La Femme Serena
by Aglaia

---

Chapter 2: The Recruit

Serena stared unblinking at the ceiling as
she was strapped down on a long metal table.
Technicians and guards milled around the room,
checking equipment, attaching sensors to her skin,
and preparing the medical supplies. Once she was
secured to the table, the guards stepped back to
stand next to the door of the small room. A nurse
double-checked the needles and pronounced
everything ready for the final lethal injection.
The ugly green curtain was drawn back to reveal a
window for the witnesses and spectators. Serena
recognized only one person: the man with the
diamond-studded earring. She locked eyes with him
and blocked out everything else.

Staring at the man with the earring, Serena
realized that there would be no call from the
Premier, ordering a stay of execution. Coming to
grips with the finality of her situation, Serena
thought about all the things she had yet to
experience. For a twenty-two year-old, she was
surprisingly innocent. She had yet to have her
first kiss, her first date, her first love. She
had spent most of her life in hiding or on the
run; occupied with the struggle for survival from
day to day, there hadn't been time for luxuries
such as feelings and friendship. However, Serena
had secretly cherished an image of having a loving
family and had vowed to one day make it happen.
But now, it looked like her dream would go
unfulfilled. Silently, as she continued to stare
at the man with the earring, she acknowledged all
her regrets. One single tear crept down her face.

The seconds on the clock ticked away, and
the time came for them to give her the final,
fatal injection. A nurse rubbed down a spot on
her forearm with a cotton swab and alcohol; the
nurse then inserted the IV drip into her arm.
Another nurse placed the needle into a small tube
attached to the IV and depressed the plunger.
Serena stared at the man with the earring, and her
vision became hazy as her pupils dilated.
Gradually, her eyes closed, and the monitor flat-
lined.

---

Serena groggily opened her eyes. At first,
all she saw was white. Confused, she slowly sat up
and found herself in a sterile, but spacious room.
Everything in it was snow white: white walls, white
floors, white sheets, and white doors.

Was this heaven? Or was this hell? She was
dead, wasn't she? The last thing she remembered
was being given that injection. She had been
strapped down to an operating table, feeling like
she had been stripped of her hope, and then...

Nothing.

It was funny that she didn't remember what
dying had felt like. None of the usual
descriptions seemed familiar. She didn't remember
pain, or joy, or floating above her body, or even
seeing a light she was supposed to walk towards.
Serena felt a little annoyed that such a momentous
event had passed without her having any
recollection of it at all.

And now she was here, wherever "here" was.
How did she get here? What was she supposed to do?

Not knowing what else to do, she took a
closer look around her. She was dressed in a white
gown, the type used by hospitals. The only
furniture in the room was the bed on which she was
lying. It had a metallic frame and a sleek,
futuristic design. Halogen lights from the high
ceiling above her brightly lighted the room.
Before she had much time to assess her
surroundings, the door opened.

"You!"

The man with the earring walked in, wearing
yet another dark, designer suit.

She wasn't dead. She hadn't died.

The first thing Serena felt was relief. Joy
flooded through her. She still had a chance, a
chance to do all the things she had dreamed about.
She felt like dancing. She felt like singing. She
felt -

"We meet again, Serena."

The handsome man's words broke into her
jubilant thoughts, bringing her back to reality
like a slap in the face.

"What happened? What am I doing here? Who
ARE you??" Serena exclaimed impatiently.

Agent Star looked Serena up and down. In his
mind, he acknowledged that cleaned up she was . . .
well, pretty. Even in the plain white hospital
gown, her pale skin shone. She had an ethereal
beauty that was undiminished by the gauntness of
her figure, nor by the austere environment. Her
thick, golden hair appeared to have been cropped
short with a blunt knife; the ragged ends hung
limply around her sweet, heart-shaped face.

"My name is Seiya. I'm an agent for Project
Eleven." He watched carefully for her reaction to
the name of his organization. However, her puzzled
expression remained unchanged, so he was pleased to
conclude that it held no meaning for her. If it
had, measures would have been taken to assure that
she never heard it again...

"I'm sure you'll be happy to learn that your
execution was faked." At Serena's blank look of
incomprehension, he continued, "Don't get me wrong;
Serena Arroway IS dead. Would you like to see
some pictures of your funeral?"

