"So, let me get this straight," said Greg, frowning. "Quinn - the one who happens to be utterly ruthless and self-centred to the point where she would do anything to claw her way to the top - is Jones' daughter, and Nikita - the one who would never harm an innocent, even to save, like, thousands of people - is yours?"

George paused in thought. "Now that you put it that way, it is a little odd." He shrugged. "I guess genes don't count for everything."

"Uh, so just who did this little baby switchie-poo at the hospital?"

"Walter. He did so well separating babies at birth, I thought he could handle switching them, too."

"Jeeze, George," said Greg, shaking his head, "you entrusted Walter with that task? During the Seventies? I doubt that he even remembers any of the Seventies. I think you'd better do a little DNA testing to be on the safe side. And fortunately, I know how to do that, since I'm a fantastical genius and all. All you have to do is give me your system password so I can access everyone's files to get their DNA samples."

"I'm not giving you my access code!" snapped George. "That would be a Class Ten security breach!"

"Okay," said Greg with a shrug, getting up to leave, "then I guess you'll never know."

"Wait, wait!" George called out after him. "Alright." He sighed. "My access code is 'Hey_there_Georgie_Girl'."

Greg tried to stifle a snicker but failed.

"I happen to like that song," said George, glaring at Greg. "It's poignant."

Smirking, Greg walked over to a computer panel set into a nearby wall and began typing furiously. After a few minutes, he began to laugh.

"Sorry, Uncle George - no switcheroo after all. Walter screwed up. Quinn's yours, and Nikita belongs to Jones after all."

George scowled. "I told you not to call me Uncle, dammit!"

"Sorry - the DNA test says otherwise on that, too," Greg said, grinning.

George blanched for a moment, but then sighed. Great - now he had two greedy and manipulative relatives working for him. He cleared his throat. "Alright, I need to fix this. I am not going to let Jones install his daughter as the leader of this organization. That'll happen over my dead body!"

"Yeah, well, I don't know what you're going to do to stop it. Your girl's stuck in the IT ghetto, while Miss Jones is on the management track."

George wrinkled his brow in thought, but then smiled an evil, sinister, really, really creepy smile, the kind of creepy, sinister smile that only he, with his years of practice as the sinister overseer of Oversight, could really manage. It was a sinister smile that he was really, really proud of in fact, that he practised each morning in the mirror after he flossed his teeth. A sinister smile that sent his employees cowering in terror. That caused small schoolchildren to hide behind their mothers' skirts. That started hounds baying on moonlit nights. That - well, you get the idea.

"Well," he said, "I just happen to know a Red Cell plastic surgeon - not that I hang out with Red Cell, or anything," he added hastily, "who can make anyone look like anyone." He rubbed his hands together in glee. "Maybe the switch didn't get done at birth, but who's to say it's too late now?"

Just then, they were both distracted by the heralding of trumpets that sounded like a fanfare of some kind. Startled, they then heard the clomp, clomp of marching feet. Their mouths dropped open in jaw-dropping awe as around the corner a bevy of guards dressed up like Roman centurions appeared. There were 8 guards in total, two in the front carrying trumpets, which they were toot-tooting. Then four guards next, each holding a handle so that they could carry the glass square cabinet, and another two guards behind them also carrying trumpets that they were toot-tooting. George and Greg continued to watch as the guards marched towards them and lowered the glass square to the floor. Then they both gasped in horror - one of those really big gasps that you just know means that they were horrified.

For couched in the glass square, which was see-through because it was glass, was something so horrific that it caused them to gasp. Or maybe it was made out of really strong PVC clear plastic. But whatever it was made out of didn't really matter. Because what was inside it caused both Greg and George to gasp that big horrified gasp again. It was a horror too huge to really think about for too long, cause it was just too horrific. So they gasped with horror, and then stared at the glass square. Or the plastic square, and then trembled as the figure inside spoke to them in a deep, electronically modified voice.

"Hello, George," Jerome said. "Oversight has sent me back from Section Four again to help you solve your little problem. It's the least I can do - I am, after all, the C-Clone." And both George and Greg stopped their trembling and started doing the hustle as Jerome fixed them with a really hard stare - the type of stare that causes someone's eyebrows to point downwards like little daggers as they frown.

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

Back at the coffee shop, Davenport and Andrea had failed to notice that Michael and Nikita had left after the phone call from Birkoff. It seems that Andrea's formula to come up with a suitable substitute for the spilled chloral hydrate had taken longer than they had both anticipated. By the time Andrea was satisfied with both the colour and consistency of the substitute, our illustrious heroic couple had departed for greener pastures.

Now, Davenport stood in the kitchen, his head hanging down despondently while Andrea raged at him. Actually, he really didn't give a fig about Andrea's tirade, he was hanging his head despondently cause he realised that despite his best efforts, another run had appeared in his hose. Damn - and these were his best nylons! Also, it seems that his make-up purse had been pilfered and there was no other lipstick available, so he was stuck with Cherry Red. He'd just have to wiggle his hips that much harder to distract from the awful combination of a hot-pink waitress uniform that clashed with the wrong lipstick. Shaking his head despondently, he suddenly became aware of Andrea's rage-filled tirade.

"Eeee-diii-ottttt, you are ze beegest eee-diii-otttt on zis hole planet! Ow can you ave let zem ezcape! Ow! Ow! First you are ze cause of zis terrible dizazter, and now you ave let zem ezcape!" Andrea prowled around the room, throwing all the Brazilian coffee grounds on the floor in her rage as she continued. "Zis iz ze reason zat Michel will alwyz be a igher level zan you - you let zem ezcape!"

This time, she had gone too far! Davenport glared at her, fixing her with an icy, steely glare as he answered her with his lips barely moving, "This contingency was factored into the mission, and the profile adjusted accordingly. Check my panel if you don't believe me!" Reaching down into his waitress apron, which was a becoming shade of lilac that contrasted nicely with his ensemble, he pulled out his panel and thrust it in front of her nose. Davenport smirked slightly to see the look of awe and wonder seeping into Andrea's eyes as the Intel on his panel penetrated her brain and its meaning became clear.

"You mean...." Andrea sputtered, as she turned back to face him, suddenly finding that his hot-pink waitress attire made him strangely attractive to her.

"Yes," he replied, "I managed to coat their favourite booth with a new liquid tracking device that is so super secret it hasn’t even been released on the market yet. All we need is an Internet connection and we will be able to track them from twenty five miles away!" And with that, they looked at each other and smiled evilly, both having been the last graduates of Madeline and Operations evil-looks-and-smiles-from-Section-Operatives course.

Hmmm, she thought, maybee zees beeg bald muscle-man eez not such an eediot after all....

Hmmm, he thought, maybe if I start acting evil I'll get all the crazy horny chicks that Michael rejected....

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

"Oh, Mick," cried Nikita, "Michael has broken my heart so cruelly and coldly! Why, this time he--"

Before she could finish, she noticed that Mick had stopped looking at her and instead was staring in fear at something behind her - in fact, Mick seemed so frightened by what he saw that he began trembling and quaking and quivering like a little sodden mass of Jell-O.

"No, Michael," Mick begged, "don't toss me out a window or a door, or through anything plate glass, or into anything sharp or really, really hot - I promise you I scrubbed off every single one of those black dots on the walls of Nikita’s apartment! I swear! And I've got no idea, really I don't, how they got there in the first place. Absolutely no idea whatsoever!"

"I am not here to talk to you," said Michael.

Nikita whirled around to face Michael, tears of anger streaming down her face. "How could you!" she sobbed. "It's bad enough when you abuse me at the behest of Section, but this was on your own time!"

"We need to talk," he said, grasping her by the hand and dragging her past Mick into Mick’s apartment.

"Hey!" called Mick. "I haven't had a chance to tidy up! Why don't you go back to your own--"

But then the door slammed in his face. Bloody hell! Locked out of his own digs! He made a face of annoyance and then wandered down the hall toward Nikita's apartment, where he spotted that the door had been left open. Fine! he thought. She hasn't got anything decent to eat - I'm going to starve to death waiting for those two to make up!

As he entered the apartment, however, he was met by a very pleasant surprise.

"Well, hello there, you delectable honey-dipped delight!" he said with his most endearing smile.

Aurora turned at the sound of a new voice and stared at the person from whom the new voice had uttered. Just stared at him. Really stared. As if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing in front of her. Mick stood just that little bit taller - which was pretty hard cause like most men in LFN other than Michael and Operations, he was quite short. But he knew why the vision of lovely womanhood that stood before him was staring at him in speechless wonder. Even he knew just how good he looked in his lime green silk shirt with the matching red trim and his silver spandex skin-tight pants. But the piece de resistance was his big-ass pimp hat that he had on his head that measured at least 18" all round. No wonder she was smitten!

His ego was deflated slightly at the words that came out of the woman's mouth, though. “Who the hell are you? I work for myself - I don't need a new pimp! And if that bloody Frenchy thinks that he can run out without paying, he's got another think coming." And with that comment, she stood there affecting an air of unconcern, with her arms crossed and her mouth pouting.

