6:43 P.M. . . .

Within the Sanctum, the Council continued monitoring the Project. The computer-blue glow of the fifty flat screen monitors lit up the faces of the analysts and the supervisors as they observed Pandora with interest. This Project was very important to the Three, so very important to them. Excitement and wonder stimulated the atmosphere, electrified their bodies and minds.

“Lower the Center Screen,” Mr. Morta commanded in a deep voice.

A rectangular monitor, four by eight foot, lowered long ways from the ceiling. It positioned above them in the center of the table and could be viewed from both sides. The display showed an outline of a female body. Each of the major organs had bio-data streaming beside them.

An alarm sounded and stopped. In bold red letters at the top of the screen First Evolvement Achieved blinked. Chatter between the analysts increased as charged enthusiasm filled the Sanctum.

“Good . . . Good . . . The Alpha Phase, the First Evolvement of Pandora’s metamorphosis, has been reached. The Project sensed the presence of the bio-mechas,” Mr. Morta said, examining the bio-data on the Center Screen. “Pandora’s body is preparing itself to combat the Un-Men. Look at the subject’s bio-electricity. The levels are high enough to trigger the Second Evolvement, the Beta Phase.”

“Yes.” Ms. Nona smiled. “The Ultra-Epi, the genetically altered epinephrine hormone, we created for the Project acts as a souped up neurotransmitter. Pandora should reach the Second Evolvement with no difficulty.”

Mr. Decuma tapped across a H.H.C. touch screen with a pen stylus, pulling up reports from their Operative. “Maybe not.” He read over them. “Argus details Pandora has not responded to the Un-Men’s presence.” Mr. Decuma turned to his laptop. “Can the Project achieve the Beta Phase?” He typed on the keyboard, pulling up more reports on his computer. “Pandora seems to be withstanding the conditioning.” Mr. Decuma frowned and stated with concern, “If the Project does not react soon, the subject will die, and the Pandora Project will end.”

“Patience.” Mr. Morta twirled the gold ring on his dark brown finger. “We did not blindly pick the subject. Wait.”

Back in Etna Toys . . .

Kat hid behind the over turned table and wondered, “Why are these men trying to kill me? Why? Did I do something to them?” She looked to the black Beretta lying on the floor not too far from her. Its case laid open beside the weapon. “Or maybe I’m a wanted person? Maybe I committed a crime?”

The Un-Men fired again, and one of the bullets grazed her left shoulder. The pain triggered a latent instinct. She scurried to the gun, grabbed a clip sitting in the case, and inserted it. Kat pulled the sliding block to load the gun, and it made a metal clicking sound chick-chick. She wildly fired six shots over the cot. They missed.

She froze, hearing the men’s guns cocking, then something inside her clicked like a switch. The electrical field, the e-field, of her body changed. The impulses that normally traveled down the optic nerve surged, causing a split feed. Part of this electricity rushed across her irises, giving her eyes a blue-electrical glow.

Kat fired four shots with mechanical accuracy, hitting one man in the forehead and mid-chest and the other in the heart and lung. The one she shot in the head collapsed to his knees and fell back as the other fired at her.

“He must be wearing a vest,” Kat thought, moving back to the overturned table, took a deep breath, and rose, returning fire. The bullet hit the second in the head. He also fell to the floor as gunfire echoed across the old building. Silence followed, a maddening silence. One that cleared her head, let her think, let her realize. Fear turned to uncertainty and uncertainty to self loathing. She sat, leaning against the table, and breathed hard. In disbelief, Kat stared at the gun she rested on her lap. “How is it, I am good at killing?” Her next thought frightened her, made her sick. “That I feel nothing for these men I’ve murdered.” Kat felt as if she would throw up. “Is this the kind of person I am? A murderer? An emotionless killer?”

Within the Sanctum . . .

Mr. Morta cheered. “There.”

Analysts and supervisors high-fived each other in celebration.

Mr. Morta looked to the center monitor as Second Evolvement Achieved in bold red letters blinked. “The Beta Phase of the Project’s metamorphosis has successfully been reached.” Mr. Morta reviewed a report from Argus on a H.H.C. “Our Operative has seen Pandora’s extraordinary shooting ability. He believes the Project, when it is in the Second Evolvement, cannot miss. This far exceeds our expectations for the Beta Phase. We believed the Project would have an aptness for terminating bio-mechas, but this . . .”