As if unaware of the bombshell he had just
dropped on the unsuspecting Serena, Seiya calmly
tossed some glossy photos on her bed. "And my
particular favorite: this one is a picture of your
grave. Plot 16, row 12," he said as he tossed
another photograph at her. "We brought you here
because we believe you have great potential as an
agent. It's time you gave back to your country.
You are here to be trained to work for us."

Serena felt as if someone had pulled the rug
out from under her, and before she could regain her
balance, the rug was pulled out again. She was
falling without any kind of safety net and had
nothing to hold on to, but somehow she managed to
choke some words out. "What... What kind of work?"

"All kinds. Surveillance, assassin,
bodyguard . . . anything and everything," he
answered blithely as if these were common
professions.

She had just managed to survive what was
supposed to be a lethal injection. She had just
gotten a second chance to live, and they were
asking her to do this??

"And if I refuse?" Serena asked defiantly,
her voice returning with the injustice of what she
was facing. She was finally getting back some of
that fire.

"Plot 16, row 12."

The implication was inescapable: work for
them, or die. Not much of a choice in Serena's
opinion. Anger shot through her at the unfairness
of Seiya's demands. Give up her life, everything
in order to work for this Project?

"You can't do this to me!" Serena got out of
the bed and stood up to face her adversary. "I
won't let you. You just can't do this!"

Seiya seemed to take her outburst into stride.
He merely stood up and began to walk away from her.

When he opened the door to leave, Serena
began to think triumphantly that she had won, but
his last words dashed her hopes.

"You'll soon learn that I can do whatever I
want."

With that parting promise, he closed the door
behind him, shutting her in once again.

---

Serena lay in bed again, staring at the
ceiling above her. It had been some time since
Seiya had left her here to stew in her own juices.
Since no one had come to kill her, she could only
assume that they were giving her some time to think
things over.

Because there were no windows or outside
sounds and because the lights never dimmed, Serena
had no way to gauge the passing of time. She had
no conception of how long she had been left in this
room, but she knew it had been a long time. It
felt like an eternity.

In the early stages of her imprisonment, she
had first pounded on the door. She had yelled and
screamed, trying to get some sort of response, but
none had been forthcoming. Then, she had proceeded
to minutely examine every square inch of her prison,
searching for some clue to where she was or for
some way to escape. Unfortunately, her exhaustive
investigation had yielded nothing beyond the
obvious: she was trapped in this prison of white,
trapped until they decided to let her out.

Gradually, as her choices had narrowed and
her energies had been spent, she laid herself down
on the bed to do some thinking. Just thinking and
staring at the ceiling, which is what she had been
doing for what seemed like hours now.

As the time stretched into infinity,
everything began to seem more and more pointless to
Serena. So what if she rejected this Project,
whatever it was? They would kill her, and that
would be that.

Except... she didn't want to die.

She was tough. After all her time spent
living on the rough and dangerous streets, she had
survived. After all the curve balls life had
thrown at her, she had survived. And she could
survive this too, dammit!

She had come in for more than her fair share
of hard knocks, she thought indignantly. What had
she done to deserve them? Well, she wouldn't take
it any more. She decided angrily that she wouldn't
let anyone walk all over her - not God or Fate, not
this Seiya, and certainly not his precious Project.
She was going to let them have it. If they wanted
her, they were going to have her. All of her.

"I won't go down without a fight!" she yelled
at the blank walls of the room. "Do you hear me,
you bastards? I won't go down!"

Before the sound of her voice had finished
echoing around the empty room, the lock on the door
clicked, and it opened as if she had spoken the
magic words.

The handsome Seiya walked in wearing a smug
grin, not saying a word.

Serena glared at him resentfully. She was
silent for a few minutes before she asked, "What
kind of training?"

---

BAM!

The muffled smack of leather on leather
echoed in the training area. Her breathing
labored, Serena was sweating heavily as she worked
out against a physical trainer. Feinting left
while bobbing up and down, Serena launched an
uppercut with her right glove to the protective
padding the instructor held.

