Disclaimer: All Kyle XY universe characters and locales belong to some other entity, whether singular or plural. In plainer English: I own nothing when it comes to the Kyle XY franchise.
PROLOGUE
A round table large enough to sit sixteen individuals sat in a dimly lit room, its fifteen occupants' faces cloaked in perpetual shadow.
One said in a somber voice, "XY has been corrupted; he killed Grace's son in cold blood." The silence was thick in the room for several moments, the occupants' stomach's digestive noises likely producing more noise.
Another said, "The son was following directions from Grace. Her membership has been terminated." Several heads turned to the empty seat.
And still another, this one a woman, "XY had so much promise; is there a way to salvage his innocence, his promise?"
The first replied, "There is a high probability of recurrence, at least 85% that an experiment will turn on its creators. XY, although close to the ideal, cannot be allowed to survive."
The woman stated the obvious, "He is being terminated."
The first announced, "He and his so-called family already have been."
A fourth voice interrupted from outside the circle, via one-way intercom, "Lordships, excuse the interruption, but the operation was only a partial success." A brief pause for a quick swallow followed. "XX has escaped. XY has been confirmed dead at the scene."
CHAPTER 1: Sacrifice
One media outlet was already at the scene of the conflagration, even before the firefighters despite the five alarms in the home. Or more accurately, the twisted husk that once was a home.
The female reporter stared gravely into her camera, as she reported from the scene, "Neighbors reported numerous explosions inside the home. Police have already come on record suspecting an illegal drug lab being run in the home's basement. There is no official word yet on casualties but it is suspected there were several people in the residence when the first explosions took place at about two in the morning." The report continued in detail, while neighbors were kept at bay.
When the fire trucks came into view at the tail end of the news reporter's monologue, the woman ended her report with another announcement. "The city of Seattle seems to be in the middle of a drug gang cleansing, as a local warehouse has also been destroyed in a giant blaze at nearly the same time. We will report further from that scene when we have more information."
They hurriedly packed up and left the scene, leaving before the hoses were even connected to the nearest hydrants.
***
When the head firefighter saw the destruction and witnessed the news truck leaving in a flurry of dirt and dust, he turned to the trainee who was under orders to remain within the cabin for their safety, "Did you catch that news van on the video feed?"
The young man nodded and read the license plate. "Clear as day sir."
"Good man." His attention was already pulled back to the towering blaze. This was not a normal fire by any means. The house had already crumpled on itself. It looked very much like a bomb or grenades had been thrown inside, because there was debris everywhere covering the grass for at least a dozen yards. To another firefighter, he ordered, "Get the bystanders out of here!"
As the fire shined in his eyes he knew the house was a total loss. It was a miracle that no neighboring houses had caught on fire from the size of the apparent explosions. His crew had a better than average response time when getting to emergencies and tonight had been particularly good.
He sighed as he ordered the neighboring houses hosed down and to let this one burn itself out a bit. There was no way he was sending anyone into that inferno; the house looked like it would crumble even further any second.
The forensics guys would be working a long time on this case, picking through the rubble.
There was always something left from a fire, however bad it was. It was only a question of whether it would be useful.
***
Jessi remembered every second of the attack clear as day, or night, she thought ruefully. She had never had the trouble that Kyle had with common expressions, and she was stronger than him in many ways, but he always managed to surprise her, even in death.
They'd heard the van park silently outside the house in the dead of night, while they had been making out in the dark. With their enhanced vision, they could easily see the other's body with the meager light from the lone window in the corner.
She'd been partially oblivious, enjoying the electricity sparking over and between them, but he'd stopped immediately to listen. Four very frantic heartbeats were coming rapidly toward the house, showing definite signs of adrenaline.
The week before Michael Cassidy had threatened and nearly killed Kyle. Although he'd killed him, in self defense, and Tom Foss had taken great care to dispose of the body, someone was coming for them. Both topless, they emerged as one from his bedroom to confront the invaders. Just from their heartbeats, they knew where they were. Two of them had entered the house, seemingly unarmed.
Kyle had crippled one attacker with a kick to the back of the neck. She had forced all the blood in her target to climb to the man's head, causing a great fount of blood to erupt from eyes, nose, and ears as arteries, veins, and heart collapsed. She hadn't considered how much of a mess her way of doing things would make, and had felt terrible outright killing her man, but now knew they'd been sent in to die.
As she had stood frozen, watching the blood spout in all directions, Kyle had broken through her concentration. A single image in her head was burned there: a bomb, large enough to bring the house crashing down on them, and quite likely set every house around them on fire.
She stared at the two figures still outside, a woman and a man. There was no time for them though; he'd been right in telling her to flee. As she ran toward the new screen door, the same screen door that had been blasted to bits the previous week, he had put himself between her and the bomb.
Somehow he'd contained the fireball; she envisioned him absorbing it and directing it straight up. She even knew he'd lived four seconds after the bomb had ignited. He'd sent her a message telepathically; it was something she'd never even considered he could do.
Her brain hurt as it assimilated the information. She recognized it instantly, feared it, but it held firm within her. It was his legacy, his burden, but now it was hers.
Now she knew why he'd been so fervent and passionate in the last week, and why they'd been alone for almost 30 hours prior to the attack. He'd partially decoded the package, and had devised a mission for them to take. But he had also known they were on borrowed time, and had sacrificed his life for her. Would Latnok know that the Tragers were away at Foss's expense?
She didn't even know where they were, and she suspected Foss would be already dead if she sought him out. It didn't matter anyway, for her goal now was to find the others, and turn them to their cause. She only had to show them this memory.
***
In a small bare room, she sat on a small cot, planning. It had been tremendously easy once she'd run into the forest next to where she'd been born – at the age of sixteen from an artificial womb – to get to safety. There were countless shelters for battered and abused women and so she'd managed to get a change of clothes, chop off her hair, and give herself a nice big black eye and puffy cheek as a way to get in without any questions. Although the story had been clearly fabricated for her audience, her tears had not.
Latnok, the secret organization under the supposed guise of being humanitarians, had killed the most selfless and kind man she knew. The fact they'd created him made them think they owned him.
When she overheard someone walking down the hall, she started to cry for theatrics. It was a common sound in neighboring rooms, and would ensure privacy, unless she escalated it too much. She only needed a little time, perhaps a week or a month, of anonymity to make Latnok believe her dead.
In the meantime she would set all her plans in motion from within the tiny room, and she would make sure Kyle's sacrifice was not in vain. A lump formed in her throat momentarily, but quickly returned to normal. She would grieve, but not now. Vengeance was more important.