USAngel's First Mission



The brown envelope arrives containing a music player with ear-sealing headphones. The seal on the player is easily broken, and when you turn it on, after the standard nonsense about how the files on this player will erase themselves after playing, you hear a modified voice. "Two days ago, a routine check on a nuclear stealth bomber revealed that the brain of the communication systems on one of the planes had been stolen. A mercenary group linked to terrorists in the Middle East have had increased chatter right around the incident, and we need you to investigate a safehouse that's had some new activity. There's a plane waiting for you at Fort Henry for airborne insertion. Destroy this player, bring nothing other than the essentials."

USAngel takes a deep breath. This is it, her first real mission. Her heart rate is up as she slips into the red white and blue costume. She grabs her staff and heads out the door, arriving at the airfield not thirty minutes later. "USAngel reporting for duty..."

The sun is almost completely down as you're met by one man who's a Lt. Colonel if you remember your stripes correctly, a man in a suit and sunglasses who you won't even guess, and two military guards. The Colonel shakes your hand, trying hard to avoiding leering over your toned, athletic body. "Pleasure to meet you, USAngel. We've heard a lot about you." You're quickly escorted over to the runway, where a vertical take-off landing prototype awaits, the intelligence man showing you a bunch of photographs of what appear to be an expensive mansion near the ocean. "We believe that tonight, there's going to be a helicopter pickup of the package. You're going to drop in, make sure that doesn't happen and bring as many as possible to justice, any way you see fit." The door to the VTOL opens up. "Do our country proud." The plane is revved up, ready to go, although it's surprisingly silent.

USAngel nods with a wry smile, trying to maintain an official demeanor, brushing the wavy blond hair from her face and tying it back in a ponytail. "You can count on me, sir. I'll make sure those electronics stay out of those grimy hands!" She can barely contain the odd combination of fear and excitement as she waits for the signal to jump, a feeling not so different from the one she used to get before mounting the beam in competition. She gets the signal, nods and spreads her wings, gliding down toward the silhouette of the suspected mansion on the cliffs before her. She picks out a spot on the roof and pulls up into a very soft landing on her blue footies.

The wind rushes through your hair, and it's beautiful as the sun sets off. But as you land on the roof ever so quietly, you look around you. The house stretches out, multi-level and very wide, lights on in most sections of the house. You see two guards walking around a floor beneath, and two more at every door. They appear to have fancy technology including green displays over one eye. That might well spot even you, but they're not looking up yet.

USAngel admires the beauty of the sunset for an instant, noting that the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks below should cover any slight sound she makes. She runs easily along the peak of the roof and flips off the end, doing a half twist so that she comes to land in a crouch in front of a second level window, glancing inside to see that the coast is clear, before prying it open with her staff.

You step inside the second level window, closing it with not a sound (except the beeping on the console in the control room with the alarm system). The master bedroom that you're in looks posh, but unused. You hear voices from downstairs, and then the rush of feet as two mercenaries descend on your position, in thick armor with rifles and many gadgets, one appears at the bottom of the stairs, gun raised, and then another appears a room away, through the doors of the study that links this to the outside hallway on the second floor. The one at the bottom of the stairs says, in a thick Irish accent. "If only all the people I got to shoot were so beautiful. What's your name lassie, for your tombstone that is?" He opens fire with his rifle, as the guard on your floor rolls a flashbang to your location. "CLEAR!"

USAngel nods to herself. So far so good. Her first priority is to make sure the communication gizmo can't be picked up and to that end she dances toward the door only to gasp in surprise as two men are already waiting for her. Her motion never stops, her footies running up the wall even as holes erupt in it like a dog nipping at her heels. She spreads her arms, and thus her "wings," flying toward the man at the base of the stairs even as the flash goes off behind, aiming to whack the shooter in the temple before his bursts find her.

The world glows bright white for a second, but you're not looking at, so your vision is barely fuzzed. The gunfire is hot and loud in your ear, but not a bullet touches you as you swat him clean across the temple, sending him flying back, thunking into the side of a couch, dazed, nearly out. You hear more heavy boots descending on your position. Another mercenary appears, and says. "Freeze! Hold it right there!" training you in his sights, firing a few bursts to keep you distracted, as the man appearing in the hallway behind you winds up a bola made of tight cutting wires and flings it at your back. You see out of the corner of your eye a man in a silk shirt and nice pants running away from the fight.