Mick stood looking at her loveliness for a few more minutes before he said anything more. Well, her nipples were standing out quite prominently from her wet T-Shirt after all, and he was a perve. But then he moved and reached down into his pants pockets, getting strange looks from Aurora cause his pants were so tight that it looked like he was playing with himself. But after a few minutes of fumbling - which took just a little longer than normal cause he was copping a bit of a feel - he pulled out something that made her eyes go really wide and her mouth drop open in shocked awe.

"Ohhhhh...is that what I think it is?" she breathed in shocked awe.

"Yes, my delectable little chocolate coated sugar candy cane all day sucker, it is." And with that, Mick raised his Section One/Oversight platinum gold credit card with unlimited credit over his head, capturing the light and making the card shimmer. "Let's talk business!"

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

When Michael had dragged Nikita into Mick's apartment and slammed the door in Mick's face, he had only had one thought in mind - to talk to his beloved love, the one he adored, and make things right again. How could he go on with life if she never forgave him? How could he live without her? He wanted to know. How could he ever live without her? If she ever goed. All he could see in his vision was Nikita; her golden beauty inspired him. She was love, she was life, and she was lust. And god he was horny! If he didn’t get some action soon he was going to explode.

Looking down upon his vision of beauty, he gently cupped her face in his hands as he started his apology. "Ni-kee-taaa. We do what we have to do. But no more will I hide behind the lies of Section. No more will I deny my heart. No more will I let you go on believing that you do not matter to me. You are my life. You are my world; you are every breath I take. You are the light of my soul, the place I call home. You are beauty personified and I cannot go on one more day without you by my side. We will defeat all obstacles that life will throw before us. Together. As one. Oh my love, my dearest one, forgive me. Forgive that I ever caused you one moment of pain, of grief or sorrow. I would rather cut out my heart than let you go on without my love!"

And with that declaration of undying heartfelt devotion and love, Michael lowered his head to kiss her lips. Her luscious, pouting, full lips. Nikita froze at the tenderness he was showing her as his tongue slowly licked around her lips to tease and tantalise. And then his lips touched her own. Need exploded into her as she deepened the kiss by pulling him closer and thrusting her tongue down his mouth where-upon she indulged herself in a game of tonsil hockey. It was awesome! It was right. It was love. And she was winning 3 points to 2! But she knew that she had to break the kiss before it got too hot and heavy, because she had to talk to him.

Pulling back reluctantly from Michael's embrace, Nikita stared into his gorgeous green eyes. She stared so hard at him that she could see herself reflected back from them, and was momentarily distracted by how good she looked! But then she shook herself from her preening, as she knew that he needed a response. She could no longer deny her own feelings as far as Michael was concerned. She loved him, loved him to distraction. Loved him so much that she sometimes daydreamed in the middle of a briefing. And that wasn't good, because Operations seemed to know when she lost focus and asked her a question. Luckily for her, she was such an exceptional operative that she only ever needed to listen with half an ear, and always knew the correct answers. But she was digressing. She needed to say that she forgave her love, if only so that they could go on.

"Michael," she said. "I know that you love me, I have just been waiting these countless years for you to admit it to me. I love you too. You are my love, my life. Why do you think I keep coming back to Section each time you free me? It's because without you I have no life, and I don't want to live without you. I would rather have a day with you than an eternity alone. Je t'aime my love, je t'aime!"

But before they had a chance to once more embrace and seal their love, Michael's eyes drifted slightly to the left and as they did, he went a sickly green colour and started to sway on his feet. "Michael!" Nikita cried, alarmed. "What's wrong, what's the matter?"

"Mon Dieu!" Michael moaned. "Nikita, I cannot stay in this room one moment longer. The room...it is making me ill!" And as Michael stood there breaking out in a sweat, Nikita finally looked around the room. Had a real good look. And then gasped in horror. In all the times that she had known Mick, she had never actually set foot in his apartment, and what she saw in the living room made her awfully glad that she hadn't.

The whole room was painted a pale lilac with checked wallpaper trim around the tops of the walls. Instead of a sofa, Mick had installed a love seat that was a hideous fluoro orange with dark red feather trim. Several lava lamps were situated around the room, all of them glug-glugging, and the shapes they were forming were somehow pornographic. The carpet was deep purple shag pile and it seemed there was a feature wall that was covered in chartreuse velvet. The feature wall also had lots of plastic animals tacked on it, all in various positions of the Kama Sutra. Long sweeping curtains covered the windows and they alternated from yellow in one window to green in another and then back again. Everywhere she looked was a mismatch of colour and style, all combining into one hideous temple of kitsch. There was even a swing suspended from the ceiling, surrounded by artificial roses and with a white velour padded seat. Looking around, Nikita started to feel quite ill herself. Grabbing hold of Michael's hand, she tugged him out of the room.

"Come on Michael, we need to get out of here before I hurl!"

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

Mick looked up in dismay as Michael and Nikita came running back into Nikita's apartment. He had only just finished his negotiations with Aurora and it seemed that they were just about to get down to the hanky-panky when he was rudely interrupted. But his dismay turned to concern as he took in their appearance. "Why my sugar whipped, candy battered love duo, whatever is the matter?"

Now that they had escaped the atrocious eyesore of décor that was Mick's apartment, Michael was feeling so much better, and he looked at Mick really angrily and said, "You. Out. Now."

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist guvenor, I'm going. Come, my little love sweet with glazed cinnamon icing, let us retire to the Love Nest of the God Mick!" And he delicately took Aurora's hand and guided her out of Nikita's place and back to his.

"Okay Mick, whatever you say. But tick tock baby - this is gonna cost ya!" stated Aurora as she followed Mick out. And they left and slammed the door behind them.

As soon as the door had closed behind them, Michael once again grabbed Nikita in his arms. "Now my love, my darling. Now let us seal our love in the physical, as we have sealed our love in the metaphysical. Let our bodies combine as one as our two hearts have combined as one." And as they both stood there gazing into each other's eyes, the slight strains of a song could be heard softly emanating from Michael's famous nose again. A song that seemed to be poignantly accurate for this moment of love revealed and acted upon. As song that could very well become the ultimate love theme for our beloved duo forever more. A song that captured the heart and soul of their whole romance. A song of love.

'And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you till I die
Till we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides'

And while this poignant song of love had been playing, Michael had once again grabbed Nikita's hand and they were back to doing that hand-dance thingy again. Michael was in ecstasy, as was Nikita. This hand-dance thingy was the best foreplay ever! And slowly, ever so slowly, they both hand-danced their way into Nikita's bedroom. The one with the really big bed that was close to the floor. Thank god she had remembered to change the sheets that morning!

As they finally entered her bedroom, the hand-dance thingy was almost at the crescendo and they were close to hand-dance peaking. It was too soon for such bliss, but the passion that they inspired in each other could no longer be denied. As their hands started to jerk and tremble, Michael lowered his head to capture Nikita's cries of joy, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, cause his hand jerks were causing him to cry out in joy too. And as their hands finally stilled, they lowered themselves down onto Nikita's bed. Well, they fell actually, cause did I mention that Nikita's bed was close to the floor?

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

Madeline glanced at her watch, noticing that she and Operations had been staring menacingly out the Perch windows for a full twenty minutes.

"That's probably sufficient to boost operating efficiency for the next several hours," she remarked, turning to leave and return to her office.

"Wait," called Operations. "I want to check Nikita's status again before you leave. If the reverse subliminal programming succeeds with her, I want to expand it to the rest of the Section."

"Well," she said, looking sceptical, "it's still an experimental procedure, and the effects aren't permanent yet. Any exposure to countervailing agents could produce anomalous results."

She walked to a computer terminal along the wall and began typing commands to bring up the surveillance in Nikita's apartment.

"Countervailing agents?" asked Operations. "Such as?"

"Such as...." she started, and then her eyes widened when she saw the scene in Nikita's apartment, where Michael and Nikita were in the midst of the heated throes of passionate ecstasy. "Such as that!"

Looking over her shoulder, Operations clenched his fists angrily and turned red with rage.

"Look at this!" he yelled. "I thought this procedure was supposed to keep them apart! This is worse than if we had done nothing!"

Madeline shrugged. "I warned you that using the process might provoke Michael into desperate action. Now we've lost control over both of them."

They both winced as the volume of noise from the surveillance began to reach a crescendo. "Oh, Michael!" screamed Nikita through the computer speakers. "Yes, Yes, YES!!!!"

"For God's sake, turn the volume down!" Operations cried out, covering his ears in pain. "That screeching is enough to wake the dead!"

"Too late. It already has," came a familiar voice from behind them. "Or at least the cryogenically frozen."

"Adrian!" they gasped in unison, whirling around in horror to face their nemesis.

Adrian lurched stiffly into the Perch, her arms stuck out in front of her like a mummy, as she slammed deliberately into the walls in an attempt to chip the ice off herself.

"I'm sure you must regret the decision to keep me alive," she said with an air of aristocratic superiority, marred only by the icicle hanging from her nose.

