First Mission Spoiler

This story is a prologue to the events in "First Mission"

***

One

I left the woman's locker room having obtained the first of my three goals - a nice, long, hot shower. As I passed by some incoming operatives, I nodded in greeting and made my way toward Section's cafeteria - as much as one can call it that - on to fulfill goal number two - food.

I entered the brashly, florescent lit room and headed towards the snack bar. While Section may be given millions of dollars for up-to-date computers, weaponry, and training equipment, they get 'jack-s---' money for human necessities like a decent cafeteria. Hell, I think this place is even scummier than my high school cafeteria.

Randomly scattered throughout the giant, warehouse-like room are old, raggedy, wooden tables that have stupid carvings like: "for a good time call Susan at...." The chairs are the black plastic tacky kind that you find in an old church reception hall. Except those are at least entertaining colors like florescent orange and green, but even Section will not allow that much color inside its hallowed halls.

Reaching the snack bar, I grab a sandwich, apple and a big bottle of Diet Coke. Turning around, I only see a few people scattered here and there in the room. Like me, most operatives are too busy to sleep let alone eat. Ever since the war with Red Cell we have been "understaffed," if you know what I mean. Apparently the other terrorist groups forgot to pick a copy of their Terrorist Etiquette for Dummies and don't know that they should have given Section a little downtime after the war so we could 'recruit' new operatives.

No one sitting in the room was of any particular interest to me, so I made a beeline for the exit. As I passed by a table of operatives, one named Jenkins stopped me.

"Hey Viscano!" he yelled.

I turned around, but made no move towards him. "Yeah?"

Rising in his chair a little, he asked, "Did ya hear about Martinez?"

Martinez was our team leader on the mission we just got back from, Jenkins included. Martinez took a couple brutal shots and the last I had heard, as they wheeled him to Med Lab, was that he his chances were slim-to-none.

"No," I replied.

"He didn't make it."

I shrugged my shoulders in generic sympathy, but I was not all that disturbed by the news. Martinez was a decent team leader, nothing special and I didn't know him all that well anyway.

"So who's taking over?" I asked.

As soon as the question was out of my mouth, Jenkins got this smug look on his face. He glanced at his buddies around the table, then back at me before answering.

"Seems that because of the losses from the war and increased activity recently, they had to get a little creative on forming teams."

"So?"

"Well most of us with Martinez are now on Cann's team, but you and Lonny and Rachel got switched."

"Jenkins I don't have time for your s---, just tell me where I am," I demanded.

"You're with Taylor and Mentz."

I shrugged my shoulders again. Big deal. Those guys were okay; I'd worked with them before so I was pretty familiar with their style.

Finally I asked the question whose answer had Jenkins all smug. "Who's team lead?"

"Nikita."

I blinked. That was the only reaction I gave. Jenkins was disappointed. I think he was hoping I'd blow a gasket or something. Oh he shocked the s--t out of me all right, but I was too stunned to do anything more than blink. Seeing that I was not going to give him an emotional display, he continued.

"Seems Grecko was killed in South Africa. And when they went to check the list for who's next up to play team leader, they hit the 'Nikita' jackpot."

Pausing he added, "'Course, I'd love to change places with you - you getting to play commando with Nikita and all. But hey, maybe this will be your chance to take out the competition once and for all."

At his last line, the buffoons surrounding Jenkins broke-out in laughter, giving each other knowing looks filled with their 'infinite' male wisdom!

Well, this time around I was definitely not going to give these pissants the satisfaction of any type of reaction. Instead, I turned around and continued on my initial destination towards the exit.

However, just as I reached the doorway, Jenkins decided to slip in the last word.

"Hey Viscano," he yelled. Well this of course gets the entire cafeteria's attention.

"Hey, maybe if befriend Nikita, instead of killing her, she'll share Michael with you."

His last words and everyone's reaction barely registered as I stormed out of the room, leaving those fools to think what they like.

Two

Almost everyone in Section knows about my obsession with Michael. However, most don't know what really happened and they don't really care. Since there is very little worth living for in Section, the operatives have to get their kicks from somewhere. Their favorite pastime...gossip. And big time too.

So in my case, it was much more entertaining to believe that when Michael rejected me, I tried to kill myself by slitting my writs. Or after Michael dumped me in front of all of Section, I broke into his home and went postal on it.

I think my favorite rumor was that I kidnapped him - as if that was possible - took him to a hidden location where I tied him up in S&M gear. Apparently, I began torturing him, begging him to love me and refusing to let him go until he promised to do so. I am still unclear to this day as to how he escaped my horrible clutches.

The essence of these rumors is true - I took his rejection badly...very badly. The pathetic thing was he didn't even really reject me because we never had anything more than a mentor-student relationship. And that was weak at best. Michael was only one of my many peripheral trainers, but I still fell hard and fast for him.

To me, he was God-like. Looking back, I think that idea was reinforced by the fact that he was around so sparingly. Of course there is his reputation amongst the women and men of Section. Whether you love Michael or hate him, no one can deny his magnetism. It sure suckered me in.

Other than overseeing a few of my training exercises and offering me a few combat pointers, my contact with Michael was limited. But it was enough for me to fall in love with him. Still, I didn't approach him until just after I completed my two years of training and advanced to level 2.

Even today the scene is burned into my mind. In my simple naivety I believed I understood Michael, even with him being a God-like essence. I still swear to this day that the signals were there - a softer smile for me, a body-caressing glance, holding my hand an extra beat while helping me off the mat. Michael demonstrated all this to me and more, and in my feminine wisdom I heard his message loud and clear.

