Only Senses

By Emily Douglass

Foreword

"The rapture

Unfurling blues and greens

The rapture

A swirling violet stream

Mystic

Majestic

Entangled in a web of curling vapour thread

Enraptured

An eclipse intoxicating

Strangely not inside

Strangely not outside

Drowning in the middle of an eerie transition

And I don't know

And I don't know

And I don't know your name

Never been alive

Yet I haven't died

I hover disembodied in semi-wakened haze

Floating far above the cloud

Sinking far below the ground

Only my senses remain

The rapture

Unfurling blues and greens

The rapture

A swirling violet stream

Mystic

Majestic

Entangled in a web of iridescent curling vapour thread

Floating far about the cloud

Sinking far below the ground

No form

Only my senses remain "

  (Siouxsie and the Banshees)

"I've never met anyone like her before. She seemed different, mysterious, tempting. I must admit she aggravated me several times while she was in my custody. Her intelligence and bitterness made her one of the worst detainees I have ever come across. She was oh so beautiful. Her light brown hair flowed over her squared-off shoulders and always had the most gorgeous curls. She had solid black eyes. They were the darkest eyes I have ever seen in my life. It was like looking down the barrel of a gun. I could tell she was full of evil, a writhing pit of animal ferociousness hid behind her lids. She hardly blinked half the time. It was as if she couldn't close her eyes for a moment in case she might miss one important detail.

The most erotic thing about her was her voice. Her voice sounded like she was a robot, a droid of some kind. It wasn't deep, it wasn't high, and it did not change much. No matter what she was talking about, her voice tended to stay the same. Monotonous, but intriguing at the same time.

The guys and I here at the station have a bet going on about Amethyst. Actually, we have several bets going on. The first bet is on whether or not she is actually human. We seem to have a few Mulder types here who think she is a rebel alien or something goofy like that. I know I won my five bucks on that bet. She is human. She just doesn't act like one.

The second bet we have going is whether or not she has been telling us the truth. We all know she killed that man, there's no doubt about that. In fact, she has even admitted that she shot the poor bastard. But, the bet is on all the other weird stuff she's been talking about. Not very many of the guys believe what she has told us. I do. I don't know why, but I believe her. Some of the things she has mentioned, and the stuff we found in her journal doesn't seem possible, but I believe her. There's something in her dark eyes that tells me she wouldn't lie. It's almost like she can't lie.

The third and final bet that I know of is whether or not she thinks I am better looking than the Lieutenant. We've been the only two she will talk to. Anytime someone else tries to talk to her she just stares silently. The guys think she wants to take one of us home with her. These guys need to get wives and s*@~. She's not going anywhere.

I have made a bet with myself. No one knows about it, but I bet anyway. I think she wants help, but won't admit it for some reason. Sometimes when I spoke with her about the things she has seen and done I could tell she was missing something. There would be a longing in her voice like she missed out on some normal experience most of us go through. I know her childhood was nothing like any of us have ever heard of, but she claims she enjoyed most of it. I still bet that she is longing for something she doesn't think she can have. I'm not really positive I even know what I'm talking about. I just know there's a void in that lady's life, and I think she wants to fill that vacancy."

"Do you understand the severity of the charges that have been brought against you?"

"Yes, I understand the charges that have been brought against me. What you need to understand is that the charges are not severe. They are also false."

"Did you or did you not shoot him?"

"Yes I shot him, but that does not equate severity, nor does it equate guilt."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, sir, I do believe that you must discover what my motive and intent are. My intent, obvious enough, he's in the morgue. My motive, however, is not so obvious."

"I'm not in the mood to play games with you, Lady."

"I do not believe we are playing games, Lad."

"Don't get smart with me!"

"Sir, with all due respect, I was smart before I met you."

I cannot remember when I first got here, flat on my back for all eyes to see. I can remember the potent stench of rubbing alcohol, the burning of cauterized flesh, and the sweat of merciless men who call themselves scientists. I recall the flickering fluorescent lights, the pastel white of the lab coats, and the shiny luster of needles. I remember the pain, the tears from the pressure, the pleas when I was young, and the practice forced upon me for hours. I do not remember my mother, I do not have a father, and I do not remember my brothers or sisters. I am surprised I even remember my own name at times.

I find it strange how my mind fixates on the countless hours spent on the surgery table, the examining table, and on training. I am constantly tested everyday for at least two hours. But when I was younger, the time I spent lying down, poked and prodded, injected and scanned seemed to last longer than two hours. Now, it is just part of my daily routine. The examinations are just a few hours each day that I get to relax. I do not have to practice and, I do not have to train. All I have to do is deal with the occasional amount of pain from the needles, lights, and noises. I often asked them why they did not get rid of my pain sensations. They added and deleted so much stuff that I really cannot comprehend why they left pain functional. They examine me everyday so I really do not need pain to inform me that something is wrong with my body. If something did go wrong they would find it during my examination. They told me they would consider my idea for the next batch. How nice. The next batch will not do me any good.

What I know is completely inferior to the mysteries that envelope my thought. I simply understand facts given to me about the world, and why my world is so different. I know nothing about gender, society, motherhood, or friendship. I feel nothing of love, kindness, or devotion. All I know is orders, commands, and execution of those orders and commands. Small prices to pay perhaps, but then again, I would not know.

Why is there war? I know not why political leaders forge against another for whatever reasons. I only know that we are in a war. I understand that I have been constructed as a weapon, an infiltrating, emotionless weapon. Robots would be easier, but nothing mechanical, nothing man-made can compare to what a woman can make. Life adapts, robots only know what they have been programmed to know. Man only tries to improve life so he can quicken death; so I've been told.

My name is Amethyst, and I am one of many. I am the three hundredth clone of one model, the thousandth of four. Each batch came out better than the first, me the best of all. My makers are amazed by my lack of enthusiasm. I do not feel enthusiasm for their success, only my own. In the books I have read I never found a slave who ever thanked their master for the chains around their ankles.

I was ordered to compose this electric journal. The reason proposed to me hangs on the fact that I do not perceive as most humans do. My makers want to know the effect of their manipulations on the psyche. They do not listen to me when I explain my psyche is not like their own. I did not learn emotions like most humans have. I only know their definitions and use in the symbolism of language. Nevertheless, they never hear me so I compose away.

They informed me that my birthday is today. Twenty-three years ago Jack extracted the contents of two ova, combined them, and inserted them into an empty egg. The ovum, manipulated by science to believe fertilization had occurred began to multiply. How spectacular; they say. They informed me when I was twelve that the two X's had been altered to their liking. The genetic alteration of my genetic strain explains why I am different, but I already knew I was before they told me. I always knew.

Peter came to me today with a birthday cake he had made. Interesting concoction. Bright and colorful. Moist, fluffy, and saturated in glucose. I found the cake tasteful, but my intestines found the sugar too rich and complained about the massive sweetness later. Birthdays are not bad. I got some gifts too. I received a Glock 9, and a Browning auto. They also gave me some strange looking outfits. I did not tell them that the clothes lacked any serious visual appeal. I just thanked them and went back to my room. I wonder why they never celebrated by birthday before.

