I climbed into my sixty-eight Mercury that I had been living out of for the past three years. I slipped the blonde wig off and started the car, taking off towards Canada. Canada was a great place to go if you needed to lay low for a couple of days. I pulled my gloves off with my teeth and threw them in the back seat. I would burn those later.

I stopped at the first gas station I saw, bringing a pair of black yoga pants, a tight red shirt, and some runners with me. A trucker whistled as I shoved past him.

"Blow me," I muttered when I pushed his hand away from my ass. He was a real greasy trucker too. He hadn't seen a shower for a week at least.

"Gladly, sweet cheeks," he said, wagging his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes and pushed the girl's washroom door open. I changed quickly, shoving my seductress costume in the trash can. I looked at myself in the mirror quickly.

I hadn't eaten a decent meal for a very long time and it was starting to show. My cheeks were hollowing out, making my cheek bones look extremely high. My eyes were still bright and mischievous; a deep chocolate brown. I ran my fingers through my long, dark hair, organizing any stray hairs. I grimaced at the look of my arms. They were too wiry for being an average woman. My legs looked deadly in the tight black pants. I was, after all, a man-made killing machine.

I am, but government standards, an experiment gone awry. I was supposed to be a special international agent, flying all around the world, killing people that the government felt threatened by. Instead, I am a rogue agent, killing the people that made me what I am. Old Roscoe sponsored the project, Project R.

The R stood for three things. First of all, it stood for Roscoe, whom sponsored fifty percent of the project. Secondly, it represented how many specimens were in the project. R is the eighteenth letter in the alphabet, and there are eighteen of us killing machines. And lastly, all of the specimens have a code name. For example, mine was Red Bird. I was number eighteen in Project R.

The reason why I was picked last is because I'm the only female agent. The other seventeen are male. Typical. Even the government, the very same government that pushes women's rights, is sexist. There wasn't enough selection for more than one girl. We're not "strong" enough. Bullshit, I say. I'm the only agent that had successfully escaped Project R; the only girl squirmed free of the iron chokehold.

My own personal vendetta is against all persons that made me this way. There was one exception. The very first person I killed after escaping was my first boyfriend, Mike Newton. I killed him because he was the miserable asshole that had taken away two gifts from me. First was my virginity and second was my happiness.

Mike and I started dating when I was sixteen and he was eighteen. I used to be a preppy, petite plaything. I wasn't ditzy, but I acted like a ditz for attention. Guys noticed me and I took my pick. Mike was not only the most popular of my choices, but also the most kind.

So we dated. One month later, virginity was gone. Did I care? No, I was with Mike, how could things go wrong? My happiness jumped through the roof and, of course, I assumed that I loved him. I roll my eyes at my naive self now. I was head over heels in lust, there's no doubt about that, but love, not so much.

And I assumed that Mike loved me too. Another slap-my-forehead thought. Teenage boys don't love you, they have sex with you. End of story.

So I tried being the real me. Telling him that I liked metal rock more than pop rock and showing him my mini library of a room. He didn't take this very well. But I didn't see that right away. I started to act intelligent instead of like a bimbo. That was the final straw. I, a lowly junior, had outsmarted Mike, a top of the class senior.

He came over to my house that night, we had sex, and he said we were through and left. That's how Mike took my happiness away. It was completely necessary, but it still hurt like a bitch for the next year or so.

My popularity dropped, but at the same time, I became more like the person I was supposed to be. I listened to my music and read throughout the rest of school. My entire wardrobe changed, pink had died, and I was content. Contentment is what we search for. Some people think its happiness, but they're wrong. Happiness is temporary; contentment can last forever if you work for it.

I was finally content at seventeen. That's when I met him.

His name is James McCarthy. He taught me how to fight and how to rebellious. I dated him my entire senior year, being a very, very bad girl in doing so. He was twenty-four at the time and already apart of Project R. At first, he really did just want to date me, but after about two months, he realized my potential.

