By all rights, this chapter shouldn't even be up. Since the last chapter, there's been over 30 hits to this story. And only ONE review!!! One!!! Did you not like the last chapter as much? Was there something wrong with it? If so, tell me!!!

So… if you want more chapters, you had better start reviewing. I am seriously gonna hold out until I get 5 reviews at least. Here me? 5.

This chapter is a freebee, but it's really only a teaser to what was supposed to be chapter four. I originally had something super-long planned out for you guys (seriously... like 5000 words), but then I halved it.

On a happier note (I'm not so good staying on one topic), go read the story I'm helping my beta, Infinite Rhapsody (coincidentally, my one reviewer), write— Junk Mail. It's under her account in the Alex Rider Fandom. It's amazing. :)

CHAPTER FOUR

Pain. Grinding pain, stinging pain, burning pain. That was the first thing I registered as I clawed my way towards consciousness. That, and the fact that I was extremely tired.

I opened my eyes, expecting to see the familiar, dirty ceiling of my bedroom, expecting all the pain to vanish in a few moments, the aftermath of a nightmare. But it didn't— it got worse. And my eyes beheld not dingy gray foamcast, but clean, white tiling. I could pick out the microscopic scratches and pocks on the tiles, see a couple tiny, tiny specks of dirt. Huh. Not as clean as I had thought at first, then.

I remembered how to move my eyes, and looked to my left. There were two great silver orbs in a pale face staring straight at me.

Oh, yes. The Special surgery. I remember now.

"Hello, Victoria. Sit up, now. Don't be lazy."

I flinched.

The voice was grinding, rough; knives running across my nerves like nails on a blackboard. I recognized it vaguely as Turner's. "Come on. Sit up, girl." She wanted me to sit up now? Right after my surgery?

"Get up, Victoria." I heard her through my ears, but the voice seemed to come from inside my head. It pounded at me, made me lose focus. The world slipped away, replaced by blobs of vaguely human-shaped red and less vividly colored shapes.

Infrared. I was seeing in freaking infrared.

"All right! All right!" My voice came out full of razor blades, cutting and slicing, angry and hurt. Startled, and maybe just a little frightened, I blinked hard, and the world returned to normal.

I sat up, feeling the muscles in my back shriek in protest. I turned to my left to face Turner again. "I'm up!"

"Good. I'm glad you can obey orders." Turner smiled as with some private joke.

"What did you do to me just now?" I asked hoarsely.

"Voice command through to the hypothalamus," explained Turner, which was not really an explanation at all.

"What?"

"I sent a command down my comlink into yours. It stimulated your hypothalamus and cerebral cortex, which, ah, helps you to obey the command."

"Basically, it forced me to obey," I said, angrily.

"I wouldn't put it that far. It just made you, how do you say it? It made you lose your grip temporarily." Turner said this completely without shame, just full of false smiles, skirting the problem.

"Oh, lovely. I can see why there were some things you wanted to tell me after I went through the surgery," I asserted furiously.

"Victoria. You are being insubordinate," she warned, knives poking into her voice again. "I won't use the comlink very often, just when I have to talk to you from far away. Though our ears are very superior to the mindless Pretties and the stupid Uglies, even we cannot hear across a distance of a thousand miles." Turner stood up and changed the subject rapidly, as I was learning she was fond of doing. "Come on. Do you want to see yourself in the mirror?"

I didn't reply, but got up from the bed with an unnerving amount of grace and speed. That, at least, was a huge improvement on my normal klutziness and slowness.

I stepped up to the long, clear mirror that covered one whole wall. Turner stood beside me, her scarlet lips smug.

I gasped.

I was at least a foot taller than before, and while I had been slim, I was now very skinny. My arms and legs were corded with strong muscles, my hands small but radiating power.

I was garbed in a thick suit of black that reached up my neck and went down to my ankles. My long, straight brown hair that had been so difficult and yet I had loved so much was chopped off to my chin, where it was parted to the side and smooth as glass.

My skin was the same, still pale, not rosy. My eyes were that terrible, frightening silver that reflected fear and horror back at you. My once-small nose was larger now, long and hawklike. My lips were still full, but were now a little darker, stark against my light skin.

I was completely changed.

"Well, now that you're finished admiring yourself, we can get to business," snapped Turner impatiently, turning on her heel and leading me out of the operation room and into the bright hallway. I could hear people shouting several floors up…and a few disembodied, distant screams. I shuddered. "You've got your first mission today."

A mission an hour after getting my bones replaced, my body stretched out, and my muscles augmented. I can do this. I can do this.

Not.

"You're leading A unit to the site of a known rebel camp. Your orders are to destroy the camp and any weapons there and to kill every last man, woman and child there. Except for the leader. The leader you bring to me." Turner licked her lips gruesomely. "And while I am lenient with first missions—you are a leader, Captain Clarke."