I got in trouble soon after I returned to my room. I disassembled the guns I received as soon as I walked through my door. They feared that I had somehow damaged the tools. Silly men. I know more about the weapons than they do. They forget that I have been trained to use the tools to destroy their enemies. I suppose getting too mad at them is futile, they were not the ones who trained me how to kill. They were the ones who made me see and hear, not seek and destroy.

Peter, I like Peter. He is very kind and informative. We have become friends in the dictionary sense of the term, but I really do not understand the term as most people have defined it for me. Anyway, Peter is one of the scientists who examine me everyday. Peter is much younger than the other makers. He has a very strange glow about him I have not seen around anyone else. Perhaps he always has a slight temperature, I have never asked him though. I do not want to infer that he may be different from everyone else. He seems very sensitive.

I enjoy Peter's tales of brains and neurons. He too does not understand why I care not that I am so much better. He explained to me when I just turned eighteen that one of the manipulations made to me increased the speed of my neurons' ability to fire. Peter practically shook with excitement, making that deep reddish film around his body flow like the water in a pond that just received a thrown rock, when he told me about the myelin sheath. I remember his exact words, "Amethyst, myelin helps conduct the current through your neurons. The thickest sheathed neurons conduct at 120 meters per second. We altered your genetic code to make more of the lipids and proteins to myelinate all of your neurons about four times as thick as most normal humans!" I only stared at him blankly. I found his own enthusiasm admirable, but I could not join in his triumphant praise. Peter's forehead wrinkled and the haze around him faded slightly.

"Aren't you impressed?" He asked me and I could tell that I abased him.

"Impressed is hardly what I would call myself. You are simply telling me that my brain can process information more quickly than your own."

"Of course I am Amethyst, aren't you the least bit interested?"

"I suppose I could be more interested if I knew exactly what improvements you have made from your own system to mine. What does the difference in firing speeds make to my perceptions compared to your own?"

"There are several differences and improvements. I wouldn't know where to start."

"How about you begin by explaining to me how the faster processing speeds attribute to my killing capabilities?" .

"Amethyst, you know I hate it when you refer to yourself as a killer."

"Granted I have yet to exterminate, but you cannot deny that I was created for the purpose of terminating the lives of your current enemies."

"Dammit! Never mind. I don't want to talk with you about that." He rushed out of the room and slammed my door. Anger is another emotion I have learned well. I felt odd because I made him so angry, but I really wanted to know why I am considered a soldier, a bringer of peace just because my neurons fire faster.

We did not continue our conversation until my twentieth year. I learned more about myself than I ever imagined. I also learned more about Peter. I knew he was younger, but I never realized that he has always been around, even though I am only two years his minor. Peter's father, one of my makers, introduced Peter to the world of genetic engineering at the age of two.

Even though Peter is one of the men in a white coat, he always makes sure I am comfortable. We have formed a bond over the years. I just hope he realizes that our bond is based only the fact that he has information I can use. If I understand how my system operates, the better I can perform. He knows all of the alterations that have been made to a few of my senses. I must know also so that I can become one with what I experience. It is pertinent that I do not mistake certain noises for others, or certain visual scenes as something other than what they are. If I am confused, I am dead.

"Now Amethyst, you understand what the prosecution will do with the evidence found on your person?"

"Yes."

"Do you realize that your journal can be used against you in a court of law?"

"Yes."

"Am I missing something, or do you just not give a s*@~?"

"No. You are not missing a thing."

"Sir, I cannot deal with her!"

"Why? What is she doing?"

"She's just not human."

I just found out why I got gifts for my birthday. I got my first assignment. Everyone seems excited. The time to test their years of research and agony is drawing near. I too sense my own anxiety to see if all that I have learned will benefit me. This will be the first time that I get to do an exercise without monitors and electrodes hooked up to me. I am sure they will keep track of me with the homing device they strategically implanted into my skull. Still, for a few hours I will be my own subject.

They replaced my gifts with new ones. I got two Smith and Wessons and three Lugers instead of the Glock and Browning. I believe these guns will do the job. If they fail me, there will always be martial arts. Some of the moves I have learned over the past years are more lethal and much more silent than a gun could ever be. I enjoy the physical activity of punches and kicks as opposed to the listless pulling of a trigger.

I must go now. I am about to travel around to the some other location on the globe. I have learned that I must carry out three assignments. One is to intercept enemy radio transmissions, the second is to scan a location my makers feel to be what they called a "hot spot", and the third is to terminate one enemy in his own home. Strangely I am experiencing some form of emotions. I feel giddy, silly, like a child again. I must make a note to ask my makers why I feel this way. I find it strange and disturbing. Until later...

"So, explain to us again why you are different."

"Why?"

"Just explain to us again why you are different. I am not in the mood for your bulls*@~, Amethyst."

"Well, Lieutenant Gonzalez, I am not in the state of mind to repeat myself over and over again. You seem intelligent enough. Did you not understand the first time?"

"Just repeat it again!"

"Do not yell at me. Your high pitched, annoying voice bothers me."

We traveled at night by car. The drive lasted for hours. I noted all of the signs I saw, all of the road construction warnings, the cautions, and the exits. I counted all of the mile markers. We traveled north stopping before morning to sleep. At dawn on the third day, we reached the border of another country. I had not been informed which country we entered. They did not tell me which of the seventeen languages I speak I would have to use. I felt that they planned the assignment with the grace and intelligence of a one-month infant.

Three of us went to that first assignment. Only one of us came back. My main trainer, our driver and I stopped at a hole in the wall of a hotel the morning we entered the other country. The lights in the hotel room barely illuminated the rooms, but I see best in dimmer lighting. Since I have the capability to see infrared, the dimmer the lighting, the better I can discern objects by the heat they emit. I memorized the room as quickly as I could. To memorize my surroundings was one of the first lessons I learned.

We rested for several hours. I slept on the floor while the trainer and driver got the bed. So much for chivalry. Anyway, we got up around five in the evening and searched for a location to feed ourselves. When we walked into the diner or diner-like restaurant, I discovered immediately what language I needed to use. The locals spoke French and used a very strange dialect. I figured out the dialect within five minutes of hearing people talk inside the restaurant.

Breakfast, or dinner would actually be more appropriate, ended and we jumped back into the car. I practiced the dialect with the driver and my trainer. I kept calling them mules, inferior species, and other silly names to pass the time away. I may not have very many emotions, but I did acquire a sense of humor. I credit Peter with teaching me humor. He taught me how to laugh, but he did not tell me that there are specific times in which laughter is not appropriate. I experienced the shameful message about inappropriate laughter when I giggled during a funeral of one of the original scientists. When I laughed, Peter hit my arm. Two other scientists in front of us turned around and called me sadistic. Their name-calling made me laugh so hard I had to leave the service. Of course I am sadistic. They raised me to be horribly sadistic.

We continued through the small, somewhat rural town. As the car neared a water tower I started to pick up transmissions we did not receive through the car stereo. As I have been trained, I quickly grabbed a pen and notebook. My scratchy shorthand got the attention of my trainer who turned around and asked me what I was doing. I ignored his request and continued to scribble the message I could hear.

Two minutes later the message finished and I put away my pen. I stared at the various lines and dashes I wrote. "It's encrypted."

"What's encrypted?" The driver asked me as he looked at me through the rear view mirror.

"The radio signal she heard." My trainer responded to the perplexed driver.

