Agent Mary (Stargate)

From Karriviki

Identification

Agent Mary.jpg

Agent Mary currently uses the name Lara Tucker. This is not her real name and her real identity is open to speculation. She is approximately 35 years old latina with long black hair, dark eyes and athletic body type. She is in extraordinary physical condition. While "on duty" agent Mary dresses in black or olive green tactical or outdoors clothing. Otherwise she favors more feminine clothing in off-white and in bright colors like red and yellow.

Mental hospital records show that she has an old bullet wound scar in her left buttock and numerous smaller (and more current) scars across her back. The bullet scar along with her professional combat skills and possible PTSD strongly indicates a military background.

Professional qualifications

Agent Mary is an exceptional outdoorsman and climber. She can navigate, track and organize sustainable long-time operations in both desert and jungle terrain. She is extremely fast and sure free climber and an acrobat, but also has basic skills with mountaineering and rock-climbing equipment.

Agent Mary is well qualified in personal security, tactical driving, a wide variety of firearms and several types of close combat. She also seems to be proficient in wide variety of military weapons, up to and including heavy weapons and explosives. Consequently she is often seen acting as a bodyguard and an enforcer for the other agents.

Due to unknown reasons agent Mary seems to have wide knowledge of Christian rituals and practices relating to catholic saints, catholic mysticism but also less-known rituals. She writes and speaks fluent arabic (classic and iraqi) and has some knowledge of islamic religious studies, especially sufi mysticism and islamic interpretations of shaitan. She is also somewhat proficient in the scientific field of meteorology and to lesser extend oceanography.

Personality profile

According to mental hospital records Agent Mary was diagnosed with a borderline personality disorder (BPD) with following symptoms:

  • Markedly disturbed sense of identity
  • Splitting (thinking in extremes)
  • Chaos in relationships
  • Unstable interpersonal relationships
  • Self-damaging behavior
  • Hypersexuality

Diagnose is not completely accurate as there were several inconsistencies in her treatment and her treatment was interrupted by her escape. Evidence suggests that her BPD may be related to post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in some way. During operations she has shown a tendency to watch over the other agents as if she feels personally responsible for protecting them.

The Story

This shit is confidential. You understand that, right? I mean if you really want to help me and hear my story you need to promise me you don't go to Mr Hill with all the naughty details. Oh, I also also know it will sound like I am bat-shit crazy, but thats not the case. Sure, I have problems, but they ain't exactly the problems you might first think they are. So just hear me out first and judge later, okay?

Well, here we go... (takes a deep breath)

Devil came to me on a moonlit ridge in desert that has no name. We had been tracking it for several weeks, but it had been proven near impossible to pin it down as we did not yet know that it was a skinshifter of trade. I had been wounded earlier in a chance firefight with the russians and was left alone to watch for the rear side of the ridge while the rest of the team went to scour the russian camp. It was too late. All they found was the debris of a battle long past and the horribly mutilated corpses of what had been the russian version of our Stargate project.

As I said I had been left alone to guard the only possible route of escape from the russian camp. It was a narrow rocky pass leading to a level plain of compacted sand and from my vantage point I had a command of it to the range of 350 meters. I was alone but armed to the teeth with automatic rifle, telescopic sights and a grenade launcher loaded with white phosporus. It was there, at the ridge that the devil came to me. A sneaky bastard, it had been approaching me from the least likely direction, climbing up the cliff, straight across the steepest section of the ridge. I heard it kick a rock some seven of eright meters behind me and when I turned around I saw the bloodied form of a russian soldier with empty eyes. As I raised my gun the devil screamed and revealed itself leaving the skin of the poor russian bastard behind and leaping at me.

I can... (voice cracks for a moment, almost breaking to a sob) I cannot... I WILL NOT describe the thing to you. It was pure horror. Something that touches you on the most primal part of your mind. Something that should not exist. On that instant I did not see only what it was physically, but also what it was to do. On the very instant as the devil lept I saw that if it had its way it would penetrate my body through all the natural orifices availeble, turning me inside out. I would rip my bleeding flesh free of my skin and leave my bleeding, flayed body dying on the ridge. My death would be long and agonizing as I would slowly bleed and dry, my body exposed to the elements of the desert with not even my skin to protect it. What was worse the devil would wear my skin, masquerading as me with uncanny precision, live my life until the moment my dear skin would grow old or dry or used for its purposes at which point the devil would kill everyone in my life and in the project and be reborn again as someone else.

It was on that split second moment of realization that the Rage of God came upon me and I fought back with every cell of my being. I killed the devil and passed out, totally exhausted. They found me only a few minutes later, drawn to the moonlit ridge by the shots. What was left of the devil was the skin it had been wearing and black, oozing sludge. At least that is how I imagined it from what the others told me as I was still in catatonic state, unresponsive to the world.

At the base they let me talk to a shrink. I hated the fucker and told him very little so in the end they had to find a catholic priest with the highest possible security clearance so I could unburden my soul. It helped to talk, but it did not explain why God had left me alive when the devil had claimed so many others. In the end I thought he must have a had some purpose. Some mission that I had to fulfill. They even gave me a way out. They said I was too important to be let out of the whole project but that if I did not feel well, I could stay behind on the base, tending to whatever the team needed there. I bluntly refused and said I would go back. What other choice did I have? How could I let my friends go out there to throw the dice with the shaitan when they did not really understand what they were facing? They could probably make it out once, or twice, or maybe even three times... But sooner or later they would miss the devil and end up as flayed husks on the unforgiving sands gasping for salvation that would never come. God had given me the power to slay the devil and it was my responsibility to use it.

Now I am not suicidal. You need not worry about that. God had delivered me from the devil and let me live so how could I even contemplate of repaying that gift by committing the deathly sin of self-destruction? Its just that... Well, it is not so easy to CONCENTRATE on the mission every hour, every day. I know he gave this cross for me to bear for a reason, but at times it becomes just too much. The clues are spread too thin and the people are so frustratingly ignorant of how the world really is. The steady routine of day after day, sifting the clues and accomplishing nothing becomes too heavy to bear. Sometimes when I am frustrated or angry or just plain bored out my skull I need to unwind. I NEED to lose myself, even for just a moment. So I go and fuck my brains out, losing myself in the sweet oblivion of nothingness. The pain comes afterwards. I need the whip to get back to the program, so to say. I use it when I need to whip myself back to shape and concentrate on the mission. Thats all there is to it.

As I said they did not really treat me in the institution. Hell, I KNEW I had a problem, but they just pumped me full of shit and expected me to forget everything. They could not make me forget the need. Even when I did not remember my own name down deep I still felt that I was needed outside. That feeling was the worst. They denied me the sex. Well... they TRIED to, but of course I found away to get some, even inside. Of course it was not enough, so I just punished my flesh more, training longer and whipping myself more to concentrate on trying to remember. Every chance I got I escaped just to get drunk and let somebody fuck me numb so I could forget how much I needed to remember. I know I was mess. No question about it. Its just that I was not a mess for the reasons they said I was and that shit really didn't help much.

Now that I am outside I actually feel much better. I think I actually fuck less and I know I definitely hurt myself a LOT less than I did inside. So yeah, maybe you can understand why I did not respond to you so well at first. My last two experiences with your line of profession have been less than successfull.