"I'll take care of that mistake right now," Madeline spat, as she lunged toward the other woman.

The two women struggled for several moments, trying desperately to pull each other's hair. But Adrian couldn't bend her arms to get a grip, and her hair was too slick with ice for Madeline to take a firm hold. Just as they were about to give up on the hair pulling and commence clawing each other with their fingernails, where Adrian, not having had a manicure in quite a long time, had a considerable advantage, they both stopped in their tracks, incredulous, as a previously unimaginable level of unearthly shrieking began emanating from the computer speakers.

"Miiiiiiiiiiikuuuuuuuuuuulllllllllllllll!" Nikita screamed in ecstasy.

"Good Lord," said Adrian in astonishment, "it sounds like they're killing a cat!"

"No, I think it's a monkey," said Madeline.

"No, it's Nikita," said Operations.

"Michael's killing Nikita?" Madeline asked hopefully.

"No, no, no, it's Nikita shrieking as if she were a cat being killed."

"A monkey, you mean," corrected Madeline.

"Monkey, cat, it doesn't matter!" snapped Adrian. "The real question is, what are they doing?"

They all tilted their heads sideways to try to get a better view.

"I have no idea...." started Operations, but then he suddenly straightened up as a brilliant idea seized him. "Madeline!"

"What?" she said, tilting her head to the other side, mesmerised by the scene that was unfolding on the computer monitor.

"Quickly! Switch this video feed to the web-cam channel!"

With a shake of her head, Madeline snapped herself out of the hypnotic state the view of the surveillance had put her in, and quickly typed the necessary commands to switch the video feed so that it was being broadcast over the live web-cam site. Suddenly, the orders skyrocketed, money pouring into their secret offshore bank accounts in hurricane-like torrents.

"My God," exclaimed Operations appreciatively. "This is incredible!" He then frowned and scratched his head. “Why have we been trying to keep them apart all this time?"

"We'll have to make a note never to do that again," Madeline agreed. "Why, together, as a team, they’re our most formidable resource!"

Adrian looked over their shoulders, spotted the readout of payments rolling into the web-cam accounts, and gasped.

"This is what you’ve turned my beloved Section One into?" she hissed. "A purveyor of online porn?"

Operations waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, don't worry - Section One still does missions against the terrorists. Madeline and I have just, uh, 'borrowed' the computers for our own little venture."

"Your own venture? You mean you're taking this money for yourselves?" Adrian was aghast. She snatched Operations' cell phone out of his jacket pocket before he could react. “That's it – I'm going to call George and have this entire sordid operation shut down."

"Wait! You don’t want to do that."

"Why?"

"Because...because...because we'll split the profits with you 50/50!"

"What?!" Madeline whirled to look at him in fury.

Adrian hesitated, staring at the readout of exponentially exploding credit card orders. "Well...as long as it doesn't interfere with missions, maybe it's not so terrible...." she murmured. Then she brightened. "You know, 'porn' is such a crude term, isn't it? All the really enlightened people call it cyber-erotica."

Operations smiled. "I know I do."

"But Paul!" Madeline said through gritted teeth, clutching his arm so hard that he winced. "What about the Philippines?"

"The Philippines are nothing! Look at those orders piling in! At this rate, even with only half the profits, we'll be able to afford Australia! And we'll still have money left over for you to corner the world market on orchids."

This seemed to placate her, and she released her grip. "Really? And I won't have to share any of them with her?" She jerked her head over toward Adrian.

"Oh, please, you can have the orchids - they're so nouveau-riche," scoffed Adrian. "I'm going to corner the market on roses."

"Roses?" Madeline laughed. "How very traditional. Like sensible shoes and bulky cardigans and--"

"Enough, ladies!" Operations interrupted. He turned to Adrian. "Do we have a deal or not?"

"Well, Paul," said Adrian, extending her hand, "I think we can do business. I see I taught you well."

But just as they were about to shake hands and seal their agreement, the electricity cut out and all of Section's systems froze - including the computers taking the credit card payments. As they looked around in panicked bewilderment, Operations' cell phone began to ring ominously. Adrian hastily offered it back to him, and he took hold of it gingerly, as if it were a poisonous snake.

"Hello?" he answered nervously. "Mr. Jones? Um, why are you calling?"

Adrian and Madeline exchanged concerned looks. Mr. Jones? This couldn’t be good.

"Our computer resources seem unusually bogged down?" Operations asked. "And you're coming here to investigate yourself? That hardly seems necessary." He paused. "I see." He then hung up, his face pasty white with trepidation.

Before he could even open his mouth to explain to the other two what was going on, a bald man in a lime green silk shirt with matching red trim and silver spandex skin-tight pants strode cheerfully into the Perch, a scantily-clad woman on his arm.

"Mick Schtoppel?" cried Operations and Madeline in disbelief.

"To the vast multitudes." He smiled. "But you two, from now on, can just call me Boss. Oh, and this is my assistant, Aurora. You can call her, well, Aurora."

"But why are you revealing your identity?" Operations asked suspiciously. "Why, the only person we know who you know who knows you that we know of is George, and George...." he gulped nervously.

"Is safe and sound in Oversight," finished Madeline, with a confused frown.

"That's right! We haven't killed him yet!" said Operations. "So why are you here?"

"Well," said Mick, or Jones, that is, "I've been observing the goings-on here at Section One for quite some time now. And I must say, things have gotten completely out of control. I'm going to initiate a thorough review. Of all personnel," he added threateningly.

Operations and Madeline looked at each other in apprehension. They were going to be reviewed? But they hadn't had time to trash all of the incriminating files!

Madeline reached up to her hair, checking to make sure that she had remembered to hide the cyanide capsule that she always wore there in case of just such a situation. Her fingers touched something, and for a moment she relaxed, but then she noticed it was the wrong shape. It was...too large somehow. With two crunchy outside layers, and a cream-filled centre.... Damn! She'd accidentally snatched up one of Birkoff's Oreo cookies that morning.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" said Adrian with disgust. "You can't do a review of anyone!"

Mick stared at her, wondering who this strange woman was who was standing in a pool of melted ice. He didn't remember any such person being in the script that Centre had given him. And he'd memorized the scene thoroughly. Stroll in pompously - check. Mock Madeline and Operations - check. Introduce Nikita as his secret spy - oops, forgot that part! Well, he had Aurora here as a substitute. But confront strange, half-frozen elderly lady? No, he would have remembered that. He harrumphed to himself in irritation. He required scripts dammit! He wasn’t one of those ridiculous improv people. They were an embarrassment to the craft, really.

Adrian turned to Operations. "This isn't Mr. Jones! I know Mr. Jones."

Mick started to laugh nervously. "Of course I'm Mr. Jones! Don't listen to that senile old lady!"

"No, he's not," insisted Adrian. "And in fact, I know who he really is. He's an actor named Martin Henderson. An actor with a career he'd rather forget about, isn't that right?" She turned to him with a knowing leer.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered.

"In your younger, poverty-stricken days," Adrian said tauntingly, "you worked under the stage name Long John Silver, starring in a little production entitled 'Treasure Island: XXX Marks the Spot.'" She smiled. "As I recall, you were famous for your really, really, really, really long...."

Operations' and Madeline's eyes widened.

"Pegleg," Adrian finished with a smirk.

"No!" he gasped, hiding his face in his hands in mortified humiliation. "How could you know this? I've kept it a secret for so many years!"

"Indeed, Adrian" said Madeline, raising an eyebrow, "how could you know this?"

Adrian blushed slightly. "George is a cinema aficionado."

"Well, if you're not Mr. Jones," said Operations, "give us back our electricity, dammit! We're losing valuable credit card orders!"

"Alright, alright," said Mick/Jones/Martin/Long John Silver, removing a remote control device from his pocket and pushing a button to switch the electricity back on. "There. Are you happy?"

But before anyone could answer, the electricity switched off yet again. Or, rather, it flickered. Spookily. As eerie synthesized organ music played from nowhere in particular.

Suddenly, in the doorway, Jerome appeared, dressed in his best The Omen-imitation outfit, as several spotlights of strange, coloured light flashed and strobed, and fog from dry ice swirled mysteriously about him.

"No!" shrieked Operations and Madeline, clutching at each other in terror. "Don't hurl us across the room, or give us inexplicable nosebleeds, or vaporise us on the spot!" they begged.

Adrian looked at them as if they had lost their minds. "Good heavens! Whatever is the matter with you two? It's just a lovely little boy!" With that, she began walking toward him. Jerome moved his glare from Operations and Madeline as he observed the strange old lady walking towards him. He didn't like her smile, which did look quite odd as Adrian was still partly frozen, so he turned his death-ray glare eyes upon her. But by some strange quirk of fate, all that appeared to happen was that all the ice still left on her body miraculously melted, and she was once again immaculately coiffed and dressed. And clutching a dainty cup of Earl Grey tea.