USAngel spins her staff as she lands in a crouch, powerful short legs flexing inside glimmering sheath of something that looks like tinted nylon. But she does not stay put, instead somersaulting away from the gunfire and in the direction of the escaping silk shirt in a flop of ponytail even as a blur of something whizzes overhead. She feels a tiny tug, eyes widening as her hair spills down over her face, the band holding her ponytail apparently severed. She comes up running like she's sprinting toward the vaulting horse, arms pumping, chest heaving, aiming to strike the man in the silk shirt with her staff if she can.

Your hair is flowing back from your face as you run faster and faster. The man you're pursuing is almost in your reach, you see him look back in fear, darker features, vaguely Middle Eastern, just as a rifle butt comes out of the corner of your vision, a hulk of the man in the hallway slamming his rifle butt at your chest, then flipping up to hit your chin. "Uh-uh, babe." As he grabs for your small, lithe form to throw you away from his client and back into the kitchen, over and through a surprisingly flimsy half-height wooden wall.

USAngel is caught by surprise, air leaving her lungs in a loud grunt as she is brought to a sudden stop by the rifle butt, hair flying forward across her face, hiding the grimace until it explodes away as her head snaps backwards. Even stunned she clutches fiercely to her staff, balling up as she is thrown, spinning head over bottom, crashing through a wall into the next room like a cannonball.

Sawdust and splinters of wood lie around you as you land face down on the tiled floor. The thug drops his weapon, grabbing both of your legs off the ground, attempting to pull them apart and slam his boot down between them as the other soldiers come up, grabbing some plates off the table and hurling the whole stack of them at you.

USAngel is by no means out, kicking frantically as her legs are grabbed, twisting around at the waist and thrusting her staff straight up under the sternum of the powerful man as he raises his boot, yelping as she is hit with a pile of plates. Popping her staff apart after the thrust, whirling it about at the other guards, the red white and blue portions now separate and connected by lengths of chain.

The staff catches him right in the sternum, and he drops your legs back to the ground, staggering back a step and doubling over just as the chain starts whipping around, knocking one guard to the ground, and the other cutting his face as he steps back in pain. The last guard picks up a chair and throws it at your form before rushing in, wielding his bola as a melee weapon, the balls whipping out at your face and chest.

USAngel's chest heaves as she rolls to her knees, uttering something guttural as the chair shatters over her back, spinning around as she falls forward, using her own weapon to foul that of her attacker, bola and three-part staff becoming entangled. She kicks a powerful leg up at his crotch as she pops back to her feet, pieces of debris clinging all over her now sweat-drenched costume.

The kick catches him unawares, and he slinks slowly to the ground, though still holding onto his bola as a staff segment is caught up in it. You look up to find yourself facing down the barrel of a large barreled pistol, and you hear, "Say goodnight, girlie" as light flashes out of it, two 3-round bursts aimed square at your torso.

USAngel has no time to do anything more than spread the fingers of a gloved hand as if to motion stop, but to no avail. Her body lurches from the impact of each round, staggering backwards like a puppet with a couple of missing strings. She is glassy-eyed and pinned to the wall by the time the last round hits the flag over her heart, the impact rippling across her chest. She slides slowly to the floor on her derriere, the crotch of her leotard pulling tight, between glimmering glutes in the back and over the dimpled shape of her sex in the front. Her head lolls forward to the still shuddering shape of her sweat-drenched chest.

The men approach you cautiously. One says. "Holy...none of them went through." "That's...bulletproof?" One cocks a gun to your face. "Well, this isn't bulletproof." The voice of the silk-shirted man calls out. "Hold! Keep her alive." You're yanked up to your feet, your slick, muscled body propped up as one of the bolas is tied around your wrists. One slaps you in the face. "Come on, beautie wake up." Another laughs, "Well, this will wake her up," grabbing a breast and squeezing it tightly. They truss you up, another set of bolas being wrapped around the ankles before you regain too much strength, then push you across the room into a wall near the man.

