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Spy Swap, Part 9 (Special Agent to Hot Spy Girl TG)
🕑 Added 2024-08-30 22:36:31 +0000 UTCA Commission for Al
Finn Langston is the best of the best, a dashingly handsome secret agent who always saves the world and always gets the girl. But when he is called upon by The Agency to infiltrate the private island of Sebastian Whitlock, a devious playboy industrialist who may be angling for world domination, Finn meets his greatest challenge yet: being turned into a raven-haired spy beauty to seduce Whitlock, and find out what he is planning. But the new and beautiful Fiona may find her cover going far, far deeper than she could have imagined . . .
Part 9: The Woman with the Golden Tranq-Gun
The pair moved through the facility quickly and dispassionately. Agent One took the lead. She’d been in more than a few places like this on her many missions, and it always required ruthless efficiency. Adrian had brought a silencer for her Beretta, but even that would only obscure so much sound. Far better to knock unconscious and incapacitate. Adrian proved up for the challenge; he was not as quick or expert as her, but then she wasn’t quite used to her female body still, and so they worked to take out guards along gantries and walkways in a paired fashion, watching each other’s backs and removing obstacle after obstacle. They had to hurry: Adrian needed to find the security box. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long.
“Shit,” the man said, ducking behind a wall next to Fiona. “It looks like bullet-proof glass. Perfectly shielded. No access unless he brings the door down.”
This would usually be the time where I’d advise a lovely female helper to . . . ah. Of course.”
Fiona sighed and began to unzip her catsuit, stirring her weapon at the rear of her belt so it was out of sight when faced from the front.
“What are you doing?” Adrian said, partly spellbound by her incredibly cleavage.
“Hoping to achieve that effect, evidently. Stay here, and come when I signal. You’ll know when.”
She adjusted her breasts in her catsuit, making sure they wouldn’t slip out entirely, but ensuring that they looked like they could at any moment. Then, shaking her still-wet hair out behind her back, she sauntered around the corner, putting on the most sexually attractive strut imaginable. It was surprisingly natural how well she could rock her hips side to side, how she could make her breasts bounce just that little more with a subtle wiggle of her shoulders, how she could give a sultry smile as she approached the security box. The man within looked up, the blood running from his brain to his groin to judge from his expression. He pressed a button on the control panel.
“Halt. Uh, identify yourself!”
“I’m Jessica,” she purred, drawing so close that her breasts were almost pressed against the glass. “Jessica Lane. Sebastian said I was coming. Said there was something that needed . . . fixing about me. Something to make me all . . . better. He didn’t tell you?”
‘No. I would have heard - we had a security outage not long ago. Some of our radios aren’t responding.’
Ha, she thought. And neither will the men if you see them, unless you wake them.
“Ohhh,” she said, sounded positively sexual in the way she moaned, “that’s so . . . disappointing. I really don’t want to let Mr Whitlock down. He sent me here as a . . . gift. Said you big strong security boys are doing such a fine job that you could use some lift to your spirits, among other things.”
She bit her lip deliberately. God, I’m really damn good at this. Seems I’m a natural seducer in any form.
The security box man swallowed. She tempted him further by playing with her zipper, lowering it suggestively to reveal her bare navel, her perfect toned stomach.
“Um, uh . . . sure. I’ll just need to evaluate your-”
“He told me to come straight to you. I’ve had to turn down all the other guys, but if you don’t want a bit of fun . . .”
“No! I mean, yes! I do! Um, come on in. I’ll be able to evaluate you better in here anyway.”
“Mhmmm. And I’ll be able to . . . ‘evaluate’ you too, sexy.”
He hit a series of buttons and the door slid open. She sauntered in, still putting up the pose of a deeply attractive woman who was as kittenish as they came. She grinned, finger on her teeth in a coy pose as he approached her.
Then she swept his legs out from under him, brought out her Beretta, and placed it against his temple.
“Adrian!”
He came in silently. “That was . . . quite the performance to hear. I wish I’d seen it.”
“It was a one-time performance,” she quipped, though she took a little longer than she should have pulling up her zip again. The man squirmed beneath her.