Surprised by this turn of events, he turned his death-ray glare back upon Madeline and Operations, cause he liked to scare them. And it worked. Madeline gave a little shriek and hid behind Operations when she realised that Jerome was looking at them again. A nosebleed was most unattractive after all, and clashed with the day's ensemble. Noticing that they were both quivering slightly in fear, Jerome decided that messin' wit their minds was an opportunity that he just couldn't pass up. He turned his most lethal, ominous, spookily scary glare upon them, the one that caused his eyes to flash red, then yellow, then green, and spoke to them both in a deep voice that was once again electronically modified and sounded a bit like Cher in that song she sang after Sonny died.

"Don't annoy me you two. Remember, I know what you are most afraid of. But perhaps now is the moment to just reveal the truth to you both. Yes, Operations, it is true. Your greatest fear will be realised if you dye your hair snow-white again. It will all fall out, but not before causing all of Section to go blind. And, you, Madeline, just don’t make me mad or I will throw all the men in Section across the room, causing you to scream their names and run across to them in ridiculously high uncomfortable CFM pumps and then try and undo their ties. And you know how hard that is for you!" He smiled evilly as he noticed that both Madeline and Operations blanched even whiter at his diabolical threats. He then continued, "Now run down and get me some milk and cookies. I feel like sitting down and talking to this nice old lady. She reminds me of Red Riding Hood's grandmother, and I'm hungry!"

As they both ran to do his evil bidding, the sounds of maniacal laughter could be heard echoing throughout Section. And it seemed to be following them, which it probably was, cause the evil scary little Jerome had some really strange funky powers!

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

Meanwhile, down in Munitions, Walter was unaware of the strange developments that had occurred in the Perch, and was extremely worried about, oh, a lot of stuff. What if Birkoff found the computer file that was hidden deep in Section's archives under the secret name 'Missing twins - the introduction of'? Had Michael and Nikita been able to understand the encrypted messages that he had set up on their panels? I mean, it was a brilliant hidden language, after all. Nobody would think of deciphering Pidgin English. It was just so tough! But he was afraid that the text was maybe just a bit too complex. With all the stuff going on around Section at the moment, he had forgotten to give our heroic duo the code breaker. And what would happen if Madeline and Operations found out that he had been helping Michael and Nikita keep secret rendezvous'? It was bad enough that he and Birkoff had escaped punishment for disabling Section's leaders for a few hours. He just knew that they would be getting it when they least expected it!

But the thing that was worrying Walter the most was one thing that kept going around and around in his mind. Something that was just troubling him so much that he didn't seem to be able to concentrate on his job. And that was a problem, cause if anybody in Section loved his job, it was Walter! It was a question that, alas, was destined to remain unanswered, despite repeated requests. But despite knowing this, Walter was unable to stop himself from wondering. Just why do all the sets and props and ideas from LFN keep ending up on all these new shows? And why did TPTB decide to screw over all the HR's and TR's? Walter shook his head in perplexion, cause it was never going to get solved!

Suddenly, all the lights in Munitions dimmed down to a romantic flicker and soft soppy, mushy love music started to play softly from somewhere up above, and Walter was shaken out of his reverie as a soft voice suddenly uttered, "Hello, Walter."

"B-B-Belinda?" he stammered. Then his expression hardened. "No, you're just another one of those damned holograms, aren't you?"

"No, I'm very real - and I've come back for you." She walked toward him and grasped his hands lovingly.

"But you went out on an abeyance mission! How--"

Belinda laughed. "Oh, Walter! Don't you know what abeyance is?"

"Sure," he said, nodding angrily. "That's what they do to people who are too decent to become Section's killing machines."

"No, no," she said, smiling. "That's just what they want you to think, so the other operatives won't get jealous. Actually, those of us sent off on abeyance missions get smuggled away to Section's secret resort in Tahiti for some desperately needed fun in the sun."

"What?!" Walter asked, unable to believe what he had just heard. "No way can this be true! Why do the operatives who screw up - not that you screwed up, sweetheart, you were just too good for this place - get sent to a resort, when the hard-working ones get stuck here? Like me????"

"Well," she said with a shrug, "I guess they figure that the operatives who keep their performance levels up are just fine, but the ones who are slipping need a little vacation. But anyway, I'm all rested up - and back to be with you!" She threw her arms around him and gave him a big, wet kiss on the cheek.

"You mean, if I had started making mistakes on the job, or slacking off, I would have been sent to Tahiti to sip Mai Tais?!" he gasped.

"Yeah, kind of ironic, isn't it?" Belinda winked. "Next time, we'll have to screw up something at the same time so we can go together! You wouldn't believe the beaches! Sand as white as snow!"

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

"So why are you dragging me to Section One again?" Quinn demanded, as George pulled her by the arm down the halls of Oversight toward the exit, Greg running to keep up behind.

"First of all, you're my daughter," George answered.

"Yes, I got that part the first time you explained it. And geek boy here is my cousin, God help me."

Greg gave her a nasty look.

"So, in order to make sure that you take over Section One instead of Nikita," George continued, "we have to fool Jones into thinking that you're Nikita. First, we'll transfer you to Section One. Then, we'll secretly arrange to give both of you plastic surgery so that you can switch places. It's quite simple, really."

"But what if I don't want to be an Amazonian-looking blonde?" Quinn pouted. "I get hit on by computer nerds enough as it is!"

"It's a small sacrifice to take over the organization, don't you think?"

"I'll really get to be the boss? And I won't have to sleep my way to the top, the way I was planning?"

"If you impersonate Nikita, it will all be handed to you on a silver platter, my dear," answered George.

"Well..." she said, pondering the situation, "I really would have preferred sleeping my way to the top. But I guess this will do."

"Uncle George?" Greg asked, panting as he ran to keep up. "There's something I don’t understand."

"What is it?" George snapped.

"I understand why Quinn would agree to switch places with Nikita, but why would Nikita agree to have plastic surgery to become Quinn? I mean, what does she get out of it? She loses her shot at taking over, she goes from being a hot blonde to a boring--"

Greg suddenly shut up as Quinn shot him a withering look.

"That's actually a very perceptive question, Gregory," George answered, nodding in approval. "In return for her cooperation, I'm going to give her her freedom. With Michael."

"You're going to let Nikita and Michael loose? I don't think Operations and Madeline will be very happy about losing their top operative."

"Well, they won't have a choice in the matter. I'll tell them it's a pilot program to test whether operatives can adjust to being returned to the real world."

"And won't they be suspicious when 'Nikita' doesn't seem to mind being separated from Michael? And when Michael goes off happily with Quinn?"

"Oh, they'll just assume one of their endless series of diabolically evil subliminal programming experiments finally worked. They'll be thrilled."

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

"Alright," said Davenport, frowning at the computer screen. "According to the tracking device, Michael and Nikita are... at Nikita’s apartment!" he exclaimed. "I never would have thought of looking there! Thank God for technology!"

"Ooh, zees eez perfect!" cried Andrea, jumping up and down and squealing in excitement.

"Now," announced Davenport confidently, "we can sneak into the apartment, place your formula in Michael's coffee, and I will become the best and bravest and most esteemed operative in all of Section One! And you'll have your revenge! Buahahahaha!!!!!"

Grinning evilly, as he was getting really good at evil grins, he started to stride out of the restaurant.

"Wait!" said Andrea, grabbing him by the arm to stop him. "Zere eez plenty of time for zat!" She ran her hand up and down his leg, delighting in the feel of the nylon beneath her fingers. "First," she said, licking her lips seductively, "I want Waitress Davenport to take my order. I promise I weel leave you a beeg teep!"

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

Jerome frowned sharply as Madeline and Operations deposited a third tray of milk and cookies in front of him.

"I'm sick of milk and cookies. I want candy. And I told you I wanted a joystick installed at this computer so I can play video games!"

"You're psychic," Operations muttered. "Why don't you use your powers to play the video games?"

"I heard that!" Jerome said threateningly. "You do want to keep your hair, don't you?"

Madeline sighed. "Why is it," she asked dejectedly, "that you only pick on us? You don't have them running around catering to your every whim," she said, nodding at Adrian, Mick, and Aurora, who were cheerfully munching on the milk and cookies.

"Well, that's because they're not my parents. But since you are, it's your job to cater to my every whim," he answered smugly.

Madeline scowled in disgust. "We're not your parents! In fact, you don't have parents, nor did you have a real childhood," she taunted him. "That's why you'll never be normal, never be--"

Operations jabbed her in the side with his elbow. "Um, Madeline, darling, I think we need to talk. Why don't we step out into the hallway here?" He seized her by the arm and pulled her hurriedly out of the Perch.

"I've had quite enough of that brat," Madeline hissed. "Enough is enough. Let him conjure up his own milk and cookies. I have work to do!"

"But Madeline," Operations said sheepishly, hanging his head a bit, "he's right. We are his parents."

"That's ridiculous!" she scoffed. "I think I'd remember being pregnant. I would have had to buy a completely new wardrobe. And maternity clothes are so unflattering."

"Um, remember how you had that really strange annual physical about eleven years ago? Where they 'accidentally' injected you with a sedative and you woke up a couple of hours later with a mysterious abdominal scar?"

