At 0827 on October 25th, The Man With No Face And No Name slipped from that space between asleep and awake, and became fully aware.

It was ten seconds more before a woman shuffled into the dark alley. He didn't recognize her, because the back of his head was still full of… Fuzz.

He was trained to hold more intel than he should be able to know, inside his head. Too much to sort through, really. But when something pertinent comes into view, all the important intel would snap into focus.

He watched this woman carefully.

The alleyway was a dead end branch off a through alley. You didn't have to go too far to realize there was no way out and turn back, but you had to go deep into the alley before The Man With No Face could see you.

Deep in where there were no windows, precious little light, and the little hitches and jinks in the pathway in would muffle even the loudest screams.

Nobody would just wander in.

But here was this sad looking woman, brown hair in thick low braids, hugging an oversize sweater around herself, shuffling in awkward clomping shoes, shoulders hunched and head bowed.

She stared intently at where four cracks converged to a single divot in the concrete.

His jaw shifted rapidly. The little notch in his molar had been annoying, before.

–

In the countless days that hadn't happened, when his training never happened, they hadn't spent years not developing a click language not using that tooth, never meant to communicate silently through the receiver in the mask he was never given, that hid all his features right now.

No one had never spent immense amounts of time that never happened to a system to rapidly turn that data-dense language into text.

In a time that wasn't, his controller saw the text flash up.

[UNKNOWN FEMALE SUBJECT IN OPERATIONAL START AREA. SHE IS GIVING GO SIGNAL. REPEAT UNSUB IS IN PLACE AND SIGNALLING MISSION START. ADVISE IMMEDIATELY.]

The handler spat out his coffee, squared up his glasses, rechecked his notes. "Uh… Uh, sir, we have…"

[UNSUB FEMALE KNOWS WHERE I AM. REPEAT UNSUB FEMALE KNOWS EXACTLY WHERE I AM. SHE IS LOOKING DIRECTLY AT MY FACE THROUGH CAMOUFLAGED WINDOW.]
[I WAS INFORMED VIEWING PANEL WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO DISTINGUISH FROM SURROUNDING WALLS BUT UNSUB IS AWARE OF MY EXACT SIGHTLINE. SHE IS GIVING GO SIGNAL AND THEN STARING STRAIGHT INTO MY EYELINE THROUGH YOUR DUMB BLANK BRICK WALL TRICK ADVISE IMMEDIATE]


"…. sssssSSSSIIIIIIIRRRR?" the panicking handler started to yell, spinning to stare straight into the General's tie clip. He jolted, stared up.

The Man In The Suit looked down at the rumpled nerd. "Well if she came knockin', let's see what she wants. Engage unsub."

–

The Man With No Face gripped the arms of his chair, stared at the woman in the frumpy outfit.

She had been crying heavily before, he could tell. She had pulled herself together long enough to get here, but every time she looked up from the target mark and stared straight at him, like she knew EXACTLY where he was sitting, her face was screwed up a little tighter, full of disappointment and betrayal and abandonment. She was seconds from completely-

[MISSION IS GO REPEAT GO ENGAGE SUBJECT GOOD LUCK]

He hauled on the arms on the chair, throwing himself up to his feet, two fast strides to the door. He was already smoothing his tie and shirt with one hand as he came to a stop and opened the door.

By the way the mission was planned, he was supposed to walk up behind the subject, and ask if they knew what they wanted here.

Half asking. Half offering one last chance off the ride.

Instead, as soon as he opened the door, the subject burst into tears and started running, her movement gawkish and awkward, braids flailing and tears flowing behind the big owlish glasses.

He took a half-step back as she seemed to crumple as she crashed into him, falling to her knees. She squeezed her arms around his waist and bawled into his belly.

–

[OP IS ALREADY COMPLETELY OFF SCRIPT I AM WINGING IT FROM HERE WILL ADVISE]

"… S… Sir did we ever have a-"

"Naw, but keep ready. I tink we're gunna have ta move some assets real quick…" said The Man In The Suit, reaching over the Handler's shoulder to start snapping switches, alerting practically every team to prep for…

Well with this lot, it could be anything.

–

She was bawling into his belly, hiccuping and snorting wetly. He had no idea how to deal with this.

All he could do was to put a shaky hand on her shoulder, and pat it lightly. He couldn't even speak. What could he say?

The crying woman snorted wetly, reached up a hand to pull off her glasses, and tried to wipe the tears and snot off her blubbering face in the arm of her lumpy sweater.

"Muh- muh- mistah, I-i-i-i-i knows youse ain't, youse ain' nuhnuh… Nevah seens me befoah, b'cuz- B'cuz I'm, I'm…"

She snorted and shuddered, wiped again, and finally looked up.

Owlish glasses. Brown freckles. Two chipmunk front incisors overlapping her bottom lip. Long brown braids.

The buzz in the back of his mind became a roar, and then the torrent of knowledge crashed into his mind like a freight train.

