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Alias: Twisted Part 1 (MF,drugs,mc)
by MoniqueD

They had pried her jaw open and dripped three drops onto her unwilling
tongue. The liquid was the most potent club-drug known to the human race. The
woman was Sydney Bristow.

As a woman who spent so many Friday nights in the sleaziest clubs of East
Asia and Europe, Sydney knew club-drugs. There were the letters: E, X, S-K,
Z (or as the Brits called it, 'Zed'). There were the pantheon of Gods: Zeus,
Aphrodite, Apollo. Then there were the specials, her particular favourites,
because they'd blow your mind and keep you lucid all the while: Supernova,
Red Dwarf, Black Hole.

But this little mix-developed by millions of dollars of financing by Russian
and Israeli intelligence - was bound to become the hottest thing in every
corner of the world that knew how to dance. It was called 'Twist'.

One drop of Twist would send a person into a weekend-long binge of screwing
and dancing. Two drops of Twist would give an average person their most
intense orgasm ever, followed by a two-week coma. And three drops? Well, that
hadn't quite been tested.

The doctors released the straps and Sydney Bristow slumped to the floor.
The world went pitch black and she felt like she was splitting in two - the
rational and all-American girl lying dead on the floor, and something much
darker crawling along the dank tiles towards the dance floor.

* * *

The first thing she felt was the music. Or perhaps it wasn't even a music -
maybe it was some modern incarnation of tribal drum-beats, of mystics
smashing on bongo's around campfires to ensure harvest. That's what it felt
like-primal. Raw. Angry. Challenging nature and the Gods to play on her turf.

The pulse of the music shattered through the speakers and pounded the cement
walls, echoing with perfect frequency back and forth along every body and
pillar. It was as if the hundreds of sexy, young, writhing bitches and
bastards on the dance floor were instruments of vibration for the voice of
God. Even if in this case, the voice of God was cheap German techno, it still
felt heavenly to everyone under the influence of Twist.

The way the music smashed, swiped, and slashed through the air made Sydney
want to moan. Her body was helpless in the smooth swaying of her hips, and
the radical and challenging grinds of her naked thighs and eager ass against
strangers all around her. She always felt like her body was a weapon but now
all it was capable of was pleasure. Pure, unbridled pleasure...

Some strung-out and deathly skinny Czech girl silently begged against Sydney,
stroking her hands from her breasts to her midriff. They matched lips and
tongue-fucked all too briefly - it was the type of violent and possessive
kiss girls like Sydney secretly loved. The Czech girl faded away into the
mist of the crowd, but Sydney was glad to see there were more bodies to take
her place - strong and masculine boys, delicate and curvaceous girls, and
everything in between. Naked flesh swiped together, and the taste of sweat
permeated their nostrils and inner beings. The full sensual assault of sex
hung in the air for every breath; it was the choice of embracing the orgasm
or dying of a lack of oxygen.

An all too coherent hand grabbed her by the shoulder. Whoever the hand
belonged to, Sydney knew he wasn't on the drug. Sydney turned around, barely
able to speak anything other than giggling and blissful moans. She matched
eyes with the man. "Such a pleasure to see you," she laughed, with a sharp
erotic inhaling, as if she was trying to swallow his essence.

At first the man was taken aback, but few men could manage to be stoic for
long with the near-naked body of Sydney Bristow pressed against them.

* * *

"It is more persuasive than sodium pentothal. More debilitating than any
virus known to man. More pleasure-inducing than any drug known to man. Quite
frankly, gentlemen, Twist is the future of spy-work. There are dozens of
modified batches for your every need - be it bio-weapons that induce mass
hysteria or a mere elixir to break the most unbreakable prisoners."

Arvin Sloane lifted a vial, as if to say 'cheers', to the dozen associated
terrorists, intelligence heads, and global criminals around the room. There
was a silence. Of course, Sloane suspected this.

"Arvin," said a Libyan with a curiously Cockney accent. "It's just... We've
been promised miracles before. Even if they did work temporarily there's
always going to be some vaccine or counter-measure. And once the formula is
out on the market, if what you're saying is true, we'll have a whole mess of
problems..."

Sloane simply lifted a remote control and clicked one button. The large
plasma viewing screen on the other end of the room lit up and the over -
lights darkened. All eyes were on the black-and-white security camera image
of the club's sub-basement private rooms.

Sydney Bristow's body was arched in a frozen, aching manner - her back
curled, her breasts in full display, her arms extended and her mouth frozen
in breathless bliss. Every man in the room was aware of Sydney Bristow and
what she represented. For the first time, they saw the true power of the
weapon known as 'Twist' - to render people like Sydney incapable.

On a broken-down little bed in Room 0017, Sydney Bristow furiously rode a man
she was well acquainted with, but certainly never this well acquainted with.
Her fourth orgasm of the night was approaching and in her now insatiable
taste, it was only the beginning.

    

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