---

 

I was just doing normal Deena things that afternoon, done with classes, studying finished (only had morning classes that day) and was going through things on Face book, email and that kind of stuff.

To be honest, it still boggled me that Deena, me, had so many friends, and not just the casual type that you get on facebook. I received around fifty emails a day,and thanks to a good spam filter none of those were ads, or trying to to convince me I could make a fortune by working online.

The two bright red exclamation points by one, sent to me from [email protected], caught my attention right away. I'd flagged anything from anyone with those initials or using Lena or Luthor in the name.

It was from Lena, as I'm sure you've figured out already.

D.

I have some information, lots of it. Call me.

There was a phone number in the message, but that I'm not going to share.

I got my phone and keyed in the number in the email, ready to close the call if someone I didn't know answered. I could always throw the phone away and get another one, after all. Pay as you go phones are nice that way. Plus I had added a few little things — supernatural, of course — that would make it at best difficult to trace where I was when using it.

“You have reached the number of Gig.dot net. If you don't have legitimate business here, hang up or you will regret it . If you do, leave a message and I will get back to you.”

“Nice message, Lena.” I spoke after the familiar beep. “It's Deena, Diana, whatever. This is my Deena voice so you probably don't recognize it. I'll just say this right now. Dolores.”

It was a mere fifteen seconds before my phone chirped again, once I'd closed that message.

“Diana?”

“Hi, Lena, and it's Deena, just now. But hello. Your email said you had information?”

“Yeah, lots.” She actually sounded a little sick as she answered. “But I can't tell you over the phone.”

“I'll be there in a few minutes.” I answered then chuckled. “Just don't hit the roof when I say hello this time, okay?”

“I know you're coming this time.” Lena answered. “This is not nice, stuff, Deena.”

“On my way.” I answered, shut off the phone, and changed to Diana.

It's really amazing how fast you can get from St. Louis to Chicago when mere physical constraints don't apply.

I just lifted out of my apartment, floated long enough to orientate on where I was and where I wished to go, then was hovering over the warehouse that Doris and Lena called home.

Then I went in.

Lena was in the same room I'd met her in the last time.

“Hi Lena.” I announced myself and settled to the floor.

“Heya, Di.” She answered without so much as a flinch, but she was also working the keyboard in front of some monitors. I had no idea where the computer she was using had been hidden and didn't really care. “You aren't going to like this.”

“I got that impression from what I've seen so far.” I told her then went back into my Deena shape. “So what did you find?”

Lena did give a little start at the change in my voice and turned to look at me. “Deena, I take it?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Most people handle me better in this version.”

“Well... you look human.” She agreed then couldn't suppress a grin. “And you're just as hot as in your other form, just a lot less scary.”

“Yeah, I know.” I shrugged then looked at the six by four foot monitor on the wall. “But you said you had information I need?

“Oh, yeah. That I do.” She grimaced. “I can tell you that the sex slave thing is just the tip of this iceberg. They use that to finance everything else.

“That Miyoko you found?” She actually looked a little sick while she was telling me that. “Sold for 2.5 mil.”

“Damn.” I breathed then asked. “What about Helene?”

“She was a bonus for a good employee.” Lena answered and I could not only see, but feel the revulsion she felt over that. “Make these people pay, make them hurt. I've never wanted to hurt anyone until now, but these people...”

“I will.” I told her. It wasn't a promise, or a wish, it was just something that I knew was going to happen. Then I moved forward and hugged her tightly. “They are going to pay, trust me.”

“Good.”

“But I need information to make that happen.” I quietly told her.

“What I have is all here.” Lena handed me a thumb drive. “I'll find more, but right now that's all I could get. I still haven't found where they're getting that damned bio-metal.”

'We will.” I promised her. “But be careful. These people are dangerous. If they find you've been hacking their files...”

“I know, I know.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and managed a weak grin. “I'll be careful.”

“All the same.” I answered. “We need a codeword that you could hide if they do catch you, or me.”

“Rain.” Lena answered. “That's the emergency call. “It's pouring rain.”

“Good.” I smiled and implanted another code word in her mind so I could be sure it was 'her' talking with me. No one but me would be able to access it and yes, I felt like shit doing that. But now that I really had friends, I wasn't about to let them go into harms way without some kind of backup.

