LFR #6: Hate

La Femme Rayonlune: Hate
Co-authored with Moonbeam
Written May 2001

Rated R
Synopsis: A parody fic … the story of level five operative Moonbeam and the way we wish LFN had been.
In this chapter: Hillinger returns, Quinn is conscious, Moonbeam gets laid, Ops questions Maddy’s motives, and Michael gets a new pain in his ass…

Disclaimer: The characters you recognize are property of LFN Productions, Warner Bros., and USA Network. The characters you don’t recognize were created by the authors. No infringement is intended.


Section One: Common Area

“Oh, shit.”

Jason frowned at his brother, who was staring past him. He turned to see a brown-haired geek walk into Section, wearing an expensive suit. “Who’s that?”

“That is Greg Hillinger, the pain in my ass. Why is he still alive?” Birkoff stomped off to him, and Jason followed. “Greg, long time no see!”

“Seymour!” Greg looked between the identical twins and frowned. “You seem to have multiplied. I guess Section needed two of you for one of me.”

“I’m Jason,” he greeted, sticking out his hand.

Greg shook it politely. “Great, a Canadian with a Southern accent. And a bad one at that!”

Jason scowled at him and walked off.

“Greg, what are you doing here? Last time I saw you, you were on the road to abeyance.”

“Yes, well, George pulled through for me.”

“George is dead.”

“Yeah, that’s what he wants you to believe!” Greg glanced around Section appreciatively. “Well, looks like you did a decent enough job keeping things intact while I was away. I’ll just be going to my post now.”

“Wait a minute. You work here?”

“Yes, I do, so you and your clone can just stay out of my way.” He shoved past him, eyeing a nearby woman lustfully.

Birkoff continued to glare at him for a full five minutes, his blood pressure skyrocketing. Hillinger was not about to intrude into his domain. Seething, he marched up to the Perch, ignoring the fact that it was dark.

***

Section One: The Perch

Déshabillez-moi!

Operations watched Madeline as she removed her clothes in time with the French music. She tossed her thin scarf at him, and he wrapped it around his head, howling wildly. It was getting very hard (pun intended) to keep his focus. He wanted to take her, right there and then. However, Madeline loved to tease, and she was still half-dressed. Too much clothes for his liking. He reached out to help her along, but she kicked him back into place, running her toes down to his crotch and back up again.

“No, no, no. Naughty Paul. No touching.”

“But, Madeline…” he groaned. “I can’t take much more of this…”

Birkoff stomped into the Perch. “Sir, did you see–holy shit!” He shielded his eyes quickly. “Uh, I’m, uh…”

Birkoff hid his face with his hands and Operations hid his erection with her scarf. Madeline laughed at both of them. She stood there in her bra, underwear, garter belt, and once-hidden gun strapped to her thigh, unashamed of her perfect figure (and harboring a few exhibitionist tendencies). “What’s the problem, Birkoff?”

“Um, Greg Hillinger, ma’am…” He lifted his head to see if it was safe, but she hadn’t covered up, and he hid his eyes again. “He’s back.”

“He’s dead,” Operations stated, looking at his pants in exasperation.

“No, he’s very much alive and sitting at my post. And apparently, George isn’t dead either. Just thought you might like to know.” He chuckled nervously. “I’ll, uh, be going back to work now. You two just…do whatever it is you were doing…” He gulped. “Um, yeah. Bye.” He ran down the stairs, taking two at a time.

Madeline looked out the windows with a pair of binoculars that she retrieved from her bra. “He’s right. The little piss ant is back.”

***

Section One: Corridor

Moonbeam popped her gum, listening to it echo in the hallway. She was on her way to shoot some pool with the Torture Twins on level thirteen. She called for the elevator.

“Psst!”

She frowned, looking around and seeing no one. She turned her attention back to the elevator.

“Psst! Moonbeam!”

She rolled her eyes. It was Nikita. She wasn’t really in the mood for her right now. Sure, the free sex was great, but like everyone else at Section, she hated her. All for the mission, she reminded herself.

