Author's Note: I want to thank Coleen V., Tanisha and Vals for their help and encouragement in sounding this, my first fan fic, out. Ladies, it was greatly appreciated, and I thank you.

Most of the dialogue in this chapter was borrowed from from the pilot episode of La Femme Nikita titled "Nikita". Be advised that there will be some violence (not gratuitous...yet) and occasional coarse language (not yet in this chapter though).

Four Years previously

Elizabeth Bennet's body was taut and ridged as she stood before the judge, waiting for him to announce her fate. Her dark eyes that usually shone with suppressed laughter were now wide with fear. Her breath came out in quick gasps, in tattoo with the rapid beating of her heart.

The judge opened his mouth and Elizabeth held her breath.

"You have been found guilty of murder in the first degree and two counts of possession of narcotics with the intent to distribute. You are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment."

At the judge's verdict, all sound seemed to cease, as though sucked out by a vacuum. The room suddenly seemed to close up around Elizabeth, choking the breath out of her body and she actually leaned forward, bracing herself on the table.

She didn't hear the rest of her sentencing; all she could hear were the words 'guilty of murder' over and over again like a broken record in her head. All she could see was the judge's lips as they pronounced those words. Three words which had sealed her fate and taken away her freedom.

She was eventually taken out of her state of deep shock when the judge banged his gavel and ordered, "Bailiff, take the prisoner away."

"No! I didn't kill anyone!" Elizabeth screamed frantically. "You have to believe me!"

She looked desperately from the judge to her lawyer, to her father and to Jane sitting behind her in the gallery. The former was standing up with such a look of shock on his face, his mouth open, unable to form a coherent word. The latter was seated and sobbing into her hands.

Tears began to run down Elizabeth's face as the court appointed bailiff moved towards her. The last thing she saw as she was led out of the courtroom, was her father hugging her sister, both with tears streaming down their faces.

Elizabeth moaned as awareness slowly crept upon her, pushing her up from the inky blackness of oblivion and into the waking world. The first thing that registered in her mind was that her head felt fuzzy, as though she had been asleep for a very long time. Licking her parched lips, she tried to open her eyes. They felt heavy and it was difficult to do so.

At length and after much effort, she managed to open them but then had to quickly close them tightly from the bright white light before it seared her eyes. A few moments later, when it was no longer painful to do so, she squinted them open again. As her vision came into focus, Elizabeth saw that she was in an empty, and incredibly white, room.

"Good morning."

The greeting was quietly spoken but nevertheless caused Elizabeth to sit bolt upright, knees tucked under her chin and pulling the thin sheet up tightly around her.

At the foot of the bed was a man staring intently at her. He was dressed in black, a stark contrast to the unusually white room, and looked to be in his early thirties. In his right hand, he held a black folder.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He had an accent, suggesting that he was either French or Belgian.

"Who are you, and where am I?" her voice was hoarse and came out just above a whisper.

"My name is Michael. You're not in prison anymore. The world thinks you're dead. A prison riot. This is your funeral," he opened the folder and handed her several photographs. "Row 8, plot 30."

Elizabeth's eyes widened and tears welled in her eyes as she beheld the various photographs of her father and mother, her sisters, aunts and uncles, and friends, all dressed in black and crying as a casket was lowered into the ground. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she looked through the photos of her funeral.

"We've decided to give you another chance," Michael continued, indifferent to her sorrow. His voice and face void of any feeling. "This is where you'll train. This is where you'll learn. After two years, if everything goes well, you'll work for us."

"Why me?"

"A woman with your looks, who can kill in cold blood..."

"I didn't! I didn't kill anyone!" She cried angrily.

He just looked at her for a moment and although there was still no expression on his face, she knew he didn't believe her. As he turned to leave the room, Elizabeth, in desperation, sprung up and tried to attack him from behind. Michael neatly flipped her onto her back, pinning her to the floor with his body.

"When you attack someone from behind, go for the kidneys," Michael instructed calmly. "It disables and they can't fight back. Consider that your first lesson."

"I don't -- I don't want lessons!" Elizabeth shouted, gasping for breath and struggling underneath him.

Michael released her and stood up. "We start tomorrow at 5 am."

"And if I don't want to?" she asked defiantly, still lying on the ground.

"Row 8, plot 30." He pointed to the photographs scattered on the floor.

Without another word, he left the room. On the cold floor, Elizabeth curled into a fetal position and began to cry.

