I am something, something unknown. I was born in a place that doesn't exist and given no name. I lie in a crib all day long. I am fed. I am washed. I am changed.
I am not sure what I am, but there are others like me. I have ten fingers, ten toes, two arms, two legs, a body and a head.
I don't know how old I am, but I know that I am one of the Oldest. Sometimes the Others Like Me cry and I am sad and scared for them. I cry sometimes. I know what it feels like. I want to make them feel happy again.
There are others who are like us, but bigger. When we fall out of bed, they put us back. They can walk. I can't.
I am something unknown. I know what I am. I know what I have. I know what I want.
I want to walk.
I start by swinging my legs through the bars of my cot and escaping its confines. The corridors are dark, and the big Unknowns are changing shifts. I pull myself up and try to walk. I fall down.
Night after night I try to walk. They have started taking us away for a couple of hours in the daytime. We sit on the floor and are shown pictures and funny marks on a screen while a big Unknown tells us what they mean. Sometimes I can repeat what he says.
I take my first step. I stand, hardly a part of the air, and fall down. I start crying in frustration. This isn't what I want.
I want to walk so I can see the Others Like Me, and find a way to make them stop crying at night.
And suddenly I feel arms lifting me up and rocking me as I cry, and a voice soft, saying, "Don't cry, little baby, it's all right, don't cry..."
I feel... good. Is this what makes littler Ones Like Me feel good? Being hugged, being talked to gently?
It is. It is for me.
I want to walk, and now I know what to do when I can.
* * *
I am Ex-Fyve Six-Fyve-Six. I am a soldier. I am five years old.
I wear uniforms over my body, which still has ten fingers and ten toes and everything else, to keep me warm and help me run. Because we do a lot of running, me and the other Ex-Fyves.
Aren't you proud of me? I found out what we are. It has something to do with these marks on the back of our neck.
And I can walk now. I can run, jump, swim, march- I can definitely walk. When I was a baby I'd sneak out at night and teach the Littler Ones how to walk as well. I held them up and taught them how to move their feet. When they fell down and cried and felt stupid, I put my arms around them and told them everything was going to be all right, if only they'd just try again. So now all of them can walk and it's all thanks to me.
I sit in a desk now, in a classroom. I can spell any word you throw at me, even big long ones. They're teaching us special ways of fighting. When the Littler Ones fought each other and felt angry afterwards, I had the See-Oh, Ex-Fyve Fyve-Nine-Nine, declare that squabbles related to the classroom should be kept only in the classroom. Hitting someone in there doesn't mean anything outside. See? I'm smart, but not as smart as he is. I was wrong. He is the Oldest.
I am an Ex-Fyve. I know what I am. I know what I have. I know what I want.
I want to help the others survive.
I want to help them live like I helped them walk. In the dormitory, after dark, I teach them to march properly and stand properly and run properly. Sometimes their giggles and thumps of falling down get too loud, and we have to dive into bed. But I will take the fall for them. I have to protect them.
I only protect the ones who are littler than me. The ones the same age or older stare from their beds at the ones who are smiling. They're beautiful, aren't they? Beautiful Ex-Fyves.
Beautiful... children? Yes. That's what we are. That's what they are. Beautiful children. My beautiful children.
One Little One, Ex-Fyve Fawr-Fyve-Too, is impatient and will not learn from me, even though she is the Littlest and must learn the most. She gets distracted.
One My Age, Ex-Fyve Fawr-Nine-Free, holds up his hands against a stream of moonlight from a window and makes pretty shapes to amuse himself. They stop. They laugh. Fawr-Fyve-Too wanders over to him and asks him to make another one.
I get an idea.
I tell the others to stay and come over alone to Fawr-Fyve-Too, taking her by the shoulder. "Yes, they're pretty shapes, aren't they? Make another one, Fawr-Nine-Free."
Bewildered, he makes another one. Fawr-Fyve-Too giggles and claps her hands.
"It's nice, isn't it? Well, if you do just two more sprints around the dormitory, soldier, you can watch Fawr-Nine-Free make pretty shapes." I turn to him. "You HAVE more pretty shapes, right?"
He nods.
"All right then. Go on!"
Fawr-Fyve-Too runs to practice sprints. I sit and talk with Fawr-Nine-Free. "I'm sorry I don't look after you too. Do you want me to?"
He considers this. "I help you help them and you help me?"
