On to the reviewers!

To K9: Well, what did you expect?

To Cris Skywalker, LadyKayoss, and Pheonix Master: Keep reading, keep reading.

On to the story! Whether old or new, read and review!

Chapter 11: Stalked and Captured

"We need to get that clone in for further testing now! Where is she?"

"Systems register her at Central Park."

"For God's sake, get the clone recaptured now. I don't care if you have to send fifty agents swarming Central Park, just do it." The Director's voice was angry, tense.

"But Madam Director…the clone is still emotionally unstable!"

"How am I going to go in front of the Science and Technology Department and get funding if you don't bring the clone in for further testing? The Pentagon is certainly impatient to get their hands on some more of those actuators."

"Yes, I'm right on it."

"And the two witnesses. I want them captured as well."

"I thought you wanted them disposed of."

"Not until we can put together an accurate psychological case study on the clone. Dr. Bowman never fails to remind me that he wants his colleague's psychological work finished and he has some pretty powerful friends."

"Wait…he was Grace Morrison's boss?"

"Yes. Then after we get through with them, you dispose of them. Understood? I want the three girls here within twenty-four hours. You've made enough mistakes with this project…don't screw up this time."

Octavia shivered on the Central Park bench. Her one lifeline left was Jordan…and she wasn't answering her cell phone.

Her tentacles knew she was sad and cold, and they tried to help her. They curled up about her, trying to shield her from the bitter cold. T.S. Eliot had once said that April is the cruelest month…and the poet knew what he was talking about.

But the ice-cold metal only made things worse. Octavia shivered, and began to sob. "They're right…I am a freak. Just a copy, a replica, a clone…"

One tentacle reached up with its pincer and wiped the tear away. The other tentacles examined the strange clear liquid, undoubtedly wondering why humans produced salt water from their eyes. Then the tentacle curled around her shoulder.

"Aw, that was so sweet of you…" Octavia said. Then she blinked. "Wait…I must be going nuts. I'm talking to inanimate objects."

Rosalie Andrews and Harris Belcher were two high school students, young and in love. They had chosen Central Park for their midnight rendezvous, to take a romantic hand-in-hand walk, and maybe something more.

They were sitting on a park bench making out when a voice behind him snapped, "Get a room!"

"Hey mind your own business…aah!" Harris turned around to see a tall, slender, black haired, black-suited man pointing a gun at him.

"Okay, okay, I'll give you all my money, just leave us alone!"

"Put your wallet away," snapped the man, flashing a CIA identification card. "Have you seen a brown haired girl wearing sunglasses and a brown trench coat here?"

"Uh, yeah," remembered Rosalie. "Down that way. Kinda creepy…kept talking to herself, that one."

The man left in that direction, without saying thank you.

"Coordinates of the clone confirmed. Moving in now…"

"Be sure to disable the arms before you capture her. Unless you want to go the way of Grace Morrison, that is."

Octavia's eyes popped open. The black suits again. And even more of them, there must have been at least ten.

"What do you want? Can't you leave a girl alone?"

Carlyle grinned evilly down at her. "Let's get this straight. We funded your creation. You're not even technically a person; you're a clone of another criminal freak that shouldn't be on this planet, and the subject of our experiment. You're our property, Octavia, and we've come to take our property back."

"No," said Octavia. She needed her tentacles to defend her now, but for some reason they just lay impotently at her side.

Carlyle twirled a remote control device, as if taunting her with the fact that she was helpless without the tentacles and he had the power to make them useless.

"The clone is on her way here. She is closely guarded, of course."

"And the witnesses?"

"Computer shows them at St. Isidore's Hospital at Venice, New York. Units on their way."

Jordan Nicholas was in a wheelchair, and she was still extensively bandaged, but she was grinning ear to ear, as was Daisy.

"Everything is in good order," said the nurse. "You'll still need to take it easy, no school for another couple of weeks, if those bullets were an inch either way, you'd be dead."

"But a couple of bullets aren't going to stop my pal Jordan," boasted Daisy.

Jordan leaned over to her friend and whispered.

"Of course we'll find Octavia," whispered Daisy. "But you have to go home and rest."

"Ah," said the nurse, "there's a man over at the lobby who signed your discharge papers. He's a friend of your father's—his name is Terrence Trainer."

Mr. Trainer looked at the two girls. "Hello, Daisy and Jordan."

Jordan again looked on the face of the man who had once tried to pay her off.

"No! No! I won't go with you! You're trying to kidnap me…and I don't know you!" Jordan screamed.

"Pardon me, ma'am," said Trainer. "She might be still traumatized from the accident. "She might be delusional."

The nurse nodded. "That she is. She's been screaming up and down about conspiracies, government agents, supervillians, and whatnot."

Carlyle (Osnick? Trainer? impossible to tell) grabbed Jordan and Daisy by the arms and dragged them outside. He smiled wickedly at them. "I know where your little friend Octavia is. And if you don't want her hurt, you'd better cooperate."

"The clone and both witnesses are on the premises."

"Good. Many people will be pleased. Prepare the tests."