Elizabeth stared curiously at the activity going on around her as she followed Michael across the main level. All the different stations were separated by glass. To one side was what looked like a communications center where a young man, a teenager really, was barking out orders to various scrambling operatives. Across from that, was a fairly spacious area with a huge table, chairs evenly stationed around it, dominating the center of the room. Elizabeth guessed that it was used as a meeting place and when she asked Michael, he simply referred to it as 'the War Room'.

Still looking about her, she noticed an area that looked to be a depot of some sort where an older man, the oldest person she'd seen so far which to Elizabeth seemed a little odd, was bent over a counter examining a small black device. This oddity wore a black leather jacket and had his long graying hair tied back in a ponytail with a red bandana wrapped around his forehead. Elizabeth slowed a little to study the man further when the man suddenly looked up from his work and stared straight at her.

Elizabeth's cheeks became flushed with embarrassment, as he looked her up and down in appraisal. Then smiling in approval, he winked at her. Normally, if a man had looked at her the way that that man had just looked at her, she would have been angry or at least very annoyed. Yet, she didn't feel either, just embarrassment and maybe some amusement. Shaking her head at her strange thoughts, she jogged a little way in order to catch up with Michael.

"Where are we going?" she asked coming to walk side by side with him.

"I'm taking you to meet your new mother," he answered glancing down at her then backwards at the man who waved.

"And who are you, my father?" she retorted sarcastically.

Michael smiled in amusement before turning a corner leading into a passageway with large metal doors at the end. He stopped in front of the doors, gesturing for her to come forward.

"Wait here," he told her then turned and walked back down the way they came.

She stared at his retreating back until the metal doors called her attention by opening outward and causing her to step back. After a brief hesitation, she entered.

Elizabeth glanced about the empty room. There wasn't much furniture in the room besides a large metallic table at the middle of the room and a couple of chairs. There was a red loveseat propped against a wall across from it, and beside that a stood a full length mirror. In a small alcove further into the room, was a vanity littered with an assortment of make-up and perfume. Mounted on the wall opposite, was a large and ornate mirror. Elizabeth also noticed what looked like a rack of clothing and an inbuilt closet adjacent to the vanity and just underneath a stairwell.

She approached the black laptop sitting open on top of the desk. Curious, Elizabeth glanced at the screen then frowned when she saw her psychiatric profile on display.

"They seem to think you have potential."

Elizabeth jumped and looked up, startled. On the balcony above her was a beautiful woman with long, flaming red hair. She was impeccably dressed in an expensive tailored dress suit.

"Who's 'they'? Who are you?" Elizabeth questioned in a guarded manner.

"I'm Madeline," the woman replied as she descended the stairs. "'They' are Section One. They own you now."

Elizabeth couldn't help the wry smile that formed on her lips. "I didn't know I was for sale."

Madeline smiled at Elizabeth's show of wit. "Please sit down," she gestured to the chair in front of the vanity.

Elizabeth just looked at her warily, not moving from where she stood.

"If you want to live, it has to be on our terms. So please, do sit down." Madeline waited patiently, her hand still outstretched, indicating to the chair.

Elizabeth waited a beat, then moved forward and sat down. Smiling again, Madeline came to stand behind her and gently turned her head so that Elizabeth was looking in the mirror.

"Look at yourself," she intoned soothingly. "Admire yourself. See your beauty. You can learn to shoot. You can learn to fight. But there's no weapon as powerful as your femininity." Madeline stroked Elizabeth's cheek, resting her hand on her shoulder. "We're family now, Elizabeth."

She remained there a moment longer, watching the young girl's face in the mirror before turning and walking away.

The organization designated Section One, was the most covert anti-terrorist agency on the planet. Founded by a woman only known as Adrian after the Korean War, the Sections were created in response to the birth of modern terrorism. Adrian worked with other global agencies such as Interpol to form the Sections. Of all the Sections, Section One was the most powerful.

It is an organization that recruits its operatives, more often than not, from prisons. Choosing criminals who have either been sentenced to death or to life imprisonment. Section recruits these members of the populace, knowing that society already considers them expendable. The manner in which they recruit their operatives is reflective of the Section's mindset. Who better to able to guess what a criminal or a terrorist is thinking and which moves they are about to make then a criminal themselves? Who has more experience with using weapons and has no problem hesitating in pulling the trigger than someone who has done so before?

The two years of training that recruits go through in order to see if they are 'Section material' include weapons training, hand-to-hand combat and espionage. It is often said to drum the souls out of its recruits, but most of the recruits already came with their souls tarnished and sometimes not even there at all. The main goal of this training is to mold these killers and sociopaths into disciplined professionals who know when to kill and when not to kill.

