My mother died in labor birthing me, the papers say I died too. They took me and tough me things, gave me skills. I can pass as anything, anyone, even a man. I was their most prized student, but they never though I would escape, or would even fancy the thought.
I have a perfect figure for my aperture, for I am sixteen, but I can pass for a boy or girl, man or woman from thirteen to thirty-five. Anyway, incase I’m never rid of them I decided to keep my story, in hopes that someone will find it when I die, and hopefully not them.
---Maraleen Sontrshey (Or at least that’s who I am today.)
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Caption Lesant, stepped into the grocery store in full BDUs, she was greeted warmly by all the people who walked by her. “Good morning, Caption,” cam the all too familiar reply from many off dutie military members, and civilian wives. She smiled and returned their greetings warmly, ‘have a good day m'am or sir.’ She knew what she needed thought... She headed strait for cosmetics, going for the hair die first. She took one each, red, black, brown, blond, and six bottles of peroxide. All manor of hair accessories, and makeup in several different shade came next. Remember your reason, she thought to herself, your sixteen year old daughter is having a sleep over... they’re having a salon/spaw day at the house. Then she went for medical supplies and got everything short of a hospital that could fit in a parametick’s bag. Next she went for food anything that was nutritious and didn’t have to be refrigerated or cooked. Boxes of energy, protein, power, granola bars, ect. Lots of Gatorade and water. It only took her ten minutes to fill her cart to the brim and then she stood in line thumbing through her cash. “Good morning, Caption,” the checker said, as Caption Lesant began unloading her groceries, “how are you today?”
“I’m fine, thank you m'am,” cane he automated, but pleasant response. Looking at the hair and makeup supplies the cashier snickered, “Got teenagers?”
“Two girls and one boy... All very fashion sensitive,” she sighed, “you wouldn’t believe how much money I spend on this crap every moth, but hay, its about the only thing I can afford to buy them.”
The cashier smiled, “I know how it is, I’ve got two girls myself.”
“Do you have your ID?” the cashier asked after scanning all of the groceries, “we give 10% off to members of the armed services.”
Caption Lesant took a card out of her breast pocked and handed it to the cashier who scanned it and then handed it back, “Ninety-five dollars and three cents.”
She handed the cashier a hundred, and smiled, “keep the change. I don’t have time to wait,” and with that she was out the door to her car. She quickly packed up her car, a nondescript thing, halfway between an SUV and a sports sedan. It would go fast on or off road, it was the best car she could hope for and still keep unnoticed.
She drove down the street and parked under an old abandoned over pass. Here she peeled off a wig and her BDUs, “Semper fi, Caption Lesant.” She chuckled to herself, as she pulled out a pack of face wipes and wiped off the dark color from her face, neck, and hands. Now she dressed in a modest skirt and white blouse. Little makeup and she put in some brown contacts, “Hello Martha Brown. Its time to go back to the hotel.”
She drove down the street several blocks, made a right, another, and then a left, and then she dubbed back to be sure none followed then she headed toward the hotel.
She walked by the concierge, with out looking at them and took her room key out of her purse, witch was now stuffed with medi-kit supplies and food. She had a room on the ground floor near the rear exit. When she entered her room the first thing she did was lock and bolt the door then she took the gun out of her purse and cleared the sweet. Then she kicked off her heels and took her lap top out of her shoulder bag. When she opened it a 4 way split screen showed all ground level entrance/exits, and she sighed at last certain she was safe for a little while.
She took off her long sleeved blouse and winced slightly as it slid over the half assed bandage on the upper of her right arm. It was only a graze wound but it hurt like hell and was, after all fairly serionus: 1/2 an inch deep and three inches long. She dumped the continence of her purse on the skink counter. She arranged the medi supplies. Bacteen, gauze pads, topical anistetic, topical antibiotic, hooked needle, lighter, super fine fishing line, more gauze pads, and water proof athletic tape. She cringed but was silent as she washed and wiped at her wound with a bacteen soaked gauze pad and dried it with anouther pad, then she smeared some of the antiseptic and antibiotic into the wound. Here comes the part that sucks, she thought to herself as she held the needle under the flame of her lighter for exactly one minute while the antiseptic kicked in for all it was worth. She soaked a five inch length of the fishing line in bactieen and dried it thouroly with a sterile gauze pad. Then she threaded the needle with it and proceeded to sew up her wound tightly and she secured it with a strong knot and cut the remainder off with her pocket knife. Blood ran down her arm into the now red sink. She sterilized her whole arm with bacteen and then whipped it clean with a sterile gauze pad. Then another swipe of antibiotic over the stitches and lastly she tightly tapped a gauze pad over the stitches with the athletic tape. She let out a sigh and looked at the lap top again, all exits clear of foes.
Last chore for now, she cleaned the sink with parodied (to ruin her DNA) and then she dressed in a fresh, neat looking business suit and ate an energy bar. She lay down for only a few hours before leaving to do some reckon. She switched purses and put her 9 mm into it, then she tucked a small, unnoticeable revolver at her waste behind her blazer. She also put two magazines for the 9 mm, one in each of her knee high boots. and she made sure her low cut blouse showed off her cleave nicely, men are so easy to control, she laughed to herself laughing as she changed her contacts so she had green eyes.
She checked her exits again before packing her laptop into a briefcase and walking out, again not even looking at the concierge.
“Hello,” she said in a hushed voice, almost a whisper as she read his name tag, “Dave,” she leaned over the counter a little, “I’m Suzen Darlenta, with internal affairs. I have an appointment with Mr. Radkey today.”
“M'am, I’m sorry,” the security guard said looking over some papers, “but I don’t have your appointment here.”
“Surly,” she said flashing a smile and twisting a curl of her hair in her fingers, as she leaned close to him, “you can make an exception, for me? I did make an appointment... I’d be more than willing to let you search me to determine if you think I’m a threat.”
“OK, then” he said buzzing her threw the door, “this way.”
He led her to his office and locked the door, “Just what did you have in mind?”
To be continued...