The whispering continued. “Moonbeam! Come here! I need you…”

“What for?” she asked, not bothering to lower her voice.

Nikita ran down the hall and lunged at her. Smiling devilishly, she replied, “You know what for…” She pressed her lips to hers, the kiss long and deep.

Moonbeam gasped when she was released, catching her breath.

The elevator doors opened, and Nikita stepped inside. She stuck her finger in her mouth and pulled out a strand of gum. “If you want this back, you’d better get in here.”

The doors began to close, and Moonbeam slipped inside. “Is that a challenge?”

The elevator remained stopped between two floors for the next several hours…

***

Section One: Birkoff’s Quarters

Birkoff glanced in the monitor to see Walter standing outside his room. He opened the door. “Hey, Walter.”

“Hey, Birkoff, can I come in?”

“Sure. I was just playing darts.”

“Darts? I didn’t know you played darts.”

He grinned. “Not darts exactly.” He gestured to a picture of Greg Hillinger on the wall that was riddled with pin-sized holes. “Just an outlet for my aggression.”

Walter nodded, examining the photograph. “You’re a good shot. His eye has almost been completely poked out.”

He grinned happily. “So what brings you here?”

“Just needed someone to talk to.”

“What about?”

He sighed, sitting in a chair. “Well, it’s about Nikita. I hate her.”

“Join the club.” He smiled sympathetically. “So what’s your story?”

“All she ever does is whine, and I seemed to be her listening post. Not a job I wanted, believe me. That girl complains about everything! One day it’s Michael, the next day Operations. And then last week, she had the nerve to whine about Madeline beating her up! Finally, I just said, ‘You deserved it!’ and slammed the gate down.”

Birkoff laughed. “What did she do?”

“She, uh, came back later, and, um…”

“What?”

Walter lowered his voice. “She tied me to a chair using my bandanas.” He glared at Birkoff, who was trying hard to contain his amusement. “Hey, what can I say? I thought it was some kinky sex act!”

“You hate her, but you want to sleep with her?”

“Everyone wants to sleep with her, Birkoff.” He groaned as the incident replayed in his mind. “Well, she certainly knows how to instigate revenge. Kill Madeline’s plants, tie me up with my own accessories, take Operations’ Viagra…”

“Operations uses Viagra?”

“Unconfirmed intel.”

Birkoff wrinkled his nose at that. He certainly didn’t seem to need any before. “Well, I’ve got an idea. How about we download a picture of Nikita and throw darts at it?”

Walter smiled sincerely. “You’re a real friend, Birkoff.”

***

Section One: Medical

Operations limped into the infirmary, Madeline holding him up on one side. “Help him,” she ordered, and a doctor led him to an empty bed.

“What happened?” Dr. Bob asked.

“Um, I fell,” Operations replied sheepishly.

“I can see that. What were you doing?”

“Um…”

Dr. Bob sighed. “I should have known. Another sexual escapade gone wrong?”

“You could say that,” Madeline answered. “Now fix him; we weren’t finished.”

“Look, you two, you’re going to have to cut back on these little incidents. I can’t keep lying on your medical forms.”

Madeline pulled a tommy gun from her back pocket and pointed it at him. “You can, and you will, or the next medical form we see will be your death certificate.”

He nodded in agreement. “Okay, let’s think for a minute… You were in a skiing accident and broke your ankle.”

“And the scratch marks on his back?”

“The scratch marks…” Dr. Bob lifted up Operations’ shirt, looked at his back, and winced. “Ouch. Um, okay, you were skiing and you fell into a pile of pine needles, breaking your ankle and scratching up your back.”

“Whatever, just put some medicine on it.” Madeline scowled at the physician but smiled sweetly at Operations. “I’m going to water my plants, but I’ll be right back.” She kissed the tip of his nose and left medical.

“Okay, hurry,” he called after her, gritting his teeth as the doctor bandaged his foot.

“Paul, darling, is that you?”

He turned at the sound of his name and gasped. “Quinn! When did you regain consciousness?”

“This morning. I’ve missed you, my little sugar noodle.”