“I'll get you more.”

“Just be careful.” I needlessly cautioned. “I don't want another Dolores to deal with here.”

“Oh, puhleeaseee.” Lena winked at me. If they can find me, they're aliens from some other planet with really super tech.”

“Don't get cocky.” I had to chuckle. “You never know.”

“True.” She said then gave me a long penetrating look. “You have to let Megan in on this, you know.”

“I plan to do that.” I assured her. “But she has some zombie problem in Brazil right now to deal with. Don't worry, when the big hit comes, I'll make sure she's involved.”

“Okay, she needs that, you know.”

“I know.”

“I don't know, really what or who you are,” Lena moved forward and gave me a hug. “But you be careful, too. Part of you is mortal, you know.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, then added. “I seem to be the incarnation of one of the classical Greek Furies.”

“Fits.” Lena actually grinned at that. “Justice personified, and vengeance.”

“Yeah, that's me.”

“Don't let that kill who you are, Diana, Deena, whoever.”

“I've been working on that.” I assured her.

After another set of hugs — females just love hugging, I never knew that before — I returned to my, Deena's, apartment.

I had a computer in a place my Diana form went, a place that no one without supernatural assistance could even find.

Once I'd read what was on that thumb drive, I wished, fervently, that I was capable of being physically sick.

Yes, the 'Wife — sex slave' — thing was just a sideline for the people doing this. That in itself was bad enough, that they they could rip away someone's life and replace it with something else, just to keep the money coming in.

They had determined early on that males were more appropriate subjects for that kind of transformation because a male had no automatic defenses against what most women would just shrug off.

Their money making subjects had no real experience with fending off the attentions of a male, or how to deflect that kind of thing with a few words, a glance, or just walking away.

It was the most reprehensible thing I'd ever seen in my life. Both lives, by the way.

And the bastards just did that for amusement and to make money to fund their really nasty stuff.

Never in either existence I'd known, had I so genuinely wanted to kill someone, or better, make them hurt like their victims did.

Death was way to good for these people.

Some of their experiments were, to say the least, pure abominations. Abominations meant to be set loose on normal people.

And the worst part? Those abominations were suffering through all of it. Hating themselves, what they had become, and what they were supposed to do. They remembered. They remembered who and what they had been, and knew they were horrors. But they could do nothing to break away from that.

That inability fueled the rage their creators wanted. Aimed.

Yes, oh yes. People needed to die here. Painfully, and slowly.

Their victims needed only a quick release from their pain. I could give them that physically. And send them to a place where their wounded souls might be able to heal.

But I had to find them to do that.

And so far, where they were kept wasn't something I knew.

But I would find them. Free the tortured souls, and torture the ones who had done this thing.

You know? I had no problem at all with that last idea. Condemn me for that if you like, but remember, I am a Fury. That defines me better than any amount of words could do.

I AM A FURY. I am the god's vengeance incarnate. I am hate, rage, despair, pain, personified.

But at times, I can be merciful. I've done that, seen it, felt it.

This wasn't something that deserved, or even allowed me to think of mercy other than for the victims.

People were going to pay for this. And if I had anything to say about it, they would pay for eternity.

I have told you I was never all that nice a person, haven't I? As if you hadn't noticed by now.

I found Helene's husband at the house where that poor soul had gone through enough Hell to make up for a thousand years of misdeeds.

He was on his computer, inputting his wishes for his next 'wife'.

“Now that's interesting.” I quietly said while reading what he was typing. “Submissive, loves any kind of sex with men, obedient to her master, and super feminine.”

He looked up to see who had managed to break in through his security and paled when he saw me. "The Spectre.

“I know who you are.” He actually looked terrified. "What do you want with me?"

“Oh, I'm not going to kill you if that's what you're worried about at the moment.” I shrugged and finished off his relieved expression with an evil smile. “Oh, no, that's too good for you. But trust me, you're going to wish I had in time.”

“What?”

“Shut up.” I said it quitely, but with enough force to let him know that I meant it. “Death was a mercy for Helene, or whoever she was to begin with, I gave her that, or at least freed her will enough to allow her that out.

“You won't have that.” I took a seat in a chair that had me looking across his desk to see him, and smiled. “But I'm sure you'll wish you did in time.”