I giggle. "Yes."
I want to help the Littler Ones survive, and now I know I'm going to need help.
* * *
I am X5-656, but in private you can call me Tinga. I am a big sister. I am eight years old.
My life has now settled into a comfortable routine. I look after everyone. I baby everyone. Everyone except Zack.
"I'm so hungry," groans Brin in the bed next to me.
"Me too."
"Me too."
Men burst into the cafeteria just as we were being served dinner. We were sent to bed. There was a commotion. Gunshots. We haven't had anything to eat, or even showers. We're all hungry.
I feel a warm rush of love for my sister. She's eight like me, but only a little older than the oldest of the seven-year-olds.
"Then I shall get you all some food. Anyone coming?"
"Tinga, don't," warns Zack. "They'll kill you if they find you out of bed."
"They won't kill me. I'm too valuable. All of us are."
"I'll come," says Brin. "I'm so hungry."
Zack gets in my face. "That wasn't a request, soldier, that was an order! Get back into bed, now!"
I look at him. "I'm the oldest. I look after everyone. Everyone is hungry, and that means I get them food! What is it about that that you can't seem to understand?"
Zack considers this. "Then let me go," he says. "I won't let you get hurt."
"You're CO. You can't get taken away. I'm not as important."
Brin seems to take this as a personal insult and tugs at my sleeve, so much littler than me. "You're very important, Tinga!"
"Thank you, Brin."
We leave.
I am Tinga. I know what I am. I know what I have. I know what I want.
I want to protect my family against those who would hurt them. I want to protect them from the enemy.
"It's dark," says Brin. The dark doesn't scare us. "Are there Nomalies, Tinga?"
"Only if we're slow, Brinny. Come on!"
We run along corridors to the cafeteria, and try to break it open. They've closed the doors. I can smell our dinners congealing on our plates.
"What will we do now?" asks Brin.
"You there!" barks a voice, and a torch beam falls across us. Brin squeals and darts behind me. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"We're getting food, sir!" I yell, standing at attention and squinting against the light.
"You were under orders not to leave your dormitory, 656!" barks the soldier. "You will be punished! What have you to say?"
Brin's voice quavers as she speaks. "It was my fault, sir! I should have stopped her!"
"Leading the older ones astray, are we, 734? That's not good. This girl is next in line to become CO should her brothers fail! Do you WANT a corrupt CO, X5-734? Answer me!"
"Sir, no sir!"
"Very good," he says, eyes gleaming. "Let's get you back to bed, soldiers."
As we reach the dormitory, he suddenly grabs hold of Brin. "Not you, 734," he says. "You are going to be punished."
The look of shock registering on Brin's face is horrible to see. "Sir?" she asks.
She's practically dragged off her feet and forgets herself, reaching out for me. "Tinga!" she wails. "They'll give me to the Nomalies! Save me!"
"Brin!" I cry, forgetting the rule about names. "Give her back!"
"Go back to bed."
"GIVE HER BACK!" I yell. "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL ANYONE WHO HURTS MY FAMILY!"
I've killed her. They'll give her to the Nomalies. I'M the bad soldier, why aren't I the one being punished? It's not her fault!
I'll kill him. And yet... I can't move. He's a superior. I can't kill a superior. I'm too afraid.
I'm the big sister. I have to save her. But I can't move. Why can't I move? I could kill him with my elbow. I could kill him before he even knew I was there. I could kill him and save my sister from certain doom.
"IT'S NOT HER FAULT!" I scream. "GIVE MY SISTER BACK!"
I hold onto the doorframe, crying. Zack comes and takes me inside. He doesn't yell. He doesn't tell me I was wrong. He just leaves me alone.
This is when it dawns on me that perhaps the superiors don't have our best interests at heart, like I've always thought.
I want to be a brave big sister, and now I know they don't care about my family.
* * *
I am Penny Jameson, a perfectly normal regular woman. Pfft. Yeah, right. A perfectly normal regular woman with a tattoo and the martial arts skills to put black belts to shame.
I am living in Portland at the moment, and working at a bakery, which I thought would be a suitably un-Manticore profession. Manticore expects the rogue X5s to be working as bouncers or boxers or security guards, not rolling dough for a living.
I am in a steady relationship and I've never felt less like a soldier in my life. My boyfriend's name is Charlie Smith.
I am an adult now, and always on the run. I know what I am. I know what I have. I know what I want.