Operations shuddered at the nickname. “Hurry up, Dr. Bob.”

“You aren’t even concerned about me?” Quinn whined.

“No. Why would I be?”

“Because we made love!”

“You drugged me! You put something in the sake to make me have sex with you.”

“There was nothing wrong with that sake! The only thing that it did right was make you forget about Madeline! She’s so wrong for you! I mean, look how she beats you! Your beautiful skin, all cut and bruised… She doesn’t appreciate how wonderful you really are.”

Madeline returned to the infirmary and saw Quinn sitting up in bed. Snakes sprouted from her hair. “What is she doing up?”

Dr. Bob shrugged. “She was in a coma for a long time.”

“Not long enough,” she said, removing boxing gloves from her other back pocket.

“Hey, hey, I can’t have you beating up on my patient.” Madeline stared fiercely at him, and he swallowed hard. “At least wait until her current injuries are healed before you start causing new ones.”

Madeline walked over to Quinn’s bed and disconnected the IV drip. “No more morphine for you.” She turned to Dr. Bob, giving him an icy glare that made him think twice about reconnecting the IV. “Come on, Paul, I’ve prepared my office for our next activity.”

Casting a sideways glance at Quinn, he followed her out of medical on crutches.

***

Section One: Containment

Michael had spent the last hour getting to Containment through the air ducts, since there seemed to be something wrong with the elevator. He stood outside the door to Gill Bates’ cell, watching the monitor. Bates lay on his bed, drawing invisible circles on the mattress.

Michael rewired the security system so the cameras were out for two minutes, then slipped inside.

Bates sat up, grinning broadly. “Michael!”

He walked around the bed like he was interrogating a prisoner, saying nothing.

“You don’t remember me, do you, my little chaud-lapin?” He smiled slightly. “The last time I called you that, you ran off. Why?”

“Who are you?”

“I think you know.”

“Either you’ve done a lot of research on me…”

“Not likely. How would I know our special nickname?”

“…or you really are Simone.”

“Simon,” he corrected. “Simon Enomis, also known as Gill Bates, also known as Simone Samuelle.”

Michael gasped, finally hearing the words. “How did you… I mean, how did I not know that you were…”

“Well, I was always shy in bed…”

He straightened. Of course… “You’re on the list to be terminated in the morning. They no longer have a use for you.”

Bates nodded. “I figured as much.” He looked into Michael’s eyes. “Do you have a use for me?”

Two blinks was the only movement he made before running out of the room, his heart pounding in his chest.

***

Section One: Birkoff’s Quarters

Inside, Birkoff and Walter were laughing hysterically as they launched darts at Nikita’s image. Slender projectiles stuck out of her nostrils and jutted from her forehead.

There was a knock at the door. Hoping it wasn’t Nikita, Birkoff pulled it open. It was Madeline. “Uh, hi…” He blushed, having difficulty visualizing her in anything but her undergarments.

“I’ve been observing you and Walter’s behavior for the past hour.”

“We can explain,” Walter interrupted. “See, Nikita was-”

Madeline gave him an icy stare. He quieted. She continued, “I was wondering if I might join you.”

The two men glanced at each other curiously. Birkoff spoke. “Um, sure. You want to do target practice on Nikita?”

“No.” She cocked her head to the side. “Here.”

Madeline took out a picture of Quinn dressed as Baby Spice that she downloaded off the internet. Birkoff tacked it to the wall where Nikita’s picture had been. Walter handed her a dart.

This time, she shook her head. “No, thank you.” From behind her back, she retrieved a shotgun and cocked it Linda-Hamilton-Terminator-2 style. “I brought my own weapon.”

***

Section One: Comm

Birkoff stared at the computer screen, sucking up the last of his Sex on the Beach and glaring at the back of Hillinger’s head. Messages flashed across his screen, most of them from Jason regarding the tightly clothed female operatives in the vicinity. Suddenly, something began to blink brightly. He sat his glass down and read it. His eyes lit up, and he jumped to his feet.

Greg rushed over to him. “What’s going on?”