Looper #330727 Irma Lawrence.

Crazy Bitch.

On her knees, bawling her eyes out like a lost child.

–

[SUBJECT IDENT #330727 IN EXTREME EMOTIONAL DISTRESS]
[WHAT DID YOU DO]

"Fffffffffawk."

The General slapped the Handler's hand away, dragged his hand down the bank of switches. He activated every logistical asset right then and there. Better have them running now, sort out what to do later.

"Get me hur handluh, hur watchah onna hawn, an' get me hur fawkin' foyulz, ROIGHT NAW."

–

She was snuffling, trying to talk through her sobs. "Oi'm jus- Jus dis freak whut's broke outta toim an' evurbuddy fowgits whut oi do an', an I wayk up an' evvyting is awlla saym an' an' an' it's da SAYM FUKKIN DAY FOWA SO LOWNG I DUNNO AN DEY STAWPED WANNIN MUOY HAYLP AN I AIN'T HEAWD NUFFIN FRUM NOWBAWDY FOAH LOIK TWO MUNFS AN NOBAWDDY…" She dragged in a massive shuddering breath, and exploded into even more tears again. "NOBAWDY WUONTS ME NO MOAH 'CUZ OI'M JUS SUM FREEEEEAAAK! Bwuhawww hwaaah hwaaaaw…"

–

[330727 STATES NO CONTROL CONTACT FOR 60+ CYCLES WHAT THE FUCK YOU MORONS]

"get'im, get'im, get dey FUKKIN AYSSEZ IN'EAH, ROIGHT NAW!"

–

The Man With No Face was unstuck in time for… A long time, but a fraction of an instant, her files crashing through his head.

Crazy Bitch, the most dangerous, most effective, most unpredictable asset the Agency had EVER SEEN.

Tangental contact with Loopers #557 and #558 during a Deniability Excursion, Irma Lawrence was a Base Repeating Entity when they crossed paths, and…

Basically started running their whole show.

#557 and #558 were unstable at best but were in a Deep Loop Psychosis Deniability Event, but Irma suddenly deviated so wildly from her standard patterns it was almost as if she was broken more then they were.

And she was Repeating, not Looping! She had no way out of the mess she had landed herself in, until #558 pulled the trigger and started Irma resonating.

And then somehow, #557 and #558 looped FURTHER back, and… Well.

Redressed her. In under 37 minutes.

There was a note from her Watcher about how easy it was to redress or reposition her before Cycle Activation because quote "She sleeps like a ton of bricks" endquote.

And then the Sanderson Yacht incident.

She had no training and no support, no experience. And in her first loop, her day had been cut short by #557 shooting her in the face.

In her second loop, her SECOND loop, she had already found where the Sanderson Yacht would be, got herself a long coat, and crashed her way through pedestrian traffic just in time to fall off the railing and smash down on the concrete bridge pier.

Her second attempt had her passing through Pedestrian traffic faster, and it somehow threw off her timing. She lept from the bridge and managed to impale her face on the Yacht's antenna cluster, got her braids caught in the surface radar antenna's sweep motor, and had her head sucked into the gears.

Her third attempt, she was slipping through pedestrian traffic like a pro. Until she got clipped by a passing bus and bisected against a lamp post.

And there's where things went wild.

She was tossed off the OTHER side of the bridge.

Somehow, fatally wounded and spinning wildly, she was able to observe and assess the Yacht.

She saw when and where the big boat's bow deck would exit from under the bridge.

She saw the crowd on the bow deck, and that one individual named "Irrelevant" had just completely disrobed and was lying down to sunbathe nude amongst the partiers.

Reginald Sanderson was set to marry Irrelevant in one week, become his… Ninth. And she was sunbathing nude during the nuptial celebration of his marriage to his eighth wife.

I mean she was FOUR FEET AWAY. God. Rich people.

She also assessed the deployment of Reginald's visible security entourage.

While bisected at the waist from getting hit by a damn bus and spinning rapidly.

Her fourth attempt, she was such a ghost through pedestrian traffic, she didn't bother covering her nudity. Nobody saw her slipping through.

She stopped in an alley and… Sang Prince songs to herself to time her mission start.

Prince is always good, thought The Man With No Face.

Then she ghosted onto the bridge, lept off, and landed squarely on Irrelevant's chest. The detonation of her rib cage and silicone implants prevented any injury to 330727.

She managed two shots with her two guns, firing both barrels at once, managing three kills on advancing security. Then she did that insane cross-chest flying reload from her cleavage stunt, and managed one additional shot off at security exiting from a door near the bridge. She killed one, before the security guard with a shotgun blew her head off.

In her fifth attempt… She sang a different set of songs to herself, but the selection left her the same delay. To the second.

Anyone who knows Prince THAT well was obviously just a significantly better person all-around, obviously.

She actually expended one shot from her guns on the way down, hitting the Captain in the face and preventing him from sounding the alarm early.

