Sheila’s New Project

By youre1st

MC, MD, FD, MF, FF

Chapter 2

     Sheila Johnson made her way to her modest apartment. She had been a quiet tenant in the six months she had called Livingston Terrace home. Her neighbors took little notice of her comings and goings and nobody knew her. Her mailman liked her. He liked everybody that made his life easy. All he ever had to bring apartment 3G was junk mail. People like Sheila didn’t know or care if he only delivered mail four days a week. Sheila was for all intents and purposes a cipher, a non-entity as far as anybody knew. She couldn’t have it any other way.

     The truth about Sheila Johnson was simple. She didn’t really exist. She was a character created in desperation, with but one goal... vengeance. To avenge the murders of her friends, her partners in research, to reclaim the legitimate uses for the technology she created with their help. If only the others had listened, maybe things would have come out differently. None of that really mattered now, she knew. But it did help with the guilt she felt as she looked around her unfurnished apartment, the sole survivor of “Project Catalyst,” except for the traitors responsible for turning it to evil ends.

     Getting a fresh start in America is really pretty easy. Easier still if you’re a genius biomedical researcher with access to cash and bent on revenge. Being a little paranoid didn’t hurt either. She looked at every situation with an eye toward egress. Did the CIA goons know she still lived and breathed? Lucky for her, the little “accident” their hit squad planned for her involved her car going into a river. They’d scoured the area for days, searching for her remains. After a time, the search ended, a obituary alluding to allegations of fraud and abuse at the Institute appeared, even in her hometown newspaper.

     Still, she knew the goons searched. Day and night. Looking for any sign that she still lived. She knew they would flag all her credit and bank accounts. She knew they would set up surveillance of all the places she’d frequented, of all her friends. Her life as she knew it had ended by the time she managed to pull herself from the river. She thanked God that night for sparing her, for the intuition that saved her life. And for the time she’d taken to prepare for the worst.

     And She thanked God for Sheila Johnson. Sheila had actually been born years before that fateful night. While an undergrad student at NMU, Michelle Freeman was bored. Her studies hardly occupied her time and she had no interest in the bar or dating scene. She was going places in her life and she didn’t have time to waste on frivolity. She’d read an article on identity fraud, and it piqued her interest. Michelle did her homework, found the holes one could exploit in the data bases that make the modern world tick. And just for fun, she decided to play God.

     Sheila Johnson was born. In short order, Michelle had obtained all the trappings of modern life for Sheila. Sheila had a Drivers License, Social Security Card, a Credit card and even a movie rental card. Michelle decided that Sheila would have a real life, complete with education and tax returns. It amazed her how easy it was to create someone that for all intents and purposes existed. She knew it was a strange hobby, but then she knew people who collected beer cans. Sheila existed in every way that matters in America, she had bullet-proof credit and by 2002, modest savings and a safety deposit box in a city Michelle had only visited once, as Sheila..

     It was only after the “accidents” began that Michelle looked at Sheila in a whole new light. Her intuition told her something was terribly wrong, that she was in danger. Michelle did what Michelle always does; she looked at the facts, prepared to face the unknown armed with every resource then at her disposal. She didn’t wait for the shit to hit the fan, she acted.

     Michelle, as Sheila, purchased a used Honda Civic. She bought camping gear, clothes and a handgun and ammunition. Whatever might come, she’d be ready. She rented private garage space for the vehicle and supplies several miles from her current residence. And perhaps most importantly, she copied data discs containing the technical specs and plans for all the “Project Catalyst” hardware, along with the molecular chemical formulas for the pheremones at the heart of system. She even took all the profiling information “Catalyst” had gathered on it’s subjects. Information truly is power, and with the data on the discs Michelle had gathered, she could defend herself against unethical conduct on her part.

Or, if need be, resurrect “Project Catalyst” entirely unaided. Which was a good thing because there was nobody left in the world she could trust.