“Yes,” Ms. Nona agreed. “This will be a useful skill, if it is true.” Excited, the Council woman grinned as she bit her cherry-red lower lip then asked, “Do you think the Project could reach the Gamma Phase today?”

“I believe we are jumping ahead.” Mr. Morta leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. “There are still three Un-Men remaining.”

“Yes, and does Pandora have skill or is it merely luck?” Mr. Decuma questioned. “More than half of the bio-mechas remain. Can the Project defeat them as easily as the first two?”

At Etna Toys . . .

The wind wailed outside, blowing debris in through the open front door. Kat stood, queasy, and made her way to the men she gunned down, killed in cold blood. Her eyes crackled with blue electricity in the darkness of the warehouse. She reached the men’s side. A black oil like liquid oozed from the hole in their heads.

“They’re not human, they’re . . .” She removed the tinted glasses of one, revealing not fleshy eyes, but glass robotic ones. The colored orbs shuddered as power surged through its body. They bugged out, and the bio-mechas’ hands gnarled with the mechanical pangs of death. Kat stared at its eyes, at the red rings with black centers that showed no spark of life, merely windows to the soulless.

“They’re not human,” Kat repeated, feeling a little better. “I didn’t kill anyone. I’m not a murderer.” The queasiness eased up, but her confusion remained as she realized, “They’re bio-mechas, model Un-Men.” Kat frowned, frustrated. “Why do I know this, when I can’t remember the simplest thing like my name?” She searched them, taking a spare clip from each. “I have a feeling I’ll need these.” She placed them in her right thigh pocket.

lub-DUB . . . lub-DUB . . .

Kat sensed the bio-mechas again, but this time she knew more than they were near, she perceived their location. Three walked the grounds just outside. She franticly searched the plant for a way out as the Un-Men split up. One of them walked through a side entrance. The bio-mecha fired at her. Kat ran, taking cover behind some machinery. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off metal, and she covered her head in fear. “Why do they keep coming after me?”

Terrified, Kat lost her concentration and the position of the other two. She dashed for the front door, her eyes wide with terror. More bullets whizzed by, she returned fire, and hit her mark. Kat continued running for the door, glancing at the third bio-mecha as it lay in a pool of black ooze. The last two Un-Men suddenly appeared in the doorway. She ran into one and fell backward. With uncanny speed, Kat fired twice as she fell and landed on her back hard, knocking the wind from her. One shot hit the Un-Man with the gun. The bio-mecha with the knife side stepped the second shot with electrical speed as if the Un-Man perceived her actions before she took them. Kat inhaled, holding her hurt chest, sucking in needed air.

The bio-mecha drew its Coffin Handled Bowie and stared at her curiously. None of the others had done this. The blazing-orange dot-light of its right lens glowed bright then brighter as if half its face burned. “The Pandora Project. . .” the Un-Man said, but not in a monotone as she had heard its brethren. The blazing-orange dot changed to deep red, blood-red, and the bio-mecha gazed at her as if looking into her soul. “Pandora . . .” The Un-Man’s voice was sadistically mellow and toyed with her, made her feel violated. “Pandora, I have found you.” The bio-mecha grinned, smiled as if it took pleasure in the hunt. “Target acquired.” The Un-Man took a step as the Project scurried backward on her hands and feet. “Moving forward with termination.” The bio-mecha lunged for her with the knife.

Kat rolled, and the blade struck concrete. She rose to one knee and aimed, pulling the trigger. Click. The gun was empty. Click. Click. She pulled the trigger again, still nothing. The Un-Man slowly stood from its kneeling position, took two quick steps, and kicked her in the ribs. She grabbed her side, rolling to her feet as the bio-mecha slashed toward her. Kat leaped back, lifting her hands defensively, and the blade cut across her left forearm. She cried out in pain as blood spilt to the gray floor.

The Un-Man wiped the red plasma from the bowie on its fingers. The bio-mecha’s face beamed, relishing in the combat. “The Pandora Project,” it whispered, fooling with her. “Pandora . . .” The bio-mecha attacked with the blade. Swish. Swish. The air screamed with each slash.

