X5-767 stared at the ceiling. Her hands were splayed across her flat stomach as she thought about the news she'd been given a few hours before.

"You're pregnant," they'd said. "We can't determine the gender of the subject just yet, but the X10 appears to be healthy. We'll keep you here overnight with 211 and 702. The Committee extends its congratulations, 767."

"Thank you, sir. I will do everything in my power to ensure that the project is successful."

A baby. For some odd reason 767 knew it was going to be a boy. Only they weren't 'boys' or 'girls' here, they were males and females. Boy or girl sounded too human. She'd never heard herself referred to as a girl or a woman.

It made her think of her own mother. 767 did know where she'd come from. She even knew what her mother had looked like. They hadn't looked very much alike. It was common for the X5 subjects to inherit odd features from their surrogates- the hair colour, for example, or an irregular freckle or two.

The women had had their pictures taken for records. Some had even been pregnant when taken off the streets and their unborn, unwanted children made into X5s. As long as they were healthy, they'd do.

767's mother had been dark-eyed and rather short, and her photographic eyes peered through a mane of tangled black hair as she slouched in her seat. Yet 767 could spy a spark somewhere in there that even Manticore hadn't been able to snuff out.

767 had not inherited hair colour, eye colour, freckles or anything of the like from her mom. She did, however, have a tiny birthmark on her right pointer finger, so small she hadn't noticed it until the winter of 2013. It sort of resembled a crawling baby if you really used your imagination. For once in her life she'd sinned. She hadn't shown her superiors the birthmark for fear that they'd laser it away until it was obliterated to become blank skin devoid of personality.

She wondered if that was her mother's gift to her.

All the surrogate mothers were for was carrying the X-series to term. The subjects- they were not called babies or children, but subjects- were not allowed any contact at all.

She imagined herself in her late twenties, watching her growing son train from the other side of the quad, dressed in a soldier's camis and combat boots. The X5 females would be allowed little to no contact with their children, to avoid unnecessary emotional attachments being formed.

767 sighed and turned over. She slept.

When she awoke, she instantly knew something was wrong. I smell smoke, she thought instantly.

X5-767 tried to register this. She took a deep gulp of air and hacking coughs filled the air.

I SMELL SMOKE, her mind told her even more insistently. I SMELL SMOKE.

RUN.

She jumped from her bed in the infirmary and calmly tried to open the door as the fire alarms began to go off.

It was locked.

767 panicked. Why was it locked? It should be open. This wasn't a drill. "211! 702, wake up!" she called, trying to maintain a calm voice.

"I smell smoke," said X5-211 in bewilderment. She came to help.

"I can't open it," whispered 767, gulping. "It's locked."

211's eyes widened and she laughed nervously. "Don't be childish, 767. Of course it isn't locked." She pushed her X5 sister out of the way and started to wiggle the handle back and forth.

702 trotted over to the door, yawning and coughing, her eyes watering. "Well? Open it!"

"I can't open it, it's locked!" cried 211 in fear.

The three X5 females began bellowing and banging on the door with their fists. There was a small screen and 767 looked through it. At that moment there was a clicking, grinding noise and the door made a movement as if to open, but didn't. It was jammed.

The corridor was suddenly flooded with X-series and anomalies, running for their lives through fire and smoke.

"HELP US!" screamed 211, who wasn't always good in emergencies. "WE'RE TRAPPED IN HERE! HELP!"

767 looked through the screen and saw her breeding partner run past. "Wait!" she yelled to him. "Get us out of here!"

He slowed down, staring at her face through the glass. Then he shook his head and kept running, flanked by a few X8s.

"NO! No! In here! Help us!" called X5-767 desperately, spluttering.

He disappeared.

"Shit!" swore X5-767 loudly, trying to get rid of her sickened feeling of betrayal. "I need something to break the screen."

"You can't- it's unbreakable," 702 reminded her.

"Well, I'm going to try and knock it out of the pane, then. I need something! Anything!"

"I don't want to die," murmured 211, giving a violent twitch. This was not a good sign. She'd start seizing if they weren't quick.

767 grunted as she slammed her shoulder into the pane. It shuddered, but stayed put. She grabbed a small table, dragged it to the door, climbed onto it and kneeling, began pummelling at the window.

"No- someone's there-" blustered 211 sleepily, having inhaled a lot of smoke and collapsed to the floor. Over the nearby roar of flame 767 couldn't hear her. X5-211 weakly pulled on her X5 sister's pant leg, trying to get her attention. 702 had to brace herself on the table, coughing and giving the door the occasional flimsy thump.

Someone was trying to open the door from the other side. All of a sudden the door opened and 767 fell on him.