“P-please don’t kill me!”
“We won’t,” she hissed, so long as you help us. We’re looking to find out what Whitlock’s up to. What is this facility?”
“It’s . . . it’s reprogramming and testing.”
“Reprogamming what?”
“The - the women! Mr Whitlock’s women! They come here after completing some kind of job for him on the main island, then we wipe their memories. Sometimes he asked us to change them. You know, make them a bit younger, give them more attractive features. Sometimes we lower their intelligence. Other times, if it’s a man, we . . .”
“Denny Christmas,” Adrian said, exhaling. “It really was him. You turned him into a woman.”
The security figure, whose name tag read ‘Milos’, managed to cough back a sob. “N-not me. I just work security. In the facility proper is where all the-”
Fiona made a point of pulling back the pin on the gun just to stop the excuses.
“Tell my friend here everything he needs to know to take the controls of your little security box. Access codes and everything. And how to stop anything reaching the main island. We’ll also need to know the layout of this place, and where to find this testing facility. Are there any subjects here?”
“A - a few. I don’t know all their names!”
“Agent,” she said, indicating Adrian to get to the controls. “And if you lie, Milos, I’ll put a bullet in your lap first, do you understand?”
He nodded. In the next few minutes, he squealed like a pig and gave them everything they needed. Adrian worked the console expertly, and soon they were set up.
“The security system is down, but no alerts can go out,” he said. “We should get personal alerts if visitors are coming our way, at least.”
“Good,” she said. “You’ve got a layout of this place.”
“I do. We’re not too far from this brainwashing location. Or the transformation area. It seems to be the same place.”
“Any need for this man?”
He shook his head, disgusted at the security figure. Fiona was too, but . . .
There’s a difference between assassination and murder, and this is it.
She clocked him out cold with the end of her beretta. Perhaps he’d just have sweet dreams of her in the catsuit, fully taking it off. If he did, he didn’t deserve them.
“Ready to go then?” Fiona asked.
“Yeah,” Adrian said, adjusting his glasses. “Holy shit, this is bigger than I thought.”
“We’re not to the end, I suspect. This Damocles tech hasn’t even come into it yet, but I feel they’re connected somehow, and not in a good way.”
“Indeed. We’ll move quickly. Um, your zip is still a bit, uh, low.”
Fiona looked down and realised that she had left the catsuit zip descended just enough that it hinted at her very impressive cleavage. Giving in to that flirtiness, she raised her eyebrows at the nerdy but cute agent.
“I think I’ll leave it,” she said. “Gives me some breathing room.”
She left the box, and this time, she did let him have a view. But then it was back to infiltration, and the pair fell into perfect sync. Most of the guards were taken care of, and only two more had to be dispatched before they reached the entrance to the facility. The door to the testing area indicated as much in stencilled typeface. Using the access Adrian had got them they scanned their stolen keycards from the security guards they’d just taken out. The moment the doors opened, the pair burst in, brandishing their weapons.
“Nobody move! Get down, get down! Hands on your heads!”
The room was impressively large, the walls covered in pipes and panels and electrical outlets. Advanced technology was everywhere, and the floor was clearly cooled, a chill mist rising just to keep the tech from overloading. There were three scientists in full protective garb who fell to the ground on the main area, and a third near a pod-like thing up a small flight of stairs. Three women were also present, each wearing hospital gowns. One was sedated, the other two were waiting nearby, their looks panicked.
“Who are you? What are you doing!?”
“I’ll be asking the questions here,” Fiona said, sweeping the room. Adrian took the other side, but as far as they could tell, there were no combatants or other security measures they hadn’t dispatched with or turned off already.
“What’s happening here?” Adrian asked one of the scientists.
“R-reprogramming. Whitlock sent us three new women whose roles in preparing the facility are completed. He wanted them altered.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. She recognised the sedated woman.
“This is Amelia Novak. She’s a world-renowned astrophysicist from Czechia. She helped design the Launch II rocket. I’ve met her once. She’s also a classic pianist too.”
A scientist nodded. “She - she’s due to be changed. To be made appropriate for the next role!”