     In the hours after the “accident” Michelle shed what remained of her old life. This included her name. It was all up to Sheila now. Stopping only for gas, food and the contents of a certain safe deposit box, Sheila made her way from the East coast to the Midwest. She camped for weeks, moving frequently and avoiding contact with others when possible. Longing for a shower and a real bed, Sheila got a motel room. The shower felt marvelous, momentarily washing away the tension of her brush with death. As she toweled herself dry, she noticed the missed meals and stress had caused her to lose what looked like 20 lbs. She plotted her next move, deciding that the physical resemblance between Michelle and Sheila was a potentially fatal liability. She looked in a mirror and realized that a wardrobe and hairstyle change could only go so far. She had to make enough of a change in Michelle’s physique to pass for an entirely different person.

     Sheila examined herself with the clinical detachment of the scientist Michelle had been. She had always been a little overweight, shunning exercise in favor of more cerebral pursuits. She never gave a damn how the opposite sex saw her, she relied on her superior intellect to get the things that were important to her. But she noticed there were women who used their beauty to make their lives easier. She saw how they used the power of their bodies, how even intelligent men succumbed. Her breasts were not unattractive, but they were not the sort that men noticed. With diet, exercise, the right clothes, the right attitude and the help of a good plastic surgeon, Sheila would be able to truly come into her own. Michelle had always ignored her body as long as it didn’t hurt. Sheila would use hers to her best advantage. She knew attractive women who dressed provocatively were instantly dismissed as silly flirts, without the intellect to be a serious threat in the workplace. And that would be Sheila’s best defense where she was heading: into the midst of the evil that had overtaken “Catalyst” and killed her friends.

     Sheila settled in the fringes of a large Midwestern college town. She knew that people came and went from such communities attracting little notice from residents. At 30, she could easily pass for a grad student. She settled far enough from campus to avoid high rents found closer in. Not that money was really an issue. She still had the bulk of the $75,000 she’d taken from the safe deposit box. She still had nearly $200,000 waiting there when she needed it. At least she had the CIA’s money to fight them with. She never knew the mysterious venture capitalist that endowed the Institute and paid lucrative salaries to the top researchers in the field was really a government spook; in those days she didn’t care. Money was money and her expertise was worth what the market would bear. Days like this, she wished she was still struggling to make her student loan payments and working for Dow or Monsanto, both of which had made reasonable offers for her services.

     Sheila hit the library, researching all she could on weight loss and body sculpting. She read everything, all the fad diets, all the weighty tomes on human metabolism and exercise. The scientist in her analyzed the data, creating a strategy that was long on exercise, short on caloric intake. Her diet carefully limited carbohydrates, added protein supplements and creatine. Her workouts were built around target heart rates and circuit training. She decided that joining a gym was too risky, so she bought one of those exercise machines the famous action hero and the beautiful model touted on tv. When you got past the trappings of telemarketing, there was a very effective machine there.

     And so her transformation began. She worked out daily, alternating muscle groups being worked and getting to know her body in a whole new way. At first the progress seemed painfully slow and painful, sore muscles protesting their new role in life. But, the pain subsided and Sheila came to crave pushing herself to the limit, then past the limit. The biochemist in her knew all about endorphins, tailoring her diet to maximize their production. And the face in the mirror was the first place she saw Sheila for the first time. The fat in her face burned away, her cheek bones showed prominently, replacing her formerly round face with a leaner, angular look.

     Between workouts, Sheila followed events back in the world she used to know. The Institute was gone, destroyed by the CIA’s disinformation campaign. The bulk of the staff, along with the three traitors, had landed in jobs with Memory Dynamics, a company which operated a chain of quit smoking and weight loss studios. Memory Dynamics was coming off it’s most profitable quarter since being incorporated two years ago. The chain had rapidly expanded, nearly doubling in size in just 6 months and aggressively advertizing on television im major markets. This much was clear, whether Memory Dynamics existed before the CIA bought it or not, it belonged to the same spooks that bought and destroyed the Institute. And Memory Dynamics was a growing concern.