She thought it was one of her X5 group as she gazed momentarily into his eyes. "X5-573?" she asked softly.

"Ouch," he said simply, gritting his teeth.

767 tried to get up off him. He grabbed her arm to try and pull himself up, making her fall back down. 767 stifled a nervous giggle, trying not to look at him.

She rolled sideways onto the floor. Both jumped up to help 702 and 211 out.

"Why the hell did you get us out, 573?" asked 767, reverting to type. "That wasn't the mission!"

The four of them hurried down the corridor. An X7 went limping past. She'd lost all her hair and looked like a very short seventy-year-old- a victim of progeria.

"573?" he yelled back, hitching 211 up a bit. "No!"

"What d'you mean, no?"

He bellowed something she couldn't understand.

"What?"

More gibberish obscured by the sound of floors falling through.

"WHAT?"

"No, I'm Splint!" he roared. "SPLINT." He repeated in case she hadn't gotten the message.

Splint? A name? This intrigued 767. X5s did not have names. At least, her group didn't. You were born a number, grew a number and were shot, blown up or otherwise slaughtered a number. She'd never considered names.

They reached a window. The women would be able to climb through- it'd be a tight fit, but 767 imagined he could use this escape route.

Splint gave 702, whose face was streaked with ash, a boost through the window. If 767 stood on tiptoe she could see her dashing away into the night.

Gunfire. Screams. And she fell into the long grass. 767 didn't see her after that. Splint hadn't appeared to notice this. He was trying to get 211 to stand on her own.

211 was next. She staggered for a few seconds and was suddenly running. More gunfire. She ducked and swerved and disappeared into the forest.

"You next," he said.

"Speak for those two," sniffed X5-767, beginning to climb. She paused. "Where should we meet you? I mean- are you going to give us up to the superiors, soldier?"

Splint shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it, the new X5 generation is so important. They need to get out of here. WE need to get them out of here. Just you get your kid as far away from here as possible. I'll catch you up."

767 scrambled through the window and paused as his hands appeared on the sill. "Hurry up!" she yelled.

He said nothing, but there was a scream and crashes as the wall crumbled, flame pouring out the small window. She leaped backward, holding her arms up to keep the heat away. 767 shied from foot to foot. "SPLINT! Are you alive?" She wondered briefly why she felt so awful yelling that.

No answer. 767 started forward, heat searing at her unprotected skin.

I SMELL SMOKE, her senses barked. RUN.

Taking a running jump, her feet touched cool grass and she skidded, landing on her hands and knees. Gunfire whirled over her head.

She started to crawl, muttering to herself. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" This was a habit of hers- as a young child frustrated with the swimming lessons imposed on her, she'd screamed like a maniac every time she'd put her head under the water, eyes wide open.

767 had loathed swimming even though she was excellent at it. There were a lot of things she was good at and hated.

She'd reached the X7's territory- basically the X7s were transgenic watchdogs. She had to watch out. The X7s were the greatest trackers Manticore had ever created. And with all this noise, you'd never hear them coming...

They were coming. She flopped over into a suitable position, opened her eyes wide and took a deep breath, stilling her pulse. She could keep herself like this for about ten or eleven minutes before she'd have to take a breath or die.

Those were the footsteps of the X7s. Slow, calculated... then they turned wild, and another sound intercepted them.

It was someone running for their life.

Out of nowhere came someone who tripped right over X5-767 and went headlong into the dirt with a shriek of terror.

An X8. Winded, 767 had been flipped over onto her face. The X8 crawled over to her and began shaking her. "Help me, help me, please help me!" she begged. 767 stayed perfectly still.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded the X8 girl. "Help me! Oh... no."

She jumped up and ran off, apparently with the X7s on her tail.

X5-767 found herself huddled underneath a tree the next morning, sore and unwilling to remember the night's events.

"Ugggggh," she moaned, putting her fingers to her mouth. They came away bloodied. When had she cut her lip? 767 couldn't remember. All she recalled was pain, fire, gunshots, screams in the night...

There was blood on her shirt too. She hadn't cut herself there, she was sure of it. Was it the X8's blood?

She was hungry and lonely. She needed other transgenics around. She needed to belong to a pack, an army. She began to slowly rock back and forth, cradling her blonde head in her hands.

So here she was. All alone, injured in several places... all alone.

She did not grieve for 702- there was no sense in worrying, as she had not seen her X5 sister actually die. She'd probably run into her in a day or two, she reasoned. But somehow she felt wistful for Splint.

"That's crazy!" she said aloud, raising her head. She'd never felt particularly close to 573, his clone. All she'd done was fall on the man and talk to him a few seconds.

It was most likely the fact that he'd died helping her to escape. This startled X5-767. She'd regarded herself almost like an X7 in the fact that she did not feel guilt. Well, hardly ever.