Perhaps it could also be said that Section was a humanitarian organization, as well as an agency that brings to justice criminals that no one else can touch. For not only does it protect the lives of all the men, women and children of the world; it also takes people who used to have no future, no conscience, and no hope of ever having any semblance of a real life and give them a second chance. A chance to atone for their past sins.

It is unremittingly dark, intense, and sometimes monstrous in Section One. It is a place where humanity and compassion are liabilities that can cost an operative their life. It is a world where good guys are as bad -- or worse -- as the terrorist they fight, and the only thing keeping them alive is the ability to pull the trigger.

Section One's ends are just.

But their means are ruthless.

Section One, Operations' Loft

Five years ago when Adrian, the mother of Section One, suffered a stroke, she was deemed incapacitated. Her successor was a brilliant and ruthless operative by the name of Paul Wolfe. Known as 'Operations' to the operatives working beneath him in Section, it is he who ultimately controls Section One; designing the missions, conducting liaisons with the few people in the key governments who know of the Section's existence, and making 'personnel' decisions -- including who should live and who should die.

The man known as Operations had no qualms when it came to using people in order to see Section's missions succeed. As far as he is concerned, operatives are not so much people as they are tools -- and thereby making them completely expendable. He believed that no matter how good they were, they could always be replaced, and if the situation warrants it, will be -- so long as Section's ends are served.

Operations was contemplating one of these 'tools' as he looked down at the scene below him, waiting for the appearance of one of his operatives. His office overlooked the main area of Section One headquarters, affording him an ample view to observe his subordinates go about their duties.

Operations was still surveying the activity in the stations below when Michael entered his office.

"You're late." He didn't turn away from the window.

"Training went long," Michael answered easily. "You wanted to see me about something."

"Yes, it's about Elizabeth."

"What about her?"

Michael's question was given in a neutral tone of voice but Operations could detect a minute trace of cautiousness in it. This gave him pause for a moment, but not for too long.

"I've been watching her," Operations said, finally turning away from the view. "She lacks discipline."

A pause. "She needs a little more time."

"It's been two years," Operations argued. "That's our policy. We start making exceptions; we're no better than the CIA."

He waited a beat before giving the order. "Cancel her."

"I think that would be a mistake," Michael warned in a slow drawl.

Again, there was that tone in Michael's voice that Operation's didn't like. He looked straight at Michael but the younger man's face remained stoic and revealed nothing, just as he was trained to do.

"It would be a mistake," Operations enunciated precisely and not without a little edge, "to become emotionally attached to the material."

"It has nothing to do with that," Michael expounded quietly. "I think she could be a good operative."

Operations glared at Michael clearly letting him know that he didn't think so. After a long silence he turned back to look out his view, effectively dismissing the other man.

Operations' parting words hung in the air between them. "If she fails, you fail."

In the reflection in the glass, he saw Michael's accepting nod to his ultimatum before he exited the loft. It was another moment before Operations turned his attention back to watching Section through his window.

Section One, Gym

Elizabeth rolled into a reverse somersault, standing just in time to deliver an out-to-in crescent kick to her opponent. The blow hit her opponent squarely in the jaw, felling him. Offering a hand, she helped the beaten operative up. They bowed to each other, signaling the end of the sparring match. Thanking her opponent, she turned to collect her towel and saw Michael watching her earnestly.

"How's it going?" he asked in his usual expressionless voice.

Although she had two years to get used to Michael showing very precious little emotion, every now and then she would feel a twinge of annoyance at his lack of emotion. Now being one of those times.

"You tell me," she replied wiping the sweat off her neck with a towel.

They left the gym and began walking across the main area of Section.
If Michael noticed her annoyance, he didn't let on. "Have Madeline get something nice for you to wear. We're going out."

Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. "What do you mean, going out?"

Michael stopped walking also and was now looking at her with a slightly amused expression on his face. "Dinner, tonight."

"Why?" Elizabeth persisted. She was a little suspicious and not to mention, surprised. In the two whole years she'd been there, she hadn't been outside of Section headquarters except for the occasional wet run. And now all of a sudden she was going out to dinner with Michael. Something was up.

"You've earned it," Michael stated simply.

Elizabeth watched him leave with a puzzled expression on her face. She didn't entirely trust this abrupt and unexpected invitation for dinner on the outside, but she couldn't think of any underlying motives Michael could have in extending the invitation. She stood in this manner for some time, considering and reconsidering. When she finally realized that she had been standing in the middle of the floor for a good while, Elizabeth just told herself that she was being overly paranoid. A trait one eventually developed while at Section One.

Starting towards the direction of Madeline's office, she looked up towards Operations' loft and saw him watching her.

A Restaurant -- 1930 hours

"To the future."