     It had been almost 6 months since Sheila escaped into the anonymity of her current existence. Her workout schedule had gone from every other day at first, to daily, then twice daily. Gone was the overweight, physically unfit woman she had been. In her place, there was a strong, lean and sculpted woman, vibrant and alive. She’d brought her body as far as diet and exercise could. The next step was a visit to the cosmetic surgeon. She carefully researched doctors, did all the homework and planning a scientist preparing a research experiment would do. She got copies of all the popular women’s magazines, a few of the more tasteful men’s magazines as well. She noted fashions, hairstyles and jewelry. She decided who Sheila Johnson is and what she’d look like. Sheila, she decided, would be most men’s idea of a wet dream.

     She chose Dr. Lemone, based on his training, experience and record. She checked with the state medical board, finding very few adverse outcomes in his past and an excellent reputation among his peers. She scheduled an appointment, nervously anticipating the next step in her transformation. The night before, she could barely sleep. When she did, she had nightmares starring her dead coworkers and the goons that killed them. She woke, more determined than ever to get them.

     The receptionist filed her nails idly, leafing through Shape magazine and playing with her pencil. Sheila watched her, carefully noting all her mannerisms and expressions. “Miss Johnson, the doctor will see you now,” said the nurse, smiling at Sheila. Sheila nervously walked into the sumptuously appointed office, not the surgical suite she had anticipated. Dr. Lemone greeted her warmly, urging her to have a seat opposite him. “What brings you here today...Sheila? “Is it ok if I call you Sheila?” Sheila realized this was the first time in months anyone had addressed her by a first name and the first time in her life she’d been “Sheila.” “Sheila is fine Dr. Lemone” Sheila said. “I’m looking for breast augmentation and collagen injections for my lips,” said Sheila, trying to convey more confidence than she felt. Dr. Lemone examined her with the same sort of clinical eye she herself had.

     “Well,” the doctor began “you certainly are a beautiful woman. I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that. Lots of women come to me to become someone else. But surgery can only do so much. Why, may I ask do you think surgery is the answer for you?” It was a question that threw Sheila for a loop for a moment. Is the man really trying to talk me out of this? Sheila thought to herself. Before she could answer, Dr. Lemone began again. “With surgery, we can correct problems, augment or diminish features and create a look... but we can’t change what’s in your head.” Sheila listened to his speech, no doubt given dozens of times a month, but no less sincere for all the repetition. She liked that the doctor was a conscientious practitioner with genuine concern for his patients.

     “All my life, I’ve envied the women who turn men’s heads. Who make men nervous just walking into the room. Who have doors opened for them, drinks bought for them, attention showered on them. That’s what I want.” “That I can do, Sheila... that I can do.” said the doctor quietly, smiling just a little and rising from his seat. “Let’s go over there” said Dr. Lemone, pointing to the couch next to the mirrors in the opposite corner of the office. His female assistant turned on a PC located next to the couch, loading the special software the let patients see the virtual outcome of their proposed surgical adventures.

     “Sheila, you’ll have to disrobe for this part of the examination.” said the doctor. Sheila blushed just a little, expecting this but still nervous at disrobing before a stranger, a man at that. Still, she disrobed with only the slightest hesitation. She got down to her panties and bra and the doctor stopped her. “That’ll be fine for a while Sheila” said the doctor. He began what Sheila quickly realized was dictation to his assistant, who had started a file on her while she was disrobing. “White female, 5'7" tall, 125 lbs, age 30" he began, all business. “You’ve lost some weight recently, I see. It looks like you’ve put a lot of work into your abdominal muscles...no need for liposuction here.” He closely examined her hips and thighs, his trained eye appreciating a natural thing of beauty. “You’ve really been working at this for months, haven’t you?” “Yes doctor” said Sheila quietly, shyly. “Well, you should be proud of your accomplishment and the will power it took to achieve. Your body is magnificent.” Sheila blushed again, but taking the complement in the spirit it was intended. “Thank you” she said, for the first complement she’d ever received about her body. The doctor turned his attention to her ass, enjoying his chosen occupation even more than usual.

