A/N: Dark Angel does not belong to me. I don't know where this idea came from, but as you can see from the rating, it's kind of dirty.
Max lay on the bed with the beat-down laptop computer open beside her, earbuds in place. It was late; the news feed she was streaming on someone's unsecured wireless network was not only mostly lies, but was also frustratingly not-so-new. She had already heard the thing about the protests over stalled local elections being "under control" twice without any mention of the S1W members she knew had been there. She stretched her free hand out to the keyboard to open the channel in the other window.
"--and, in breaking news, a confrontation in sector four leaves a local business owner seriously injured while neighbors question not just why -- but what," a female anchor intoned.
Great, thought Max. Ten dollars says it's another maladjusted escapee. She dug her heels into the mattress, muscles clenched, taking in careful sips of air through her nose. It was important to remain quiet. Original Cindy was asleep in the next room.
The anchor continued. "Although the assailant fled the scene, eye witnesses describe her appearance as distinctly non-human." I win, thought Max, not happy. She shoved slippery fingers deeper inside, her mind working furiously on several parallel tracks. She jabbed blindly at the keyboard.
" -- none of those incarcerated claim affiliation with any group," a deep man's voice was saying on the other channel. Max recognized him as the Seattle PD's Eastern District commander. "These disturbances are believed to be coincidental efforts by disorganized, disgruntled individ--"
Max wondered if they were lying intentionally, or if they just hadn't gotten around to questioning the prisoners. She changed the channel back.
"-- most likely a steelhead, though the details remain unclear," the anchor was saying. A male voice began to speak, someone being interviewed on the street, apparently. "Lady was black. And I don't mean African-American -- I'm talkin' black feathers, like a crow. All over her body." The anchor's voice was now full of phony surprise. "The cashier at the corner newsstand was reportedly clawed across the face by this strangely-dressed individual after refusing the suspect's demand for money from the register."
Some poor nomalie probably just trying to score some food in the only way she knew how. And Max thought her life was hard. Manticore hadn't given everyone top-notch vocational training. Maybe she should try to get Alec on the case. Logan would be concerned too, but he was tied up right now with Asha's missing people.
"She ran funny when the cops came," said the witness, "but fast!" Lucky transgenic. Max was close now.
"-- protesters will be charged with disturbing the peace," said the district commander. "Our priority is to maintain public --" She felt the sweat pooling under her knees and arched her back, rubbing harder.
"-- fled into a series of connected warehouses." said the female anchor. One of the headphones slipped from Max's ear. She knew the complex, just over the border from sector seven, close to the water. She would let Alec know.
She gasped quietly, finished.
"Now," said the female anchor. "Meredith Hiu with the weather."
Cloudy, Max guessed, her bent knees straightening as she allowed her body to relax. Cloudy, like always.
FIN