"Yes," she answered suspiciously.

"Well, I ordered the doctors to have one of your eggs removed so that we could create a test tube baby. And that baby was Jerome."

"You what?" she gasped in horror. "How could you?"

He grasped her by the shoulders and looked at her intently, his cold blue eyes flashing, well, coldly. And really intently, in that skin-crawlingly villainous kind of way that only he could manage - with the right kind of lighting, of course. "We're the perfect leadership team, right?" he asked.

She nodded. Of course. No one could compare to their perfection, their complete synchronicity! Especially not those ungrateful upstarts Michael and Nikita. No one ever called them Siamese twins, after all!

"Well," Operations continued, "it occurred to me that our offspring would combine our best characteristics and thus become the perfect operative! The true future of Section - us, fused into a single brain!" He grinned maniacally.

She looked back toward the Perch fearfully. "But - but - he's demonic!"

Operations shrugged. "What do you expect? He is our son, after all."

"And he hates us!"

"Oh, that. I think that's just a phase. Of course, it'll get worse for a while when he becomes a teenager. And then he'll bankrupt us when he goes to college. But after that, I swear, things will be perfect! He'll rule the world, and we can look on with pride!"

"He'll rule the world?" she asked.

"Of course!"

She paused thoughtfully. "Will he do it efficiently?"

Operations laughed. "With your genes? Somehow I think that will be his top priority."

A sudden look of determination filled Madeline's face, and she walked off purposefully.

"Where are you going?" Operations called out, running to catch up with her.

"I'm going to get him candy, a joystick, and a terrorist captive to torture to death. I think he mentioned something about wanting to see someone die." She beamed happily. "I should have known he was mine!"

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

**We interrupt this story to give you a short recap that is needed here, able readers, as our valiant heroes plunge headlong towards the story finale. No, TPTB never bothered to explain anything, but cause we're so much nicer than that, we've decided to remind you just what the heck is going on. Cause, well, we really have created a mess of things, haven't we?

First, we have Michael and Nikita still basking in the afterglow of very loud and raucous lovemaking, where we have discovered that after pledging eternal love and devotion, Nikita squeals like either a dying cat or a monkey. No one is actually quite sure which. Although it really doesn't matter, since as we all know, there isn't a right or wrong answer. Michael, our valiant hero who has finally declared his undying love to our pure and just heroine Nikita, has a previous unknown talent of being able to play a whole symphony through his nose, which whistles. They're the good guys.

We also have Davenport and the recently-presumed-dead-but-really-alive-cause-TPTB-said-so Andrea trying to either prove that they are the bestest, most able, most excellent and smartest operative, or have revenge because they were wronged in bed. It seems that during the course of their poisonous mission that the chloral hydrate was spilled - although who was responsible is a matter of heated debate - and a substitute was hastily concocted from ingredients found in a Witchblade utility belt. But despite their differences, a strange attraction is forming between these two graduates of the last evil-looks-and-smiles-from-Section-operatives course that was run by Madeline and Operations, in part because they've discovered that being evil can be way more fun than being good, but also in part because Davenport looks really, really hot in a pink waitress uniform and platinum blonde wig with Cherry Red lipstick. Yum! They're slightly evil guys.

It has been discovered that Quinn is the daughter of George and Adrian, and that Greg Hillinger is George's previously unknown nephew. Greg has been spying on Section One, and not very well at that, and reporting the information back to George, who doesn't know that Madeline and Operations knows that he knows that they know that he is spying on them with hidden cameras. George has come up with a plan to have Quinn surgically altered to look like Nikita so that she can take over Section. And all three are now on their way to Section One. Quinn's not happy with this plan cause she wants to sleep her way to the top, the way all ambitious girls have done since time immemorial. Greg, meanwhile, is just an idiot. They are bad guys.

We have Walter, who has now been reunited with his one true love who also happens to be his wife Belinda, who was supposed to be in Abeyance and killed, but it turns out that Abeyance is really a holiday home in Tahiti, so she's back. With a really nice tan, too. Walter has also been helping our beloved heroes to fool those nasty Operations and Madeline, and keep their love affair secret - well, not that it's really secret now, what with their passion-filled tryst being broadcast to the world over the internet. But anyway, Walter and Birkoff had arranged to temporarily dispose of said nasties so that the heroes could get some lovin'. However, this plan had backfired when it seemed that the ones left in charge were Henry and Elizabeth, aka the Torture Twins. Now, Walter just waits for Madeline and Operations to get their revenge, and lives in fear as to what that punishment may be, and ponders the many mysteries that TPTB have left for us. He's an old good guy.

Jerome, the psychic spawn-from-hell, has returned, along with Adrian, who has awakened and melted from her deep freeze like a Popsicle left out in the sun, and both are enjoying a nice snack of cold milk and cookies, along with Mick Schtoppel and his call-girl side kick Aurora. Mick, it seems, has been impersonating Mr Jones, the bigwig of Centre. This is in turn an acting role, as it appears that the real Mr Jones is the actual father of Nikita. And Nikita is in turn spying on Section One, and simultaneously spying on the mission to spy on Section One, a mission that she was sent on by Mick himself. So far in this story, his boss has not been revealed, but we can probably assume that it is indeed Mr Jones. But then again, can we ever assume anything about LFN? All these are nasty bad guys, or English gits, or call-girl sidekicks whose credit card fees are racking up really, really high by now.

Birkoff, it seems, has been stuck in front of his computer and is not getting any action at all - poor dear. He’s a young good guy.

Which leaves us lastly and by no means leastly to the so-called resident bad guys of Section One, Madeline and Operations. And boy, are these two having fun! It seems that they have set up a live web-cam site to capitalise on their unquenchable desire for each other and have made a pretty penny indeed. Operations has bought the islands of the Philippines for his lover, and she in turn has agreed to spare a small amount of time from her plants to pay attention to him. But is her cold hard exterior really a front to hide the passionate woman within? How long can she keep resisting the siren call of passion when there's lots of money to be made? But we digress. It has also been revealed that Jerome is the biological child of Operations and Madeline after one of her eggs was harvested in secret, and unbeknownst to her. This dark dastardly duo is also determined to drive a wedge between our glorious heroes for no other reason than that they can! Oh, the humanity! Yeah, these two are the big nasties in this one.

Phew! Now that the stage is set and you’ve got the cast of characters straight again, on with the story....

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

Birkoff sat in Comm. in front of his computer munching on his Oreo and mint pattie chocolate sandwich when he heard the tramp, tramp, and tramp of approaching feet. Startled, he looked up and his mouth hung open in disbelief as he saw that George was approaching, along with his arch nemesis Greg Hillinger and the new girl Quinn. Or wait - how could he know who Quinn was? Well, we know it's Quinn, anyway. They were completely unexpected and no warning by Oversight had been given. What could they want? And why were they together? And wasn't Hillinger cancelled? He really must complain to his agent that he wasn't getting the scripts early enough to keep up with all the changes that TPTB did! He also made a mental note to check and see if Walter got his scripts any earlier, cause he was pretty sure that Walter was sleeping with the second script assistant Sally.

But all those thoughts slipped rapidly from his mind as his archenemy leaned over his console and said mockingly, "Hello, Seymour", as he casually helped himself to one of Birkoff's precious Oreo cookies.

"Hello, Greg," Birkoff hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"We've come to introduce you to your replacement," answered George.

Replacement? Why was he being replaced? Oh, God, was he being punished for pulling that stunt with Walter where he helped incapacitate Madeline and Operations? He just knew he shouldn't have listened to Walter. And now, his archenemy Greg was going to take his place! What a disaster!

"I've already prepared my replacement," he said, gulping nervously. "It's an AI program that knows everything I do, just in case," he gulped again, "something happens to me. You don't need to bring in Greg. Really, you don't."

"Oh, Greg isn't your replacement," said George. "Quinn here is."

Birkoff turned to look at Quinn, who in turn looked down at him disdainfully.

"I remember you!" she said with disgust. "You followed me all around that Linux conference last month, shaking your hips and talking about how you were the love machine! Except I see you've dropped that idiotic accent. It wasn't fooling anyone, you know!"

"What Linux conference? What accent?"

"Oh, please!" she scoffed. "Don't play dumb, Birkoff. Or should I say Jason," she sneered. "That is the fake name you use when you're trying to pick up women, isn't it?"

Birkoff gulped once again. Oh, no! He'd been caught red-handed! He'd been sneaking out of Section for the past several months, living a double-life as his alter ego Jason - an identity he'd created just for fun, to see if a 'new' personality would make it with the ladies. And had it ever! He’d scored, and scored again! Except for Quinn, who had somehow resisted his charms when he followed her around the conference. He couldn't understand why she didn't succumb like all the others, and her resistance drove him wild! He had to have her! Turning red with lust, he picked up an Oreo and crunched down on it to try to disguise his feelings.