     “Sheila, go ahead and take your bra off now.” said the doctor. “Marcy dear, get the imaging camera ready to capture the before image please.” “It’s ready doctor” the assistant said. The assistant posed Sheila and captured images from 3 different angles. The PC displayed them in windows on the screen. The doctor approached her and spoke quietly. “The next part of the examination is tactile Sheila. The female assistant with us is also my wife, if I were to do anything unprofessional, professional sanctions would be the least of my worries.” Marcy smiled and laughed at her husband’s remark. “That I be in the exam room all times is the only non-negotiable part of our arrangement.”

The doctor lifted both of her breasts from beneath, firmly but professionally palpating them. “Good” he said and dictated to Marcy “no unusual findings on palpation.”

     “Ok Sheila, you can put your clothes back on. Would you like a cup of coffee or a soft drink while we go over the surgical options?” said the doctor pleasantly. “Water would be fine, please.” said Sheila, noticing for the first time how dry her mouth had become. Marcy brought Sheila a bottle of spring water and a glass. “Thank you” she said and Marcy said “you’re welcome dear.” The doctor began again. “How much larger would you like your breasts to be?” he asked. “I think I’d like a D cup, 36" or 38" said Marcy and the doctor entered the required information into the computer program and in a moment, it displayed the results.

     “What do you think, Sheila?” said the doctor. Sheila looked at the virtual Sheila on the screen for a moment. Then she said, “I thought they’d be larger than that. I mean these are bigger, but not what I had in mind.” “Ok Sheila, give me a moment. What I just showed you is not what you asked for. I wanted to see whether your expectations were realistic and I always start by showing my clients less radical changes than they ask for to gauge their responses. Are you sure you want to go as big as a D cup?” “Let me see what I asked for and I’ll let you know” said Sheila confidently. “Ok then, here we go.” Sheila looked at the screen, her virtual self was now endowed with breasts that would draw eyes and the men they belonged to. “Yes!” Sheila said “how soon can it be done?”

     Two days later, Sheila was waking up from the anesthesia. Dr. Lemone looked down at her, smiling broadly. “Everything went very well Sheila. As we discussed, there is a pressure bandage on your breasts. You will be moderately uncomfortable for a couple of days, but you should heal quickly and without complication. I’ve scheduled a follow-up for two days from now and I think if you’re up to it we can do the collagen injections for your lips then too. “Thank you doctor.” said Sheila, still a little woozy, but clearly. “Marcy will take you over to your hotel and we’ll give you a call in the morning. If you should have any problems overnight, you have my pager number. Get some rest and I’ll see you soon. I believe you will be quite pleased once you’ve healed a little bit.”

     Once Sheila got back to her room, she collapsed into bed. She slept dreamlessly for the next twelve hours, only to be awakened by the need to use the toilet. When she rose, she noticed for the first time the change in her balance. She was now quite top heavy and her now massive breasts hurt about as much as the doctor said they would. She took some pain relief, cleaned herself up as best she could and laid back down. Around noon, the doctor called, as promised. “I think you’re doing fine Sheila. You tolerated the surgery very well and you seem to be in good shape. I’ll see you tomorrow for your appointment.” “Thank you doctor, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me” said Sheila, and hung up.

     The follow-up revealed her new shape, size and even the doctor was impressed. “I am very pleased with the result of your procedure. I’ve never seen better and I’ve done this for 17 years.” The lip injections followed and once again, Sheila was in discomfort. This time, it passed quickly and soon Sheila was back in her apartment. She was dying to work out, but the doctor said she should wait at least another week before working her upper body. She did a light lower body workout and it felt good. In no time at all, she’d be better than ever.

     While she healed, she was not idle. She began reviewing the data, planning her next move. She made a list of the components she would need for the brain wave emitters and precursor chemicals for the behavior modification pheremones required . She had the crucial background information on all of her intended targets, and that was half the battle. If only she could get into position to use the power of “Catalyst.” There had to be a way and she would find it. She was, after all, a genius. That’s what she had been told for years now, it was time to prove it.