The weapon he used was impressive. A Colt Commander, .45 caliber, and to be honest, when the rounds hit me, they did hurt, they always do. I think it has something to do with Tisiphone making sure that I don't think I'm above the pain mortals feel. I could be wrong, but who knows? She doesn't share things like that with me.

He actually looked relieved until the wounds closed and I slowly got up from where the impact of the rounds had thrown me. Trust me, if you haven't been hit by a .45 at close range, don't try it. System shock from even a usually non-fatal wound would probably kill you.

“Now that wasn't very polite.” I groused while righting the chair I'd been sitting in and using it again. He just goggled as if he didn't believe what he'd just seen. I grinned. “I'm already dead. It's kind of hard killing someone in that state, you know? But if it helps any, that hurt like a bitch.”

He was pale, sweating, and terrified. All of which were fine with me.

“Now, on to the business at hand.” I got up walked to the bar in the corner and poured myself three fingers of a very expensive single malt scotch then seated myself again. “Feel free to get whatever you want to drink. I won't stop you unless you try to bolt. I have some unfinished business to attend to and you're only the first of many I have to do that with.”

“Wha.. What are you going to do to me?”

“Well I can't do the physical alterations to make you into your 'dream girl' as much as I'd like to,” I shrugged, “but I won't need to because when I'm finished with you, you'll do all that yourself or allow your coworkers to do it to you. And they won't even need to use one of those damned chips on you to get the results you all seem to look for.

“Being technically dead, I can't alter anything physical.” I gave him an almost gentle smile. “But the mind, ahhh now that's another matter entirely. The mind goes on, even after death, and given the abilities I have, that is within my purview to meddle with.”

“What?” He looked confused.

“I'll make this easy.” With a thin smile I pointed at his computer monitor and ordered. “Read the file you just made for your perfect wife.”

He did, running through the whole thing as sickening as it was.

“You wanted someone who was submissive, ultra feminine, and would accept whatever a man wanted to do with her, correct? A sexual plaything that was also like some sit com housewife from the fifties?”

“Yes, but what that does that have to do with now?”

“Nothing with now.” I laughed. “But the future? Now that will be interesting.

“Because the qualities in a 'wife' that you wanted?” I chuckled. “Well now you have them all, and will spend whatever it takes to make your body conform to those. You aren't a man any longer except in the physical sense, and if your employers don't notice and give you the body you need yourself, you'll do things to get it on your own.

“Oh, no suicide clause for you either.” I gave him a 'what can you do?' look then an evil grin. “You will live out your allotted span of years, just in your new gender and attitudes. And it isn't going to be instant either. You'll suffer as little by little you masculinity goes away along with your ability to make decisions. You're going to become dependent on someone else, a man, to make those for you.

“Maybe you should change your name to something like Donna Reed.” I laughed. “Or June Cleaver, though that would be an insult to those ladies.

“Because you're going to more feminine than either one of those, and more receptive to sexual advances than a porn star. But even with all that, you'll keep an immaculate house, and always be beautiful for your 'husband'. Enjoy your new life.

“Oh, wearing male clothing is going to get painful in awhile, too. You'll develop a rash like it's an allergy and you'll naturally gravitate to the most feminine fashions in style, and at home — well, let's just say that vintage clothing shops and websites are going to be your favorite places.

“Good bye.” I told him then dropped the halfway pleasant face I'd been showing him. “You're going to suffer you son-of-a-bitch, because with all that, your male self will still be there, just unable to do anything to counter it or even tell anyone about what's happened to you. Enjoy your new life.”

And I left him, but I knew I'd watch for awhile then be sickened by what I'd done to him. But the guy deserved it.

Did I feel good about what I'd just done?

No, not particularly.

But justice, true justice, is often unkind, even hateful to some it is administered to. But that's the way of balance, isn't it? No one is immune to it, not even me. Especially not me.

Did I feel bad about it?

No.

Now what does that say about me?

No matter, it was my path and I had to follow it. And there were more, many more people who richly deserved what I'd just done.

Death is a mercy at times, one I'd withheld from that one, and would continue to withhold. Death is nothing, simply moving on to something else. To deny that release to someone, that was true vengeance.

And I truly began to understand the real, awful power, the ancient Furies had wielded.