"Bull! She can't hear radio signals," he retorted unbelievingly. "No one can hear radio signals," he continued ignorantly. "They need a transistor or something. Besides I can barely hear people talking how can she hear radio waves?"

I shook my head in the back seat. I did not understand why they used a naïve driver who won the prize for asking pointless questions.

"She has a transistor implant. Her ears were designed to perceive higher and lower frequencies than most humans. You cannot hear people talk because you have lived a life in which you expose your ears to violent noises that cause your cilia to dump the last of their neurotransmitter and die. She has had cilia replacements every three months since her birth."

"What?"

"I have good ears, Stupid." I enjoyed responding curtly.

"Hey! There's no need to be that way woman." The driver did not know whom he decided to mess with. My trainer warned him.

"I would suggest you refrain from speaking derogatorily to Amethyst. She could kill you faster than your brain could tell you she hit you." I liked my trainer too. We shared the same type of arrogance. When you know you are practically invincible it seems that your head tends to grow a few sizes. In fact, my trainer and I did not even bother telling the poor man that I really do not have cilia replacements every three months. We grinned at each other using the mirror.

"So, what did the message say?" The driver asked beaten.

"It is about time you asked an important question," I added to his defeat.

"Have you already decoded the message, Amethyst?"

"Yes. The message was surprisingly coded in French double-talk."

"Double-talk?" The fact that my trainer did not know what double-talk was surprised me.

"Ye-the-guess, do-the-gove-bull-the-gull ta-the-galk. But in French." The driver started laughing, but my trainer and I ignored him. I wasn't surprised that he died so quickly. Stupidity can get people killed.

"What did it say?"

"Ms. Amethyst, you are trying to tell us that you can hear radio frequencies?"

"No."

"Then what are you telling us?"

"Nothing. I did not write my journal for you, so technically I am not telling you a thing."

"Can you hear radio frequencies?"

"Yes."

"Prove it."

"Why? Would you believe me even if I proved my capabilities to you? I can also see infrared, see in real-time, and smell blood twenty miles away. Would you like me to prove all of those as well?"

"You can smell blood twenty miles away?"

"Yes. Why don't you go take a twenty mile walk, cut your wrists and I will call you and tell you that I can smell you from here."

"I give up on you."

"You said you wanted proof. So Mr. Scientist of the Year, let us experiment."

I told my trainer what the message conveyed. A secret meeting of the Society of Generals was going to take place in twenty-four hours. The location of the secret meeting turned out not far from our hotel. My trainer and I decided to return to the hotel and rent a room for another evening so we could plan our attack. We kept the driver completely naïve to our plans. We figured he would be a large liability if he knew anything we planned on doing. To get him out of our business, we sent him to what my trainer referred to as a "titty bar". I did not want to know exactly what he meant by that term. I have a feeling he did not want me to ask either, so I did not.

"This is where she got really confusing. The Lieutenant had a hard time dealing with her answers. She had the tendency to piss us off really easily. I don't think she meant to do so on purpose. She just seemed so very arrogant. Like when we asked her if she had a last name so that we could contact her kin. She gave us the most difficult time, I swear."

"Do you have a last name, Amethyst?"

"We already covered that aspect of my identity. If I ever had a last name, it was removed two hundred and ninety-nine people ago."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I am a clone."

"A what?"

"A clone. An exact replica of a female human subject."

"I know what a clone is, dammit."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Because I wanted to make sure I heard what you said."

"If you wanted to know what I said you should have listened the first time. I do believe I said ‘clone' at the optimal pitch and with precise clarity: a perfect annunciation for you to hear and understand what I conveyed. You might consider having your ears checked for severe damage."

"My hearing is fine! I was just shocked to hear you call yourself a clone."

"I do not understand why you find my declaration of my creation shocking. You have read through my journal already. I know the information is contained somewhere in there."

"I know it was! You just shocked me."

"I still do not understand. What about me being a clone did you find offensive?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Since you read my journal and obtained the fact that I am a clone, then me verbally acknowledging my origins should not have startled you. Because you were already primed to know that I am a clone, the information could not have startled you. The only part of the definition of ‘shocking' that is missing is the offensive part. What is so offensive about me being a clone?"

"Um, nothing."

"Good. If my origins are offensive to you, then you could only imagine what I think about your perceptually inferior origins."

"Bobby?"

"Yes Lieutenant?"

"Take over. I need some coffee."

"See what I mean? She had the tendency to really piss us off. The Lieutenant took an hour getting his coffee. I would have too had I been giving the opportunity."

While the driver was "flinging Washingtons at some titties" my trainer and I mapped out our plan. The meeting's location, though not far from our hotel, rested in a very desolate location. If too much traffic plowed through the remoteness, someone would notice. My trainer and I decided that I should go alone to avoid extra bodies to attract extra attention. Unfortunately, my sex made it impossible for me to attend the actual meeting covertly. Instead, my trainer and I sketched out the best location for me to listen to the information provided by the Generals through a window.

At midnight, I walked the ten miles to the meeting's location. I had the opportunity to witness the beauty and tranquility of nature. My ability to see a wider spectrum of colors may add to my experience of nature, but any human should be able to appreciate the mere genius of nature. The crisp, darkened greens of the trees canopied the sky. I could smell them. Their scent tickled my nose with their air of purity. I found it amazing that I could not smell the poison of human civilization emitting from their pores. Maybe one day Earth might regain its marvel without the help of wasteful humans.

I gazed at the trees, the rocks, and the dirt and found myself spellbound by the myriad of colors, smells, and sounds. The sun completely disappeared at 9:30 p.m., but the rocks still released the collected energy they roasted in all day. Rocks can seem dull to the normal eye, but I can see their inner glow. As they spill forth the warmth of the sun, I see their fiery souls simmering in the dim lit world. Glowing rocks are fascinating.

The ground smelled musty and wet. A smell I correlate with home. In the desert, rain smells much different from rain in normally humid climates. It has a tangy, musty scent that reminds me of what wet dogs smell like. They smell cute, but not "right" at the same time. The earth beneath my feet spewed forth a scent every delicate step I took. I lavished my moments completely alone and for once free of experiments and testing.

I heard a family of mice scamper around in the dark, over branches and dead leaves. I approximated their distance at about a mile from me. Otherwise, the forest kept its mysteries silent. I should have known a tragedy would sweep in on wings of fury. The forest keeps no secrets unless it feels the need to hide from destruction.

"So, you were in a forest?"

"No sir. I was in the mall shopping my little heart out."

"Smart a&&."

"Can you believe she just smiled at me? She just about drove me insane. If I weren't a gentleman, I would have smacked that crazy broad across the face. She didn't scare me. She was just a young lady who thought she was better than everyone else. At least, that's what I thought for a long time. After all that happened, I know she was better than everyone else. She was just used for the wrong things, know what I mean?"

My stroll through the forest ended as I looked at the small country house that stood before me. A dozen fancy cars parked chaotically sat silently still as I crept toward the front of the house. Dressed entirely in black, I did not fear discovery, but I pulled a gun as a precaution. I could hear the rambunctious banter of men. I could smell the stench of cigars and cigarettes. A vinegary smell blasted into my nose when I stood only a few feet from the front door. It smelled as if someone decided to spill a year's worth of wine inside. The men were having a merry time.

