Chapter one: Broken

"Sweet! Food!"

"Seven-ninety-three, control yourself."

"Come on, don't tell me that those war rations made you want to swear off of food after a while," 793 surveyed the refrigerator and smiled dreamily. "Hey, four-five-two, check it out, we've got chips! Actual real-life junk food!" 793 grabbed the bag of Ruffles from the fridge and ripped it open. "Want some? I tried them on my last solo mission, they're great." 452 smiled, but shook her head. "Want a candy bar then? We've got some of those too."

"Nah," 452 said. "I'm not hungry."

"Let's go somewhere then. I haven't been out on a solo mission for two years, 452. I want excitement! I want dancing! I want --" 452 grabbed the television remote and flicked the TV on. "TV..." 793 crooned. "We've got actual TV!"

"Soak it up while you can," 452 advised. "We've got to start our mission for --"

"Not another two hours, 452. Chill," 793 said. "Eat chips, and sit down on this nice, comfy leather sofa and drink a beer."

"I don't drink," 452 maintained.

"You're so... uptight, 452. We're not under surveillance, and we finally get a chance to relax and eat Ruffles," 793 held a chip up and ate it as a demonstration.

"Yeah, until we have to kill somebody," 452 said.

"Please. You and I both know that we do recon first," 793 got up and started looking around the apartment again. "And, I say again, that is in two hours and -- oh! We've got actual beds and not just bunks!"

"I know, you're blissful at the lack of military accommodations. I'm going for a walk," 452 snapped.

"That would do wonders for the aura of the place," 793 sneered playfully. 452 grabbed up her jacket and walked out of the apartment.

The apartment hadn't been bought, it had been taken. One quick jab to the neck with a piece of glass, and the apartment was free. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, already furnished, with hot water, electricity and food already in the fridge -- it was a soldier's dream home. Or, 793's dream home at least.

452 had only met 793 a few hours before they departed to find a place to live. 793 was more preppy cheerleader than soldier in 452's eyes; she jumped around, she smiled excessively, and she laughed far more than necessary.

"Hey, beautiful! Want to get a drink?" 452 brushed past the smelly, drunk man and kept walking. She approached the Sector check-point to enter Sector 5 and stopped. That's what she needed. Personal transportation.

"Hey, Max?"

"Yeah," 452 said dismissively, wondering how to get a means of transportation. 793 had driven them through the city in a Manticore-provided car, searching for a place to stay, while 452 sat in the back seat wondering what it was about Seattle that seemed so familiar.

"Where've you been? I haven't seen you around for a while." 452 turned to the person who was talking to her, finally cluing on what they had said.

"What?" she asked. It was a boy on a motorcycle, around her age, with dark hair.

"Remember me? Rafer?" he asked.

"No, I don't think I know you," 452 said. "And my name's not Max. It's," she thought for one frustrating second. "Tanya Newton." A motorcycle. Maybe she could get her hands on a motorcycle. Not the one this "Rafer" guy was riding. Something along the lines of a... a black Ninja.

452 walked off without another word to the guy. She needed to get her hands on a Ninja before they had to go do reconnaissance.

It's not just a machine. It's an extension of my soul, if there is such a thing. 452 wasn't sure where she'd heard those words, but right now they were buzzing annoyingly around her head.

After wandering aimlessly around Sector 6 for a bit longer, she decided to head back to the apartment. When she got back through the door, she found 793 still bouncing around the place and giggling to herself about feather down comforters.

"Whatever," 452 said, grinning despite herself. 793 stopped and checked her watch.

"You walked around for an hour," she said.

"You figured that out, huh?" 452 asked sarcastically.

"Guess I can't blame you. This is only your first mission since you got recaptured right? I'd be out there soakin' it all in if I'd been cooped up watchin' the X8s too."

"Recaptured?" 452 asked. 793 nodded.

"Yeah. You know, your great Dirty Dozens escape in '09? Spent a decade on the outside and got dragged back kicking and screaming?" 793 babbled. 452 shook her head.

"That's idiotic. Why would anyone escape from Manticore?" 793 frowned in thought, and then a look of realization came across her pale features.

"Oh, I get it. What level of re-indoctrination did you get? I heard they go up to twenty."

"Level ten," 452 said. "Wait, you mean, I was out here?"

"No," 793 lied quickly. "You know me, I had a sugar high. I babbled."

"More like you tattled. Tell me what's going on," 452 demanded.

"I don't know what you're talking about," 793 said.

"I think you do," 452 contradicted. "You see, I just got ID'd by a guy named Rafer out there; and if I have to figure out why by myself, maybe spill a little bit of Manticore information, then I will."

"You're bluffing," 793 called.

"Try me." 793 hesitated for a moment.

"Look, all I know is that you and a couple of your little rugrat friends escaped in '09. You guys came back and blew up the DNA database about a year back and that's why we have the breeding program," she said bitterly.

"I don't understand. I don't remember any of that."

"Re-indoctrination level ten could do that to a body, I guess," 793 looked at her watch again. "We'd better get going, we need to get to that ballet class for recon. You game?" she asked 452.

"Yeah, I'm game," 452 said.

"Great. Let's get moving."

A/N: I'm redoing this fic because I wasn't as happy with how it was last time. Starting next chapter is new stuff. Please review!