Adrian stuck a pistol right in the man’s face. “Which is what? As Sebastian’s concubine?”
“N-no! As the Czechian foreign minister’s wife! He . . . he has an arrangement with Whitlock, I think. I don’t know all the details, nobody does! But whatever support the minister is giving him means-”
“Means he gets a perfect Stepford wife,” Fiona murmured. “And more, perhaps.”
The scientist stammered. “I don’t know any other details. We just program the Machine. We -”
Fiona silenced him with a hand gesture. She stared up at the pod, and now that the adrenaline had gone down, realised what she was seeing.
There’s no way. Oh, but there is. And it makes perfect sense now. Everything does.
It was the same Machine as the one that the Agency had used to transform her. Tiresias’ Creadle The same one that Wrench had worked out. And Sebastian had a duplicate. Or perhaps even another original, pilfered off of the black market or something.
He must have had it for years.
“Is that what I think it is?” Adrian asked.
She nodded. “It is. It explains everything.” She lowered her voice to a whisper even as the scientists were all motioned to a corner of the room near the conscious and terrified women. “When the Machine changed me, it didn’t just turn me into a woman, it changed my mind. I think of myself as female, Adrian. I am a woman, for all intents and purposes, until I changed back.”
“You have seemed rather comfortable in your role.”
She ignored the light jest. “The man who worked the Cradle - this Machine - at the Agency indicated to me that our own understanding of it was limited. If Sebastian Whitlock has managed to go far further than we have, it makes sense that he can not only fully change and program men and women into new bodies, but alter their personalities beyond the extremes of what I’ve dealt with. And more than that, he can apparently program a sort of . . . coded bloodlust or brainwashed mass hysteria into them as well. Think of the beach knife fight I told you about.”
Adrian’s expression turned to deeper concern. “Do you think he’s going to assassinate all these important individuals, then? Use these women as honey traps in order to kill them upon a single activated trigger?”
“Perhaps. But what’s the gain? And how does it coincide with the Damocles technology he may be constructing? So many of these women are physicists, engineers, scientists, programmers.” She raised her voice. “You two! What do you do?”
The women stood to attention, their expressions terrified. Whatever pretext they’d been brought her under, they clearly had no idea of what was going on. Both were rather plain, the left one rather plump. It was unlikely to be a permanent state of affairs if Whitlock had his way.
“We-”
They were interrupted by another voice.
“They’re communication specialists. The real question is, who are you?”
Fiona turned, as did Agent Spiros. Both brandished their weapons, but the twofigures who had entered the room were not presenting themselves as a threat at all. Fiona had to blink, realising who she was looking at.
“Agent Thirty-Nine? Agent Seven?”
Both women gave a brief look of confusion, clearly not recognising Agent One in her new feminine state. They were both wearing infiltration suits, and it ‘suited’ them quite well. Nothing so daring as Fiona’s own catsuit, but definitely svelte black outfits that conformed to their athletic-yet-attractive frames. Agent Thirty-Nine’s long blonde hair was put back in a professional ponytail, her tall Nordic frame making her quite the sight to see. Her skin was pale as ever, but beautiful. Agent Seven’s own dark pigmentation was a contrast, and her tight curls were likewise pulled back; into a bun, in her case. She had an hourglass figure and an impressive bust that Fiona was very well-acquainted with, though it was not as impressive as her own now, she realised. Still, their history together came as a punch to Fiona’s gut, one that hit an emotional nerve. She nearly lowered her weapon.
“What are you two doing here?” she demanded.
Adrian whispered in her ear: “Friends of yours?”
“Agency members. Ones who have been missing, while the rest of our female agents were burned, their identities leaked out.”
Cassandra held out her hands. “Wasn’t us. Besides, how do you know about that? Are you Agency? I would have recognised a cute thing like you.”
Fiona gritted her teeth. How much can I trust her? But seems like her. She always did like to bat for both teams. And they both appear unchanged.
“I don’t recognise her either,” Thirty-Nine said. Her name was Sonya. She also raised her hands. “But you appear to be enemies of Whitlock like we are, and trained field agents of that. From your companion’s dialect I’d guess he’s local Greek intelligence, at least?”