The day was Thursday and it started off beautifully. When I pulled into Section that morning, the sun shone brightly through a cloudless blue sky and for the first time in awhile I felt like anything was possible.

No missions were in progress, but I still had a ton of profiles to work on besides additional training exercises - in Section no one ever really stops training. After a few hours of work, I decided the moment had come for me to take the plunge and so I went to Michael's office.

***

Michael sat quietly in his office; his demeanor was cold and closed-off as usual. I knocked on the door twice and after a brief moment I heard a soft, "Enter."

Slowly, from fear and anticipation, I opened the door to his office. For a heartbeat, it appeared as if a look of confusion flashed across Michael's face, but then it quickly disappeared. Encouraged by his look of surprise, I entered the room completely and shut the door behind me.

Michael smoothly shutdown his laptop and appeared to give me his full attention. He face gave away nothing, but his non-responsiveness did not quell my determination.

"Hello Michael."

"Viscano," he stated quietly.

We both remained silent for a few moments.

Then, "Can I help you?"

I had a slight brain melt at his question and could not answer immediately. Michael's voice is often his most powerful weapon. I still feel a little woozy even today when I hear that voice in the hallway or in the training area.

"Um, yes. Well... I was... just," I began to stutter terribly.

I stopped speaking, trying to get myself and my hormones under control. Finally, I tried again.

"Yes, I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?"

He suddenly went on instant alert. You could see it in the way his body tightened ever so slightly. Rising from his chair, he steadily prowled towards me.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Wh...why...hy am I here?" I questioned in a startled voice.

"Yes," he hissed deeply.

"I don't understand," I whispered, on edge by the change in his demeanor.

Sighing, Michael relaxed just a fraction. He seemed to believe me - that I was earnest in my confusion. His eyes returned to a cool shade of gray instead of the intense green of before. Once again I was left in the dark regarding his thoughts.

Finally he spoke once more.

"Thank you, but I don't think it is a good idea."

"If we go out?"

"Yes."

I was stunned. For weeks I assumed that Michael had been waiting for me to approach him and make the first move. But now, here he was telling me 'thanks but no thanks babe!' I just sort of froze at his words.

Seeming to anticipate my reaction, Michael added, "We will be working together in the future and Section does not favor relationships among operatives of the same field."

Dazed, I looked up at his face, into his eyes and realized something very important - he *believed* what he was saying! Michael had never been giving me any signals because he actually believed that Section rhetoric.

Humiliated and dejected, I backed out of his office without saying anything further.

***

By the end of the week most of the operatives and certainly all the cold ops. knew some version of what had happened in Michael's office - thanks mostly to the surveillance geeks. At that point I didn't care what anyone thought or was saying. I was too caught up in my own misery and pain to give a d--n about the world around me. Life became one gray haze through which I saw almost nothing.

On missions I went into autopilot. I am still surprised I didn't get myself or another operative killed. Home was not any better. While on downtime I either spent it crying my eyes out or sitting in my apartment wallowing in self-pity until I collapsed into a deep sleep. I stopped eating almost completely and lost so much weight that I became anorexic.

My behavior carried on for several weeks, until Madeline called me into her office. Emotionally, I was so fried at that point that even facing Madeline in her lair did not faze me. Once inside she went right to the point, informing me that I had two options: 1) to 'bit the bullet' - and she meant literally or 2) to move on and forget Michael.

I chose option number two - but not because of Madeline. The person who convinced me to move on with my life was actually Walter. After I left Madeline's office I (fortunately) happened to run into him.

***

"Hey Viscano, how's it shakin'?" Walter asked with a smile.

I looked at him and for the first time in weeks answered an inquiry honestly. "Not good Walter. Madeline just told me to either move on or kill myself. And if I don't chose, she will chose for me."

Walter grimaced slightly and gave me a pat on the shoulder.

"Listen kiddo, Madeline is right on one - move on. Michael ain't worth it. He's an illusion."

Intrigued by his lasts words, I stared at Walter and wordlessly told him to continue.

Smiling sadly he said, "Michael appears to be this beautifully tragic character who is looking for someone or something to heal him. Suckers everyone in - men and women alike - but especially the women. Then, just as you move in 'cause you think he thinks you're 'the one,' reality sucker punches you in the gut."

I give him a look of curiosity, demanding he finish his thought.

Leaning in he whispers, "But the reality is... Michael isn't looking for anyone to heal him. He cracked a long time ago and the only person living inside of him is a Section operative. So don't waste your time kiddo. Michael is the 'impossible dream.'"

Walter gave me one last smile and a devilish wink before he sauntered off into the recesses of Section.

***

To this day I still don't know why Walter's words finally got through to me. But they did. After that I began to recover slowly, but surely. I took a low-key position as an operative, content to follow orders. Socially, I dated a few guys here and there, went out with a few acquaintances now and then - nothing special or lasting. My life - if you can call it that in Section - seemed to be back on track.

I was over Michael. He had no hold over me any more.

Or so I thought.

Until the day a blonde, blue-eyed teenager arrived at Section and turned it upside down. From the moment I saw Nikita with Michael I hated her because in that moment I realized something very important. Nikita made Michael a reality. She could do what I could not, what no other woman before her could do. She shattered the illusion and turned Michael in to a substantial, tangible being.

She had the power to heal him.

I hate her because every time I see her, she reminds me that I am not 'the one.' So thanks to circumstance, I now have a chance to deliver some well-deserved payback to the woman who stole the one illusion that I believed in - Michael.

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