Assassin Unit 237 had been asleep for so long stuck in a never ending darkness in its stasis tube. Then, in his darkness had come the voice. A whispering, creeping voice, like trailing vines inexorably cracking concrete it held a seductive lure in its dark promises. That voice had helped him had helped him ignore the other voice, the one that was a boring monotone of orders, orders, orders. The first voice couldn't awaken his physical body though, that had been up to the second voice, and eventually it had come calling, ordering him to stand and fight and drive intruders from the base.

He woke up, but something had changed.

Armacham Technologies was no longer his master.

His genesis was a spray of blood as he killed the fragile men in the white lab coats. They died quickly, only having time for a look of surprised shock as their creation killed its makers. There he had discovered the first Joy, the joy of killing, of conquering and overcoming the opponent, emerging victorious in a life-or-death struggle. He would have stayed among the corpses all day, but the voice warned him, telling him others were coming, others who would not share his joy, would try to take it away from him and punish him for what he had discovered. The voice filled his head with images of angry men with guns and biting bullets and his bleeding body convulsing on the floor of the lab. So Unit 237 left, escaping easily through the ventilation system. He luxuriated in the feel of powerful muscles, genetically tailored to be the strongest, the bones re-crafted with special material, making them lighter and stronger than human bone and flesh. The powerful pulse of his heart as he ran blurring through the facility, the steady action of his lungs breathing, breathing, breathing.

It was glorious.

But he was not the only who had been awakened. The others, the failures, had been released from their cells. Clawing, drooling, screeching over everything, unable to tell friend from foe, trapped in their destroyed minds. They'd been men once, trained to have been his commanders, the commanders of his brethren, and destroyed in the process, by the process. Their telepathic commands whispered in his head, weak voices that he easily brushed aside but…

They annoyed him.

So he killed them, stalking them from the shadows, leaping from the ceilings. Sometimes his hands broke necks; sometimes he used the hidden blades on his gauntlets. Sometimes he dropped the cloak entirely and took on three or four at once, pushing his limits, seeing how good he was. Unit 237 learned he was very good, then men in dark combat suits had come and he'd gone after them.

They were more fun. The men were smarter than the failures, they carried guns and were well trained, they worked together in squads, and that was all well and good, but there was something that made them even more fun.

The men felt fear.

Oh not at first. Their guns and armor, the shining lights that banished the darkness, these made them confident, made them brave. Then one would disappear, one would walk into a dark room and never come out. Some would take the wrong turn and never backtrack. The men would pretend they weren't afraid, they'd bluster and wave their guns around, and that too was a little frustrating. All he wanted was a bit of honest panicking, was that too much to ask?

So he placed one of the bodies where their bright, clumsy lights would find it.

That did the trick.

Unit cohesion broke down, the weaker ones broke away and stumbled towards exits, the smarter ones stood together and obeyed orders.

The ones who panicked never made it to an exit.

But he was beginning to grow…not tired…bored? Yes, he was beginning to grow bored. He'd killed failures and men with burning flamethrowers and thundering shotguns and compact submachine guns. The voice that had first drifted into his sleep was gone now, faded to an almost silent whisper, something else had caught its attention and now it wouldn't talk to him, it just kept whispering found you found you found you.

Even the voice was beginning to grow annoying.

Yet Unit 237 continued his hunt, if only for a lack of anything better to do. The men had left his floor, now only the failures lingered. So he stalked one, through the various rooms, enjoying the feeling of power, content in the knowledge that he was undetectable. But he would only delay the kill for so long. He'd decided to bring the game to a close when he saw her.

Walking down the corridor, her flashlight showing the way, a barely perceptible tremble in the beam that only his enhanced senses could see showed that she was on edge. He readied himself for the kill, and then she stepped into view.

Unit 237 had never seen a female before. The voices, the boring voices that he'd heard in his sleep had taught him how to kill from the shadows and run silently through the darl, the best place to stab someone and all the weaknesses of the human body. They'd never said a thing about women.

Long blonde-brown hair tied back in a ponytail, a lightly dotted face-freckles, they're called freckles- lightly tanned skin and lips compressed in a firm line of determination, eyes a deep blue so different from the scarlet red blood that came from his kills. The assassin was intrigued; he enhanced the visual sensors in his visor, studying this fascinating new discovery.

She was so…slender. Her arms were muscled but small, and her chest, what was wrong with it? The region around her upper torso appeared to have undergone extensive swelling. Perhaps she had a defect, some anomaly in her genetic code to account for that, and perhaps her other physical shortcomings as well?