It had been over five weeks since she had
agreed to join Project Eleven and begun her
physical training. In addition to the rigorous
weight training regimen her instructor implemented
for her, she also studied with other instructors,
practicing not only the traditional eastern
martial arts like karate, jiu jitsu, kung fu, and
tae kwon do, but also the more modern western
fighting techniques such as fencing, wrestling,
and street-fighting.

But her lessons didn't end there. Aside from
the hard forms of martial arts, she even learned
soft forms such as tai chi in order to refine her
focus and her breathing techniques. Boxing was
merely her most recent set of lessons. The
grueling physical pace set by her instructors was
putting her in the best shape she had ever been in.
Combined with regular, healthy meals, Serena's body
was actually filling out.

Finishing with a series of feints, dodges,
and quick jabs, Serena perfectly executed the
newest combination the instructor had been showing
her.

"Good! It's looking good, Serena. That's
enough for today," said Amara, the boxing
instructor. "See you tomorrow, same time."

Glowing from the exertion and the praise,
Serena took off her gloves and unwrapped her
hands. She put away her equipment quickly and
efficiently as she had been taught to do. "Ok.
Thanks, Amara."

Amara was easily one of Serena's favorite
instructors. They often sparred together, with
Amara showing her new techniques in self-defense
and in various forms of martial arts. Amara's
short, dusty blond hair and rough, tomboyish
attitude often misled people into thinking she was
a he; Amara didn't seem to mind, and often
encouraged this belief. Her tall, lean frame and
excellence in all things physical also enhanced
this image. Amara was refreshingly genuine and
made no apologies for the way she was. In many
ways, Serena thought of her as a role model.

The two had bonded over their training
sessions, but that didn't mean that Amara ever
went easy on Serena. When Serena complained of
the aches and bruises Amara sometimes inflicted,
Amara would simply say, "Better from me now, than
from an enemy out in the field. I'd rather you
not learn things the hard way, bunny." Then,
Amara would proceed to work Serena even harder.
It was this obvious concern for Serena's well-
being that endeared her to Serena. For the first
time in a long time, someone actually cared about
her, and it felt good!

Serena gathered her things and headed out of
the training area. After her "execution" and
subsequent rebirth, she still had yet to set foot
outside the underground complex where she lived
and trained. She had no idea where it was
located, but most of the time, Serena was kept too
busy to care much about that.

She was still angry that they had all but
hijacked her into this Project, but she couldn't
deny that she liked her new life. She liked the
physical activity, the chance to learn new things,
the challenge of it all. She especially liked the
part where she was allowed to eat as much as she
liked.

The thought of food caused her stomach to
rumble as she headed towards her room, and she
promised herself a big meal once she had showered.

The complex was designed as a series of
concentric circles around an operations center in
the middle. Hallways branched out from the
operations center and led to the other circles
like spokes on a wheel. It was easy to determine
one's place in the Project's hierarchy: the closer
you were located to the operations center, the
more important you were.

There were several levels within the complex;
one level for physical and weapons training, one
for habitation, another for scientific laboratories,
a fourth for Intel, and several others to which
Serena had no access. There were locks and access
codes required for moving anywhere within the
complex; you couldn't walk ten feet without having
to clear your access with a fingerprint scan,
access card, or security code. All these redundant
security measures spoke tellingly of the paranoid
environment of the complex.

Serena stepped into an elevator after
pressing her right index finger on a scanning pad.
The doors opened and she spoke aloud,
"Habitation." The doors closed, and the elevator
immediately began moving.

The complex was a bustling place. There
were probably hundreds of personnel working within
the complex, but in all the time she had been
there, Serena had actually been introduced to only
a handful. The atmosphere of purpose, power, and
secrecy that permeated the place discouraged
friendliness and interaction. For example, there
were no cafeterias where people could engage
socially while eating. All meals were pre-prepared
and sent individually to each room. Everything was
run on a tight schedule and interpersonal relations
were discouraged.

Serena felt lucky that she had bonded with
Amara, but she knew exactly to what degree their
friendship extended. Amara was her instructor.
That was all. Serena knew better than to expect
Amara to go out on a limb for her. This didn't
upset her; it was merely a product of the
impersonal environment of the complex. Although
she had never experienced much love or affection in
her life, even Serena noticed its absence now. The
complete lack of close human interaction in the
complex registered to her as unusual, but she
didn't pay it much attention.

