Alexis Marlboro had always been a problem child. Growing up in the streets of Baltimore, she had run with the local gangs since she was 13. As she grew up, she began to feel different. She wasn't one of the boys, she knew. She was better than them. And she realized something about herself – – she didn't like men. They weren't complementary. They were competitors eating from the same bowl. By 15, she rose in the ranks of the Dead Rabbits, the recognizable skinhead outfit in many eastern cities. DR took in Blacks, Whites, Hispanics and butches, sporting their shaved heads as their trademarks. Smarter, more violent, Alex took on every job that was risky. By 17, she had her own troupe within the gang, was made capo 10 years younger than her competitor.

But the good times didn't last. She stepped on toes, pissed off the wrong goons. So, they set her up. One day, they sent her on a mule job to pick up a truckload of contrabands. The truck never showed. But the cops did.

This was her third stint in juvie. The judge gave her a choice: do the time in orange or in green. It was a no-brainer. And the rest was history.

That decision had changed her life, sending her from violent uncertainties to violent purposes. She found she excelled at being a soldier. She was a big girl, to begin with. But while in the service, she worked on her body. She became more muscular, faster, stronger, beating out young men her age.

And things were looking up. She made Rangers, then Airborne, then Special Forces. Yet, there were always physical limitations . . . until she heard of the Program.

Her life was filled with purpose, duty, and honor. Her peers respected her, her superiors recognized her, her family was proud of her, at least her mother.

And then she met Camila and her life changed once more. She had fought and lived in the world of the masculine, now she tasted the feminine.

She had dreamed of her and Camila walking down the aisle in a traditional wedding. What Camila had always wanted was to be a princess, the dream of every girl, to wear the long white gown with a veil. Alex herself would wear military parade uniform with her shiny metals, walking under a canopy of swords held by her boys.

She saw herself gingerly putting the ring on Camila; she felt the trembling happiness of gushing love. And when the pastor said, "you may kiss the bride," her heart leaped into her throat, her eyes welling with tears. For good reason, this moment filled her with utter fright as she reached to lift the veil from Camila's face.

The gossamer fabric felt too delicate in her broad fingers. She feared she may mar the purity of this gift.

Her fingers clutched at the silk -- and slipped. Alex fumbled to get a better hold. But the more she tried, the worse she failed. She could hear the laughter behind her from the guests. Even the pastor couldn't hold his amusement. They were laughing at her behind her back, all around.

She turned, saw their faces, ugly masks guffawing at her expense. She returned to Camila, but the veil was gone . . . replaced by plastic. A plastic bag over her head, the neck tightened, cutting off air. Camila's eyes bulged as she gasped, sucking in the bag. Alex reached out to remove the fucking thing, but her fingers had no traction, clutching at air. All she could hear were the suckling sounds of choking. And the laughter.

Alex snapped awake, screaming out her lungs, soaked through with sweat. The horror turned once again to despair as she pulled up her knees and sobbed.

Black bitter hours dragged by, keeping her awake. But every time she closed her eyes, a black-and-white strobe effect started again flashing. And faces swam by, with mocking sneers, culminating in the plastic being sucked in by a mouth. The plastic, the gasps, she couldn't shake the image of Camila.

* * *

Outside the door, the house sitters recorded what they had heard, that night terrors had left Marlboro in the same state each night. Without question, the girl was falling apart mentally -- as well as bodily. At this rate, she would be a thumb-sucking straight-jacketed loony in no time, if she didn't die from the cancers that had begun to eat into her organs. The sitters reported their findings to DeWitt.

That evening, the old crow returned to the house. He could see her marked deterioration. Alex looked ill, lethargic, without purpose, possessing no desire to live.

Harry DeWitt came prepared, armed with information, ready to invigorate her for her final role. But the pitch required a light touch.

The pair occupied the kitchen table. With her hands laced together, Alex faced the patient crow, her eyes unblinking.

"I want the fuck who killed Camila. I know you know."

"I have an idea. But first, let me say I'm sorry. She was collateral damage. Wrong place wrong time. You were their intended target."

"No shit." Alex's breathing quickened. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Okay," Harry said. "All your men are dead, liquidated." Harry produced files and photos of accident victims. They were faces Alex knew.

Alex listened without reaction, gray as the sky outside.

"This is Strange, Will, drowned in the Chesapeake," Harry said, tossing her a hard copy of the report. "Dodge, John J. -- stepped in front of maglev traffic. They ruled that one a suicide." He slapped another file on top of the previous. "Wagner, Frank, electrocuted. Kenjo -- aerocar went haywire and crashed; Mallow slipped and fell in a construction site, and so on and so on." Harry paused to look at an aloof Alex. "Any of this sink in?"