767 picked herself up and dusted off her nightclothes- Manticore did not call them pyjamas. Once again, that sounded too human. She looked a little ridiculous and she knew it, but she was very pretty. It wouldn't be too difficult to get a lift to the next town.

She found a stream and washed her face and hands in the cleanest part of it. Spring water definitely wasn't as tasty as people made out, but it got the job done.

Dragging a bruised foot slightly, she found a roadside and sat waiting for a truck to pass. It was a surprisingly short time before one approached.

A gunshot emanated from the other end of the road. 767 started and looked around. She knew it was odd, but since she was nine gunfire had always creeped her out a little. She'd woken up in the middle of the night one cold February night, clapping a slight hand to her chest and gasping. Four words stabbed at her frighteningly clear mind.

SHE DIDN'T DESERVE THAT.

X7s spilled onto the road, chasing a catlike anomaly that was yowling and spitting at them as they pounced, dragging it off its feet. X5-767's first impulse was to go and help them, but somehow... she didn't want to be a part of this.

The truck pulled to a stop beside her. Great. The driver was greasy and skinny, leering at her. She smiled brightly, but rolled her eyes.

"Hi."

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

Ugh. Sweetheart. X5-767 resolved then and there to never refer to her unborn child this way. It sounded so... awful.

Wait a second. Who even said she'd keep the baby long enough to assign it any kind of term of endearment?

"Why d'you want to know?" she asked sweetly.

He laughed and she simpered, casting around for a name, any name, as he gurgled about various old flames.

"Jenna," she said finally, interrupting him in the middle of a tirade about the eighth love of his life. "Jenna Scott," X5-767 elaborated. She extended a hand.

The driver guffawed and wrung her hand. 767 surreptitiously wiped her hand on her shirt, aching to snap his wrist as he put his hand nearby her knee. It would have found its intended target had she not meaningfully fidgeted at the last second.

"Where are you headed?"

"Seattle," he grunted, visibly put out.

"Seattle..." she mused.

It's close by, she reasoned. Perhaps the others are there.

"Goin' to Seattle, sweetheart?"

767 resisted the urge to shudder and with as much dignity as she could muster replied, "I may well be. And you? Are you staying?"

"With you, sweetheart, I'd brave the gates of Hell."

She cringed and struggled not to quip, "What, only the gates?" 767 simply giggled (masking the gagging noises slowly but steadily rising in her throat) and tried to relax.

Trees rushed past. 767 remember being thin and small and leading a small band of her group- 799, 735, 206 and others- through similar trees. She held a knife in her hand. They chased a convict.

Tree-scents stabbed at her senses, and they crouched low to the ground, catlike, spiderlike, his breathing thudding in their ears as he thundered past. Dewy grass tenderly left its marks on her pale face, brushing green on her jaw like a mother's touch and leaving sparkling droplets in its wake. She wiped them unconcernedly away, leaving a dark smear.

799 stared at her with dark eyes. She had a pretty destructive glare. It put the Psy-Ops to shame, but she didn't much use it. She was too soft.

X5-767 nodded grimly, but a sudden almost maniacal smile bloomed across her face.

They dived into action. 767 rose to her feet and began to pick her way through the undergrowth, the others following. There was an eerie detachment to the way she stared straight ahead.

Stopping abruptly, she looked up and to the side. They were exposed and vulnerable- if the man ran through here, he'd see them and they'd blow the mission.

There was a gaunt white terror of a face peering at her through the trees, and she beckoned furiously for them to come. A small group of X5s jogged over to her, and the two teams leaders conversed wildly, their hands blurring as they shouted at each other without saying a word.

They agreed on a course of action. One team, she found out, was tailing him closely and making him run back onto the main trail by taunting him.

She could imagine it. Out of the trees would come the merest stage whisper of a voice. "Ha."

"Whatcha laughin' at?"

"That man..."

"Thinks he's brave..."

"He can't fight us..."

"Look at him, he's tryin' to run!"

"He can't run, what makes him think he can run from us?"

"Look at him..."

"Makes me sick, lookin' at him. Look at how we'll kill that man..."

"That man..."

"Ha."

"Look at him, he's scared..."

Naturally that team was the ones good at throwing their voices. The final terrifying part of their little act would be beginning to laugh quietly, first one and then all the others, a savage rumble of animal laughter. It had been her idea, their laughing bit- she'd come up with it in her favourite class, Battle Psychology.

She broke into a strict run as the teams separated again, and word came from all over. She could hear murmurs, feel the air stirred by half a dozen kids having run past.

This... was her fun.

Slowly, effectively, silently the group burst out of hiding places long frequented in those same woods. They tricked him into running toward the riverbank, and right into their trap.