My training prepared me to sparse a scene for any surveillance. For some reason, I think it ironic that the surveillance I am taught to discover is usually the same surveillance employed to detect and destroy potentially dangerous persons like myself. Before I approached the nearest front window, I had already noticed that no one kept watch.

I listened for two hours undetected. The men discussed maneuvers and strategies to enforce their beliefs. They talked about their armies and the chains of command that led to the slow acquisition of opposing enemies. Little did they know they stared their demise in the face every time they looked out the window into a pitch, black, darkness. Their inferior vision looked right past me. One man even looked right into my eyes and noticed nothing.

I retained the information I needed: modes of attacks, next locations of attacks, and the name of the one man in charge of the entire revolution. With the knowledge tucked nicely into my folds of memory, I prepared the next step of my task. Before my trainer, the driver, and I departed for the assignment, my makers gave me four additional guns. They also equipped me with a solid black fatigue-like outfit that sported as many pockets as I had guns. I took out my guns, loaded each one with armor piercing bullets, and put the black mask over my face. I felt an exhilaration I never experienced before. I decided I quite enjoyed the rush of epinephrine and the benefits of an elevated arousal. I was, as Peter would say, in the zone.

Just before I entered the dwelling to introduce the inhabitants to their militarized fate, I heard a piece of information I found troubling. The main General, the only man who did not consume an ounce of alcohol spoke to the drunken crowd of imbeciles.

"Our informant has provided the information we have feared for some time. The rebel forces that oppose our ideas have developed a very strategic weapon to defend their beliefs and destroy our own." The room silenced for the first time since I discovered their secret party. The General continued once all eyes focused on his face.

"Because our battle against the individualistic societies have continued for several years, our opposition has finely designed a weapon they feel can fight for their purposes. Our informant ventured to our town with the weapon just a few days ago. He informed us not to worry too much. The weapon is a female human."

The crowd of inebriated men found my sex quite hilarious. I couldn't help but laugh at their arrogant ignorance. Did not they understand the power of psychology and socialization? If a female is raised without the prescribed decorum they feel inherent to the sex, then a female can bring them hell.

"Our informant told us that the female is to search us out. He let us know that she has in fact intercepted our communications, but he could not clearly explain how she was able to crack our code and secret frequencies. However, tonight as you depart from here, think about what I have told you here tonight. Take heed and protect yourselves."

"From a girl? Sir, you must be joking." One little man asked with drool practically oozing from his numbed lips.

"Yes. I know it may be difficult for some of you to believe, but I believe our informant. There is something odd about her that makes her dangerous." The crowd of men laughed and teased the General for fearing the attacks of a female.

"What? Will she attack us with poisonous lipstick?"

"Will she throw explosive compacts at us?"

"Does she have a deadly venereal disease that she plans to give us by f*@#ing us all?" I did not understand all of their jokes. I did not know what the items of mockery they mentioned could be, but I assumed they were items women used. When I spoke of the jokes I heard, one scientist who works with my makers got quite offended. He told me that the stereotypes the men held about women were beliefs men carried about women without realizing that they created the disparity the genders experience. I asked him if I would have been offended had my creation and experiences been different. He told me he had no doubt that I would have been greatly offended. I suppose I am glad that I don't understand the things the men said. If I would have gotten upset, I could have blown the entire assignment.

"Generals, you may laugh now, but the woman is here. Our informant gave us the location and room number of her hotel. We sent our surveillance team there, but only one other man was there." He talked about my trainer.

"What happened to him?" Another man who was drunk asked in drunkese.

"He was shot in the head when he refused to reply to any our questions. The surveillance team is on their way back to make sure these grounds are safe. The woman could very easily be on her way." That's when I broke through the front door.

"Wrong. The woman is already here!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

The men whirled around startled by my uninvited presence. Three men sitting on a couch to the left of the door I bashed through did not even get to finish turning their heads before the bullet crashed into their skulls. The second man down happened to be the speaker who warned of my presence. He was the original target, but when I forced myself through the door, an overwhelming urge to terminate all of them came over me. I satiated the urge quite efficiently.

Both of my guns emptied their bullets into the flesh of my makers' enemies. The first two guns emptied in half a second. I dropped them and heard them clank onto the marble floor. I noticed the black marble after it had been covered in spilled, warm blood.

I reached into my pockets and revealed two more guns. A man dressed in a royal blue suit who was sitting at a piano guided his hand toward his inner pocket. My bullet went through the flesh and bone of his hand and on to his heart before his fingers even touched the butt of his gun. As I pulled the trigger in my right hand to shoot the piano man, my left hand took care of three more men standing near a tabletop decorated with several glass bottles.

Five seconds after I pulled the first trigger all twenty-five men died from bullets to their heads or hearts. I noticed my breathing had accelerated, and my heartbeat pounded in my chest. I looked at the gore, the beauty of my skills and abilities. I relished my performance for two minutes to allow my physiological reactions to subside. I picked up my four dropped guns and left.

"You sick b$#@~! How the f*@# could you destroy those men?"

"Lieutenant, Sir. You need to relax."

"I'm not going to relax! She's twisted and sick!"

"What exactly do you mean by b$#@~?"

"You! I mean you are a b$#@~?"

"Sir, you really need to calm down."

"I can't believe you are so disgusting! You must have a screw loose for killing all those men easily and to be proud of what you've done!"

"To clarify some things for you, I am not a b$#@~. I am not a female dog, nor am I in heat. I am proud of what I did because I was trained to do so. My pride parallels the pride of your kind who praises themselves when they rape a woman because they have been trained to do so. Have you ever raped your wife, Sir? Have you ever pleaded and pleaded to have sex for so long that she gave in and complied? Well, your training just differs from my training. You rape, I kill."

"YOU F*@#ING B$#@~!!!!!!!"

"Lieutenant, stop!"

"I must admit, her story disgusted me, but I'm a cop. Because I'm a cop I've seen many gruesome scenes that most people would find a difficult time dealing with. Even though I have ample experience in the gore of human destruction, hate, unrestrained passions, and fury, her air of conceit, of indifference and pride made me sick to my stomach.

"The Lieutenant finally stopped yelling when he saw her blood streak down her wrists as she tried to break free from the cuffs. I have tried to get out of hand cuffs before, but never hard enough to make my wrists bleed. I know the pain she felt. But she did not even grimace. Her face was showing hatred and destruction, but nowhere could I see pain. She gazed at the lieutenant without blinking. Her face solidified an expression of deep inflection. Her lack of fear, her lack of pain scared the s*@~ out of me. She scared the Lieutenant too. He had to leave the room.

"I hate to confess this, but I felt sorry for her at that moment. Her intelligence probably excelled that of all of ours put together. She was human, yet distanced from most humans because of things done unto her that she could not control. We are all driven by certain needs and our expectations of those needs. I understood at that moment, why criminals rarely change. Pedophiles have a disgusting crave for young children, but we are the ones who think their craves disgusting. Ask a pedophile to stop enjoying their sexual desires, and they will give you the finger. Amethyst craved bloodshed. Her disgusting drive was to kill, to use her special abilities to destroy her maker's enemies. She was created for killing and to kill was what she wanted. Such a shame she got caught.

