heard that you are the best there is available in this field and my specifications are ...exacting."
"Touche." He replied with a wiry grin, The kid gloves appeared to come off as he appeared to accept her credentials and begin bargaining without the verbal fencing.
"Getting papers together that will get you past the borders will take a few days, is that acceptable?" In response to his query Samantha nodded.
"I shall also require as many details about you as possible, doing a background check on you in order to make these documents convincing."
Samantha replied smoothly "such details may in fact be more problematic than they are helpful. I should prefer to do without the background check."
"You do realize that without details for me to tie in my work may be slightly less convincing." he said scowling slightly, a perfectionist held back by his client.
"I understand but to me the risk is acceptable. I will require three separate identities. One a peasant from Provance, France. One fitness instructor from the Berlin. Finally I wish the ID of a London student of modern dance. Now, how do you wish payment? I would prefer to work with cash personally, It travels easily whilst leaving little trace of its passing."
"I would find it easier to receive payment through the banks."
"Fine that is acceptable. I shall arrange for a swiss bank transfer direct to an account you specify. Payment upon delivery. I will wait until I see the merchandise and then make the transfer direct before leaving."
They proceed to haggle price, pick up point and other final details with Samantha eventually agreeing on a fee that took a large chunk out of her newly squired finances before she left, back to the shelter of the van and it's chameleon shell.