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Date Posted: 14:24:55 01/10/04 Sat
Author: Madison
Subject: Untitled 1-3
In reply to: Madison 's message, "Newish Story" on 14:23:50 01/10/04 Sat

I was recruited into Section One when I was fifteen years old: an innocent girl in a dark and dreary dungeon hell hole. And I was an innocent in the very real sense of that term; I was plucked out of a normal high-school life and forced to become a cold-op for no apparent reason. At least, it wasn�t very apparent when I first arrived. But let me start there.

I was sure I had fallen asleep in my own bed, but when I woke up everything was wrong. My sheets were red; the ones I woke up in were white, as were the walls and my pajamas. That�s when I knew I was in trouble, I always slept in ridiculous bright pink men�s boxer shorts and a faded gray sweatshirt from my mother�s high school days, and they were gone. And I was groggy, kind of like when I was given medication for a broken arm when I was ten. I had been drugged and brought to a bleached room that was completely foreign to me. I sat up on the gunnery as a door creaked open and a middle-aged brunette in a severe black suit and lethally sharp heels walked in.

�Good morning, Erika. I hope you slept well,� she said.

�Oh, yes. Just great. And you are?� I was surprised by the formalities, I admit I was expecting to be accused of a serious crime I did not commit and was preparing to protest my innocence.

�Madeline. I will be overseeing your training for the next two years.�

�What training?� I asked, dumbfounded that I needed any more training than I was forced to learn at school.

�Your training to become an operative for the most covert anti-terrorist organization in the world,� Madeline said.

�Oh, and I suppose that makes the kind of sense I�m not in on? How on earth am I going to train to become an operative for the most covert anti-terrorist organization in the world? I should be in school right now. And I have swim practice after that,� I protested.

�That won�t be an issue that will conflict with your training. To the outside world, you committed suicide seven days ago by overdosing with a bottle of aspirin, half a bottle of ibuprofen and two and a half bottles of your father�s finest whiskey. Quite the lethal combination. This was your funeral.� Madeline handed me a short stack of black and white photographs, all with my mom crying and my dad comforting her, my sister and her children distressed and my best friend on the verge of a mental breakdown. I swallowed hard.

�You did this to them?� I asked, struggling to control the rage and grief that threatened to overwhelm me.

�You will never be able to contact them again. If we find that you do attempt to establish contact, both you and the person you contact will be canceled. Your trainer will arrive shortly to begin your orientation. Welcome to Section One, Erika.� Madeline left the room with the click of her heels and took my dreams of my life with her.

That was my introduction into the harsh life that is Section One. Seriously, why did Madeline expect a fifteen-year-old girl to understand that she had a miserable destiny? Not that it was explained all that well. I was just expected to pick myself off the floor after that beating and take another. But I wasn�t about to take another without a fight.
********
When the door to my holding sell creaked open again, it was not Madeline who entered but a tall man of about twenty-five years, with dark hair and dark eyes. I was stunned that I was suddenly face to face with a Horatio Hornbower look-alike, whom I had a huge crush on since eighth grade. I wiped my tear stained eyes and faced him. �Who are you?� I asked.

�James. I will be your trainer,� he said.

�Erika Cornel. Nice to meet you too,� I said, trying to not sound like an impetuous brat.

�Follow me. You need to smarten yourself up before the official orientation begins,� James / Horatio said.

�After you,� I said. I scooped up the photographs I had been brooding over and followed him into a well lit but darkly colored hallway and down more corridors that I cared to count. Finally, James stopped in front of a door with a keypad. He punched in a series of numbers and the door slid open, revealing a small room with a single bed, a desk, a large metal wardrobe and an adjoining bathroom. �So I guess this is home?� I asked.
�You will be quartered here for the duration of your training. There is appropriate clothing in the wardrobe, the shower is straight through there.� He pointed at the ajar door to the right of the entrance. �I will fetch you in twenty five minutes. I suggest you wear something comfortable for the shooting range and suitable for Madeline�s office,� James said simply. And with that, he was gone behind the sliding door.

