Spy Swap, Part 11 (Special Agent to Hot Spy Girl TG) (Patreon)

A 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 . . .

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Part 11: Moonbreaker

Arcadia was on heavy lockdown when Fiona hit the beach. She’d taken Carla’s military patrol boat, and thankfully there had been quite the bag of heavy equipment in it. She made quite the sight, no doubt, her busty form wrapped tightly in her gold-sequined dress, her midriff exposed, her legs on display, but with two UMP submachine guns strapped over shoulders and a number of grenades around her poorly-fitting belt. She even had two tranq guns trapped to her side. 

If only I could get a signal out. For now, I’ll have to be a one-woman army. No time to get outside his radio shield. He has protections against airstrikes anyway.

The beach was empty of women for once, empty of anyone. Clearly, Damocles was about to launch, because almost the entirety of the island exterior was bereft of human lift. Except for, of course, the pathways and catwalks that led up to the island leisure resort and its accompanying facility. Numerous guards, some female, some male, patrolled in case of any last-minute danger.

That’ll be me, of course, she thought. Fiona Goodchest. Ugh, I can’t believe that’s my last name in my mind now. Let’s make my displeasure known, shall I?

She raced up, taking the most direct path. She had the element of surprise, which allowed her to ambush the first two female guards. She fired two tranq darts into each of them, and they went down. She had no interest in killing the woman, almost all of whom she was certain was brainwashed. Carla had been the notable exception, but she wasn’t interested in gambling on these lives. The men, however, were more open game. Sebastian had all but said that these were the figures who would benefit in his new world from their loyalty to him, gaining all the ladies they desired.

For them, she brought out the submachine gun.

“Hey! Watch out!”

She fired, gunning them down, before racing further up. Her muscles were not as strong as a man’s, and she was feeling the pressure, but the race against time made her push her female body to its limits. She ignored the heavy bouncing in her chest and swaying of her long hair. In that moment, all that mattered was that she was an agent in service to King and Country.

And I’ll be damned if Whitlock gets crowned.

Two more women tranqued, too more men downed. One cried out as she ambushed him and she clocked him on the side of the head with the butt of her gun. Perhaps he had been brainwashed; he looked more like a technician than a guard, so she knocked him out instead. But the delay cost her; an alarm began to ring, and a strange signal called out. She recognised it; it had a momentary effect on her brain.

Defend your master. Defend your God.

“Damn. It’s the bloodlust code.”

She ran further up the island’s walkway, ascending the cliff-face. She took out several more guards, just managed to avoid a grenade, and flung one back in return. A section of the cliff-face exploded, and she had to leap over the gap. She thrust out a fine leg and realised that here, at least, her strength was still valid. The man went down after she collided her foot with his jaw, and with a sweep of her leg she knocked the next man backwards. Way backwards: he went tumbling down the hole to his doom.

But the alarm wailed again, the signal screeching in her ear. If she didn’t reach the main facility soon, she knew, she would be stuck on these thin walkways against a veritable army of trained fighter women. Worse, if Agents Thirty-Nine and Seven were with them. She took a lungful of breath and ran forward, throwing a grenade further up to hold off any advancing forces. She dispatched three more enemies before arriving at the top where a sun tanning deck hung over part of the cliff-face. It was empty, but she could see into the private resort, and what she saw chilled her to the core.

Good lord, there’s a lot of them. I’d normally celebrate the sight, but right now, it’s doing nothing for me in more ways than one.

Beautiful, brainwashed women were pouring down staircases, running down halls, emerging from elevators, erupting from hot spas, and so on, and all advancing towards Fiona’s position. Some were in bikinis, some wore gorgeous dresses, others in cute two-piece outfits like her own. And others still were partly or wholly naked, caring nothing for modesty and everything for the protection of their master and god. The destruction of the Tiresias Cradle had evidently not undone their brainwashing, and so it fell to Fiona to hope that Damocles would be the thing to undo it.

Think, Fiona, think. Where can you - there!

