Chapter One

The wind was howling outside, but that was nothing compared to the storm that was raging inside her. Nikita was torn, ripped asunder like small bits of tissue paper as she had been so many times before. Her tender, gentle heart as mashed as the potatoes she had eaten with her dinner that night. Why did he always have the power to do this to her? Why? Why? Wasn't it enough that she killed the bad guys on his command and Section's? Did he have to be so cold to her as well?

Why did she always let him affect her with his coldness? Why was she so surprised? Shaking herself mentally, she got up from her perch on the seat and walked over to her radio system and turned it on. It was on a rock station and she was blown away as the words hit. Gasped at the pain as they penetrated her mind. The Toni Basil song was one of her favourites.

The song continued to play in the background as she walked around her room, staring at the nothingness of her walls.

So blank, so plain, so empty were the walls, just like her life. She swallowed, feeling a lump of melancholy rise in the back of her throat, but then she frowned. The walls weren't entirely blank.... She cocked her head, staring, and could just barely make out the pattern of little black dots. Then she crossed her eyes, and it got slightly clearer. Finally, she stuck out her tongue, and then she saw it! Words, sinister phrases, hidden in her wall!

Too much junk food is bad for your complexion.

Gasping in horror, she spun around to look at another wall.

Be sure to drink at least eight glasses of water a day.

Quaking in fear, she looked at the ceiling.

Don't forget to take your vitamins.

Damn them!!!! And their nefarious subliminal manipulation! Why wouldn't they leave her alone? Isn't it enough that she did what they told her? What more did they want?????

With a cry of rage, and a flourish of her flaxen locks, she rushed to her kitchen counter and yanked out one of the drawers, snatching out a plastic bag full of chocolate kisses. Hands shaking, she unwrapped a handful and stuffed them defiantly into her mouth.

"Take that, Operations!" she shrieked, smacking her mouth loudly as she chewed.

She ate another handful, larger than the first.

"And that's for you, Madeline! You might be able to take my life, but you'll never take my soul!!!!"

Enraged, but bravely defiant, she snarfed down the entire bag. Satisfied, she looked at the empty bag, and then a sob escaped. Chocolate kisses. Just like Michael's. Except, well, chocolate. Tears began to fill her eyes, when she heard a knock at the door. Now what?

She marched to the door and flung it open.

"Ahhh," said Mick, looking at the angry look in her sky-blue eyes and the chocolate smears all over her face, "it must be that time of the month, eh lollipop?"

"What is it Mick? Whaddaya want?" Nikita asked despondently, trying to hide the anger in her heart and the chocolate around her mouth, which in turn hid the chocolate that was now in her stomach.

"Oh, my sweet little Gummi Bear with marshmallow centres, how you continue to wound me with your icy, icy coldness! Tell ole uncle Micky-poo just exactly what is troubling you? Is it that nasty Section again?" Mick continued, pushing past a semi-reluctant Nikita to enter her apartment.

Walking into the room, Mick stopped when he got to her sofa and flopped himself down on it. Resting one arm along the back of the couch, he patted the seat with his other hand and continued cajolingly, "Come sit beside me, my funny-honey-love-button-with-almond-nut-sprinkles. Tell me all about it. I'm all yours. Ready to listen to all your terrible woes. On the ever ready to staunchly defend you at all costs. Standing by your side in the face of adversity. All for one and one for all. No matter how big or how small the problem, I'm there for you Bunnykins. Through snow and sleet and wind and rain and fire and hail and drought and famine and hot and cold. I am there for you...."

"Enough!" cried Nikita. "I get it, Mick, I understand...." and then she stopped as a memory hit her like a giant tidal wave. Michael had sat on that very same sofa just last week, his mouth curving in a seductive smile, his eyes twinkling as she moved to straddle him.... Collapsing on the floor in grief, she sobbed her heart out as Mick sat there watching helplessly.

************

"There you go, sweetie," Madeline cooed, placing a tiny designer hat and coat on one of her beloved bonsai. "Mommy doesn't want you catching cold, now does she?�

She jumped, startled, as she heard her office door swoosh open, and spun around abruptly so that her back hid the dressed-up plant. Operations. Of course. Why couldn't he ever knock?

He eyed her warily as she stood by the row of plants.

"I swear you pay more attention to those things than you do to me," he muttered, wishing he had a cigarette.

"Of course not," she laughed breathlessly. "Don't be silly." She frowned. "Did you want something?"

"You're the one who asked me to come down here," he reminded her, wishing again that he had a cigarette.

"Oh, yes. That's right." She walked swiftly over to her computer and tapped a few keys. She then swung the monitor around so that he could see the footage of Nikita gorging orgiastically on chocolate. "Our plan is working," she said smugly. "Soon, she'll be so fat and unhealthy that Michael won't even look at her."

"Excellent!" Operations said, rubbing his hands in diabolical glee. "So the reverse subliminal programming works!"

"Yes. She's so obstinate that she'll do the opposite of whatever we command."