Birkoff slapped the speaker to contact the Perch. “Sir!”

“What is it?” Operations asked gruffly.

“We just received a message from one of our operatives in San Francisco. The udrive company has permanently shut down. Apparently, they lost too much business when Red Cell switched over to javascript.”

He grinned broadly. “This is excellent news! Birkoff, bring out the good china. This calls for a celebration!”

***

Section One: Corridor

Michael glided out of the antique phone booth, dressed in his Super Mikey tights and cape. A large M graced the front of his skin-tight outfit. He had to act quickly; there may be a big party in progress, but there was no telling when some horny operatives would slip down to Containment in search of a quieter place. He couldn’t get caught, not when he had to save Simon.

He pressed the button to the elevator, but it still seemed to be out of service. Sighing, he headed back to the air ducts, his cape swishing behind him.

***

Section One: Common Area

Nearly everyone showed up for the celebration. An elaborate buffet had been laid out on the briefing table, and a wet bar had been established at one end. Operations had intended on it being a big event, but all of the china was broken within ten minutes. And when Nameless Operative #1 shouted, “Everyone, get pissed!” all hell broke loose.

Birkoff piped some Juno Reactor through the sound system. Walter mixed drinks. Jason pushed the buffet onto the floor and started dancing on the table. Even Quinn showed up in a wheelchair.

Nameless Operative #2 took a swing at the enormous piñata hanging from the ceiling, but too much alcohol made him miss. He accidentally whacked Quinn over the head, and she wheeled away due to the force. Madeline grinned and whispered, “Do that again, and you might get a name other than ‘anonymous.'”

The man nodded and chased after the rolling wheelchair.

Operations sighed, sitting in a chair while his crutches leaned against the wall. His exquisite party had turned sour. He hated it when he didn’t get his way. And now, since he was laid up, he couldn’t even get to the bar for a drink. To top it off, Madeline was dancing with Nameless Operatives #3, #4, and #5, leaving Operations alone to think about what Quinn had said.

Maybe she was right. Madeline didn’t seem to respect him; all she wanted him for was sex. Of course, in the beginning, all he wanted her for was for sex, so it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. But somewhere along the way, he had fallen in love with her, and that was a really bad idea. Now there was no going back; Madeline was like a drug, and he was a hopeless addict. The sex was fabulous, and he didn’t really mind getting injured now and again. Madeline was quite the sadist, a perfect match to his somewhat masochistic personality. But still… What did she want out of their relationship?

***

Section One: Containment

Michael soared into Simon’s room, startling the man from his sleep. “Come with me if you want to live.”

Simon frowned at the line but took Michael’s hand just the same. Together, they escaped into the darkness.

***

Les Barbouzes: Apartment 7

Michael unlocked the door and slid inside, Simon right behind him. “You’ll be safe here.” He sat his keys on the small table by the door, next to a tall phallic statue, and turned on the lights.

Simon gave the apartment the once-over and nodded in acceptance. “Why did you rescue me?”

He stared at him blankly. “There are fresh towels in the linen closet that match the bathroom accessories. The bedroom is just beyond that door.”

“Are you staying as well?”

“I-”

“Please? It’s been so long since I’ve felt your mouth against mine, your hands roaming my body…” As he spoke, he slid his fingers along Michael’s spandex-covered chest, tracing the M. “Your tongue…hot and wet…”

He groaned, feeling himself harden as the traveling hands went lower. “Oh, Simone…”

“Simon.”

“Whatever.” He pulled him close, kissing him passionately. “Yes, I’ll stay. I want to be with you.” Michael unbuckled Simon’s pants and gently removed his manhood. He frowned. “Um, is it supposed to be this color?”

“Yes. The plastic surgeons didn’t change it.” Simon leaned back, moaning, as Michael began to stroke him gently. “Have you been with a man before?”

“Counting you?”

“Have you been with a man before and known it?”

“No,” he answered quietly. “I suppose you could say I’m a virgin.”

Simon grinned broadly and pulled out a Twinkie. “Then you’re in for the ride of your life.”

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