Quinn, in turn, examined Birkoff as her heart began to go aflutter. She had done her best hard-to-get act at the conference - hadn't he seen that she wanted him to be a bad boy and just take her? What more did she have to do?

"Well, we'll leave you two to get acquainted," said George, grabbing Greg by the arm and walking away.

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

George tromped down the hallways of Section One so quickly, so determinedly, that Greg could no longer keep up. Exhausted, he fell behind, wandering aimlessly. What good did it do, really, to be George's nephew after all? Quinn was going to get to take over - but Greg, what was in it for him? Huh? Huh? Nothing, as far as he could tell. And if it hadn't have been for him, George wouldn't even know Quinn's identity! But was he grateful to his hard-working and brilliant nephew? No! Well, forget George. Greg could find someone else to suck up to. Especially since George had given Greg his password and Greg could now get access to anything! This time, though, he'd make sure that he didn't get fooled by any fake files. No one fooled Greg Hillinger!

His pace quickened a bit as he decided to find a computer somewhere and hack in with George's handy password. But then, turning around a corner, he was nearly bowled over by a fast-moving blonde Amazon.

"Hey!" he snapped. "Watch where you're going!"

"Stuff it, twerp!" the Amazon snapped back.

As Greg looked at the woman, he suddenly gaped in astonishment. "Nikita?" he said, recognizing her. "You're not supposed to be rude! Why, you're like the only person in Section One who's actually nice to me, although God only knows why since I've proven again and again how craven and despicable I am."

"I'm not Nikita," said the woman impatiently. "Now, get outta my way."

"Wait a minute!" cried Greg. "Of course you're Nikita. I'd know her anywhere!"

The woman sighed in exasperation. "No. I just look exactly like Nikita, thanks to painstaking - and painful - plastic surgery. My name is Abby."

"Abby? You mean the terrorist Abby who impersonated Nikita?"

"No, the terrorist Abby who impersonated Elvis," she answered snidely. "Of course I'm the terrorist Abby who impersonated Nikita! What other Abby is there who looks exactly like Nikita, you moron?"

"But Nikita cancelled you!" said Greg. "Or Madeline cancelled you. Or somebody cancelled you, anyway."

"No, Nikita couldn't do it, and Madeline thought better of it," she answered.

"Why? You're a terrorist? Aren't we supposed to cancel you guys?"

"Cancel a woman with my looks who can kill in cold blood?" she said with a laugh. "Don't be silly. They recruited me!"

Greg frowned a bit, as he remembered something he had read about Abby when he was hacking through Nikita's file to try to download naked pictures of her.

"Wait a sec, aren't you the Abby who slept with Seymour?"

She sighed again. "Yes. What about it?"

He fell to his knees in a grovelling position and grabbed her around the ankles.

"Oh please oh please oh please have sex with me!" he begged. "I'm so much better than Seymour at everything! Please let me prove it, please, pretty please!"

"Well, I don't know," she said sceptically, "Seymour set a pretty high standard...."

"I swear I'm better than him! In every way! Oh, you won't regret it! And if you do you can beat me up!"

She looked down at him and shook her head in pity. "Oh, all right. But this had better be good."

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

While all these unexpected pairings were happening back at Section One, a different kind of pairing was going on at the apartment of our glorious heroine. And as both Michael and Nikita lay basking in the afterglow of a wondrous lovemaking session, albeit a quite loud one, they were unaware of something that was lurking outside that was about to disturb their cuddling. Interrupt their post-coital hand dance that was once again starting the feelings of blissful ecstasy coursing throughout their bodies. And how could it not? Now that Michael had finally declared his undying love and devotion to his one true soul mate Nikita, the one who made his heart sing; who lit up his life; who gave him hope to carry on; who lit up his days and filled his nights with song. In fact, he could feel a song coming on that was almost perfect to describe the way he felt. And he was unable to control the crescendo that echoed throughout the room that emanated from his nose. And it seemed that his nose had employed a lead singer...

'Wild Thing! You make my heart sing!
You make everything... Groovy...
Wild Thing! You make my heart sing!

And as the song continued in the bedroom, our cameras pan to the hallway outside the apartment where something interesting was about to occur. It seems that there were at least 6 people milling outside, some carrying lights; one clutching a make-up kit; another holding a large camera upon his shoulder; another holding one of those clapper boards that you see in the movies - or rather when a movie is being made. And another strange little man wearing khaki stubbies shorts and a matching short-sleeved shirt, and dirty great Doc Marten work boots that were covered in mud. He was standing in front of the camera and appeared to be waiting for something. Suddenly, the man with the clapper thingy shouted, "Alright, quiet on the set", snapped the clapper thingy and looked at the camera as he said, "Crocodile Hunter, take 3!"

The strange little man in the khaki ensemble - very drab I might add - looked straight into the camera lens and started talking in a soft whisper, "G'Day. I'm Steve Irwin, and today we have a real treat planned for ya. I'm on the trail here of the rare, extremely elusive and vicious Howling Monkey. And we have been told on good authority that this sweet, nasty, vicious little bugger, who is usually found in the deepest darkest corners of suburbia, is holed up in the room behind me. This little mongrel, usually ranging in colour from a really pretty black to a nice shade of white, can only usually be located through its distinct and piercing mating cry. It sorta sounds like a mixture of a ruptured cat and a squawking monkey. Geez, I hope he wants to be friends, cause I just hate to disturb the little nipper. But if we're really quiet, I'm sure that we can sneak up on it and not disturb it too much, by crikey! So shhh, let's be quiet and follow me and you'll be absolutely fly-struck at this truly rare and elusive animal."

And with that, the whole of Steve Irwin - The Crocodile Hunter's entourage slowly and silently made their way unobtrusively into Nikita's apartment. Where our illustrious duo, completely turned on once again by the sensuousness of their hand-dance thingy, were about to make love again.

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

George stopped just outside the Perch and turned around, only to find himself unexpectedly alone. And that was the reason why Greg would never seriously replace Birkoff in the day-to-day running of Section's computers. Nephew or no nephew, if he couldn't keep up with the simplest of quick walks, then what good was he really? He couldn't even be counted on to spy on the correct files! But still, he had managed to correctly uncover the truth about Quinn's parentage. But hang on; didn't he even stuff that up because he said it was Nikita that was his daughter? Or was it himself that had that Intel confused? Oh, it just was too complicated to think about for too long as it was giving him a headache. Besides, it didn't really matter in the end, because he would win. Him. George. Would win. Oh sure, so those Siamese twins Paul and Madeline thought that he thought that they thought that he thought that they thought that they would win. But they were wrong. Because he had a secret plan to take over the world. And it was so secret that even Red Cell was unaware of it. Not that they would know or anything. It wasn't like he was spying for them or anything. Perish the thought! And he'd cancel anyone that said different. Not that they would. Cause how would they know? Err, umm, no, I mean, well, you know what I mean. But George was suddenly distracted from his wayward thoughts by a familiar sounding voice coming from the Perch.

It sounded like...but it couldn't be...because she was dead...or was she...but he would have known... or would he... no, Michael would have told him...he was sure he would...or what if Michael was a clone.... No it couldn't be...but if it was...oh joy, oh rapture! He entered the Perch and stood dumbstruck in open-mouthed amazement at the sight that was before him. And his heart started to go pitter-patter. And he suddenly found that his mouth was dry, and the tears were just forming a little bit at the corners.

For there, seated before him with her arms around that creepy little C-Clone Jerome as he rested in her lap, was his beloved Adrian. And no...it couldn't be true...was that a storybook that she was reading to him from? It was! It was the Section-One issued, all-illustrated version of tales in the real world. The version that contained the dedication to Perry Bauer, and the acknowledgements done by David Fanning. My god, that volume was the most popular bedtime story book in ages! And she was reading it to Jerome with what looked to be a plate of half-eaten Oreo cookies and an empty glass that was milk stained in front of her. And Jerome himself was sleepily rubbing his eyes and had what appeared to be a milk moustache around his top lip. It made him look as sweet as one of those poster children for those 'Got Milk?' ads. Just what was wrong with this picture?

But it was definitely her, his Adrian. The woman who had started him upon the road to World Domination and total Oversight power! The woman who had taught him to be a man. To be the gentle, caring, powerful lover that he was! The woman who had borne his child, albeit not the one he thought it was. The woman who had made his life complete all those years ago. The woman who still caused him to wake at nights when he was alone in his big, dark Oversight bed, crying out in anguish because he missed her. And still, despite being pretty old himself - although not as old as Walter or Adrian herself - made him horny. Oh, the love of his life had returned! And he was filled with such joy, such bliss, that all he could do was crumple to the floor and crawl on his knees, hands outstretched, tears coursing down his ruddy, blood-shot cheeks, towards her crying piteously, "A-a-a-Adrian?"

Adrian looked up to see George moving towards her, quite quickly actually considering he was on his knees. But it seemed that in his younger operative days, George had been the World Champion Knee-Crawling-Arse-Kissing-Sycophant-of-the-Year 5 years in a row. A record that had yet to be broken by anyone in any Section anywhere. Startled, she stood hurriedly, knocking Jerome out of her lap straight onto his butt on the floor. And by the look in his really strangely evil death-ray eyes that flashed different colours, he was not happy! Adrian watched in stunned amazement as George made his way towards her, and when he reached her he threw his sobbing self against her legs, pushing his face into her crotch as he struggled to remain coherent.