He sneered triumphantly for a few moments, striking a malevolent dark-lord-of-the-universe pose with his hands in the pockets of his Armani suit, as he wished once more that he had a cigarette. But then he frowned. "Remind me again, why are we doing this?"

She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. "Because..." she started, but then frowned herself. Why was it? Was it because Nikita's thrift-store wardrobe offended her refined sense of fashion? Because Michael's efficiency had declined .0000000000054 percent? Because seeing Walter leer like a sixty-year-old teenager made her ill? All of those things were true, but they weren't the real reason. "Because we can," she said with a sadistic smile. Yes, that was it.

Operations nodded knowingly. Then a wicked gleam lit up his pale blue eyes, and he bent over to start nibbling on her neck. She pushed him away coldly, and he sighed. Why, why did she always have to torment him so?

"Here," she said, pushing him several feet away and turning him to the side. She then stepped toward him, unbuttoned her jacket, and then seized his head and thrust it against her chest. "The camera angle's better this way."

He looked up and smiled. "What, is George watching again?"

"No. I've had Birkoff set up a live web-cam. We charge $2.99 per minute. So far, we've brought in enough revenue to open up three new substations."

Pulling back suddenly, Operations stared at her with his mouth open in a gob-smacked expression. His long, hard, skilful fingers continued to caress a path from one of her pink tipped breasts to the other as he started, "Madeline! How could you? I am absolutely horrified to think that you think that I think that you think so little of our love that you would broadcast our passionate, lust-filled, erotic sessions to the whole world!"

Bending her back slightly over his arm, he continued his sensual ministrations as he continued to gaze into her face. Which was starting to look a little flushed, with her cheeks pink-tinged, flushed looking, and a little moan and groan escaping as he pinched a bit, as he continued, licking his lips lasciviously, "And I can't believe that you would actually put the money you've made on this little venture back into Section coffers!" Manoeuvring himself back while keeping a steady stroking rhythm on her upper torso, he laid her gently upon her desk as he continued, "Why, with the money I've got from the live web-cam feeds in the Tower and the Perch, I've managed to buy you a little present."

Deftly moving his hand down to her skirt, he raised it up as Madeline breathlessly groaned, "Oh Paullll...you mean...," stopping on that note to stifle an erotic moan as he snapped her garter belt quickly three times against her leg.

"Yes, my love muffin, I have managed to purchase you the islands of the Philippines, along with various companies around the world. As soon as we are rid of the pesky Michael and Nikita problem, you will become the first Armani-clad, Manolo Blahnik-wearing, MAC-accessorised, Queen of your own country. And I believe that the shoe shopping there is to die for!"

************

Michael was despondent, his heart pounding despondently in his manly chest as he sat in his office, surfing the net and avidly watching the new web-cam site he had stumbled across -- "Office Lust One", as he thought of his dear, darling, beloved Nikita. It was so cruel what he did to her. And their song kept running through his mind.

�The Love Shack is a little old place where we can get together
Love Shack baby! Love Shack, that's where it's at!
Huggin' and a kissin', dancin' and a lovin', wearin' next to nothing
Cause it's hot as an oven
The whole shack shimmies! The whole shack shimmies when everybody's
Movin' around and around and around!�

Yes, those poignant verses of the B-52s truly captured the despondence that he felt so despondently every time he thought of his visits to Nikita's apartment. The Love Shack. Yes, that's what it was. Or rather, what it would be, if he weren't such a deceitful cad, manipulating and stomping on her heart as the Section's dutiful errand boy. She deserved better. He deserved better. Or, no, he didn't deserve better, because he was a deceitful cad, but she deserved better, which meant that he deserved better, too. Or something like that.

He was just about to sigh despondently when he heard a knock at his door. He looked up in curiosity as the door swung open and Davenport stepped inside. The bald, goateed muscle-man stared at the floor, shuffling his feet and clearing his throat nervously, but then looked back at Michael.

"Uh, Michael," Davenport said. "I need your help with something."

Michael looked patiently at Davenport in response.

"Um, you see, I've been ordered to cancel you again. Could you do me a favor and just freeze in place for a moment while I shoot you?"

Michael continued to sit silently, unmoving.

Davenport pulled out a sawed-off shotgun from behind his back, aimed it directly at Michael's chest, and pulled the trigger repeatedly and furiously until he ran out of ammo. The force of the blasts sent Davenport jerking uncontrollably backwards; eventually, he crashed into the wall behind him and toppled over.

When the smoke cleared, Michael stood, walked over to Davenport, and offered the other man a hand to help him up. "Your aim was a bit off," he assessed sombrely.

Tears of gratitude filled Davenport's eyes. "Man, you really are the best."

************

When Nikita finally stopped crying, she looked up at Mick. Perhaps she should tell him what was going on. She could use a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. After all, there was no one else she could talk to. Well, there was Walter. And Birkoff. But they weren't here, and Mick was.

"Operations and Madeline are trying to brainwash me again," she sighed.

"Oh, like when they made you fall in love with that terrorist sleazeball by making you picture him as Michael?"