"To the future," Elizabeth echoed smiling as she clinked her glass against Michael's.

Elizabeth took a sip of her wine and looked appreciatively at her surroundings. The Italian restaurant that Michael had taken her to, although expensive and richly furnished, wasn't overly opulent to be tacky and had a cozy atmosphere. There were quite a number of patrons seated even though it was still early in the evening.

She had been more than a little nervous when she was waiting for Michael in Madeline's office and her nervousness had steadily increased when they left Section. However now, actually sitting in the restaurant, she was finally starting to relax and enjoy herself.

"Madeline taught you well," Michael commented on her table manners and how she had held herself when they first entered the stylish restaurant. He was also referring to the looks that Elizabeth had gotten from most of the male patrons and restaurant staff.

Madeline had chosen a tasteful yet alluring little black dress for Elizabeth to wear. She also fixed the girl's hair so that her long dark locks were cascading neatly down her back with a couple of curly strands escaping to frame her face. Elizabeth's make-up was minimal, serving to enhance her natural beauty. The older woman had then presented her with a pretty silver necklace and matching bracelet threaded with silver-gray freshwater pearls to finish the look. When Michael had finally appeared, Madeline was openly smiling her approval and Michael told her she looked lovely.

"Yes, well, I wasn't entirely without manners before, you know," she joked, replacing her wine glass.

Michael smiled. "You've come a long way, Elizabeth."

"I don't know, it's strange but," Elizabeth confessed biting her lower lip. "I almost feel..."

"Go on, say it," he encouraged gently.

"Happy..." she looked confused at her own revelation.

Michael gave her another of his indecipherable looks, before taking out a large rectangular box gift wrapped in shiny gold paper and placed it in front of her. "For you."

Elizabeth stared alternately from the box, to Michael watching her, and back to the box again. Then a radiant smile lit up her face. "Really?"

He nodded and watched as she carefully tore the wrapping off. Underneath was a beautiful wooden case. Running her fingers across the smooth finish, she undid the latch and, glancing at Michael, opened the box.

The color drained from Elizabeth's face and her grin faded. Inside, imbedded in green felt were a silver handgun and an extra cartridge. She felt sick all of a sudden and unable to say a word.

"The blond haired man sitting behind me has a PDA in his briefcase," Michael told her casually, taking another sip from his wineglass. "Get it."

"How?" Elizabeth choked out, breathing raggedly and still staring at the gun.

How could he do this to her? How could he pretend and make her believe that this was all just supposed to be a nice night out? A reward for her hard work, for being a good little recruit and playing by their rules. All these thoughts were running through her head as Michael continued to describe what she was expected to do. He either didn't notice or he simply ignored the fact that she was on the verge of tears.

"When you get the unit, don't leave through the front. There's a window in the ladies' room. Use that. It leads to an alley. The car will be waiting."

"I-I thought we were --"

"If you're not out there in five minutes," he continued as though his request was nothing was out of the ordinary, "the car will leave without you."

Elizabeth shook her head, tears blearing her eyes. "I can't do this."

"Five minutes." His voice was emotionless. Cold. "If you don't mind, wait until I leave."

Suddenly, a sickening thought occurred to her and for a moment she couldn't breath.

"Do you want me to kill him?" she whispered in dismay. "I won't kill him. Michael --"

"Do whatever it takes," he said prior to getting up and leaving her alone at their table.

Elizabeth numbly took the cartridge, slipping it down the front of her dress; she then, praying for forgiveness, picked up the gun. After a moment or two, she got up from her seat and moved towards the man Michael had pointed out as her target. Elizabeth showed no emotion on her face as she smashed the man's companion's head with the butt of the gun rendering him unconscious then pointed the gun at the blond man's head. She did this before either man could react.

"Open the briefcase!" she ordered grimly.

The man shook his head. Elizabeth pointed the gun at the ceiling and fired.

"Open it!" she demanded more forcefully.

The man still refused. "I've got my men everywhere. You'll be dead in a matter of seconds."

Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, panic slowly creeping up her chest, but she quickly suppressed it and instead, without a word, smashed the gun on the side of his head, knocking him out as well. Next, she pointed the gun at the lock on the briefcase and pulled the trigger. The case sprung open and she grabbed the PDA then ran to the ladies' room.

Inside the ladies' room, she hurried towards the window and fumbling with the latch, opened it. Elizabeth let out a scream of frustration and despair when she found that it was all bricked up. She ran back out of the ladies' room and into the nearby kitchen just as gunfire tore at the wall behind her.