She was unable to stop her own heart from fluttering delicately in her chest at the feelings that George aroused in her. But it could also have had something to do with the fact that after being cryogenically frozen for all these years, her internal organs were taking just a bit longer than her exterior to function normally. Or it could also have been that she too, had missed George. They had made quite a team as both lovers and Operations and second in charge until that awful Paul and Madeline had overthrown them. And she did so love the way that he would watch those so-called porn movies and then duplicate the moves that he saw. Just for Valentine operative training you understand. Not for any other reason. Anyway, Adrian found that she was strangely drawn to George once again. She had to have him, and it had to be now!

Reaching down, she patted George's head and ran her fingers through his hair, deliberately ignoring the fact that it was considerably thinner than she was used to, and that, with every stroke, fine strands of hair seemed to come away from his scalp to flutter gently to the ground. She could no longer control her passion for the man rubbing his face in her crotch and she fell to her knees in front of him and drew him closer for a passionate, tongue-filled embrace, mindless of the audience that was still in the Perch.

Aghast at the sight before him, Mick hurriedly arose from the seat he was sitting on, a shocked expression on his face as he screamed, "Blimey Charlie! Could you warn a person before you start doing that...Oh my god! Ewwwww!!!!!" And grabbing Aurora he hastily made his exit from the Perch and the sight of the two old operatives sucking face in front of him. All the while screaming as he made his exit "My eyes! My eyes! I've been blinded by the horrors that I have seen!" While Jerome just smiled that evil little smug smile that truly evil demon-children get as he silently made his exit as well.

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

Section One had always been a cold, stark place, where kindnesses were few and affection frowned upon. Where even the simplest of pleasures were prohibited, and where friendships - and love - inevitably turned to betrayal. The Section sucked the humanity out of everyone, rendering them into soulless cogs of its dreadful machinery. But something strange was now happening to its denizens - the good ones, the not-so-good ones, the slightly evil ones, and even the really, really nasty evil ones. Something...inexplicable.... Something...overpowering.... Something...eerily eerie... Something...spookily scary.... Something...awesomely awesome.... Something...saucily sexy.... Something...well, just bloody strange!

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

"Ooooh, delicieux!" cried Andrea, as Davenport squeezed the contents of a bottle of chocolate syrup across her bare chest and proceeded to lick it off sloooooooowly.

She reached for the platinum blonde wig that he still had on - even though he now wore nothing else - and ripped it off, flinging it across the kitchen of the restaurant to land in the corner along with his crumpled hot pink waitress uniform. Giggling, she then began to spray whipped cream on his bald head, smearing and swirling it with her fingers.

He grinned evilly - and boy, was he really getting good at evil grins! - and reached for the menu that lay on the floor next to them. "Hmmmm," he said, "now that we've finished the chocolate sundae, what's next on the menu?"

Andrea snatched the menu away from him. "I'm zee customer, remember?" she tittered. "Ooooh, I want to try zee oysters on zee aff shell!"

Davenport chuckled in anticipation, licking his way down her stomach. "I think I have a taste for that myself," he said with a wicked look in his eyes.

"Oh, Mon Dieu!" she gasped as his busy tongue began to do its work. "I should eat out more often!"

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

"So," said Birkoff, looking away from Quinn in discomfort, "this is the server room. It used to be that only I was authorized to come in here, but I guess since you're being transferred we'll have to get you clearance as well."

"Hmmm," said Quinn, looking Birkoff up and down and licking her lips lasciviously. "It's awfully hot in here!"

"Well, sure," replied Birkoff. "Think how many computers we have running in here."

Quinn shook her head in exasperation. He was bound and determined to ignore every hint she gave him! That was it. She would have to take matters into her own hands.

"That's not the kind of hot I meant, big boy," she said, pulling off her shirt as he gaped in open-mouthed (and is there any other kind?) astonishment.

Before he could even react, she seized him and pulled him toward her. "Defrag me, Seymour," she begged in a sultry whisper.

As he got into the spirit of things, his hands began to roam across her exposed skin. "Yeah," he whispered back, unconsciously slipping into his Jason accent, "I think you've got corrupted sectors that only I can fix."

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

Abby frowned and filed her nails, trying to ignore the pants and gasps from Greg as he squirmed above her.

"Say it! Say it!" he cried.

"Hmmm?" she asked, only halfway paying attention.

"Say it!" he gasped again.

"Oh, yeah," she said in a bored tone of voice. "Oh, yeah, you're so much better than Seymour. You're the king. Ooh, baby."

She then returned to filing her nails. Boy, she sure would rather be blowing something up right now than wasting her time with this novice. Oh, well. It couldn't last more than about a minute by the looks of things. She probably wouldn't even get her hair mussed.

Greg smiled to himself in smug satisfaction. I knew I was better than him!, he thought. I'm better than Seymour at everything!

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

Elizabeth sighed and polished the gleaming metal surface of the White Room chair once again. She had truly enjoyed her brief taste of power when she and Henry commanded Section One - and returning to the same old same old was just…not the same! Oh, not that she minded performing unspeakable acts of physical violence on people - it certainly had its droll moments - but now she realised how much more there was to life!

She glanced over at Henry, who was on his knees, bent over, busy waxing the floor after cleaning up every drop of blood from their last guest. They took such pride in the spotless appearance of their workplace, after all. My! She hadn't ever noticed what a nice, firm butt he had before. It looked so delectable! How could she have not noticed, after fifteen years of working side by side with the man?

Suddenly, an idea possessed her, an idea so insane, so frivolous, so unprofessional, so...bad! She flung herself into the chair and strapped herself in with a noisy clang. When Henry looked up in surprise, she cracked a tiny smile that faintly raised the corners of her lips.

"Break me," she commanded in her flat voice, "by any means necessary."

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

Meanwhile, back in munitions, Walter and Belinda were lost in a reunion of their own. And as they stood leaning against the back wall of the secret area in the munitions section and kissed and cooed like long-separated, recently-reunited, returned-from-the-dead lovers do, those lovely little cartoon-like animals appeared from the wall again. You know the ones. Bambi and ducks and geese and lambs and Thumper and skunks and deer were all in a flurry again. And the surrey with the fringe on top was back. They all just stopped and stared and nudged each other and smiled and all just seemed as one to utter a collective sigh at the love they saw in front of them. And it seemed that this time there was no click-clack of CFM pumps approaching to disturb them from their voyeuristic reveries.

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

Nikita was surprised as a startled Michael suddenly stopped mid-thrust to cock his head and listen. "Michael, what's wrong?" she huskily enquired. Michael brought his eyes back to gaze at Nikita. His love, his one his only, the light of his life; who gave him strength to carry on...god, you know the rest!

Anyway, he looked back at Nikita and said, "Nothing, my love. I just thought that I heard a noise..." and as his voice trailed off, the sounds of whispered talking could be heard in the next room. He gently disentangled himself from her lustful embrace and putting his finger to his lips whispered "Shhh..." as he silently and stealthily made his way towards the voices. He stopped, frozen to the spot, as he recognised another Australian accent, this time a male's, and could make out the words. He listened with growing horror to what was being said as he heard....

"Shhh, jeez. I hope that the little bugger is friendly, as the last thing that I wanna do is disturb him too much and make him angry. Legend has it that he has a nasty, venomous bite and I don't like to tell you just how much I don't wanna get bitten again this week. I'm still recovering from that little love bite that the tiger snake gave me on the last show. It was quite lucky for me that the crew here had a gun and some bandages handy and Percy over there was more than happy to suck the venom outta my arse!" Just then, Steve Irwin jumped back as Michael rounded the corner in all his naked glory and delivered a perfect chop to the first cameraman's neck that felled him in one blow.

Jumping quickly to the left in another brilliantly choreographed move that was worthy of a highly skilled Section operative such as himself, he then proceeded to dispose of another two people - the guy with the clapper thingy and the guy with the lights. He turned and stopped as the guy with the make-up pursed his lips and admiringly looked Michael up and down. His chiselled jaw, his rippling pectoral muscles, his washboard flat stomach that was, well, taut. His muscular thighs that tapered into firm calves that supported legs that were connected to a really tight butt. As the make-up guy - Percy - sighed his admiration, Michael executed a series of really fast hand movements that dazzled him and enabled Michael to tap him hard on the back of the head. Four down, two to go!

It seems that Steve Irwin still thought he was on camera and had continued with his rambling narrative "Crikey - he's a big bugger! And not too friendly. Pity. So watch me now, as I have to wrestle him back into hibernation. This could get real ugly folks, as these rare Howling Monkeys don't take too lightly at being discovered!" and with that he launched himself at Michael in what would have to be the most stupid move of the story. Michael disdainfully flicked the back of his hand across Irwin's stupid thick Aussie skull and he went crashing to the floor in a dead faint. The final guy, seeing the mayhem that a highly skilled operative of Michael's calibre had delivered, promptly threw himself against the wall quite hard and slumped to the floor unconscious. Or maybe he had just read the script and knew that he couldn't win.

