#5 - Gifts

Michael and Adam were long settled at the farmhouse; still he reflected back on his years in Section and the woman he loved who remained there. Were it not for her sacrifice, he would have none of what he now enjoyed.

And enjoy life, he did. Watching Adam grow, learn, explore, was a neverending source of amusement and amazement for Michael. And for himself, the luxury of time became his greatest personal pleasure. No more did he have to abandon a book just at the "good part" or leave a fine meal uneaten. All of this, the gift of Nikita.

#2

# 8 The Sense of Touch

Eyes closed, she skillfully broke down then reassembled the pieces, turning bits of forged metal into a lethal weapon. Cold. Hard. Rigid. Nikita ran a hand along the rifle barrel.

It's feel drew her memory to an early sniper mission. Two hours on a roof in the dead of winter, hands so cold she feared she wouldn't be able to fire when the time came. In seconds it was over. She broke down the rifle as she'd just done and burnt her fingers on the hot barrel. The sensation in her hand as intense as the one in her heart.

#3 The Valentine Mission

It’s just a role, a means to a just end.

She keeps repeating those words to herself, as the man who slaughtered countless innocent children performs unspeakable acts with her body.

“Whatsamatter, sweetheart? Can’t even fake it any more?” he slurs angrily, as he twists her nipple painfully with one hand and holds a knife to her throat with the other.

“Don’t need to fake it,” she responds sweetly, as she pulls the knife out of his drunk, sloppy grasp and plunges it deeply into his neck. “You’ve completely satisfied me.”

I’ll pay for this, but it was worth it.

#1

#18 Give the job of 'Operations' to any character you choose.

They were children and parents brutally murdered, injured and traumatized forever. In their own school, where they thought they were safe. But they weren’t, not from the terrorists that relentlessly threatened.

Nikita stood glaring at the appalling pictures flashing across her monitor. All the death and horror she had witnessed she thought herself immune, but still her eyes burned with tears and bile burned her throat as she witnessed the anguish of these innocents.

She would not allow these altrocities to continue. These monsters had to be stopped. Oversight was wrong. The Beslan massacre was exactly why Section One existed.

#2

#9 Topic: Clothing.

Fuzzy, warm turtleneck. Wool Socks. Favorite heavy sweatpants. Her “comfort clothing”. Slow warmth began seeping into her tired bones, trying to reach her ever-more severed soul. She was failing miserably at this life.

Tears, running unchecked, that were being soaked up by the turtleneck. She pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her face on the soft sweatpants and let them absorb the remnants of her tears. The pain was less now. Some of it had been released.

She fell asleep in her cuddled, almost fetal, position.

He watched, but did not move. He couldn’t help her.

#2 'Money'

He propositioned me.
I needed money.
I agreed.

He had friends.
Would I entertain?
It was just sex.
The money was great.
Rented me a room with blue walls.

He had an associate.
Would I entertain? Triple the going rate?
It was just sex.
The client arrived.
He paid and I began.
Someone was in the room.
There was blood everywhere.

The police came.
I was arrested, tried and convicted.
Sentenced to life in prison.
I’m innocent.

Went to sleep in my cell.
Woke up in a white room.

He propositioned me, again.
No money, just my life.
I agreed.

#8 -- Touch

The knife blade was cold when he first laid it on her neck, but the longer he stroked her with it, the warmer it got, until it was hard to tell the difference between his knife and his hand, just a warm pressure on her cheek, her breast, her arm. So gentle and tender she barely knew what had happened when he drew it across her throat.

#2

Topic: It's a combination of 3 (Valentine work) and 9 (clothing)

She hung them up in her locker before she did anything else. She always brought a fresh change of clothes into Section when she had to do Valentine work. This time it was a comfortable pair of jeans and her new blue sweater. And always, plain white underpants. When everything else was done, when she was finished with the bustier and the 4 inch heels that her cover wears, she wanted to put on something that didn’t smell of the bar or the chemical plant she’d be visiting tonight. The dreams were usually enough of a reminder.