Terrible screams rose into the air- battle cries and agonised bellowing- and 767 had crashed through the thicket just in time to see her family playing with the man like cats teasing a mouse.

"Feeling lucky?" hissed 657 in a voice so low it could have been mistaken for the wind. She pressed long-nailed hands into his back and shoved him hard to the ground. There was blood on her face.

"Huh?" yelled 494. "Are you?" He began kicking the man hard in the ribs and neck, dirt spraying into their prey's face and eyes.

"Please..." croaked their quarry. They laughed.

"Come on!" said 600, pacing around him and tossing his knife from hand to hand. "Too chicken to take on a bunch of kids, huh? Fight us!"

Growls and snarls rumbled in their throats mixed with evil laughter. "Fight us!"

"Try an' take us on!"

"Fight us!"

They began to chant it- fifty kids, the CO only thirteen years old. All wielding switchblades and catcalling to a fully-grown man they'd nearly beaten to death.

"Fight us," 767 had joined in. "Fight us, fight us, fight us, fight us!"

A few more swung out of the trees likes apes, having lost the scent. "Did we miss the good part?" asked the baby sister, 453, running over to 702 and tugging at her arm. She blew her fringe out of her eyes.

The thick canopy of leaves obscured dappled midday sunlight. They had begun to clap rhythmically and step from foot to foot, stirring the filmy dirt by the river. Chuckling, 472 bared his teeth and snapped at the man, sounding eerily like a rabid dog, as he tried to crawl.

573 made punching motions at the man, whirling his blade expertly through his bloodied fingers and posing like an action hero, to the mirth of the others.

Two girls, 348 and 211, pulled him roughly to his feet and began shoving him back and forth between the two of them, miming stabbing and slashing at him with their blades.

417 had his turn, pretending to flex his Manticore muscle and knock him silly with karate punches and flying kicks, missing him every time. His combat boot finally connected with the convict's forehead, sending him soaring. Cruel laughter filled the air, which turned again to snarls and heavy breathing.

TIME TO KILL, said 767's subconscious. TIME TO KILL.

"LET'S FINISH HIM!" screamed out 657, and laughing, yelling, cheering, snarling, the Washington X5s ran in...

It had been X5-620's responsibility to tip the corpse into the river, and she'd done so quite cheerfully, though not before 600 had cut off the man's right hand as proof they'd completed the objective. And although they stressed truth and honour far more than their Wyoming clones, all had kept completely straight faces when X5-600 had told Colonel Hardy that the kill had been a very quick affair with no twisted games played.

Somehow they'd known it was wrong. But when they killed away from the base, it made them more animals than regimented, ordered, barely human... subjects.

And ANYTHING was better than being a SUBJECT.

767 had only been eleven years old.

He stopped for gas and 767 took charge as he climbed out, unbuckling her seatbelt and sliding into the driver's seat.

"So where is it you're from?" he called.

"Got relatives in Marseilles," she answered, naming the first place that popped into her head. Had the sarcastic little voice in her brain that kept her in line been flesh and blood, it would have smacked her upside the head. MARSEILLES? it demanded.

Laughter. "Fascinatin'."

She did not appear to answer, but the driver did not see her devilish grin as she extracted the keys and settled herself into the driver's seat. "Au revoir, sucka," she said under her breath.

When he returned, he laughed at the sight of this obviously weak woman sitting in the driver's seat. He went to open the door-

It was locked.

He looked at her, and 767 laughed musically, "Thank you so much for taking me this far, and just remember this- I'm not STEALING your truck, I'm just BORROWING it."

With that she screeched out of there and barrelled down the road.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue.

NOTE: 767 is a fairly central character from another of my fics. She's originally from 'Growing Up In Terminal City'. Now, 767 (she does have a real name, except I won't say it now in case you haven't read my other one) is my favourite of my original X5s, and I like her so much... well, I just had to give her her own story.

This is what is commonly known as my Big Project. For months I've been devising it, planning it in detail, writing excerpts and even compiling a soundtrack. No, really. The soundtrack is basically all the music I listened to writing certain parts. It might not seem that big or special right now, but I have been putting everything I've got into the excerpts that are floating around my computer.

Because of all the goddamned homework I get now, I'm afraid I can only churn out chapters every other week. But I'm really excited about writing this and I hope anyone who's read this chapter has at least nodded and said, "Oh. OK."

'Cause, you know, basically that's all I ask. :]

SONGS FOR CHAPTER ONE:

The Beginning- 'Space Needle Theme' from 'Dark Angel'

The Fire and Escape- 'Crawling' by Linkin Park

The Woods Flashback- 'Breathe' by Prodigy