It was a surprise to hear her use my new title. And her rapid mood swings were giving me a headache. Wait a second, I thought, the meaning of her words finally hitting me. Captain. She had mentioned that before, before the surgery— that seemed like so long ago suddenly— but I hadn't really thought that she had been serious.

I didn't even know what I was doing.

"I expect that you will be back within five hours," she went on, oblivious to my jumpy mind. "No trace of the camp shall remain. The coordinates will be programmed into your hovercars, and you will be given proper equipment. I assure you, it will be state of the art. Guns and lasers and even rocket launchers—such fun!" Turner gave a grating, harshly uncharacteristic laugh. "I trust you will use them well."

We continued in silence, me digesting Turner's strange attitude and my deplorable mission, Turner grinning to herself every so often, her black boots clacking on the linoleum. We went down several flights of stairs until I was virtually sure we were underground.

Finally, we arrived in a large, ornate room with lush crimson carpet, luxurious golden walls, and a crystal chandelier, where forty or so other Specials were gathered, separated into four groups. A pile of machine guns, heat gas grenades and the dreaded laser guns was situated in the middle of the room, looking hilariously out of place.

"Agents, at attention!" Turner called. She did not raise her voice, but the other Specials heard her anyway and immediately lined up and stood at attention. "A unit, report to me and your new commander, Captain Clarke. B unit, you have patrol in the Uglies district. Pay special attention to the area around Coldwater Dormitory. Rebels have been sighted nearby."

I felt a jolt of fear as Turner mentioned my dorm. Could she be talking about Adrian? Did she know I had met him? Was Adrian a rebel, anyway?

Turner continued with her orders. "C unit, forest patrol. Check for any unauthorized travelers. D unit, you have Ashe Wing duty. We have a new shipment of rebels tonight, thanks to B unit."

Scattered applause; it looked like the Specials had already heard about this capture and congratulated their colleagues.

"If you can extract any information, do so. If you have any especially difficult subjects, send them to Genemod Experimentation. Don't forget to eliminate all the prisoners at the end of your questioning. You may use heat gas."

The Specials who I assumed made up D unit cheered. I did not join in. Genemod Experimentation? My new boss used prisoners like lab rats? My God. I was appalled. I had known Turner was unstable and somewhat sadistic, and Adrian had told me that Specials were in charge of torture and murder of rebels, but…this was beyond belief. Experimentation on live people? That was horrendous.

But wasn't that what doctors did to Uglies when they turned sixteen? Live experimentation?

I was liking this city less and less by the minute.

I was given no time to ponder those misgivings as the Specials of A unit zipped over to Turner and me.

They all had pale skin, silver eyes, full lips, and long, thin noses, but aside from that, they were as dissimilar as a pack of nine Uglies. Five were girls and four were boys. They crowded around me and introduced themselves in those strange voices that were like smooth gossamer masking honed, evil knives.

"I'm Sienna. Agent West to you." A tall, graceful—heck, we were all tall and graceful—girl who looked like she was twenty-one or so (but it really was hard to tell when they were all so alike) with smooth blond hair tied back in a in a ponytail stepped up to greet me. "I'm your second in command, and I've been here longer than any of the others, so you had better listen to me. I specialize in the Ashe Wing—prisoner interrogation. And just because you're a captain, don't you dare think you know more than me. I was the first Special, and I'm the best. You better remember that."

Excellent. A bossy, super-confident, experienced, bitter second-in-command.

Welcome to the workforce, Victoria.

The others introduced themselves with a lot less insubordination: Katrina Troy, a newly turned brunette who was quiet and also a master systems hacker, as the other agents informed me later.

Alexandra Wright, a calculating redhead who looked up to Sienna no end but, according to Katrina, was the best at busting rebel hideouts.

Anne Ride, a raven-haired, talkative twenty-year-old who had a good hand with the rocket launcher.

Lily Caspian, a fierce teenager with pale blond hair cropped short like mine who Anne told me could airboard like no one's business.

Mike and Eric Everson, two brunet identical twins who didn't speak often, but what they did say, I learned, was smart and analytical.

Randy Cooper, a big, muscular teenager who was the best sharpshooter of the group.

Jason McAllister, a moody black-haired boy two years older than me who was, apparently, the group's expert on heat gas and the Bohrian laser ray.

I liked Jason a lot less after I became aware of that fact.

"Okay," said Turner after everyone had finished introducing themselves. Our silver eyes immediately flew to her face. Turner seemed like she was one of those people who had the gift of holding an audience. Or maybe she had just altered our brain chemistry.

I was a robot, I thought. A horrible, psychopathic-ruled, chemically-altered robot.

* * *

And there's your short chapter! Chapter 5 is all typed and ready, so review and you'll get it!

-Aelyra xxx