I took little time exploring my new surroundings, I imagined there would be plenty of time to do that later. I carefully hid the photographs of my funeral in the bottom drawer of the desk inside a plain black box. I showered and washed the salt from my tears off my face and body. I brushed seven days of sleep off my teeth and combed it out of my hair. I looked in the wardrobe and chose a pair of long black wool trousers that were slightly flared and cuffed, a soft white tee shirt and gray cardigan and some flat black shoes. I was amazed that the pants were long enough. I had trouble finding pants that looked good on my boyish hips and overly long legs; at least I did in the malls that I shopped in my real life. These fit like they were tailor made, as did the rest of the clothing, right down to the serviceable white underwear. The wardrobe kind of freaked me out. How did they know my sizes? Why did they bother to have custom pants made? Why was everything black, white or various shades of gray?

My clothes were a dire representation of my new life. Lots of black, white and millions of shades of gray.

I was sitting on my hard mattress when James came back. � Are you ready to go?� he asked, very businesslike.

�I guess. Am I supposed to be angry, because I feel like I�m missing something,� I said.

�Shock comes first. Wait a few hours until the sedatives wear off completely, then the anger will come,� James said softly, not looking at me.

�Is that the scripted answer, or are you speaking from experience?�

�Does it matter?�

�Yes. It matters to me, at least,� I said.

�You�re going to be late. You have a meeting with Madeline in two hours and you must see Walter and Birkoff before that,� James told me.

I was suddenly furious with James and my situation and his obtuseness. I sprang up from the bed and threw a heavy right hook in James�s direction. He grabbed my fist right before it connected with his face. Before I knew it, I was on my back on the floor. �Ouch, would you let go?� I exclaimed.

�I recommend you not release your anger physically. Attacking a superior is a grave offense in Section, if it was not your first day, I would be forced to take disciplinary action. And always go for the kidneys first when attacking an opponent.�

�OK, just get offa me!� I bucked and struggled under his tight hold. James let me up and I straightened my cardigan and brushed the imaginary dirt off my pants. �I feel better now,� I said tritely.

James silently straightened his immaculate black suit and walked out of the room. I followed, and the door wooshed closed behind me. I followed James down many hallways, and then we walked into an open space with high ceilings, a computer command center in the middle, a glassed-in office to one side high up, and an open niche filled with dangerous looking weapons. James pushed me towards the niche.

�Erika, this is Walter,� James said, introducing me to the skinny ex-hippie at the workstation. �Walter, Erika is my new material. It�s her first day.�

�It usually is,� Walter said. �Nice to meet you, Honey. You�ll be wanting her in an hour?�

�Yes. Could you send her to Birkoff then?� James asked.

�Sure. No problem James. As long as you pick her up at Comm after,� Walter said. �We wouldn�t want you to get lost your first day, Erika.�

�Nope. I don�t think I�d like that much,� I said. �See you later James.�

�I�ll meet you in two hours at Comm,� James said to me. �And behave yourself,� he scolded.

It�s way too early for you to be scolding me like you�re my parent, I thought. �Right,� I said. But before I responded James was gone. I turned to Walter, trying to push the thought of my parents out of my mind. �So, what do I learn from you?� I asked.

�How to shoot stuff. Of course, I pride myself on giving out bits of wisdom, but I�ll let you be the judge of that Honey.� Walter�s voice was gravely but kind and sympathetic. �You look awfully young to be in this hell hole. What�d you do to get in?�

�I don�t know,� I said honestly. I sat down on a high bar stool opposite Walter and casually spun side to side. �I was in high school last week and now I�m here.� Walter looked startled, his eyes got round with shock and he briefly stopped breathing. �I take it that�s not what you expected to hear,� I said.

�No, not at all. That�s highly unusual, in fact. Unheard of. Damn, Honey. You must have done something. Hacked into some computer files you shouldn�t have or�� Walter hesitated, then said: �Ever kill someone in cold blood?�

�No, I never�. Walter,� I lowered my voice, �are you telling me that I�m the only person who�s not been convicted of a felony in Section?�

�Pretty much. There are a few acceptions, but not a recruitment straight out of high school. How old are you?�

�Fifteen,� I said hesitantly. Walter dropped the screwdriver he was working with.

�You�re joking,� Walter said. �I would have at least said seventeen, which isn�t half as bad but� fifteen! Why, you�re still a kid!�

�Thanks. A kid who�s six feet tall and expected to act her height, if that�s what you mean,� I said bitterly. �I mean, one night I fall asleep in my bed at home and when I wake up I�m dead. Not really but to my family and friends and my life and I just don�t know what to do Walter!� I felt tears well up in my eyes and I moved to wipe them away with the heel of my hand. �Why does Madeline expect me to pick up and go on when I feel like I�m breaking apart inside and I�ll never be strong enough to do this and I�ll never see my family again and I�ll never be�� I couldn�t say it. I looked up at Walter with tear-stained eyes.