"I say that she got caught, but that is not really the case. For some reason or another her makers turned her in. Of course they have denied her accusations repeatedly, but I'm really starting to believe her. Her journal has provided us with names and dates that the gentlemen who turned her in cannot deny. I think they turned her in because they wanted justice for the killing she did. Not to their enemies, but to one of their own. That is something they could not tolerate, despite how much I could tell they loved her. Especially Peter."

I left the blood-infested house and removed my gloves. All of the men screamed so loud that I could have sworn that I heard them scream for hours afterwards.

I reloaded the guns outside since the man had mentioned their security were on their way. I had the honor of meeting them down the road. When I spotted their headlights five miles away, I quickly put on my gloves and hid behind one of the corpse's cars. There were four of them, and I took them out quickly. No need to bring attention to the fact that the meeting ended early.

The walk back to the hotel did not seem as tranquil as before. I felt angered by the fact that some pompous idiot pointed the finger at us. I also felt a strange emptiness when my thoughts happened on all the times I spent with my trainer. A week before the objective, he promised me that he would teach me Ju Jitsu. I know Tae Kwon Do, Kung-fu, Drunken boxing, and almost everything about Ninjitsu. I dwelled on the idea that he would never be able to teach me what I do not know. I felt angered by his death. Revenge took a new meaning for me. I understood for the first time its abstract meaning. I knew then I wanted it.

I arrived at the hotel before I realized how far I traveled. I found my trainer as the man described. I laid my gloved hand on his head and said a few words of respect. I did not know what else to do. I have read extensively on the practices of peoples and what they do with their dead. Since I do not believe in any super powerful deity, I simply told him how much I respected all that he did when he was alive. I hope that what I did was adequate. I guess I will never know.

Just as I walked out of the door, the annoying driver appeared intoxicated and practically ran me over in the car. I acted as if nothing odd occurred and his inebriated mind could not sense that I was bluffing. The second he got out of his car my Luger was in his face. I ordered him to get into the car and that I would drive. He complied, though I did not think I would find him stubborn. I do believe he urinated when I whispered into his ear that he was going to die by hands. I could smell his fear emitting through his pores and his wastes dripping down his leg. I felt at ease and in control. Fear is my favorite emotion. I can smell it, I can see it, I can hear it cry its mortal cries of hope and salvation. I can taste the impending doom of tissues, emotions, and life. Fear, it smells better than sarcasm.

The ride back the way we came was quiet. The noises of the engine, and roar of the tires on asphalt, silenced by engineering provided the only noise. My ears picked up no transmissions, which proved a good sign. The longer no one knew what disaster had taken place, the longer I had to escape. Even the traitor's breathing seemed dampened. Only my thoughts raced through the night.

We reached the border just before dawn. The driver reeked out his last alcohol and sobered up slowly. He had fallen asleep despite his terror, which returned the moment he opened his eyes and saw my gun still pointed in his face.

"Listen to me a&&hole. One word out of you, one ugly facial expression, one minute gesture of danger and I will blow you to pieces. If you do not believe me, I am sure I can demonstrate what the men you informed danced with last night. Do not try it, do not try me, and do not think you will live through today. Do not think that I cannot see you when I have to talk to one of the agents. I have excellent periphery vision and will be able to see any movement you make in your face or body. I have no pretense to shoot you in front of the agents, nor do I care if I have to shoot them also. Today is not the day to f*@# with me, so do not."

"I can explain," he desperately tried. Dying men have such funny things to say.

"No need to explain. I understand fully the actions you chose to perform. I do hope you can comprehend the punishment I will give you for your behavior. Remember, I can kill you before you can even realize that I have hit you. A bullet is even faster."

He did not say a word. I was actually surprised by his behavior at the border. He did nothing to bring attention to himself or the fact that I had a gun pointed at him in my pocket. After a few cordial questions we were on our way. He started crying when his last chance for survival passed him by. However, he somehow grabbed on to a foolish glimpse of hope. After all, I am just a girl.

Three hours after we passed the border, I pulled over to the side of the road. His fear mounted and started to arouse my instincts again. I enjoyed his anxiety immensely. When I got out of the car he tried to lock the door so that I could not get back inside. I punched through the window and grabbed him by the earlobe. He stepped out of the car begging for me to let him go. I did, and pointed my silencer at his genitals.

"I am going to ask you a few questions which I believe you will answer truthfully. If you do not, or if you give me any reason for me to shoot your penis off, I will. Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes," he muttered softly. His fear swirled into my nose and mouth. I salivated at the site of his body temperature. His fear triggered physiological responses that increased his blood flow to certain parts of his body. I watched the fuzziness around him turned a red humans cannot see, but his body heat talked to me. The color of fear speaks to my eyes in a beautiful language I believe all mammalian predators can understand. If I had to categorize myself into a easily referenced category, I would call myself death.

"Good. Now, whom did you directly communicate with about my mission?"

"General Eric Sherman. He's the main guy in charge."

"And how much did he pay you for your information?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer me."

"Thirty thousand and freedom once they win."

"How many more factions of Generals are there?"

"I don't know."

"I would highly suggest not lying to me right now. Your future heirs are riding on your honesty." I added a dramatic nudge to his scrotum for emphasis. The fuzz fired hotly. My pupils expanded and welcomed his flame.

"I'm not lying I swear! I don't even think they know who's who. Please, please don't hurt me." He begged and pleaded, but then made a dire mistake.

"I believe you. Unfortunately, I cannot let you go. I must take you back…" that was all I could get out before I saw his fist headed for my face. Poor thing did not realize that no matter how fast he may have seemed to the thugs on the street he tried to fight, it would never be fast enough to get past me.

I caught his fist in my hand an inch from my face. I shook my head in disapproval and placed my gun into my pocket. I decided to enjoy my combat training instead. Who needs a gun when you have fast hands?

"That was not very smart of you. However, I am not surprised that you made a feeble attempt to regain your safety. Tell me, how fast can you punch? Do you think you can actually hit me?" He stared at me with violent eyes. I watched as he fought the urge to call me names, to reclaim his masculinity. Peter always explained to me the power of masculinity and its ability to control the actions of men. I assumed that the man who stared at me with hating eyes fought the same control-battle Peter referred to.

I let go of his hand and placed it back to his waist. I watched him carefully to make sure he did not attempt to hit me again. He did not try. He was paralyzed from the neck down, but I gazed into his eyes and could see the machine turning. He looked at me and tried to figure out his next plan of attack.

"There was a great fighter named Bruce Lee who had such speed many men could not even defend themselves against his attacks," I offered teasing my next kill. "Do you know of the man I speak of?"

"Yes," he spat.

"Great. I want you to know that if I were alive when Bruce Lee also lived, I could have beaten him. I have a gift that he did not. I can see in real time. Do you understand me?" He nodded the negative that surprised me not. "Allow me to demonstrate. Try your hardest to hit me. I will be able to see your fist coming toward me and will be able to stop its motion before you may even know what is occurring. Would you like to try?"

"Not really."

"Just try. If you hit me, you may be able to escape." He looked at me like a cowboy during a western hold up. I scanned his body and attended to his hands. I saw his left fist raise and swing back. I stopped it like I did the first time he tried. He did not stop there. His right fist came at me and I too caught it before it could make contact. With his fists in my hands, I leaned close to his face. His warm breath patted against my lips and chin in warm gusts. The more I sensed his frustrations the more I enjoyed teasing him.