The elevator doors slid open, and she walked
toward her room in the outermost ring of the
habitation level; all agents-in-training had their
rooms in the H-ring. Serena was still living in
the room she had first awoken in, but she had
thankfully been permitted to decorate it. No
longer so stark in appearance, the new furniture
was all done in the same sleek, futuristic design
as the bed. Colored posters adorned the white
walls, and odd knickknacks sat on every available
surface. Serena tossed her gym bag onto her bed
and grabbed a change of clothes and a towel.

She headed toward the shower in her private
bathroom. After disrobing, she stepped into the
stall and turned on the water. She sighed as the
hot water soothed some of her aching muscles. She
ran her head under the warm spray and let her hair
down from its ponytail. Over the past few weeks,
Serena had allowed her hair to grow, and now it
hung below her chin in a fashionable
layered cut. It was the first time in almost six
years that her hair had been cut by a real,
professional hairdresser. As she began to lather
her blonde locks with shampoo, she relaxed and
thought about her unusual situation.

She still couldn't believe the lengths to
which the Project had gone just in order to get her
to join. For all intents and purposes, they had
killed her! Serena still couldn't quite get over
that. The Project, whatever else it might be,
certainly didn't have a problem with murder. And
that scared her.

However, even though she had been forced into
it, virtually at gunpoint, and in spite of the cold
environment, Serena was coming to enjoy her
training. The diverse physical and mental
challenges she faced daily made it exciting and
interesting. Whether it was crash courses in
computer technology, fencing, or military strategy,
she found it all exhilarating, and Serena felt
alive in a way she never had before. Put through
punishing obstacle courses, and exhaustive language
studies, they were training her to become the
perfect operative. 'Compared to this, US Navy Seal
training must be easy!' she thought reflectively.
She was so tired at the end of each day that she
simply fell into bed. On the bright side, she
seemed to be progressing at an astounding rate.
'I suppose that's the advantage of having the best
of the personal and private instructors at your
beck and call. It's a good thing I'm a fast
learner.'

---

It was Serena's first day at the shooting
range, and Seiya had come to watch his newest
agent-in-training. He stood back where she
wouldn't see him and watched as Serena, wearing all
the usual safety equipment, aimed her .45 Beretta
at the silhouette target set five meters away in
the firing range. Gripping the weapon with both
hands the way she had been taught by the instructor,
Serena positioned herself with no little
trepidation. Finally, she squeezed the trigger
and fired.

Bang!

The sound made Serena jump, even through the
ear protectors, and the force of the recoil almost
caused her to drop the gun in surprise. She
fumbled with it in her hands before finally
recovering the weapon.

"That's okay, Serena," said Yaten, the gray-
haired instructor. "Just try again. This time,
remember to keep your grip firm. Hold it with
both hands."

Wiping the sweat from her hands, she took her
position again. Yaten helped her adjust her
stance. She took seven more shots, emptying the
magazine. Each time Serena fired the gun, she
flinched instinctively, causing the bullets to fly
haphazardly. Not one of them struck the target.

Seiya wondered at this, given that Serena had
managed to use a semi-automatic to kill two police
officers in the attempted robbery that had brought
her to the Project's attention. It didn't make
sense. There was something else going on here.

It continued to bother him as he watched
Serena practice. Yaten showed her how to reload
the gun with a new magazine, and Serena tried again.
This time, two of her rounds struck the target, but
they were both high and wide.

With Yaten's patient help, she adjusted her
aim and repeated the exercise. After more than an
hour of practice, Serena had made a marked
improvement, but it was still clear that she felt
ill at ease with the weapon.

A thought began to dawn on Seiya that was
both incredible and terrifying. Suddenly all the
pieces fell into place with a click. Serena's
words when he had visited her in prison, her
actions at the trial... But... It just wasn't
possible. He couldn't have made such an enormous
mistake.

She couldn't have been telling the truth. If
she had, that would mean that he had recruited the
wrong person! 'No. It couldn't be,' he tried to
tell himself, but his mind wouldn't let him dismiss
the thought.