Hearing the commotion in her living room, Nikita came into the room wearing the bed sheet as a toga in a vain attempt to preserve her modesty. Which was pretty funny, cause most of the audience had already seen most of what she had to offer in that scene in the first episode of the second season! But wear it she did. And so she stopped in front of Michael and gently stroked his face and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he answered as he viewed the people collapsed on the floor around him. Noticing something strange, he moved towards one of the men and touched his face, and then looked startled when he was able to peel away his face.

Moving quickly from one man to the other, he peeled away all their faces to reveal that the whole crew were wearing masks. And before him in various states of death were Errol Sparks, David Fanning, Perry Bauer, Gregor Kessler and Alec Chandler. And it seemed that Egram Petrosian himself had impersonated Steve Irwin. Nikita stood in stunned silence as Michael picked up the phone and uttered the word "Housekeeping." And then he hung up. Turning towards her, he gently took her hand and guided her back to the bedroom. Now that that diversion was taken care of, they had some unfinished hand dancing to finish!

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

Walking hurriedly through Section's long, seemingly unending corridors, Mick was still muttering darkly about the awful things that his eyes had been subjected to. He couldn't seem to get the awful sight of Adrian and George locked in a lust-filled icky embrace out of his mind and every time he closed his eyes the vision was revisited. So he really was walking aimlessly with a less than enthusiastic Aurora dragging behind, and she was getting bored with all his mutterings. She wanted some action! And the sight before her of a bald-headed English git resplendent in a lime green silk shirt with matching red trim and silver spandex skin-tight pants was becoming, strangely, more and more attractive with every passing moment. She was at a loss to explain this attraction, cause he really wasn't her usual type - well, he was cause he had a Section One/Oversight issued Platinum Gold credit card with unlimited credit after all and those guys were always her type! No, this attraction seemed to go even deeper. And so she continued to follow Mick, not really listening to his ravings.

"Agent. Must get a new bloody agent! There was nothing in last week's script to warn me.... well, it just won’t do, will it? I am an ACTOR after all, despite what that old lady said.... I demand respect...this is not an easy gig...bloody stupid...!" He was stopped mid-ramble as Aurora suddenly tugged on his hand and he found them entering an office that appeared to have a strange pattern of bullet holes on the wall. They had unwittingly entered Michael's empty office. Mick was perplexed as to why they were there until he looked at Aurora and his frown turned upside down and became a smile!

Aurora was walking towards him, undoing the buttons of her button pants as she said "Now Micky-poo let l'il ole me take real good care of you, big boy." And then he wasn't able to say anything cause she threw herself upon him and planted her lips on his.

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

Madeline paced her office with purposeful filled steps to try and relieve her frustration. It seems that despite all her best efforts there just wasn't a SOTW available for her son Jerome to torture and play with! Mission frequencies would have to be increased marginally to rectify that anomaly almost immediately. It just wouldn't do for the real Jones to find out that there were no bad guys being tortured in Section that week. Why, the leadership skills of Operations and herself might be called into question and there could be a review. And that wouldn't do at the moment, not with a defrosted Adrian on site.

But what was wrong with the picture of Madeline pacing back and forth in her office, was that she was the one pacing and Operations was standing in the one spot, with his hands behind his back, just staring at her plants. It was a completely different scenario to the usual one and showed just how screwed up things were at the moment. But Madeline couldn't stop her pacing, because she felt strange. She was slightly warm and sorta restless and was all jittery inside and felt really funny in her stomach whenever her eyes happened to glance Operations' way. And it seemed that her eyes were glancing his way more and more. She couldn't help it. He was so strong and handsome and sexy...well, she was only flesh and blood after all! Some had thought different over the years, but not him. Never him. He knew better. Only he knew the real her, the Madeline she kept well hidden from the world. Oh sure, she was a murderous, cold-hearted bitch who loved nothing better than to torture an unsuspecting victim and mess with Nikita's brain. But that was who she was. But he knew that underneath her exterior there was the fire within. And all it needed was a match to ignite it. She was suddenly startled out of her reverie by Paul's voice.

"Madeline! Is that...why, it looks like...well, it is...why, I can't believe it...but I should have known...but it looks like...yes, it is!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "You have dressed all your plants in different themes. There's one in a dinner suit. And another here in a tutu. And two together as a bride and groom. Oh, but I think I like this one here in a trench coat and dark glasses. Looks like a spy tree. Fascinating, simply fascinating. But then I always said that you paid more attention to these damn plants than you do to...well...." He stopped there and spun around to find Madeline standing and staring at him in horrified wonder. She looked just a little paler than usual, with a slightly glassy stare. But she looked so lovely tonight. Dammit, why did he want her so! But still, they were making a pretty penny on the Internet with their little venture, so it wasn't all bad.

Madeline slowly moved towards Paul as if in a dream. She could no longer deny her overwhelming passion for the man standing before her. She had to have him, and she had to have him now! Which unbeknownst to her, there was a lot of that kind of sentiment going around lately. But even if she did know, she wouldn't care. All she could see was the man before her - albeit a fine figure of a slightly older man that he was. So she moved towards him and spoke in her bestest huskiest voice, "Paul...I feel like I'm living in twilight. I can't exist like this any longer. It's got to be either night or day. Ohhhh Paauulll.......I want you. Take me big boy! Take me now!" But she was pulled up short by the sight of Paul standing there with his hand raised and a closed look upon his face.

"Madeline, I don't take well to ultimatums. Let's not open things up again. We're both much too busy. And before you go on any further, the other night was not opening things up again. I slept with you, there's a difference. And I know, that sounds unusually cold, even for me." And he stood there and watched her as she just stood there in open-mouthed shock. Her mouth was sorta opening and closing and a few little squeaks were coming out as the full meaning of his words hit her. It was too late, he no longer wanted her!

Just then, Paul doubled over in laughter, slapping his hand upon his thigh as he said, "Ohhhhh boy, I really had you going there for a moment, eh? You should have seen your face! Oh, Madeline, it was a classic. Talk about getting my own back after all these years of begging! Oh man, that was a funny moment. Ah, Madeline, what are you doing? Now, now, it was just a little joke. You know what jokes are, don't you? Now come on, there's no need to look like that. Now, Madeline, put those pruning shears down. No, please, I really didn't mean it. I swear. Look, I didn't let it go on for too long, now did I?" And he stood trembling as she advanced before him, pruning shears at the ready to do some serious damage. Nobody laughs at her. Nobody!

But just before she was about to deliver the mutilating blow with the shears, that strange feeling overcame her again at the sight and nearness and smell of him. Oh god, what was she thinking? If she actually followed through with her blow, he would never be able to satisfy her wild carnal desires. She would have to find other playmates for that. And she didn't want that at all. Because underneath it all she really did want him. And besides, there was always that special thrill of sleeping with the boss. Which was what women in the workplace craved everywhere. So instead of doing him damage, Madeline dropped the shears upon the floor and grabbed the lapels of his jacket. She pulled him forcefully towards her and pressed her lips to his, thrusting her tongue into his mouth.

Moving him backwards as her embrace became more and more passion-filled and urgent, she continued until he could no longer go any further and her desk was at their backs. Manoeuvring slightly, she pushed him onto the top of her desk and straddled him, all the while keeping her lips on his. And as Paul returned her ardour, just before they were both swept away by their passion, she had the forethought to reach up and switch on the web-cam feed. No good wasting an opportunity to make a bit more money after all.

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

And so, while all of our LFN cast, along with a range of unexpected special guests, were occupied, a small strange little eerie figure was just standing in Comm. With a spookily scary, evil-filled, eyes-flashing look upon his face. It was Jerome. And he stood there with a secret little evil smile upon his face, the one that demon-children seem to get and, now that we know who his parents are, looked a little bit like one of Madeline's secret little smiles, with his head cocked slightly to the left as if listening to something only a truly scary psychic demon-child could hear. And as he continued to smile, he mentally reached out and dialled the phone and then put it on speaker.

"Hello, Jones. It's me. Our plan has worked. I can sense that everyone that you suggested is now otherwise engaged. And I think that you will be happy with the results. I agree. This ending is much better than the one that TPTB had planned. At least this way those fanatical TR's and HR's will be satisfied. I've arranged it so that everyone gets the ending that they want. I will talk to you later." And then he hung up.

He continued to smile at himself as the camera panned backwards to capture his stance and overlapping the top of him just standing there, a montage of what the couples were doing at the moment flashed across him. Michael and Nikita. Davenport and Andrea. Henry and Elizabeth. Walter and Belinda. Mick and Aurora. Greg and Abby. George and Adrian. Birkoff and Quinn. Paul and Madeline. And as the camera continued to pull back the screen fades to black and the music swells as the end credits roll.

The End!

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