He swung at me the moment I released his hands. I blocked each strike with only one arm. I flaunted my expertise of combat maneuvers. I felt as though the more I showed him what I was capable of, the more he would understand my passion for his death. He killed the man responsible for my fighting techniques. Poetic justice ordered that I kill the man using the skills I learned.

It took two hits: one to the temple, and the other fist into his sternum. He fell to the floor gasping for air. I grabbed his greasy head in my arms and prepared to twist his neck. I thought momentarily about sparing his life. He could be an example to the opposition, a message that they decided to mess with the wrong people. Rationally, I tried to examine the pros and cons of saving the man's life for the time being. Lucky for him, rationale superceded the urge to kill for revenge.

"I am going to let you go. I want you to warn the people you work for that they have met their match. I will destroy every last one of them if I must. They will not be able to detect me, they will not be able to stop me. Let them know I am after them all." I picked him up and threw him on to the grassy shoulder. He moaned as he hit the ground. I stepped over him and he looked up at me through hazy eyes. "Make sure you let them know that a woman will be their downfall. Let them know that a woman has spared your life even though she is quite capable of destroying you. Let them know that I mean business and that none of them will survive."

I jumped into the car and continued on my journey back home. I could not wait to tell Peter how well I did. I knew he would not want to hear about my tale, but I wanted him to know how well I had done. I needed him to know that all that he had worked for, and all that my maker's had strived for worked to their specifications. How little I knew then. I did not realize at the time that my objectives would distance Peter from me. If I had known that I would lose him and his information, I would have kept silent.

Later, I learned that the driver died on the side of the road. I felt angered by his weakness and inability to survive. I did not hit him very hard. I wanted him to deliver my message. Damn fool.

"Amethyst, this is Dr. Lynn. We brought her in to talk to you about your, your whatever changes."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Gonzalez. Amethyst, I am Dr. Lynn. I am a professor of Psychology. My specialization is human perception, specifically vision."

"Wonderful. Finally someone who can understand what I am talking about."

"Yes. I should be able to understand what you tell me. I should also be able to test the validity of what you claim to experience. Does that sound O.K. to you?"

"Do I have any other option?"

"Um, no. Not really."

"Then I guess it sounds appropriate."

"Well then, let's go ahead and jump on in. We have a lot of information to cover and I don't want to keep you here any longer than I need to."

"You are so considerate."

"I told you she was a smart a&&."

"That's O.K. Sometimes it's good to be a smart a&&."

Peter and I finished our conversation. I believe I had just turned twenty. He entered my room with a dismal frown bending the corners of his lips toward the ground. I tried to cheer him by showing him my ability to communicate with my computer, but he was not impressed. I wondered why he stood before me cheerless, and totally unlike himself. I did not want to ask, but he did not offer me any clue as to what profoundly disturbed him.

"Why do you carry such a sullen look on your face?"

"My father has been diagnosed with prostate cancer. I'm not sure how well he can survive it. He is old."

I did not know the words to express empathy or concern. I could only stare at Peter and accept the fact that he was cheerless. I tried to smile, failing to grasp the deep state of his melancholy. I decided to distract Peter from his illusive thoughts about his father.

"Why don't you tell me about all of the perceptual changes your father and his colleagues made to me." Instantly a spark of joy lit his eyes with fire. I applauded myself silently for thwarting his worries without using emotional tactics.

"Okay. That sounds fun. What have I told you before?"

"You told me that my neurons fire faster." I remembered not to ask how the changes made me a more effective killer.

"Oh, yeah. I remember now. Yes, they altered your genes to produce much thicker myelin sheaths."

"How did they do that?"

"I'm not totally sure. That is a secret they wish to keep from all parties not associated with the first experiments. I do know that they found the information through the collaborative efforts of the Human Genome project. See, periphery nerves are usually less myelinated than central nerves. What the scientists did, however, was myelinate all of your neurons equally, and added more to them for faster firing."

"What does all that mean perceptually?"

"Well, you can see in real time, which you already know of course. You are able to see the movement of a bullet, which no human could ever see no matter how hard she or he tried."

"You cannot see in real time?"

"No, no. I wish I could, but I can't. You have often complained about the lights flickering, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, those lights flicker too quickly for most humans to see. We instead see the average of the flicker, which means in perceptual terms, we see them as on all the time. You can actually see the on and off pattern of the fluorescent lights."

"What about my color vision? I have never heard anyone describe objects like I do. Does that have something to do with my vision, or simply that I do not always verbally express myself like you?"

"Most humans have three cone types in their retina. The medium and long wavelengths are all located in your central fovea. Those cones allow you to perceive reds and greens. The short wavelength cones, which allow for blue, are located about two degrees from the central fovea. On you, however, you have another cone type. Dispersed amongst your short wavelength cones, we added a cone that allows you to see longer wavelengths. You can see infrared."

"That is what causes that fuzz around everything."

"Exactly."

We continued to talk about my quicker reflexes due to the thicker myelinization of my neurons. He remained cheerful until he was called on the intercom to meet with his father's physician. When he left I continued to communicate with my computer.

"I couldn't believe that Amethyst actually decided to talk to Dr. Lynn. All the boys at the station started a new bet. They started betting on whether or not she wanted Dr. Lynn. The guys are so disgusting! The only reason Amethyst is talking to that chick doctor is because Dr. Lynn can understand what Amethyst has been telling us about. I know she doesn't want Dr. Lynn. She's not that type of girl, at least I don't think so.

"Dr. Lynn did us a great service. She was able to speak with Amethyst on the same smartness level. She was also able to devise some ways to prove whether or not Amethyst was telling the truth. Dr. Lynn left to her lab to get all of the measuring thingys she needed. That left us some time to further question Amethyst about the murder in question.

"I still cannot explain what Amethyst made me feel. I think that if I had met her under different circumstances, I probably would have proposed to her by now. But, things weren't different, and I met her after she had killed. That just about ends the fantasy bride idea.

"I wonder to myself, mainly cuz the guys would laugh at me if I told them what I think about, but I wonder what our society would be like if we were all like Amethyst. Would all of us strive to kill, or is that just from her training? Is that autism stuff she talked about really a result of too much incoming information like the scientists told Amethyst? Why was everyone cloned? Are there more Amethyst looking women running around killing their boyfriends? I decided to take the time to ask Amethyst the questions I thought about when no one was around. That way, only she would know. I just hope she doesn't laugh at me."

I returned home and informed the scientists of the gains and losses of my first assignment. Immediately upon my entrance into the facility, I was stretched across the usual examination table for my daily exam. They wanted to make sure that I did not suffer from any serious injuries. Due to all of the perceptual abilities they constructed my brain to deal with, my sense of pain is not always profound. They check me to make sure my pancreas did not dislodge itself or something severe. I can feel the needle pricks, the poking, the prodding, but I cannot sense pressure, pain, or temperature beyond the limits of my epidermis. The scientists are not even sure how they were able to dampen my pain sensitivity. They only know that about two weeks ago, my internal pain receptors stopped functioning.