Serena was innocent.

How could his instincts have been so far off?
Where had he gone wrong?

'Well,' he thought after some more reflection,
'Perhaps I wasn't so far off, after all. Just look
at the way she has bounced back from the execution
and imprisonment and the way she has adapted to her
new life here. No, I wasn't so wrong about
recruiting Serena.'

He would just have to continue with her
training. If the Project ever found out the truth
about Serena, they would not hesitate to eliminate
her.

Who was he kidding? They would cancel her in
a second.

The Project could never learn of his mistake.
Not just for his own sake, but for Serena's also.
They WOULD never learn of it. He vowed to make
sure of that by turning Serena into the best agent
the Project had ever seen.

To that end, Seiya went now to speak with
Yaten. The instructor was reserved and a bit
stodgy, but he was by far the best marksman and
gunsmith in the Project. If anyone could turn
Serena into a good shot, Yaten could.

Signaling the instructor away from where
Serena continued to practice - now with a Colt .45
Defender - Seiya addressed him quietly.

"Yaten, what do you think you can do with
her?"

"Well, she's certainly a lot less proficient
than the other recruits I've seen," said Yaten in
his slow and deliberate voice, as if weighing each
word before he spoke it.

Seiya winced internally. Would it be
possible? Would Yaten be able to cover up for his
error?

"But I think there's potential there," Yaten
continued to Seiya's relief. "She just has to get
over her discomfort with guns. I think that with
time and practice, I can make the weapons so
familiar and comfortable to her that they will seem
almost like an extension of her own body. I'll put
her on an intensive training regimen. Starting
today, she'll have to be here every day, firing at
least 200 rounds of ammunition each practice
session."

"Fine. I'll make sure that she's here. Oh,
and ah, Yaten," said Seiya, lowering his voice to
just above a whisper. "I would appreciate it if
you would handle this ... personally. Report
directly to me on this matter."

After giving it some thought, Yaten nodded
his head slowly.

At Yaten's nod, Seiya continued delicately,
"And of course, there's no need to mention this
little matter to anyone else."

"You'll owe me," said Yaten matter-of-
factly.

"Yes, of course. That is, IF you're able to
make Serena proficient..." Seiya trailed off,
pretending skepticism at Yaten's chances of
success.

His pride stung, Yaten replied, "Oh, you'll
owe me alright. I can make an excellent marksman
out of even the most reluctant or gun-shy recruit.
Don't you worry. In fact, I personally guarantee
that by the end of my prescribed training, Serena
will be one of the best shots in the Project!"
With a proud tilt of the head, Yaten turned his
back on Seiya to begin the promised regimen with
Serena.

Satisfied that he had accomplished his goal,
Seiya now turned to leave the shooting gallery. He
had no doubts whatsoever that Yaten would come
through for him - not after Yaten had given his
personal guarantee.

---

Four months after she had begun, Serena was
all but finished with the primary physical training.
She still needed a lot of improvement in the firing
range, but she had achieved various levels of skill
in five different kinds of martial arts, was as fit
as a marathon runner, and could bench-press almost
twice her own weight. Now marked the beginning of
the next phase of her training in which she would
focus on her language skills and her gym-time would
be reduced.

She still wasn't sure that she wanted to be a
part of this Project, whatever it was, but at least
here she had access to all kinds of teaching that
just wouldn't have been possible for Serena
otherwise. The Project was going to use her to do
their work, so why shouldn't she use them to get
training and skills? If nothing else, she was
determined to learn everything she could.

She was already fluent in English and
French; her Spanish was at an intermediate level
and improving quickly. With the expert help of
the Project's in-house professor and technology
specialist, Serena was making inroads into German,
Russian, and Farsi, and she was a month away from
passing a high school equivalency test.

Serena walked into the small library in the
D-ring of the Intel level where she and her tutor
met regularly. Sitting quietly down at the table,
she pulled out her notebooks and spread them out
around her.

"Bonjour, Serena. Êtes-vous prêtes à
commencer vos leçons?" a soft voice queried in a
cultured Parisian accent.

"Amy! Bien sûr. Je suis toujours prête,"
Serena replied.

