Chapter 2- Unimportance

Location- Los Angeles

Dmitri sat in a gray room in a metal chair at a metal table. The woman, the same one who had shot his Sheila in Germany, she sat across from him.  He twisted his wrists; the handcuffs were almost too tight.  Dmitri looked at the tall, husky man who stood behind her to the right. The agent returned his glare.

"I repeat, what is your name?" The woman asked patiently.

Dmitri spat in her face, "Up yours,"

The husky agent came around, took his head by the hair, and smashed his face into the table angrily. "Answer her!" he demanded.

"Weiss!" The woman stood up. "Let him go," The husky agent let go of his hair, but still stood behind him. The woman sat down, "Now, tell me your name. We already know you and Sheila Erickson work for Sloane. All we need is your name,"

Dmitri felt blood trickling from his nose, "Where's Sheila?"

"She's being questioned by another agent," Agent Weiss replied. "Now, your name?"

"I want to see her," Dmitri implored the female agent.

"Your name first," The woman said. "Then I'll see what I can do,"

Dmitri considered, "Dmitri. Dmitri Masenkov,"

"There, now was that so painful?" Agent Weiss moved back towards the woman.

"It was, actually, thanks to you," The blood was still flowing from Dmitri's nose.

"We need to ask you some more questions," The female agent said calmly.

"Why did you kill our contact?" Agent Weiss crossed his arms and glared.

"Because I was ordered to. That's how it usually works," Dmitri smiled and snorted.

"So, Arven Sloane ordered you to kill him," The female agent was taking it all in.

"No, I was ordered by another, whose orders came from Sloane," Dmitri smiled again. So, she had been right, they were ahead at this point in the game. "My orders come from Derevko, whose orders come from Sloane,"

"Where is Sloane?" Agent Weiss asked.

"I don't know," Dmitri shook his head.

"Where is Sloane?" Agent Weiss repeated, this time with more heat.

"I told you, I don't know!" Dmitri yelled. "No one does, except for Derevko, and she's not saying anything; especially to a contract killer like me or Sheila,"

"How are you involved with Ms. Erickson?" The female agent wondered.

"Agent Bristow, are you sure," Agent Weiss looked iffy on this question for some reason.

"Weiss, I'm fine," Agent Bristow cut him off. "I repeat, how are you involved with Ms. Erickson?"

Sadness overcame Dmitri. He looked solemnly up at the woman, "Sheila is my wife. She's my hope," He cringed and his shoulders shook as he hung his head. "My hope that some day we could be together as a normal family,"

"That's enough," Agent Bristow said, gesturing for the guard to come take him away.

* * *

There was a woman; a tall, dark woman. Lynx couldn't see her face, but she sensed she knew it. This was her mother, and Lynx was only three years old. There was a boy too. He had a blurred face as well, but Lynx had an impression she knew him. He was about nine or ten years old, and had a mass of curly hair.

"Come on!" He called. "She's waiting!" He ran ahead of her, and jumped into the arms of her mother as she hugged him close. It was a glorious day in a bright yellow and green park. Many other small families were out today was well, walking or running in the sea of green.

"Darling, come on now!" The woman called as joyfully as the boy had.

"Momma!" Lynx ran forward, but fell. She was immediately picked up, but not by her mother. A big, burly man in a suit was holding her, and taking her away. Fear seized Lynx, and she kicked and screamed.

The boy cried and tried to run after her. Her mother called her name, but the man holding her wouldn't let go.

"Momma!" Lynx cried. She then jolted straight up in bed, and remembered nothing from her dream.

* * *

"This is Irina Derevko," Sark laid the photo in front of her as she sat at the table in the study. "She is our superior. She used to work for the Russians. Now, she's a rogue who's allied herself with this man," Sark laid down another photo. "Arven Sloane. Former Army Corps, former CIA, former Alliance, and is now on a mission to discover the secrets of Rembaldi." 

"What or who is Rembaldi?" Lynx studied the two faces on the table. The woman looked cool, aloof, and dangerous. She reminded Lynx of a lioness, ready to hunt, pounce, and kill at any moment. The man looked better. He looked like a scholar and a great mind. Lynx liked him immediately.

"Milo Rembaldi was a scholar whose scientific genius rivals modern scientists. He invented numerous objects that he scattered around the world, thirty to be exact. All of these mysterious objects come together to form a machine called Ildire, The Telling," Sark came around behind Lynx and stood with his arms crossed, staring out the window. "Rembaldi was also a prophet, mainly of his own destiny. Some of Rembaldi's disciples interpret his manuscripts as him telling of the Second Coming,"

"An apocalypse?" Lynx turned in her chair to look at her Master's back.

