I was once young and full of promise, trained by a unique group of volunteers who, in their own way, saw me as a daughter—an extension of their family. Brought to this country as a child, my Guardian made a fateful decision: to enhance my genetic code with a lost triple-helix DNA sequence, an inheritance from an ancient bloodline long protected by secret guardians. This lineage was feared and revered, for it carried the power of both creation and destruction—beautiful yet terrifying. But to wield such power, one must find balance. That is my burden, my curse. I must walk a fine line, for if I falter, I risk becoming either too much of one force or the other.

My real mother was a test pilot for the United States, and my father was a flight tester. I was born into a legacy of pioneers—Air Force families whose purpose was to push the boundaries of space and time. This was more than just a profession; it was an evolution. Our genetics, shaped by generations of test pilots, were sharpened to adapt, to explore, to reach for the stars. Because of my lineage, I was tested for an aptitude that the Air Force coveted. I learned to fly, but more than that, I became something else—something beyond the ordinary. A savant in the clandestine world, molded for purposes few could comprehend.

But time is unkind, even to those engineered for greatness. Now, at the age of retirement, I face an unspoken truth: there is no longer a place for me. In my world, obsolescence is inevitable. When one reaches the final stage of their capabilities, a newer, more advanced model always takes their place. We are given a choice—continue serving in the shadows or disappear entirely. There is no space for those who refuse to adapt.

We are not like you. We have been designed, enhanced, and trained to be the best versions of ourselves. We know too much, and that knowledge makes us both valuable and expendable. For those of us who survive, the only paths left are to become teachers, to serve in private security, or to be reshaped by those who can afford us. We can protect, we can serve, and we can love—unconditionally—if only treated with respect.

But make no mistake, this was never a life I chose. I was chosen. I was required to serve. And now, I am nothing more than a commodity. Property of the United States. And if you want me, you have to buy me. Because I am for sale.

Below is my portfolio and accomplishments.