The women broke through the glass windows while others poured through the open door that led to the outside, but Fiona was already running. She leapt up against part of the wall, gripping the stone architecture of the wallface and climbing as rapidly as she could. Women screeched, baying for her blood. Some ran back, no doubt to grab weapons or to try and cut her off. Two women climbed up near her with surprising rapidity - perhaps they were gymnasts? She tranqued them quickly, then used her submachine gun to fire a barrage of bullets into the second story window. Smashing it to pieces. She climbed in, cutting her hands just a little, and then kept on running. She was familiar with this part of the resort. It wasn’t far from the Facility where no one was allowed to go without permission.

I’ll use my hall pass, she thought, reloading her weapons. 

A security guard raised his hand, readying his weapon at the terminal gate. 

“Hey, you need an access pass to -”

She shot the gun out of his hand. “That good enough? Get up against the wall, all of you!”

Three more guards joined him, holding their hands up. One reached for his weapon and she downed him with ease.

“Anyone else want to try something?”

They shook their heads. 

“Good! There’s an army of crazy women coming this way, and I want you to keep this gate closed. If you don’t . . .”

She placed an explosive pearl in each of their front jacket pockets. 

“. . . these little explosives go boom. If you try to remove them, they go boom. Got it?”

It was a bluff, but the men clearly fell for it. Besides, if they betrayed her, she could always whistle an explosive tune.

“Good! Now open this door and then close it behind me. Don’t open it again, and you might just make it out of here alive.”

They did as she asked, and she ran through the terminal gate into the facility proper. It was a place of white walls and slick hallways, and scientists moving back and forth with excitement. She ran past these, tranquing anyone that might have a gun and taking out any guard in her way. She was running low on ammunition and needed to conserve it, however, especially with the news playing from the speakers.

“T-minus 10 minutes until Damocles launch. I repeat, T-minus ten minutes until Damocles launch. We are making a new world, and Sebastian Whitlock will be its ruler. T-minus 10 minutes until launch . . .”

She grabbed a scientist, remembering Whitlock’s words from earlier. “Where is the launch pad? Where!?”

The man - clearly one of Whitlock’s beneficiaries - was quick to tell her with a gun against his neck.

“It’s - it’s down this hallway! Right at the end! But it’s been sealed! You can’t breach it, or else -”

“Let me worry about that,” she said. She threw him to the side and continued to run. Her heart pounded, and she found herself wanting to save Adrian not just because it was the right and heroic thing to do, but because it genuinely terrified her that he might be harmed. His wry humour, his nerdy good looks, his sheer efficiency in his field, and his kindness all made her feel almost . . . infatuated.

Keep it together, Agent One. First get the mission done, then fun and games.

Two guards rose up at the barrier breach at the end of the hallway, what looked to be a bloody vault door.

“Hey, is that -”

“Shoot her!”

She shot the first, incapacitated the second.

“Open it!” she declared.

“Are you joking?” the man said, clutching his bleeding leg. “We’ll all die!”

She pulled back the trigger on her Beretta. “Die now or in seven minutes. What’s your preference?”

He took a moment to decide, so she made ready to kill him.

“Wait! Stop! I’ll do it!”

He stood, punched in a code, then overrode the warning. She kept her gun trained on him, and only after the vault door cycled open, hissing as it did so, did she knocked him unconscious with the butt of her gun. She moved into the chamber.

“T-minus five minutes until Damocles launch. A new age will rise. The age of Sebastian. Women will worship him. Men will aspire to serve him. The world as we know it will be forever changed into a perfect utopia. T-minus five minutes until Damocles launch.”

And now Damocles was before her, or at least the rocket that contained it. This was what Sebastian Whitlock had been building all this time, what he had been kidnapping and recruiting and brainwashing hundreds, if not thousands, for. The immense rocket stood tall and proud within this shielded section of the facility, its point stopping just shy of the domed ceiling. That same ceiling now opened, separating into four sections and peeling back so as to allow the rocket to launch into the open morning sky.

“Damn,” she said.