"Why show me this?" Alex said feebly, eyes unfocused.

"Your team was the first successful human trial of nano-blood -- then before it can stretch its legs, the higher-ups ended the Program -- and the people in it. No one was spared -- not even your chief wizard Moreau. Don't you want to know why?"

"Don't care."

Harry pressed, "You have an obligation."

"And you're getting on my nerves."

"Don't you want to make some noise, or are you already dead?"

"Get off my back," Alex said getting up from the table.

"Three of your guys are alive."

This made Alex stop.

"How you know that?" She tensed, looking at him with pending violence.

"Because they're not on this stack of accidental death and dismemberment," Harry said, holding up his palms. "And because information is my bread and butter."

"All right, then who's alive?"

"Mars, Corona and a man called Papa Smurf."

She made an unpleasant grimace. "You could be behind this." And glared at him like a panther to a deer.

"If I were your enemy, would we be talking now?"

Alex sat back. "Keep talking."

"My people had their ears turned up past couple of days."

"How?"

"We canvassed law-enforcement traffic nationwide."

She exhaled. "I'm not surprised you would."

"That's how things get done." Harry smiled. "Anyway, we set up trace programs to pick up any mention of your friends. And so far, sorry to say, they're all in the morgue. All except three." He paused, an expression of sympathy on his face.

"It's too late," Alex said quickly.

"Why?" Harry raised both eyebrows.

"I'm zero days without meds. The Program's toast and there ain't no refills. Moreau promised me he had a reserve he could give us, but . . . " She looked at her hands.

"Autoimmune suppressants to control the stuff in your blood, right?"

She eyed him, surprised that he knew her secrets and discomforted that she was so transparent.

"Without it, the bugs run amok and presto -- terminal cancers," he expounded. "Moreau told me all about it."

"That bastard. Then you know tumors are developing in my liver, pancreas, lymph nodes as we speak." Alex spoke freely. "I can already feel a lump in my chest that wasn't there days ago. He installed a built-in auto-destruct bomb, so the monsters don't run loose, get me? And that's the least of my troubles. A second drug keeps me from going batty so I can function in society. If that's gone, no telling how fast Ms. Hyde would emerge."

"We can duplicate the meds. Just need the formulas."

"Aw, Moreau didn't share." She made an ugly pout. "Fat chance then."

"What if there's a way? Organ replacement, blood doping, all the tricks of modern medicine to keep you stable for now?"

"You're not listening, old man," Alex said, losing patience. "I'm done. They turned off my Atlas. It's obvious they pulled the scripts. So, don't bother. What time I have left I want to find the pricks who killed Camila. And tear them to pieces." Her canines flashed white.

"We could certainly help in that department," Harry said. "We could provide intel, equip you, give you tactical support even. Will you let us?"

Alex grimaced, her expression a somber affirmative. "You're slimy, DeWitt. It oozes from your skin."

He smiled with calculation. "Everyone is slimy."

She pursed her lips, eyes wet, struggling to shake off the bitter emotions, only to chuckle painfully. "Let me die with dignity, ass-wipe."

"How do you plan to exact your revenge without my help?"

"Don't jerk me around, old man. I'll crush you."

"I'm being real."

She blinked her eyes to dispel the welling of tears. "It's obvious you want something. Spill it."

Harry dropped his guard for this moment. "I need your help to bring Porsche back. She's under police custody."

Alex laughed. "What has the bitch done now?"

"She was attacked. She survived."

"Pull your strings, you're the puppet master, I'm told."

He shook his head. "It's in AEL territory. Using our own security personnel and subcontractors for a jailbreak isn't smart."

"No balls."

"There are accords agreed by the Big Five. Any fief violation during the commission of a crime in another's territory is a cardinal breach, which incurs federal incursion. Next thing you know, there's an army of DC boys in our backyard popping up like prairie dogs."

"I'm expendable, right?"

"You're already dead, you said."

"You and she can kiss my ass."

"She saved your skin." Harry leaned closer, his breath against her face. "You owe a life -- yours."

"You're guilt-tripping me -- you must be desperate." Alex laughed, her tone ominous. "Okay, I'll get your girl -- but my way." She locked into his eyes. "After that, I want one thing from you -- information. Who set those dogs on us -- who killed Camila?"

"Okay."

"I give you one warning, DeWitt, don't stand between me and mine."

"Would never dream of it," Harry said, recoiling from her ferocity.