I’m a Woman

&

I’m the NEMESIS

PROLOGUE

Blue Moon: 31st July, 2015

Initiation into the Terces Sretsis Yteicos was not a simple roll-call. It meant facing your deepest
darkest demons – under the powerful spell of the full moon. And tonight – it was Hestia’s turn!

She sat quietly, in the dark, her breathing even and regular. She had always been afraid of the
dark – but not tonight…tonight, she would not run away from it. How could she, when her whole
life had been a dark crypt – an empty stifling dark crypt!

“Will things be different after tonight?” she thought as she waited quietly, her eyes closed in
contemplation.

She soon heard a soft click of the key sliding into the slot. He’s here, she smiled as she took a
deep breath.

The door swung open and a large portly man with a thick mane of salt-and-pepper hair
stumbled awkwardly into the apartment. He was drunk – as usual. He reached his hand towards
the panel on the left and flipped the switch. Nothing! He flipped the switch on and off a couple
more times. Still nothing! The room was bathed in darkness.

He stretched his hand and slowly made his way towards the kitchen, feeling his way around in
the dark. He fumbled around the counter top and soon found the small square box. He lit a
match and turned around.

But, it was too late!

He never saw it coming! He was lying on the floor – writhing, as his head exploded in pain. He
was soon unconscious. When he finally opened his eyes, he was no longer lying on the ground.
His head felt heavy. He tried to move but his hands and feet were tied to a heavy wooden chair.
He gingerly opened his eyes, his senses already knew what his sight confirmed – he was no longer
in his house. Where the hell am I?

He looked around in fright, taking in the alien surroundings. There was a fire burning in a
rustic stone fireplace. Several candles were lit all around the low-ceiling room. It looked like
some sort of dungeon. The candles cast eerie ghostly shadows that seemed to be dancing on the
dark stone walls. It was filling him with dread. What is this place?

Even though, the two figures entered silently, the adrenaline pumping through his body had
sharpened his senses and he sensed their presence in the room. He peered over his shoulder in
alarm - hoping to catch a glimpse of his assailant - but try as he did, he could not even move his
head. His head was throbbing unbearably now. He groaned loudly.

Soon the figure was right behind him. The figure stooped low and whispered directly in his
left ear, “Welcome.” It sent a shiver down his spine. The other figure walked around him,
stopping in front of the fire. Picking the fireplace poker already resting on the burning log, the
hooded figure stirred up the fire and left the fire iron to rest atop the dancing balls of flame.
The figure turned around and removed the hood covering its head.

The man continued to stare at the face. For a moment, he couldn’t even recognize her. Her
rich golden hair framed half her face. But he could never forget those eyes.

“YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!” he screamed. “What…what are you doing here? What…what am I doing

here?”

“Shhhhhhh! In time, you’ll have your answers. But for now, I want you to be hale and hearty,”
she said menacingly as she brought a large goblet towards his mouth. “Drink this,” she
commanded.

The man resisted but the figure behind him reached around and grabbed his neck and pulled
his head fiercely back. He almost choked and let out an involuntary cry as the figure released
the pressure. He quietly and obediently downed the contents in the goblet. It was red wine! He
could immediately feel a radiating warmth swelling inside him. It felt good. Next, he was force-
fed a large piece of sweet bread. What the hell is going on?

“Look at me,” Hestia commanded sharply. He looked at her, his pain easing slightly. He was
about to speak but she said instead, “Don’t even dare take my name with your foul mouth.”

He closed his mouth but continued to stare at her. She was praying!

The other figure walked around and picked up the red-hot fire poker from the grate. With the
fire poker in one hand, the figure asked, menacingly: “How good is your English?”

The man did not reply. It had sounded like a woman but he couldn’t be sure. The figure
quietly removed a small dagger from the folds of the cloak. The blade gleamed in the
candlelight, “Not going to talk, are we?” The figure stepped closer and held the blade to his
neck, “I’ll ask again, how goooooooooooooooooood is your English?”

The man croaked meekly, “It’s good.”

“Good! Then you know your idioms?”

The man nodded, before replying, “Yes.”

The figure came closer still. He could smell the faint perfume. It was undoubtedly a woman.
“Good, have you heard this one – having a stick up one’s ass?”
Ali Basrai, the young and dashing Superintendent of Police was silently ensconced in his office
chair and was busy flipping through the first file amidst a daunting tower of status reports. The
SP had to shoulder several responsibilities – administration, financial, and statutory. While he
didn’t mind being out in the field, sitting in his office doing mundane work was not why he had
become an IPS officer. He grunted, “Just a few more files before I can get to some real work.”

His eyes were still scanning the pages when there was a soft knock on the thick wooden door.
“Come in,” he said, without looking up.

A young constable, shoulders stooped, scurried hurriedly into his office. He was holding a
thick pristine white envelope. “Sir, this came for you,” said the constable as he placed the
envelope on the table. He was then summarily dismissed.

Ali reached for the envelope and turned it around. There was no return address. But it didn’t
bother him. The force had procured six letter bomb detectors and every mail was thoroughly
scanned for potential bombs. “Not surprising, looking at the kind of terror threat we now lived
under,” thought Ali. These scanners could scan packages up to 2.25 inches thick (the size of a
telephone directory) and had a fairly negligible false alarm rate. Since this envelope had not
raised any alarm, false or otherwise, was why it had been delivered to Basrai’s office.

He retrieved a long silver sword letter opener from his desk and in one fluid motion, he slit
the envelope open. The content cascaded atop the table; its dark colour in stark contrast
against the white pages of the file he had been reading.

He stared at it in confusion – his mind drawing a blank.

In front of him, staring back at him, was Death.