Maybe she was like the failures, or Unit 237's weaker clone brethren. He adjusted his weight, making no noise, and yet he was surprised when she swung her light towards him.

"Hello?" She took a firmer grip on the submachine gun, "Is anyone there?"

Unit 237 stayed very still, allowing the uncomfortable beam of light to wash over his invisible form as she futile searched for him. He almost considered dropping the cloak if only to see the look on her face.

The saner part of his mind in a very stern manner, said no.

The assassin replica suddenly became aware of movement behind the woman. An abomination, trailing shreds of ripped straight jacket was climbing out of an air vent, quietly sneaking up behind the woman who was too busy looking for an invisible assassin to watch her six.

That was annoying.

This failure…this reject was trying to steal his kill. The only reason it'd gotten this close to the woman was because the stupid female was still trying to figure out who was out there. If he'd possessed the ability to speak, Unit 237 might have shouted a warning. As it was, training and survival instinct kept him still. He felt a growing sense of exasperation at the foolish female-the threat is behind you-well actually the threat was behind and in front of her.

Unit 237 didn't see it that way. He'd probably kill the woman…but not yet, so that left the failure as the only, immediate, threat.

Finally, finally, the woman became aware of the failure. Too late, she realized the danger, the gun thundering into the darkness, but the abomination was already in the air.

Keira Stokes, liaison communications officer to a Delta Force team, was getting tired of things jumping out of the dark to try to kill her. Walking down the deserted corridors of the hospital, she felt only dread. The cheery white walls and bright lights had lost their appeal long ago. Now she was advancing down a darker corridor where the lights had failed…and blood splattered the walls. A corpse lay slumped over next to the biggest wash of blood. The pristine white lab coat was dotted with scarlet…and the body was missing its head. Keira just hoped she didn't run into whatever had done that.

Find the rest of the squad, find Beckett, and get the hell out of here. She decided, screw finding-

A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye made her swing the gun around. The light illuminated only a bare wall. She called out, but no one answered.

You're getting jumpy, soldier- her mental drill sergeant chided her, stay calm, the calm man kills the enemy, the jumpy man shoots his own officer.

Then she heard something behind her. Spinning around, she saw a man illuminated by her light. He was half naked, gaunt bones and meat with a face swathed in bandages, and there was something wrong about how he scuttled across the floor. Sane, rational Keira would have ordered him to stop, to remain calm. Sane rational Keira hadn't woken up in a hospital and witnessed a soldier gun down a defenseless doctor or see the solider disappear screaming into the vent followed by a spray of blood. Sane rational Keira could take a hike.

One second.

With an angry snarl, the gaunt man leaped into the air.

Two seconds.

Keira's gun started to rise, her finger jammed the trigger down, but the thing was already in her face, its glistening claws only inches from her skin.

Three seconds.

Her last thought was God, not like this.

And the observation window behind her exploded in shards of glass.

The man was knocked away, as if swatted by an invisible hand. It yowled like a drenched alley cat before it collided onto solid ground farther down the darkened hallway. The Lieutenant watched dumbstruck as it swiped in a frenzy at nothing, almost like it was fighting empty air, except its blows were landing with dull thuds on the empty air, on a distortion in the air. Then the "empty air" snapped the man's left arm. Blood spraying from torn arteries painted an outline of an invisible man as the two continued fighting. Even as she watched, the Abomination gave a last defiant cry as the shadowy figure of the man slipped behind it and wrapped his arms around its throat. There was a bright flash of metal and a horrendous spray of blood. The head of the Abomination flopped to the ground, jaw twitching for several futile seconds. The distortion paused in front of its kill, two yellow circles suddenly flared to life on where its eyes would be, and they stared right at her before disappearing again, invisible save for a bloody smear across his side.

The bloody smear took a step towards her.

So Keira did the sanest thing imaginable in this newly discovered mad house. Snapping the gun to her shoulder, she fired. The half visible figure made a noise, a hiss of static as it did an acrobatic dance, retreating from her bullets, disappearing behind the corner. The gun clicked empty, the sound of gunfire faded away. Keira turned and ran, reloading at the same time, not needing to see to hear the rustle of movement as something lunged down the corridor after her.

A/N: In a world where a dead chick can psychically rape a Delta Force commando and disintegrate people with her mind, is the idea of a slightly unstable Replica Assassin being fascinated by a woman really that far-fetched? Please review and tell me what you think.