She landed fractionally different on Wife-To-Be this time. This time, she aimed.

The detonation of torso and implants was the same, but Irma was already in motion when Wife-To-Be's severed head wedged itself, bloody stump first and face-up, in Bride 8's prodigious silicone cleavage. The splash of blood and pulped organs washing across her, Wife 7 and Wife 6 bought her nearly four seconds of delay from the security forces.

She fired one barrel at a time, splashing all five visible guards with only three blasts of buckshot. Then instead of trying the flying reload, she popped both open and holstered them.

Then she grabbed a fire axe, and swung, spinning a full circle.

On the backswing, she decapitated Wife 5 and 4, then opened the throat of a security guard that had popped through a hatch.

Her swing ended by crashing through the tube magazine of the shotgun carried by the guard popping out the next hatch.

And then… She snatched the shells from the air as the axed ahotgun came apart, stuffed them in her own open guns in her holsters, on the run, then snapped them shut as she drew them again. She managed one shot, bursting the chest of the guard whose gun she had just demolished, before the guard whose throat she had torn open managed to stitch her up with the uzi he was carrying, before he collapsed from massive blood loss.

Before she stuffed a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger, she had fallen and slid around the corner and got a view across the stern decks.

Her sixth attempt went nearly the same, until she snatched up the axe. Her big swing shifted, and she settled on slicing through the throats of Wives 5 and 4 but leaving their spines intact.

That shifted her swing to completely decapitate the guard with the Uzi.

While he emptied his dying shots into the chest of Wife 3 instead, Irma's axe hammered home a little deeper into the open door when she smashed open the advancing shotgun.

She still salvaged the flying shotshells, reloaded, and expended one round into the guard she had disarmed, but this time, she was sliding on her knees.

She caught the handle of the embedded axe, used the momentum to flick herself into the air, cartwheeled high, and used her last three shells to blow apart the heads of the final three guards who were running across the stern deck.

She landed square in the middle of the banquet table, struck a pose, and yelled "TADAAA!" just before the dislodged fire axe bisected the skull of Wife #2.

That was it. From a complete clusterfuck of her first attempt, she had needed only five more iterations to absolutely demolish everything standing in her way, using salvaged ammunition and weapons as she went, and turning every death and failure as an opportunity to scout slightly further ahead, and adjust her plans as needed.

On her seventh cycle. Eight cycles after the TV studio incident.

And from the subsequent sadosexual massacre that followed, she had come completely unglued.

There was a note that, of all the ejaculate released in that death orgy, roughly 80% was unloaded into, or on to, her.

And in most instances, immediately after killing or maiming another female guest after they failed to "Fawkin' do it roight!"

She was an absolute whirlwind of destruction, perversion, murder and sex.

And when the first test operation from The Agency was left on her kitchenette table for her to find, she didn't question what it was or where it came from.

She just decided it "Sowns fawkin FAWN" and took seven more Loops to slaughter her way through a bank.

Notable that she snatched up Myrtle Barnes into the escapade, the bank CEO's overworked stenographer.

Myrtle reacted much like Irma did to #557 and #558, pitching herself headlong into the fray.

Apparently the CEO had been sexually harassing Myrtle previously, leaving 'gifts' of fetish costumes on her desk for her to find.

Myrtle took a moment to wriggle into the undersized Naughty Nurse costume, before helping Irma slaughter everyone in the boardroom.

While wearing rollerblades and swinging a chainsaw.

Myrtle is now Looper #331009, Agency name 'Flatline', apparently Irma's oblique reference to Myrtle's exceptional bust.

The Man With No Face grunted faintly. All that and more hammered through his head.

All her misadventures, every gruesome first attempt a springboard hurling her towards utter slaughter and domination of opposing forces up to two hundred.

With just two sawn-off shotguns, four spare shells, a kinky outfit, and an unstoppable lust for murder and sex.

Then the world came back up to speed, and Crazy Bitch took a rattling, gargling inhale, and started bawling into his shins.

–

[HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU GODLESS COUCHFUCKS MANAGE TO FUCK UP SO BADLY YOU HAVE COMPLETELY DESTROYED THE MISSION READY STATUS OF THE MOST DANGEROUS ASSET YOUR STUPID FUCKING LITTLE TREEHOUSE SPY CLUB HAS EVER FUCKING SEEN JUST BY IGNORING A LONELY WOMAN FOR TWO MOTHERFUCKING MONTHS YOU FUCKERS WILL SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTHS AND DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I SAY SO I CAN TURN THIS SOBBING LITTLE GIRL YOU RUINED INTO THE MOST DANGEROUS MONSTER I HAVE EVER LEARNED ABOUT JUST BECAUSE YOU FUCKUPS WERE TOO FUCKING INEPT TO LEARN TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR GODDAMNED TOYS]

"… Does he always get this angry?"

"Only when dey show up cryin' already."