My other trainers and commanders were saddened by the news that a fellow trainer died. They laughed at my retelling of how I scared the driver. I really did not find the humor in my tale, but I laughed to go along. They told me that I already had another assignment to complete soon. I was instructed to prepare with three hours of meditation and four hours of martial arts training for the next week. I received a new outfit, new guns, and finally, new instructions.

The scientist who always told me about gender differences laughed hysterically when I relayed my messages to the men before I shot the life out of them. He clapped me on the back and told me he would make me a feminist in no time. I responded by telling him that I truly did not understand the importance of gender stereotypes, nor did I wish to practice what he called feminism. His smile left his face momentarily, but returned when he told me that I could be a feminist for him. I agreed out of my respect for him. I guess that means I am now a feminist. He gave me several articles to read about women's positions in our society and others. I must admit, women tend to get shafted, as Peter would say.

My examination ended with a negative report for injuries. I tried to explain that not a single soul touched me, but like I wrote before, they do not hear me. After my examination, I spoke to Peter. His father has had a recurrence of prostate cancer. Unfortunately for Peter, the cancer returned and brought on cancer of the liver. They are not giving Peter's father a very good prognosis. I believe the scheduled date for his expiration has been set at six months.

I am touched by Peter's concern, and seem to be able to sympathize. I saw his father shortly after my return. His external fuzz did not look right. Peter, always looking brighter and hotter than everyone else, really made his father seem dim. The relativity of the visual system frustrates me at times. If I could look at Peter's father without needing other examples near, I could really see his true color. Anyhow, I think the doctors who told Peter his father only had six months to live were a few months off. I would not be surprised if he is gone in two or less.

"Lieutenant, Dr. Lynn has returned from her lab with the testing thingys."

"Great. Tell her to go ahead and test Amethyst and to give us the run down of what she found out."

Today I prepared for my next assignment. Before I got the commands for my next operation, Peter came to me. He told me something very strange and difficult for me to truly understand its concept. Peter informed me that I remind him of a movie character by the name of Trinity. Trinity is a character in Peter's favorite film. He described what she looked like, but I was unable to conjure an image other than my own. He added that she had blue eyes instead of ebony, but that we were similar in many respects. Since I could not watch the movie to compare us, I only listened to his claims.

The most troubling comment Peter made revolved around love. He asked me if I had ever been in love. Of course I have not, but his description of love differed from the dictionary's definition. Is it possible for people to have different understandings of conceptual ideas? I suppose it is highly possible since every person has different perceptual worlds but make the assumption that everyone is communicating similar experiences. He admitted that he was in love with me. I found myself unable to look at him when he confessed his affections for me. His fuzziness that always appeared so much different from everyone else changed drastically. I worried that he became ill because of me. However, the more he rattled on about his emotions, I realized the change was due to embarrassment. I was then able to look at him.

I explained to the poor man that I could not love him. We existed in two different worlds that would never coincide in any form. I see, feel, and hear things he cannot. He had freedom and the ability to feel. I know he knew the impossible relationship he wanted, but I still felt odd rejecting his offers. I decided to read a few books on relationships to better understand what he proposed to me that day. I confirmed my beliefs about the two different worlds leading to miscommunication and resentment. I felt relieved, strangely, that the books told me to stay away. Peter would have nothing to do with my literate arguments. He told me that love cannot be prescribed by books. I still do not understand what he meant.

"Amethyst, I am so excited to show you the demonstrations I brought for us to go over. They will be a lot of fun."

"Okay."

"Well, you've said that you enjoy showing your abilities, right? You will get to show me all that you can do. But I bet you I could trick your system a few times."

"That is fine. We can begin as soon as you are ready."

I have killed over three hundred and fifty men. All of the men were sworn enemies of my makers. I have been awarded several medals. I have received many grateful appreciations, and many new liberties at my training. I have excelled all of my trainers' abilities and they are now searching for new ones. Today, I received the most difficult task. I have been ordered to kill Peter's father.

"Dr. Lynn was able to test Amethyst without much trouble. It seemed like Amethyst was right at home being tested. We watched through the two-way mirror. She smiled genuinely for the first time since she had been brought to the station. I couldn't get over how much her face glowed whenever Dr. Lynn would ask her to look at something. It was amazing. It was if the woman was made for studies. She enjoyed showing what she could do. She loved looking at pictures, listening to sounds, and everything else Dr. Lynn had her do.

"When they were done, Dr. Lynn came into the room me and the Lieutenant were in and tried to explain stuff about Amethyst to us. I'm not sure I got all the jargon she used, but I got the gist. Amethyst in a few words was bad a&&."

"Gentlemen, I want you to know that Amethyst has been telling you the truth about her abilities."

"Really?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. She is able to see and hear things we need machines for. I am absolutely thrilled that I got to work with her."

"Dr. Lynn, you may want to remember that she is a killer."

"I understand that, but you must see where I am coming from. Perception is my life work. Amethyst's life is perception. She sees the world in colors we can only imagine. When she describes something she see using her infrared capabilities she can only describe her sensation as "red" because humans have not made an adequate word to explain what she sees. It's really quite fascinating. I tell you, science fiction is here today."

"So, is that the fuzz she talks about in her journal thingy?"

"Yes. In fact, I thought that description fits what she sees quite nicely. She can't describe the color, but she can describe the effect it makes on what she is seeing. She was even able to tell me that I had just ovulated. She said she could see my temperature rise and could smell the blood from my ovary."

"What about her hearing?"

"Mr. Gonzalez, I can't even begin to touch on what she can hear. My field of expertise is vision, not hearing, but she can hear really well. Not only does she have excellent hearing, who ever made her gave her the ability to process frequencies we hear with the use of transistors."

"What exactly do you mean?"

"Whoever created her altered her brain's hardwiring to allow her to compute different sounds. A normal human can hear frequencies between 20 to 20,000 hertz. She can hear about thirty times as many different frequencies than we can. It's absolutely amazing."

"How did they change her whatever you called it?"

"Her hardwiring?"

"Yeah, that thing."

"I am not sure. She explained to me that she has been cloned. Did she tell you all that? Okay, well, somehow the men who cloned her figured out how to add neurons to process the information she receives."

"Oh. I get it, she uses more than ten percent of her brain."

"Actually, Lieutenant, that belief is entirely false. Psychologists believe wholly in the saying ‘use it or lose it'. If we only used ten percent of our brain, we would only have ten percent of our brain. I do believe that somehow they made it possible for her to hear things we cannot."

"What about her not feeling pain?"

"I have somewhat of an educated guess on that one. I think that because her perceptual skills have been tweaked, some neurons usually used for other functions migrated to different areas to help with the processing of information."

"I don't think either one of us really get what you just told us, but go on."

"She can hear radio frequencies, she can see infrared, and she does not feel internal pain. She can feel something pierce her skin, but if she had a tummy ache, she would not know. If you ask me, someone did a darn good job at making her a very efficient soldier. She's telling you the truth."

I remember when Peter first told me about the first clones. Out of the several hundred used, only two survived the fertilization and birthing process. When the clones were born, it seemed that all they had done worked. My makers made the clones with five cone types, amplified hearing, no sense of pain, and cat-like reflexes. It was no surprise that by the ages of two, they were all autistic in nature.