Elizabeth dived behind a counter when she saw a couple of men with machine guns burst through the other door leading to the dining room and started shooting at her. Another man came through the way she came effectively blocking all her exit routes. Huddled against the cool metal of the counter, a whimper escaped Elizabeth's lips as she thought that the situation was hopeless. She lifted her head and looked around her. The kitchen staff had run away when the shooting had started, a couple of them who weren't so lucky and were caught in the crossfire, lay lifeless on the ground.

She turned her eyes from the bodies and continued to look for a way out. Hope filled her when she saw a garbage chute in the wall nearby. If the goons would stop firing for a moment, she thought, I might be able to make it.

Scooting along the floor to the end of the counter, Elizabeth quickly took glimpse around it. Taking a deep breath, she stood and returned fire, one of her shots hitting one of the men in the shoulder, then ducked back down.

There was a break in the gunfire and she could hear them reloading their guns. Elizabeth decided that it was now or never and made a dash for the chute. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a man armed with a small rocket launcher. She heard him fire just as she launched herself into the garbage chute. Elizabeth felt the jolt of the impact the missile made behind her and she could feel the heat of the accompanying fire at her heels.

She landed headfirst in the dumpster outside. Dazed and dirty, Elizabeth climbed out and half-limped, half-ran to the waiting car in the alley. Michael was inside waiting as she fell back against the seat and closed the door. She could hear the police sirens wailing outside as the car began to drive away.

"You knew?" she accused, tears spilling down her face.

"We had to see if you could improvise," he stated coolly. "Did you get the PDA?"

Elizabeth tossed the unit contemptuously at him. "Why didn't you tell me this was a job, instead of pretending?" she asked angrily, her resentment rising by the minute.

"No matter what state of mind you're in, you have to be able to perform," Michael reasoned.

Elizabeth stared at him incredulously and gave a bitter laugh. She couldn't believe these people. They expected her to be a cold-blooded killer, killing without thought or remorse. They wanted her to be able to carry out tasks that would time and again put her life at risk, like some circus animal performing for its master. They wanted her to be something she could never be, something she didn't want to be, and she told him so.

"You're sick. You don't want a person, you want a machine. I can't do that."

"You just did," he pointed out quietly looking straight into her dark, blazing eyes.

The limousine came to a stop in front of an apartment building.

"Let's go." Michael stepped out of the car and waited for Elizabeth to follow.

"What is this place?" Elizabeth suddenly felt very tired and wasn't in the mood for anymore of Section or Michael's games.

"You'll see," was all he said.

"No," Elizabeth returned adamantly in a burst of defiance and crossed her arms in front of her. "Not until you tell me what we're doing here."

"Elizabeth, please."

She was ready to tell him to go to hell but something in his voice and the way he looked at her, made her back down. She sighed and gestured for him to lead the way. They went inside and silently stepped onto the elevator. Michael pushed the button for the sixth floor. Stepping out into the hallway, Michael led her to a door bearing the number 412 and unlocked the door. He motioned for her to precede him inside.

"You live here?" she queried glancing around.

"No," Michael said slowly. "You do. It's yours."

Elizabeth's head jerked towards him and she gaped at him in astonishment. "Mine?"

He nodded in affirmative, a faint smile gracing his lips. "I hope you like it."

"What do you mean, mine?" she repeated dumbly.

"Everything you need is here," Michael took out a large yellow envelope from his coat. "I.D., driver's license, credit cards. Tell no one who you are or what you do. Anyone asks, you're between jobs and taking some time to figure things out."

Elizabeth took the package from him and opened it. Sure enough, it contained various cards and documents bearing the name Elizabeth Bennet.

"Your codename is Nikita."

She sat on one of the stools beside the counter. "What do I do now?"

"Wait."

A pause. "For how long?"

"It depends. Could be a day, could be a month." Michael went to the door and opened it. He looked at her sitting there with the envelope he gave her in her hands. "Goodbye."

She didn't know how long she sat there staring at the door after Michael left, but when she became aware of her surroundings again, a smile broke out on her face. Feeling amazingly lighthearted, Elizabeth immediately went to explore her new home. However, remembering her unclean state, she decided to head for the shower first.

Entering her bedroom, Elizabeth found several boxes and suitcases containing her things from Section. Rummaging through her clothes, she selected a towel and bathrobe and headed for the bathroom.

Sometime later, she emerged from the shower clean and refreshed. Padding across her new apartment, Elizabeth went out to the balcony. And there she stood, clad only in a bathrobe, looking out into the city and letting the evening wind whip through her hair.

material -- Common reference to all recruits during their two years of training. An operative's trainee.

PDA -- Personal Data Assistant. Also known as a 'panel'. Is used to access and store data.