A thousand missions. She'd killed men, women, children, of every colour and "alien" species to walk the multiple exotic soils of the thousands of worlds of Quad-Gal. She'd blown up factories, oil rigs, military installations, tank depots, politicians' headquarters, schools, and hospitals; she knew no mercy, had no empathy, felt no remorse. She knew the myriad memories would have blurred into one, if they'd not been forcibly erased. They were erased to protect her. If tortured, her pain tolerance was incredibly high, but without memories, she could not talk at all. But then, she had never been caught. She was efficient. She was... perfect. Now, she walked through the rainswept city. The streets were deserted. She stopped at an intersection, glanced up and down the gleaming black roads, and considered. She knew where she must go. She knew where her target would go. After all - she smiled - they had something very important in common. Something more intimate than a shared lover, a childhood memory, a death-defying experience, a bonding of drug-minds.