Her Master turned around, "No, a child." Sark began pacing in the study again. "There is a prophecy of a woman, a woman with no physical marks to identify her, who would bring about the Second Coming. It is not known how, but most believe she is to bear the child of Rembaldi."

"Well, the prophecy's a fluke then," Lynx commented.

Sark stared at her, "What do you mean?"

"Rembaldi's dead. How are he and this woman supposed to, you know," Lynx slightly blushed.

Sark considered. "There are different interpretations. A descendant could do it, of course, but the tracing process is almost impossible,"

Lynx shrugged. "Anyway, who is this woman? Has anyone found her?"

Sark turned away, "I believe that I have found some one who is, but only time will tell," He turned back around, "As Derevko would say, truth takes time," Sark walked up and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a ball of twisted, knotted string. He placed it on the table in front of Lynx. "This is a test. Unknot the string by any means necessary. You have one hour,"

Lynx studied the ball. How could she possibly do this? What was Master up to? She didn't know him well yet; it could be anything. Lynx creased her eyebrows and stared hard. There! The answer was plain as day. Lynx smiled as she reached into her sweater jacket and pulled out a pocketknife she'd hidden there. Taking the blade, she promptly cut a string in the middle of the ball. Then, after replacing her knife, she took the two cut ends and pulled. The ball came apart into two equal strings. Lynx placed them on the table and stared up at Sark. He stared down at her.

"Well done, even if you did break the rules," He picked up the two strings and put them in his pocket.

"The rules weren't broken, just bent. You told me to unknot the string by any means necessary, and I did," Lynx was slightly surprised when Sark patted her on the head.

"Good, you pass," Sark walked toward the door. He motioned with his hand for her to follow. "Come, Lynx. I have a special treat for you in the basement,"

What in the hell is he up to? Lynx wondered. "Yes, Master"

* * *

"Hey, are you okay?" Vaughn sat down on the edge of Sydney's desk. His Chinese take-out lunch was still being eaten as he fed himself Moo Shoo Pork with chopsticks.

"Yeah, just a little tired," Sydney put away her debrief reports and stared at her fiancé. "You have rice on your chin,"

Vaughn wiped off his chin. "So, what did you find out from your guy?"

Sydney knew he meant Dmitri Masenkov, "Sloane is not with my mother. No one except her knows where he is apparently."

"So, the Intel we got from our contact in Berlin was faulty," Vaughn sighed. "Great. So, we now have no leads to Derevko or Sloane. Could the day get any better?"

"You know the woman you were interrogating?" Sydney asked. "Sheila Erickson?"

Vaughn looked interested, "Yeah, what about her?"

"She's Masenkov's wife," Sydney looked down.

Vaughn's face brightened up, "Oh!"

"What?"

"It all makes sense now!" Vaughn half smiled.

Sydney stood up and crossed her arms, "Michael, what's going on?"

"Erickson said something about how they were going to become personal associates if they successfully pulled this job off." Vaughn gave a short sigh. "How they would finally be able to tell Derevko about it,"

"About what?" Sydney was lost.

"Well, apparently when they eloped, the Masenkov's discovered Intel about an old CIA project that had just been finished. The Parisian priest who married them used to be Russian intelligence.  He told them something about a project known as Project Lifetime. He seemed to think Derevko would find it interesting,"

Sydney creased her eyebrows, "What's Project Lifetime?"

Vaughn shrugged, "I don't know, I'm not sure on the fine details. All I was able to find out was that it was a little like the Project Christmas you father subjected you to,"

"In what way was it similar?"

Vaughn sighed. She's not going to like this, "Instead of training six year olds for only two months, Project Lifetime trained kids for nearly thirteen years, from the time they were three until they are sixteen to eighteen. It made them into people programmed to be agents."

Sydney looked at the ground, "How many?" Her voice cracked, Vaughn knew she didn't like news like this.

"Erickson told me about fifty," Vaughn sighed.