“You might be right,” Spiros said. “But that doesn’t tell us who you are. If you’ve been missing all this time, how can we trust you, given the nature of this facility?”
The two exchanged a glance, and it was Cassandra who sighed. “I suppose you can’t. We’ve had to go deep. Real deep. Feeding information off this island is nearly impossible, especially once Sebastian has you chipped. Both of us have already fallen prey to this machine. It took great willpower to resist it, and even then entire weeks were wasted, stuck as his submissive armcandy to show off to his friends. But after everything we’ve heard about something big happening tomorrow, we decided we had to act, even if we didn’t have our full minds back. It seems we chose a good time.”
“Well, you always did know how to have a good time,” Fiona quipped, before realising what she’d let slip loose.
Cassandra’s eyes widened, and finally she recognised who she was talking to. “Oh my God . . . Finn? Agent One?”
Fiona blushed furiously, aware of just how curvaceously female and tightly dressed she was at the moment. “I’m Fiona now. For now, I should say. It’s just a temporary situation.”
Cassandra giggled, and the more stoic Sonya smirked, her interest clearly piqued by this sight. “Well, I can’t say I ever imagined this sight! But it’s not a bad one - is it wrong to say I’m jealous? I don’t think I could handle that chest though.”
“Wait until you hear her secret identity while on the island,” Adrian added.
“Shush!” Fiona snapped, before sighing. She lowered her weapon, as did Adrian.
“Okay, I have to hear this,” Sonya said.
“No you don’t.”
“It’s Alexandra Goodchest,” Adrian said.
The two women burst out laughing, and even Adrian had a chuckle. Fiona simply folded her arms beneath her breasts as she waited, but this had the unintentional effect of emphasising her wonderful globes further, which set the women laughing yet again.
“Oh, that is good,” Cassandra said, wiping her eyes. “Sebastian will love that.”
“Not if I can help it,” Agent One said, reaching up towards her pearls. “Not once I -”
She paused. She had only looked away for a second, and suddenly Cassandra had a gun trained on her. Sonya also. Adrian froze as well, having put his gun away.
Shit. Shit.
“Cassandra-”
“Sorry, Finn,” the other female spy said. “Sebastian got me long ago. Thanks to this machine, I’m all his. We both are. And soon, you will be too.”
“You’ve been brainwashed this entire time.”
“Not brainwashed. Just . . . enlightened. Don’t move, or I’ll fire.” She indicated to the gun in her hand, which gleamed a golden colour. “Nice little thing, isn’t it? A present for Sebastian when he made me part of his all-female bodyguard. He gave me a golden dress and golden jewellery and then this golden gun. He told me that I’d be one of his finest concubines, but only once the mission succeeds. I cannot wait.”
Agent One grit her teeth. “And what is this mission?”
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” Sonya said. “
Fiona’s mind ran through a hundred scenarios, but Cassandra was a crack shot and a trained sniper, and the same was true of Sonya as well. She cursed herself for letting her guard down; the other brainwashed women had seemed uncharacteristically peppy that he had started to make foolish assumptions. He lowered his hands, trying to ready his brace to fire of a shot when-
Pwit! Pwit!
Fiona dove to the ground, raising her gun to fire several wounding shots at her former allies. But they were just as fast and had as much cover, slipping to the sides behind a thick control panel. She rolled as well, stuck her hand up to her neck to check the wound, which should have been terrible. Instead, she found herself removing a single golden dart.
Oh, a tranquiliser. Of course. At least with a dose that small I’ll have a few minutes to . . .
She began to go drowsy almost immediately. Opposite her Adrian was managing to fire back, though he now had a second tranquilliser on his arm. He was looking a little inebriated, but she was already worse off than him.
Stupid female body. Smaller. Takes less . . . to be . . . affected . . .
“Cassandra!” Adrian cried, but it was already too late.
Agent One fell to the grated floor with a thud, and soon after so did Adrian. She was only loosely aware of this, however. The last thing she saw was two beautiful, brainwashed women standing over her, a space between them.
She imagined she’d be filling that space soon.
To Be Continued . . .