A short woman, Amy's stature did not in any
way reflect her intelligence or capabilities. Amy
was the Project's foremost expert in technology of
all kinds. Formerly an infamous computer hacker,
Amy now designed the high-tech gadgets necessary
for the Project's spies. She was heavily involved
with scientific research, and worked mostly in the
laboratories. She was also a section leader in the
Intel department, in charge of gathering and
processing intelligence data.

Her short hair was of an indeterminate
color, somewhere between blue and black. Her
midnight blue eyes were usually hidden behind
glasses, but her delicate facial features gave her
an air nobility. Her petite frame, dressed usually
in a lab coat, was well proportioned, and Serena
knew that despite Amy's diminutive appearance, Amy
was a formidable opponent in the ring.

Serena had heard that Amy came from one of
the elite families of the country. Her private
schooling had been intense, and Amy was purported
to have graduated from one of the most prestigious
universities in the country at the tender age of
fifteen. Rumor had it that Amy had rebelled
against the family pressure to succeed by applying
her incredible intellect to the dark and illicit
world of computer hacking. When her family had
finally decided to force her to wed the son of a
competitor's CEO in order to merge the two
companies, Amy had sent a destructive computer
virus to destroy the computer systems of the
competitor's company. No longer able to hide
their daughter's illegal activities, her family
had supposedly sponsored her into the Project and
had been relieved when she was hidden away.
Serena was unsure about the reliability of this
information, and she had a hard time reconciling
the rebellious, vengeful Amy with the serene,
competent, and responsible Amy who was her tutor.
As they dove into Amy's lesson plan, Serena
wondered how much of the story was true.

---

Seiya studied Serena's file for the twentieth
time. From what he read, his original mistake
seemed more and more understandable.

An orphan, she had been raised in a series
of care centers and foster homes. After running
away from physically abusive foster parents at the
age of sixteen, Serena had gone to live on the
streets.

Despite having spent years on the streets,
this young woman had somehow maintained a
surprising purity, a trusting innocence that
radiated from her soul. It was this fundamental
belief in good, untainted in spite of all the
brutal and harsh realities life had thrown at her,
that attracted him to her - never mind her unusual,
but stunning features.

More importantly, there was fire and spirit
contained in the girl's small frame - a toughness
combined with street-smarts that was a result of
her difficult childhood and adolescence. Early
school testing, before she had dropped out,
indicated an IQ way above average. He had been
right about her after all.

She was the perfect recruit.

While her school grades during those sporadic
years when she had attended school had been very
poor, she now seemed to have a purpose in her
studies and consequently applied herself diligently.
It was gratifying to see that his instincts about
her had been correct. For a careless and lazy
student who once received barely passing marks,
Serena was now beginning to fulfill the potential
that those early IQ scores had suggested was
attainable.

She was cutting a veritable swath through the
complicated learning material, taking to the
training like a duck to water. She had been klutzy
and inept at first, but daily practice was quickly
molding her into a Project operative. Self-defense,
surveillance techniques, and tactical planning were
as much a part of her regimen as biochemistry,
psychology, and linguistics. Even after her
initial awkwardness with using guns, she was now
just as capable with the weapons as any other
recruit. At this rate, Serena would be ready for
operations in just over a year.

'Yes,' Seiya thought. 'She'll be ready.'

---

AN: A lot has happened in this chapter, and a lot
of time has passed for Serena as well.

I decided to set the story in Canada. For those
of you unfamiliar with the Canadian governmental
system, it's a Parliamentary system that is
governed by the Prime Minister on a federal level,
and the Provincial Premier on the provincial level.
Since Canada does not actually have the death
penalty, I make reference to the substituted
American Governor's pardoning/stay of execution
phone call with the Premier's. I hope that wasn't
too confusing. More details about the setting to
come.

Here's a translation for the brief French
sentences used:
"Hello, Serena. Are you ready to begin your lessons?"
"Amy! Of course. I'm always ready."
My apologies for any deficiencies in the French
spelling or grammar.

Next chapter: Seiya takes a more active interest
in our newest recruit, and Serena gets some lessons
in etiquette.

I'd love to hear from you, so send me a review!

Aglaia