�Every new recruit goes through this. Well, at least a few of them do. Just means you�re one of the five percenters. You�ll do fine. You have to take what was and what could have been and put it away and not let Madeline and this place take it from you. After all, you did choose to live,� Walter said.

�I didn�t know there was an option.�

�Now that�s the right attitude, Honey.� I smiled. My mother, much to my dismay, had called me �honey� on occasion. I could get used to it with Walter.
*********
Walter didn�t show me any guns in that hour. I talked; he listened. I told him about my hometown, a small town with a university; going to pools at five in the morning to swim before school; living in the shadow of my older sister; my mom�s spaghetti; my love of books and hate of math; how when I was little I thought my dad was prince charming and I was Cinderella; how I had applied to be an exchange student, and now would not be able to go; how I had dreamed of studying literature and art in college; about my cousin Will, who was my favorite person to drive insane with childish pranks; about high school and how much I disliked school dances; I talked for thirty minutes solid.

At the end of the hour, Walter whisked me off to Comm, and introduced me to Birkoff. I connected instantly with the sort of dorky and awkward computer whiz. The first thing he said to me after Walter had introduced us and left was: �You look like the book type.�

I laughed. �I am. But I can use typing programs and email and basic internet,� I said hopefully.

�If you mean word processors by �typing programs� then it�s worse than I thought. It�s good you�re so young, or I never would be able to undo the damage,� Birkoff said.

�I am not that young!� I protested, louder than I had meant to.

Birkoff glared at me through his glass-bottle glasses. �You�re younger than me, Kid. That�s still young enough.� He reached for a soft drink and a bag of chocolates. �Have some candy and sit down and pay attention,� he said.

I was soon daydreaming. I wasn�t all that interested in computers, which Birkoff seemed very enthusiastic about. I stared into the glass aerie, when the man in there looked down and met my gaze. I jumped a mile, and felt a cold shiver travel down my spine. I quickly averted my eyes. �Birkoff, who�s up there?� I asked, gesturing with my head.

�Operations. He�s the big guy around here,� he replied. �Are you even hearing what I�m telling you?�

�No. But James is due to get me in a few minutes so it hardly matters,� I said. �So what�s Operation�s deal?�

�What�s to know? He�s the man in charge, the head honcho, the big kahuna�� Birkoff started.

�The big head, the big cheese, big brother�� I continued.

�You have the right idea Erika.�

�Erika�s got the right idea about what?� James asked, coming up fast from behind us. I jumped a mile again.

�This program I was showing her. The kid�s a natural,� Birkoff said.

�Shall we go, Erika?� James said to me.

�Yeah. See you later Birkoff,� I said casually. I got up and started to catch up to James, but I turned my head and mouthed �Thank you so much!� back to Birkoff.

�You so owe me!� he mouthed back.

I waved and then ran a few steps to catch up to James. �Do you have to walk so fast?� I asked. James didn�t answer. I kept up and followed him to Madeline�s office.

�Madeline will escort you back to your quarters when you have finished,� James told me.

�What�s all this about?� I asked.

�Basic orientation. Madeline is probably going to go over your course of study and schedule, processes and procedures of Section, just so you know what is going on.�

�Why am I the only person in here who did nothing wrong?� I asked bluntly. I think I blind-sided James with the question. He was silent, looking meaningfully at me, and the door slid open before I could demand an answer. I walked down the stairs in Madeline�s office hesitantly. I was a bit frightened of Madeline. She was cold and she took my family away from me, I presumed, as she was the one who told me about it.

�Please sit down,� Madeline said to me, gesturing to the chair across the desk from her. I sat down and tried to straighten my posture. I was cursed with bad posture from my years of swimming. �You�re looking much better than the last time we met.�

�It was nothing a shower and new clothing couldn�t fix,� I said tartly.

�You are a beautiful girl, Erika.�

�How so?� I asked. Madeline raised her eyebrow at me in question. �I�d like you to be honest.�

Madeline looked over me appraisingly, sizing me up. I instantly straightened in my chair under her scrutiny. �Well, to start with, you�re tall, and your legs are long and well shaped. It appears you will develop a more pleasing chest as you mature. You�re a bit round about the middle, but it�s nothing that your training won�t take care of on its own. Your face is very aesthetically pleasing. You have beautiful brown eyes. I think we should consider letting your hair grow a bit longer than it is now. And it might look better a shade or two darker, your eyebrows are so dark, although we need to consult a stylist.�

�Wow. Tell me what you really think,� I was floored. It appears I will develop a more pleasing chest? I thought. Woah, that was way too much information.

