Deliverance
Chapter One: Out of the Frying Pan
Past the lights of the city, I can see no stars. But I can sense them. The music of the spheres is playing for me, only for me, again, inside my head.
Outside of myself, I walk the streets, no longer searching, I have found what I have been looking for, but I will wait to get it. These things take time. In the short while that my life has spanned, I have learned that much. Out of all my lessons, that may be the most important. Everything has its allotted amount of time, if you rush it, take to long, the window of opportunity closes. But I have timed this perfectly.
Jason walks by my side, silent, as is his nature, but the electricity that is him keeps me company. He almost crackles and hums with energy as he walks, a power plant of a boy. He looks to me from the corner of a sparkling hazel eye, and I can't help but smile back. In mere hours, we will have our ally. If we are supremely lucky, we may have a warm bed, perhaps a mentor.
But these things take time.
And what we need is not ready for us yet.
This seizure is the worst I've seen yet, Logan thought, but then again, that was what he thought every time he saw her like this.
They had been about to eat dinner, as was their custom, when Max's deep brown eyes had suddenly gone dull. She had known what was coming. Logan had looked up at her just in time to see her try to warn him, when she began shuddering violently enough to make her slide off her chair. He had somehow managed to lift her onto his lap and get her over to the couch.
"Lo—gan?" She muttered between spasms.
"I'm here." He told her, returning from the kitchen with a glass of water in hand and a bottle's worth of tryptophan, "See if you can get this down." She might have tried to nod, but with the violence of the seizure, who could tell?
He fed her the pills, watching her carefully, making certain that she wouldn't choke on her chemical solution. Not for the first time, Logan wished death on the people who'd done this to her…
It was so strange to him, thinking about Manticore. They had made Max possible. They had made her, this incredible human being—abeit a genetically engineered human being—and he had to thank them for that. But for everything they'd put her through, everything that her hopped up DNA made her go through, he honestly wanted to kill them.
For a man that was so recently a killer, this was saying a lot.
For all its violence, the seizure only lasted a few minutes. They felt like forever, but when Logan wheeled himself back into the kitchen, Max striding along behind him, the food wasn't even cold.
"Sorry about that." She looked him in the eye with her usual frankness once they were seated.
"Nothing to be sorry for." He responded with an amiable smile, "Still have your appetite?"
Max flashed him a wicked grin, "Definitely." Surveying the table, Max spotted a strange green vegetable, covered in brown sauce, "But, uh… What is that?"
Logan grinned, "Bok Choi, a Chinese vegetable. Sautéed in soy sauce and sesame oil."
Max looked skeptic, "Yum?"
In that incredibly sexy manner of his, Logan titled his head to the side, "You eat it, it doesn't eat you. I promise."
Raising an eyebrow, she shot back, "Hey, in my line of work, you take nothing for granted."
"True." Neither of them broke eye contact, they were enjoying their dialogue too much, "Come on, hand me your plate. I'll serve." He extended a hand across the table.
"I don't know if I can trust you…" But both of them knew that wasn't true.
As he was heaping food onto her plate, Max took a few moments to absorb the contents of the table, "Genuine Chinese cuisine?"
Logan smiled, "Hey, I'm no one-trick pony. American and French cuisine get so… boring, after a while."
Max smiled, "Looks good," she faked a frown, "'Cept fir that green thing…"
"You'll like it. Trust me."
True to form, the food was delicious. Even the "green thing," which was surprisingly good, despite the fact that it was a vegetable. Max had just finished wiping her mouth of sauce and was about to speak, when there was a knock on the door. Logan and Max shared a look that warned to be ready for anything.
"I'll get it." Max said quietly.
Logan gave a decisive nod, "I've got your back." He responded, patting the pocket on his wheelchair where he now kept his gun.
Max stood by the door a moment, making sure Logan was ready, then yanked the door open…
…To reveal two children, covered in at least a week's worth of the dust and exhaust of the city. They looked like photographs handled to long over time, fading, worn around the edges. One of them had light brown hair, which was all of him you could see. He looked down, refusing to meet their eyes. The other one, a girl, looked up at them defiantly, looking past a mass of black hair to assess them with gray eyes.
"Are you Max?" she asked quietly, in a voice too timid for those fierce eyes, "Max of Manticore?"
Max started, her brown curls dancing as she forced herself to keep from backing up a step. It was no use denying it so Max asked, "What do you want?"
The boy looked up, his mangled face was such a shock it took a few seconds for it to register to Max, "Your help." He told her, in the ferocious voice she had expected from the little girl. The right side of his face was a gruesome mass of scars, tendrils of scar tissue extending tendrils across his forehead and chin, impinging on the unharmed side.
Her face a mask of shock, Max turned helplessly to Logan, whose face was unreadable. After a few moments of scrutiny, Logan nodded, deciding something within himself, "Let them in."