USAngel is barely aware of what is happening as she is pulled up by a handful of hair, arms hanging limply by her sides until quickly pulled behind and bound, her head snapping to one side as her face is slapped, lids flickering open as her breast is squeezed, rude fingers digging into the thin wet fabric, groaning a protest as her ankles are trussed as well. She contorts her face in dismay as she realizes her plight, caught and held in the arms of one of her captors.

You're presented for the man. "Well, this is quite the treat." His hand caresses down your shoulder and damp costume, pressing over your breast briefly, his thumb touching your nipple carelessly. "A flexible nano-steel-weave. I didn't even know America was still doing research on this. It's curious though..." He grins. "I wonder why they sent such a valuable..." He looks over you and your body. "resource for something as useless as this toy?" He pulls out the gadget you're looking for. "It's already been remotely shut off. I'm sure we can get some money for the spare parts, but not much more. So why are you here?" He shrugs. "Some political bullshit no doubt, your country loves that." His hand traces down, and then rubs his fingers hard just for a second between your legs, whispering. "They love it when the little people get fucked. Trust me." He lingers there for a second, then steps away. "But that's for you to learn. That is, if you weren't getting blown to pieces. Set the explosives for the house for 10 minutes, and make sure she's got a few pieces just for herself." The guards go off, setting large explosives in various parts of the house, you guarded by just two guards as one of them straps several devices to various parts of your body.

USAngel tries to draw back from the touch of the man's hand on the dark protruding patch of her nipple beneath the white fabric, squirming frantically, trying to press her legs together as the hand goes lower, his words barely registering at first as she sobs in the shame of her defeat. She blinks as she is made to stand on a chair still bound, gagged with a grenade, pin affixed to the strap that holds it and to a light fixture so that if she tries to move or spit it out it will go off. She can only guess how long the fuse is set for.

The man appears back in the room, and smiles sadly at you. "Not what you signed up for? Well don't worry, we all get to be a little bit famous." He drags over a stool, and then places a little video camera on it, pointed at you. "Amazing what these little things can do. This is going to upload to YouTube right now.' He clicks a button, staying off-camera. He says a bunch of things in Arabic, none of which you understand, and then concludes with Allah Akbar, presses a button as the camera zooms in on your bound body, and you hear a beeping as the timers start. He smiles one more time and then disappears, all the mercenaries leaving as you hear the whir of a chopper.

USAngel gathers all the bounce she can muster in her legs as hears the chopper landing outside, pushing off the chair and jumping up, bending at the waist, bringing her ankles past her face to the fixture, looping the ankle binding over a sharp-looking section, hanging there sawing the binding on her ankles, her upturned bottom grinding back and forth on YouTube as if devouring the seat of her leotard, until the binding cord pops. She curls the toes of one footie around a bulb in the fixture and removes it, smashing it, then hanging by one leg as she strains to reach her hands with the other. A moment later her gloved hands come free and she reaches up to free herself, dropping to the floor still gagged, even as she runs outside, only then undoing her gag, pulling the grenade out of her mouth and flinging it at the chopper as it lifts off.

The men in the chopper see you running, one lifting his rifle, catching you dead to rights, and firing off a burst from the powerful rifle at your chest just as the grenade leaves your hand, arcing perfectly through the air, and exploding just as it lands in the passenger side, a loud explosion, a flash of white, and the sound of a dying helicopter as the earth shakes, landing some 200 feet away from you in a ball of fire.

USAngel is knocked backwards by the burst of gunfire, as if being hit with an invisible jackhammer, an odd sight indeed as the exploding chopper bathes her in fiery light, sprawling on her back spread eagle as the gunfire ceases, long minutes passing before she manages to roll to hands and knees, crawling painfully to the cliff, spreading wings to glide away to the waiting submarine as sirens approach and the house goes up in a series of explosions.

USAngel floats naked in a stasis tube of artificial spinal fluid the next day, numerous monitors attached to her stout form, hair swirling about her blank face, her proud chest covered by a patchwork of nasty purple splotches. The colonel muses, “You set her up, didn’t you?” The man in glasses observes. “I suppose if we’re using a pass/fail grade system she passed… this time.”

(January 2009)