�Although you need to learn how to present yourself properly,� Madeline replied, ignoring my comment. �You did fairly well today. I approve of the pants and sweater. Your tee shirt is inappropriate for meeting such as this. Choose something more formal in the future. I also recommend that you become accustomed to heeled shoes. You should be wearing them for your everyday schedule so you become comfortable maneuvering in them.�

�Right,� I said. �I�ll consider it.� I think I should repeat I was floored. I never thought of myself as the pretty girl. I was the smart girl. I was the tall girl with the blue shoes. I was a nerd. The thought that I might one day become a man-killing siren was laughable. And funny, it was so funny I almost burst into spasms of giggles.

�Your course of training will include deportment, as well as various other social skills, including basic seduction,� Madeline began.

�Excuse me, but did you say seduction, because that would be a very bad idea. I have this thing about kissing and I can barely watch it on TV, and��

�Stop prattling and listen Erika. That area of your training will not intensify for at least two years. You are young, and being uncomfortable with your sexuality is not unexpected. But your lack of confidence with males in the sexual arena needs to cease,� Madeline said. �May I continue?� I nodded. �The rest of your training will center around being an effective operative for Section. You will learn about munitions, computer systems, hand to hand combat, profiling missions and psychological profiling, and many other things. You must also continue with your high school education. You will be expected to have completed the equivalent of a diploma within the year,� she finished.

�Is there any possibility I will be able to go on to university?� I asked.

�Not unless a mission requires it,� Madeline told me.

I felt my soul sink. First I was trapped in high school, now I was trapped in Section One; forever denied a college education.

�This is your weekly timetable. I expect you will follow it to the second. None of your tutors will tolerate tardiness, nor will James and myself,� she said, handing me a PDA with an elaborate schedule. �But for now you are dismissed. Please report to James�s office presently.�

�But I don�t know where James�s office is,� I protested.

�Turn left out the door, and turn right at the third hallway you cross. James�s office is the only window in that hallway. You can�t miss it.�

I turned left heading out of Madeline�s door, wishing I had made her draw a map. As I dutifully counted hallways, I passed two people walking together and deep in a hushed conversation.

�Michael, is that her?� the tall blonde woman asked her companion.

�Yes. Don�t perturb anyone about it, Nikita. You are not supposed to know,� this Michael character responded.

�But she�s so young��

That was all I could eavesdrop before they walked out of hearing distance, but it was enough. Not only was I worthy of oglers, I was infamous, and classified. And it was still my first day. Aie-aie-aie.

I found James�s office with relative ease after that, although I did find it difficult to walk while staring down at my feet. I was trying to avoid other�s attention. It was flustering to be scrutinized like that. I rapped lightly on the office door, and then opened it. James was sitting behind a plain metal desk, and when he looked up he seemed surprised to see me. �Madeline sent me,� I said by way of explanation.

�Plans change. Although I take it your training schedule is not as flexible,� James said.

�I don�t think so. It�s all so structured. And you know she wants me to finish two years of high school in one. Madeline is crazy,� I said, incredulous.

�If Madeline thought you could not handle the workload, then she would not ask it of you.�

�OK, but now what? Is there anything else planned, or can I go to my quarters for my emotional breakdown now?� I asked sarcastically.

�No. One more thing,� James said as he shut down the computer he was working on and stood up, �please come with me.� He walked out of the office and I sprang up to follow. He led me to a room with tall ceilings, wood floors and brick walls. �This is Madeline�s old office, we now use it for various training scenarios. But tonight, it�s a ballroom.�

�Not like Cinderella?� I asked tentatively.