"Yes, exactly! But how did you know about that?"

"Well, my scrumptious little chocolate truffle, you know how you've been leaving little scribbled notes for Centre in the flowerpot inside the front lobby of our building every time Operations does something that threatens the well-being of Section? Like bleaching his hair so atrociously that it nearly made everyone go blind?"

"Yes," she answered suspiciously.

"I've been the one retrieving your messages, my delectable cotton candy swirl. So I know all about each and every one of your complaints."

"Ohhhhh," she said, nodding. "So you're an agent for Centre, too."

"In a manner of speaking, smoochie-poochiekins." Suddenly, he dropped the Mick persona and straightened his posture. "Actually," he confided gravely, dropping his voice an octave to emphasize just how very, very grave this information was indeed, "I'm Mr. Jones."

"Who?"

"Mr. Jones -- the head of Centre. The Grand Poobah. The suzerain of all I survey. The super-secretest spook of them all."

Nikita made a face and then doubled over with a painful snort of laughter.

"Yeah, right!"

"No, I'm quite serious." He frowned. How could she doubt him? He had used his ultra-grave voice, the kind that always got standing ovations when he did dinner theatre. "Mick is only my alter ego, used so that I can monitor my underlings without their suspecting anything."

Nikita rolled around the floor in hysterics, tears streaming down her face.

"Okay, Mick, you're a funny guy, but that one takes the cake. Why, the only thing that would be more ridiculous would be if you told me that the head of Centre was my long-lost father."

"Um...."

"Or that Birkoff has an identical twin brother who also happens to be a computer genius, except that he has a really silly accent."

"All right, now that's ridiculous. Please, don't insult my intelligence.� He reached for his wallet and pulled out a business card, handing it to Nikita. "Here. This should prove who I am beyond a doubt."

Mr. James Earl Jones
Chief Bigwig
The Agency
Tel: Highly classified
Email: don�[email protected]

Nikita looked up and gasped. "Wow! You really are the head of Centre. But why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I want you to begin a secret mission, spying on Section One."

"But I'm already on a secret mission spying on Section One."

"Ah, yes," he said, frowning. "Well, I want you to start a second secret mission spying on Section One. And this one is much more dangerous," Mick continued, licking his lips at the thought of more covert spying. "This mission will be to spy on the mission to spy on Section One. It is a lot, lot, lot, lot, lot, more dangerous."

"More dangerous?" Nikita was dumbstruck with incredulity. "How is that possible? And more importantly will I get to wear some cool new hats and sunnies?"

"Ah yes, my little chocolate dipped, blonde-haired, brussel sprout, you can have as many new hats and sunnies as your heart's content. In fact, why don't we go out shopping right now? I'd like your input into some new pink chintz drapes that I'm thinking of putting around the windows and on the roof in my hot-tub room." Mick looked Nikita lasciviously up and down as he continued, "Oh yeah, my sherbet-filled all day sucker, I really want you in that room! I mean I want your input in that room. What else could I mean?"

Clapping her hands enthusiastically, Nikita smiled and answered, "Oh goody, goody gum-drops - SHOPPING!"

************

Walter whistled while he worked. Just whistled while he worked. It was another great day in Section. The sun was shining -- well ok, so he was situated in a windowless room three miles underground and really didn't know if the sun was shining. The birds were singing -- ok, so once again, that three miles thingy. The bees were buzzing -- hang on, three miles; flowers were blooming -- bloody three miles again. But wait, Walter paused in thought, I may be able to swing this one cause Madeline does have those pot-plants in her office! Satisfied that he was justified in his thought processes, Walter went back to his whistling while he worked. Just continued whistling while he worked.

And as he continued his happy whistling, he failed to notice all those cute little cartoon-like characters milling around him. They seemed to come out of the woodwork. Rabbits and skunks and deer and Bambi and ducks and geese were all in a flurry. And then, from out of the blue came the pink-tipped surrey. The surrey with a fringe on top. All of them were sitting down and listening and watching Walter whistle happily while he worked. Just listening to him whistle while he worked. Looking at each other and smiling and giggling and -- suddenly they froze in shock, a look of utter horror crossing all their faces at the same time, scattering them all in various and different directions. Back into the woodwork as the sounds of CFM pumps clicking on the floor echoed.

Madeline glided effortlessly into Walter's work area, leaned slightly on his workbench, and breathed quietly in that really quiet scary voice that she could get with no trouble at all, "Walter, do you have my chloral hydrate ready?"

"Suuuuuuure," he said, handing over a bottle of liquid and a dropper. "Whatcha gonna use this stuff for, anyway? There are a lot better sedatives than this available."

"Yes, but this mixes so well into drinks. Like alcohol. Or coffee." She smiled sweetly.

He gulped. "C-c-coffee?"

She didn't answer, but just continued to smile that enigmatic but sinister smile for several seconds; she then turned sharply and walked off, heels clicking ominously into the distance.

I've got to warn Nikita and Michael! Walter thought in a panic.