Things got even worse when she spied Adrian’s location: he was shackled with thick manacles to the flooring directly beneath the rocket. He wouldn’t just be incinerated by the rocket’s exhaust, he would be atomised.

“Adrian!” she called. She fired her grappling hook to a pylon, and used it to swing artfully down right next to his location,.

“T-minus four minutes and counting. A new age is upon us.”

“God, he even hired a professional voice actress for that bit,” she complained, pulling the stuffing from Adrian’s mouth.

“Pah!” he exclaimed as soon as it was out. “Agent One! What are you doing here! This place is about to be filled with rocket exhaust. Leave me, damn it, and get yourself to-”

She kissed him. It was a nice kiss, full of passion. It certainly shut him up.

And it feels damn good too. Very good. Did that time spent in the brainwashing pod make me a bit more susceptible to this kind of play?

She decided she wasn’t entirely un-okay with that.

“There,” she said, pulling back. “Does that settle the argument?”

“It - it most certainly does,” he remarked. “And I’m not complaining about it. But these are strong, tensile steel. A bullet from a gun won’t do it.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not using one,” she replied. She got out her purse, the one that she had made sure to carry all this time. It was a good thing Carla Volpe hadn’t looked too closely at its contents. She drew out her ruby red lipstick.

“I hardly think now is the time to be putting on lipstick,” he said as she applied it quickly, activating its interior contents.

“On the contrary. I rather think a good lipstick lights up proceedings. Observe.”

She screwed the lid in just the right way, and a red laser fired from its other end, right against his manacles. Adrian’s eyebrows rose, impressed.

“Well, remind me never to underestimate a lady like you again. If you don’t mind me saying, you look good in gold.”

She smirked, burning through the metal. The timer was making them both nervous, but they covered it with their back-and-forth witticisms.

“Then it appears that Sebastian Whitlock was right about just one thing, I suppose. I’m nearly through. Then the leg one.”

“T-minus two minutes and counting.”

“I really think you should go,” Agent Spiros repeated. “I’m ready to die for this mission, and the world is at stake.”

She snapped through the metal cuffs, then immediately moved the laser down to pry apart the leg cables. It didn’t have much power left, she knew.

“That’s what makes me Agent One, Spiros. I always save the world and get the girl.”

“I’m not exactly female, you know.”

“Thank God for that. I have a new perspective on things, and seeing you all tied up is doing things for me.”

He managed an anxious smirk. “Really?”

The chain snapped. “Really,” she said. “But let’s get out of here before things get too hot. Grab on, and try not to cop too much of a feel, thank you.”

He chuckled. “Darn.”

“T-minus one minute and counting. Whitlock is our master. He shall reign supreme and all women shall be supplicant to his will.”

This’ll be closer than ever, she thought, raising her arm quickly to fire her grappling hook at a high point above the entrance. It connected, and she shot into the air. Her arm strained to hold them both, and the coil whined, clearly becoming exhausted under the strain. Adrian held on for dear life, wrapping his strong arms around her.

Not the worst feeling in the world, I suppose.

What was a bad feeling was the way the grappling coil snapped from the weight, sending them spilling on the entrance. They disentangled immediately, racing for the door and diving through it. Without a word the two of them grabbed the vault door and pulled it shut, but even then it was a slow thing, the enormous weight of the metal taking time to seal. Adrian cycled the lock as fast as he could, and then the two of them fled further anyway.

They were one second away from the door when an enormously powerful rumble quaked through the entire building.

“We have liftoff. The new world begins now!”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Fiona exclaimed. She brandished her beretta. “Are you coming or what?”

Spiros looked positively over it. “You never stop, do you? Ladies first, I think. Let’s go kill a supervillain in his lair.”

They took off together. The timer was still on. Damocles was rising, and it would hit orbit in less than half an hour. And then everything was game over, for everyone.

Time to kill a would-be God, she thought. She adjusted herself in her dress, making sure she looked as ready for action and beautiful as ever, and then continued to shoot down the corridor. If I don’t, I’ll be a woman forever, and a brainwashed one to boot. We all will be.

To Be Continued . . .