�No, but you need to change your shoes. Those are not appropriate for dancing.�

�Dancing!� I exclaimed. �I, uh, don�t dance.� I had never danced with a boy before, and James was much more than the boys from school. He was taller than I was, and when you�re the tallest person you know that�s intimidating, and he was much better looking than anything that I had ever been close to. He looked like Horatio Hornblower, for goodness sake! I may have been young then but I had eyes, and hormones. Way too many hormones that decided to flare up at bad times like that. I stepped back instinctively, to protect my quickly expanding need for personal space. �You should be wearing shoes of titanium, or at least copper-toed. I might break something in your foot without protection.�

�I�m wearing stomp-proof shoes. You can change behind that screen.� James pointed to an Asian-style paper and mahogany room divider. I practically sprinted across the room to hide. I pulled off my pants, shoes and socks and put on the nylon stockings, high-heeled shoes and short chiffon skirt. I also took off my cardigan, as I assumed the dancing would involve sweating. I cautiously returned to James on the dance floor, and he turned on a slow classical waltz with a small remote. �Now put your left hand on my shoulder,� he said softly, obviously trying to soothe my nerves. As I did as he told me, he place his hand on my waist and took my other hand in his. I felt uncomfortable. Like I was going to fall apart.

James started to slowly turn me, leading me across the dance floor. Suddenly, I slipped. I flew backwards, and James jumped forward in an attempt to break my fall. I ended up on my bum, with James looking down at me. �I can�t do this!� I cried in frustration. �Any of this! I don�t want to be dead. I want my life back!�

James pulled me up and then pulled me so we were flush together. �Do you want to die?� he whispered intensely into my ear. �Because a bullet in your head can easily be arranged. The next two years of your life will be the hardest you will ever live through. You will experience the worst of human kind, the most depraved and sadistic and inhumane people on the face of the earth. And you will change, deeply. Just know that I will never forgive myself for making you into what you will become.� And with that he pushed me away.

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[> Newish Story 4 -- Madison, 16:35:59 01/10/04 Sat

In the next four weeks, I adjusted to my new life in Section. My schedule was tight, and I was exhausted all the time. I started every morning at five, and I ran five miles and weight trained. At least, I was supposed to be working up to running five miles. I was at two. After breakfast I would work with my tutors on high school stuff, like French and German and world history and algebra and geometry and geography. I worked with either Birkoff or Walter in the afternoons, and then James and I would work on profiling for an hour. I also spent two hours with Madeline every day, usually. She was occasionally too busy, and those days I coveted. The lessons from her made me ill; they were downright dangerous.

Psychological profiling was all about messing with people�s heads, and the �deportment� lessons were really about putting my features at their best seductive advantage. I was a jeans and tee shirt kind of girl in a sexy Gucci kind of world. Not that I didn�t like playing dress up, but that�s all it was. It wasn�t me and it never would be.

After Madeline messed with my head, I ate dinner and then James and I sparred. We fought, no holds barred: I worked out all my frustration with his silence and he corrected my technique. Because after his heated and soulful regret on my first day, he had said nothing of any consequence beyond my training. It drove me bananas. So I punched and kicked him really hard, and he put me on the mat every ten seconds. It was not so fun, and it was suicide.

I hurt a lot.

My life went on life that. I was on a strict timetable, in order to graduate with flying colors from material to operative in less than two years. James confided to me, in a spurt of wordiness, that I was really on an accelerated track to be ready in 18 months. But what was Section, and Madeline more to the point, going to do with a just-seventeen-year-old fully trained operative? An excellent question. I pondered that one a lot, because it didn�t make any sense, any way you sliced it.

About twice a week, James and I played chess in his office after our sparring sessions. I curled up (as best I could) in his stiff office chair with a large canteen of hot and overly sweet tea while James ran circles around my pawns. After each checkmate, he would explain what I had done wrong and I would take scads of notes and study them incessantly. It was an all-consuming and all-distracting obsession; I wanted to beat James at chess.

I always lost. My competitive nature suffered many scrapes, and the only cure was a deafening win.

One particular evening, I was lounging while James annihilated my rooks and queens, and he made an announcement: �Your numbers in German are unsatisfactory.�

�They are not,� I quickly objected, moving my pawn forward, even though I knew it would be taken.

�They are. You have been here three months and you have barely reached two- percent proficiency. That is unacceptable.� James took my pawn. �Check.�

I glared at the chessboard. I could have sworn he was at least five moves away from check, and there he was: in a position to beat me. I had to repress the growl of frustration. �So I have a serious mental block against German. It�ll be fine in two years anyway. I�m not worried�. Now how did you get there?� I exclaimed, referring to his rapidly ascending queen.

�Your blas� attitude is not helping. Until your numbers drastically improve, you will spend time every night in this office studying, as well as your politics. It�s not coming along as well as I�d like,� James said.