Sydney collected her reports from her desk and stored them in her side bag, "I have to go see the, the uh, the wedding planner," She looked at Vaughn; her eyes were shining. "I'll be home around five,"

"I'll go with you," Vaughn was trying to be supportive. "I just need to run to my desk,"

Sydney nodded, "Okay,"

* * *

Sark led Lynx down a set of moist, dark stairs. The air smelled like mold. The stone tower steps kept going deeper and deeper. When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Lynx was standing in an old medieval torture chamber. The rack, a cross that would slowly rip your arms off, a bed of nails, all of these different devices lined the walls. The only thing that had changed the room in nearly two hundred years was the electricity Sark had wired down. A single bulb burned in the middle of the room. Under this light was a bound, gagged, and blindfolded man. He sat in a wooden chair and seemed to be about the same age as Sark. He moved at the sounds of Lynx and her Master moving down the stairs. He tried in vain to call for help behind his gag.

Sark moved over to the man and Lynx followed. He crouched down to the man left side and removed his blindfold. "Meet Mr. Latyner. He was foolish enough to trespass onto my grounds, only he got caught. He's CIA, and you know what that means." Sark stood up and walked to Lynx' side. "This is my newest associate, Lynx. She's a very capable young woman. Have you been shown good hospitality, Mr. Latyner?"

The man nodded. Lynx noticed he had begun to cry.

"Good, I should hate to hear one of my guests was being mistreated. Have you been a good little boy, Mr. Latyner, as you mother taught you?" Sark seemed unpulsed at the man's crying, and smiled when he nodded. "Very well. Lynx has been a good girl, she's proven herself very nicely." Sark turned away and began to walk up the stairs. "Have fun with your new toy, Lynx,"

The young man continued to cry, even as Lynx crouched down in front of him, "There, there, don't be such a baby. You're afraid you're going to die, aren't you? *nod* You're afraid I'm going to put you on the rack, or have your arms torn off, or do any other unseemly things to make you suffer that will make you beg for death aren't you? *nod nod nod* Well, you are going to die, that is a matter of fact. Master has given me my orders, and I must carry them out. But, how to do it?"

The man looked up into the eyes of his soon-to-be murderer. What on earth is she talking about? Wait! I know her! The man grew excited and began to try to bounce up and down and gesture for her to take his gag off.

"Hey, stop it," Lynx told him as she stood up. The man wouldn't quit moving. "I told you to stop."

This has to be her! He thought ravenously. She has to know me! She must know! He continued to become more frantic.

"If you don't stop moving I'll put you on the rack!" Lynx grew angry at this prisoner's insolence. Her eyes raged and she seemed to loose control of her emotions. "I said STOP IT!"

* * *

(Warning; graphic)

It was almost two hours later. Sark moved briskly down the stairs. Let's see how our unlucky friend faired under Lynx. I wonder if she made his death long or short. Who cares really, even if he's still alive? She'll just get to play with him more tomorrow. Sark was moving quickly to the bottom of the stairs. There was the same moldy stench in the air, but it was hinted now with something more; something coppery. Sark reached the bottom of the tower stairs, and was mortified for a short instant. Blood painted nearly every surface. Human skin and bone fragments littered the floor. Human hair was stuck in places where the blood was pooling. Lynx had made use of the delimbing cross as well. Sark almost threw up when he saw what was left of Agent Latyner's torso on the old wooden rack in the corner. Lynx had out done herself, a million times over. She's more fearsome than me, Sark thought, a very lovely trait in an associate. Sark stopped and stared at Lynx's kneeling form in the center of the room. She was absolutely covered in human blood and was kneeling in a two-foot diameter pool of it. Her head was down and her arms were motionless at her sides.

(Graphic part over)

"Well done, Lynx," Sark held his breath against the smell. "Now. Let's get you upstairs for a shower,"

Lynx still remained motionless, "Master?"

Sark crouched down, careful not to get any blood on his nice suit, "Yes, Lynx?" He lifted her chin with his hand and nearly fell over in shock.

It wasn't that Lynx's face was flecked in blood; her bright green eyes were even brighter from crying. Tears flowed in great streams down her face and she sobbed openly, "I didn't like my surprise, Master,"

"Oh, Lynx," Sark sighed as he helped her stand up. Then, he picked her up (she was surprisingly light), and he himself carried her up the tower stairs as she continued to cry into his lapel.

AUTHOR'S NOTE- What a sad ending! (Sniff sniff). Oh, well. So, this is the second chap. Don't hate Lynx just because she just killed someone. She's suffering right now as I write. She'll suffer in the next chapter too, so she'll get her just desserts.

So, what do you think project lifetime is? I'll give fifty super reader credit points to the reader who can guess how it's important before the next chapter is up. Tee hee, I love this!

Luv, Tsuri

Got to go now; sleepy time. U_U. . .ZzzZzz