Peter explained that if there is too much information, the brain cannot handle the input and retreats into itself. He also thought that the makers' manipulations of the thalamus led to adverse effects in the clones. By order of the main maker, all clones were to be redesigned to only have four cone types, and regular hearing. That still did not work.

The next batch of clones could not learn anything; they were too fascinated by the colors they could perceive. Due to their enhanced vision, many of them were overly curious, leading them to fatal accidents, broken bones, and other physical problems. Every last one of them died, and a new batch started.

The final batch was the batch I came from. All alterations had been tested and the most optimal functions altered. I believe they did a very adequate job of constructing me. I enjoyed most of my instruction once I was old enough to appreciate my abilities. Now, as when I feared the needles, bright lights, and all of the studies, I hate my position once more.

I could not believe that my order to kill Peter's father was effective immediately. My assignment was to enter his room and shoot him in the head three times to make sure he died. For the first time, I did not feel excited to perform. I knew what his death would mean to Peter, especially once he found out who did it. I actually felt like running. I thought that I could run away and they would never find me. My visions vanished when I remembered the homing device implanted in my jaw. I struggled to find the initiative to complete the demands placed on me, but it took more than I had.

One afternoon, while the makers, trainers, and Peter were out on their weekly golfing match, I grabbed my gun from the closet. I took special care cleaning all of its parts. Meticulously I oiled the gun, cleaned the gun again, and oiled it once more. If Peter's father had to die, I would use the prettiest weapon to do so. Totally out of respect, I put on my assignment gear, and prepared to carry forth my orders.

I crept into his room silently. The old man slept peacefully in his deathbed, and I actually feared waking him. In the entrance to his room, I removed my silencer from my pockets. Slowly, I attached the silencer to the gun. Following the silencer I removed the dark killing gloves from the pockets. Once all preparations had been completed as trained, I advanced to the side of the man's bed.

"Dr. Lynn told us a lot about Amethyst. We were a little stubborn about believing the claims the doctor made. But, the more she talked and explained to us what was going on inside Amethyst's head we had no choice but to believe the good doc."

"Gentlemen, you must understand Amethyst has a totally different world from our own. Humans have a decent sense of smell, darn good vision, and effective ears. Amethyst has all of those multiplied by more than I can even conceive. She lives in a perceptual universe no human has ever ventured into. Her senses are really all she has."

"What do you mean, all she has?"

"Her makers, as she calls them, did not really introduce her to the things we were introduced to as children. She was not socialized to want the same structural lives we lead today. In other words, gentlemen, she was not brought up to crave a job, formal education, a strive for morality, or even the desire to have a family. In fact, she couldn't even have a family of her own if she tried. All of her reproductive organs have been removed."

"You mean she had one of those hister-whatever you call ‘em?"

"Hysterectomy. Yeah, it appears that her makers did not want to risk the chance of her reproducing and passing along the genetic alterations they made on her."

"Could her lack of female hormones be the cause of her behavior?"

"If you buy into all that crap about hormones, possibly. But I bet that her differences stem solely from her senses. Our realities are structured around our perceptions of the world. Her perceptions are almost flawless. I tested her with illusions. Half of them she could not see. The illusions did not work on her."

"What does all that mean, Doc?"

"Illusions are systematic distortions of perception. The only way she could not be fooled by the illusions is if she is not hardwired like the rest of us. Therefore, I do know she is telling you the truth. Those men changed her."

I began to perspire the second I passed through the old man's door. I felt for a moment that I would not be able to carry out my very specific orders, but he opened his eyes and called my name, changing his fate permanently. I walked briskly up to his bed, pulled up my gun and rested the barrel against his temple. Before I pulled the customized trigger, I did something totally unexpected. I reached up to my mouth and pulled off my glove. Gently, I reached down and placed my hand on his hot, sweaty forehead. He looked into my eyes and I stared into his. The answers to some of my questions seemed to rest directly behind his bluish irises. I believed I understood love at that frozen moment in time. I did not feel the love, but I saw a glimpse of love for life. He had made me to preserve the only life he knew. Ironically, I was also the one who ended the only life he knew.

Pulling myself away from the trance his eyes put me in, I retreated my hand from his forehead. I smiled because I knew not what else to do, and I pulled the trigger.

"Amethyst, you are aware that Lieutenant Gonzalez and I seriously believe you should request an attorney before you continue to talk to us. Have you made your decision?"

"I maintain my previous opinion, I do not wish to speak to an attorney. Once my makers come to their normal mental rationality, I believe the charges will be dropped and I will walk out of here and continue my training and operations."

"I don't know how to tell you this, but your makers have already thrown the book at you. They have adamantly expressed their desire to see you pay for your actions."

"Even Peter?"

"Yes, Peter most of all. He cried the entire time he spoke to me, but he feels strongly about having you locked up."

"If it is their wishes, then I must obey. I do not request an attorney at this time. Could it be possible for me to use my electronic journal?"

"I'll have to ask about that one. I'm sure it won't be a problem as long as you don't delete anything."

"To put your nervousness at ease, I will only require that the journal be brought into this room. As you can see, I am still handcuffed and will not be able to delete any information contained in my files."

"That's fair enough. Let me get your computer."

I want you who reads this to know that I will not allow you to detain me further. Even though you may be able to bind my flesh, you cannot bind my mind. I can and will survive all attempts to control my thoughts and actions. I am better equipped to survive, and I will.

"After I took Amethyst her computer, I decided to talk more to Dr. Lynn. I wanted to understand more about Amethyst and her abilities. I guess I'm a little silly, but I thought about what a great cop she could make. I mean, according to her computer Peter's father ordered her to kill him. She was like, putting him out of his misery. My brother is an attorney, I know he'll be able to get her off no problem.

"Dr. Lynn? Could you tell me more about all that perceptual stuff you've been talking about?"

"Sure. Who's watching Amethyst?"

"Oh, no one right now. We took her the computer she had with her."

"Aren't you afraid she might get rid of all the evidence in her files?"

"Naw, she's hand-cuffed, how could she type?"

"You idiot! She has a computer implant that allows her to type without the keys!"

"That's not possible."

"Yes it is totally possible. There was some research that got published about a man who was paralyzed from the neck down. Some scientists put a computer chip in his head that his brain used to move a cursor around on a computer screen. It is totally possible that her makers put one in her head that can help her type."

They stormed into the room they detained me in for hours. I watched them, safely perched in the ventilation shaft, scramble around fruitlessly looking for any sign of my departure. The Lieutenant found the homing device I removed from my lower jaw using the scalpel I kept in my bra for emergencies. The nice doctor laughed heartily at the chaos, and even in my hiding I almost joined her. Hours after they discovered I had disappeared, I left the building jumping from roof to roof.

I sought out my makers and found them playing their precious game of golf. I stalked each of them and shot them execution style after explaining to them that what they did to me was a gift, and a mistake. I killed them all like they taught me. I only saved Peter. I explained to him that his father had ordered the kill. He refused, diligently, to believe my information. However, as soon as I showed him the order signed by his father, he understood and forgave me. I walked away that day and have not stopped.

There was a song I listened to the few moments I was allowed to be alone. As I strolled off the golf course with Peter wailing for me to stay, I recalled the song. Without knowing it, the writer could compose music that described how I see, how I feel, and what I experience. I will send a copy and the rest of this journal to the interesting men who detained me.