He didn't tell me right away that I'd be a specimen in an experiment; he just said that girls ought to know how to protect themselves. I took a lot of classes, all paid for by James. Eventually I made my way into street fights, starting out with fighting crazy bitches that could barely throw a punch and eventually made my way to the big leagues. I got kicked out of the games after I beat the top fighter in Phoenix. James was euphoric though and that made me happy. Once again, I let my happiness be decided by a man.

My mom, Renee, wasn't impressed with my broken nose and stitches, so she kicked me out, very quickly I might add. I moved in with James obviously, he was my everything at the time.

I continued to go to school and live with James for the rest of the senior year. After graduation, James said he had a surprise for me. The evil glint in his eyes threw me off guard, but I didn't ponder too much.

He took me to the lab in a limo, adorned in a deep blue sweater dress and black heels. I thought we were going out for supper. James said we had to stop at the office quickly before we could go. When the limo stopped, he smiled a genuinely warm smile at me and pulled me out of the limo. He kissed me tenderly on the forehead and led me to my new life.

I don't remember anything until I woke up weeks later. I knew I was different. My sense were keener, my body stronger. I looked around and I was in a white room and I was dressed in a white hospital dress. I sat up without feeling the familiar head rush.

"Hello, Bella," James' voice crackled from a speaker box on a table. "How you doin', baby? You've been asleep for a few weeks now."

I swallowed and in a clear voice said, "Better than I did before."

I could hear the smile in James' voice when he said, "That's exactly what we wanted to hear."

I went into a quick two week training camp after that. I learnt too many ways to kill a human and I found that I was much stronger than I should be. That's when my flawless, man-made mindset began to corrode.

I started remembering how it felt to be human. Not a man's plaything, but back to that sense of contentment. That's what I was striving for, and I knew that the only way I could ever feel that way would be to kill off those that stood in the way of that sense of contentment.

I ran away as soon as they left me alone in my apartment. I ran to Quebec, knowing that they wouldn't bother looking for me there. I knew French through James. He had me tutored by a creep named Laurent. The lucky bastard wasn't on my list though. I had bigger fish to fry.

I stayed in Quebec and organized myself. I had enough money in my back account to last me five months, which was more than enough. I had a car to live in and to get me from place to place. I bought disguises and raided a gun dealership, only stealing a small handgun and a few knives. Nothing majorly important.

Then the search began. I thought that Mike would be the perfect person to practice my skills on first, seeing as he was the least important.

I found out that he was going to school in Texas on football scholarship, so off to Houston I went. I talked to a few cheerleaders, asking where I could find Mike Newton. They looked surprised to see someone like me looking for someone like Mike. But I found out that he liked to go to a bar called Shots and Stools every Friday.

On Friday, September thirteenth, my twentieth birthday, I walked into Shots and Stools, looking like your every day college girl. I wore light wash, low riding jeans with pink sandals and a short plaid shirt that I made even shorter by tying the ends together. I even wore a black wig to make me less recognizable. That night I was Kasey McCloud, a sorority girl that was looking for a real man.

Mike immediately set his eyes on me. This was too easy. We danced, he drank, he thought I drank, and we went back to his dorm. I let him fool around with me for a while, but then I grabbed my blindfold.

"Don't look," I warned him as I pulled my knife out of my purse.

"I won't," he promised with a big, stupid smile on his face. I always had hated that dumb grin of his.

I straddled him and trailed my left hand down Mike's stomach.

"I hope you had fun, Newton," I whispered in a seething manner before slicing his throat and tying one of Mike's shirts around his neck.

I cleaned up my evidence very thoroughly and washed the blood off my hands. Luckily my fingertips had been removed while my body had been changed.

I smiled as I left Mike's dorm. Some people feel guilty after killing someone, but I felt myself take that first step towards eternal contentment.


Yep, this is my baby! :) I love this story so much already, hehe. It's evil, but awesome. Bella is turning out to be quite the killer, eh? I like it, I like it a lot. Edward will appear... sometime in the future. Happy holidays, merry christmas, and all that other great stuff! One more day for me! Can't wait! ^^