�You�re joking. When am I supposed to sleep?� I asked.

�When you are fluent in German. Checkmate.�

I swore as I stormed out of the room. Since when were my academics a problem? I thought viciously. I was a picture perfect student. I hadn�t almost aced a class since ninth grade algebra in eighth grade. Damn James, I thought, trying to keep me off balance, just as I was finally gaining my equilibrium.

I arrived in James�s office the next evening in a fury of anger. I sat down in the chair and glared at him. James silently started to set up the chessboard. He took the first move and I ignored it.

�Erika,� he said, I could hear the frustration in his voice. �Are you going to cooperate tonight? We are supposed to be discussing current events.�

�I have a headache. Is that current enough for you?�

�Smart aleck answers will not get you anywhere with me. I can wait you out.�

�Please do,� I said, daring him to wait out my legendary stubbornness. So we sat in silence, staring at each other in silent challenge. Five minutes passed, then ten, then thirty. Every time I felt my resolve weakening, I thought of my home, what Section had taken from me; then I barreled down the hatches and send more negative vibes in James�s direction.

Our silent standoff at the OK-Corral lasted for ninety minutes. �You are dismissed, Erika,� James finally said. I launched myself out of the chair, triumphant in victory. When I reached the door, James continued. �If this ever occurs again, I will report it to Madeline and you will have to explain your actions to her. Tomorrow, I expect you to be prepared and cooperative.�

I felt deflated. I wasn�t so triumphant after all. I left the room and sulked my way back to my quarters, mostly to sleep but partly to prepare for the next blow to my ego and self worth. And that came sooner than I expected.

I was in Madeline�s office, minding my own profiles, when Madeline handed me a PDA. �Please take this to Systems for me. Be back in three minutes.�

It was a challenge. I hated when she played on my competitive nature: it usually ended badly. I took the PDA, headed out of the office and down the hallway that led to Systems. I soon began to run. I should explain I was not wearing shoes that could be considered conducive to running. I was wearing somewhat dainty and high heeled but sturdy stilettos that slid at every misstep I took. I focused on the floor in front of me, trying not to fall with every step. I rounded a corner that was to the left of me then:

Smack, bang, thud.

The smack was me running into something, the bang was the PDA hitting the cement, and the thud was me falling on my ass, and my wrist. I felt the pain of the fall shoot through my arm. I started to swear, a long line of vulgarities that started pouring out of my mouth. It was hat always happened when I was injured, I swore instead of crying. I gently cradled my injured wrist in my other arm, and attempted to stand up. Then I looked up, to see what exactly I had run into. There was a man standing in front of me, apparently taking in the scene I had created. I recognized him immediately, Michael, from my first day, the one with the woman who had known all about me.

Thought number one: shite, he knows who I am. Thought number two: Why did I have to run into a person? Why couldn�t it have been a wall? Oh, the inhumanity of it all!

�Listen. I�m really sorry about this. I was trying to get to Systems and�� I started to apologize profusely.

�You are injured. You need to go to Medlab,� Michael said, cutting me off.

I pulled myself up and teetered on the stilettos. I kicked them off, exclaiming �Damn shoes!� I then went to find the PDA, frantically turning to see where it had landed.

�Are you looking for this?� he asked me calmly, showing me the PDA.

�Yes. I need to take that to Systems. Madeline�� I tried to explain.

�Madeline can wait. You require medical attention.�

�But, I really need to go to Systems. I..� I picked up the well-hated stilettos with my non-injured hand and dangled them from my fingertips. �Really, I�ll be OK.� I tried to step around him, and he blocked me. �Can I have the PDA now?� I asked impetuously.

�No. You will report to Medlab immediately,� Michael insisted. �Give me the shoes.�

I knew I wasn�t going to get out of this. I reluctantly and carefully handed him the stilettos. Michael called over another operative and told him to take the PDA to Systems for Madeline, and as the operative scurried off to do his bidding, Michael proceeded to grab my elbow and march me to Medlab. I protested the entire way there, prattling on and on, mostly to see if I could ruffle his cool and annoyingly calm exterior and make him feel the frustration I was.

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[> [> Hey there Madison...(r) -- Genevieve, 18:26:13 01/12/04 Mon

Would you like me to give you feedback here or on SB2? :)

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[> [> [> Doesn't matter-- I'm checking both -- Madison, 18:59:40 01/12/04 Mon

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