Kat evaded the attacks, then ran, rushing deeper into the dark building. “Why does it call me the Pandora Project? I thought my name was Kat.” She ejected the empty clip from the Beretta, dropped it to the floor with a clang, and pulled one from her thigh pocket. “Why can’t I hit it?” She pulled the sliding block, chick-chick, loading the gun, and fired twice behind. The bio-mecha continued after her, ducking the shots. “Is this what I was dreaming of?” Kat wondered, fleeing outside. “I wasn’t the predator, but the prey.”

Within the Sanctum, Mr. Morta smiled. “Not bad for the opening test. The Project achieved the first two Evolvements. Pandora delivered uncanny accuracy with the weapon we provided and successfully sensed the bio-mechas. Once it has achieved all the Phases, Pandora will be the perfect weapon.” He tapped his fingers together. “Set up another test, so we may analyze the range of the Project’s gifts and set Pandora down the path to perfection.”

Mr. Decuma nodded and typed up the documentation for the next test. He asked the female supervisor standing next to him, “Are the new reports on the Project ready?”

“They’ll be right over,” she answered.

Within a minute, the male supervisor approached. “Here are the reports you requested on her, Mr. Decuma.”

“Her?” the Council said in unison.

“Yes, her,” the supervisor answered, taken aback. “The Project.”

“We do not refer to Pandora as she or her,” Mr. Decuma said in reprimand. “It is an experiment and is to be referred to as such.” In disdain he added, “To say she or her in reference implies the Project has rights.” Mr. Decuma made it quite clear. “Pandora has none.”

“Of course, Mr. Decuma.” The male supervisor handed him the H.H.C. “My error. It will not happen again.” The supervisor returned to monitoring the analysts.

Ms. Nona scanned the bio-data on the center monitor and the same data on her laptop. “There seems to be no adverse reaction to the Ultra-Epi. Though complications could arise in the future. Also the Project’s body is not rejecting the adrenal gland we genetically altered to create the souped up epinephrine.” Ms. Nona made a few notes. “We will have to monitor for any palpitations, tachycardia, anxiety, headaches, tremors, acute pulmonary edema, and hypertension.”

“Yes, some of those could be a problem.” Mr. Morta nodded. “We will see if it was wise to alter the gland, instead of administering injections.”

Mr. Decuma finished setting up the next test. “The Factory will be more than happy to assist us as one of our sister departments in the Sphinx Corporation.”

“That and the fact they are developing the Un-Men as their new line of bio-mecha assassins,” Ms. Nona added.

“Yes, the Factory’s line of bodyguards was very profitable for the Sphinx Corporation.” Mr. Morta leaned back in his chair. “Now the Factory hopes to improve their power and standing by releasing an unmatched line of bio-mecha assassins. The Pandora Project is an ideal forum to refine the Un-Men’s programing. The Factory will be able to create the perfect killing machine.”

The female supervisor handed Ms. Nona a report. “There seems to be a problem.” The Council woman read over the H.H.C. “The Project has been unable to disable one of the Un-Men.” Ms. Nona checked her reports. “It is a Type Four model.”

“Terminate the test,” Mr. Morta ordered, sitting upright. “Request that the Factory recall its bio-mecha. Killing four of the five Un-Men is not a failure.”

“The Factory reports a problem. The Un-Man has ignored its recall,” Mr. Decuma relayed. “It seems they have a rogue on their hands.”

“A rogue, you say?” Mr. Morta said and thought, “This Un-Man must be exceptional to survive so long against Pandora. This is most interesting.”

“Yes, like I said a rogue,” Mr. Decuma answered and asked, “Shall I have Argus assist the Project?”

“No, not at this time.” Calmly, Mr. Morta folded his hands and leaned back in the chair. “Pandora must learn to survive on its own.” He thought, “Anyway, we not only need to develop the Project’s body, but its character. And what better way than adversity, a foe with a face.” Mr. Morta looked to the screen. “In the past, great warriors went up against other great warriors to see who was better, to test their mettle. Strength and endurance grows through conflict just as steel sharpens steel. The Rogue will be Pandora’s adversary.”