I want to forget.
Nothing will let me forget. How can it? I have a goddamn machine gun in my car. I don't feel safe without a machine gun in my car. It's hidden underneath the driver's seat.
I have to hide everything.
Brin and I were separated the morning after the Pulse. I was a bad person. She could be dead now, and... I...
Why am I still the big sister? I haven't seen any X5 but Zack in years.
I can't forget. They're my family. They made me what I am. I love them.
I wonder what they're doing now...
I'm such a failure. I can't care for them. They need me. Just thank the Blue Lady I wasn't the CO. I haven't got a fraction of the intensity that Zack has.
I remember screaming at the guard to give Brin back. It's true. I would happily kill any person who harmed my family.
Charlie is my family now too. In a different way...
I'm walking home. I can't wait to boil up some water for a bath, make myself something to eat and kick back. Then Charlie's going to come home. He gets off work later than I do, you see. We live together.
We have a television in our kitchen. Television bores me. I like to cook, spar with anyone who can take me on (not many, mind you), run and talk guns. When a few swimming pools were still being run in America, I liked to swim. Fully clothed. That was when I started to realise they did things differently on the Outside.
I put on the radio and hum along. Four pots of water boil on the stove for my bath while I play with a pack of cards.
"It was love," I mouth expertly to some techno-pop song, "at first sight-"
"Sorry, Penny?" asks Charlie, entering the room.
"Hey," I say. "This is for you. Reminds me of someone- can't think who." I hand him the King of Hearts. He smiles at me.
God, I love it when he smiles at me.
"Pass me an oven mitt and how was your day? Mine was... usual."
"OK, pleasant but exhausting and all right then," says Charlie, handing me the oven mitt. I stagger off to the bathroom and pour in water.
I make about five trips between the bathroom and the kitchen. Charlie sits quietly at the table, staring at the card I handed him. Damn, I never knew anyone to be so taken with a playing card.
I lie in the bath, closing my eyes. I get my best ideas bathing. Once I slid underneath the water and was half-asleep. Charlie walked in. I was lying underneath the water, bubbles streaming from my mouth, eyes closed.
He freaked out. He yelled out my name and I sat up, smiling at him. Forgetting that it's not natural for someone to be able to do that. I have no idea how I managed to convince him that I hadn't nearly died. I think I told him it was something I learned at a self-defence class.
It's not even really MY name...
I climb out, get dressed and go to help Charlie with dinner. He hasn't even started.
"Charlie!" I say. "Nineties Love Songs will be on in ten minutes. I wanted to listen over dinner."
He looks ruefully at me. "You listen to that segment?"
"Yes, and they actually have quality music. I'll ask you not to make fun of me."
He's laughing now. "I can't believe you listen to that segment. Nobody listens to that segment."
I roll my eyes and begin cooking. Men! Since when is 1990's music a crime? I think it's very... vintage. Yeah, that's right. Vintage.
"Penny?"
"Yeah?" God, if it's another word about that stupid segment...
"I'm going to ask you a question and if you say no or laugh at me I'm gonna die."
"Shoot."
"Will you marry me?"
I freeze. I must have heard wrong. "Pardon?"
He's got a ring out. A ring. Why does he have a ring?
"Please," he says quietly.
I want this.
I smile, and he relaxes. "Yeah... OK. I'd love to."
"I love you," he says.
And in this moment, I don't feel like a bad big sister or a fraud or a failure.
I feel like I have everything I wanted.
"I love you too."
* * *
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue.
NOTE: I have nothing to say. I seriously can't write romance. Oh, and I'm not ditching 'The Children of Manticore Castle', for anyone who's interested. It's just that I'm going through a bit of a Tinga phase at the moment and this story has been biting at me for awhile.
I am not sure what I am, but there are others like me. I have ten fingers, ten toes, two arms, two legs, a body and a head.
I don't know how old I am, but I know that I am one of the Oldest. Sometimes the Others Like Me cry and I am sad and scared for them. I cry sometimes. I know what it feels like. I want to make them feel happy again.
There are others who are like us, but bigger. When we fall out of bed, they put us back. They can walk. I can't.
I am something unknown. I know what I am. I know what I have. I know what I want.
I want to walk.
I start by swinging my legs through the bars of my cot and escaping its confines. The corridors are dark, and the big Unknowns are changing shifts. I pull myself up and try to walk. I fall down.
Night after night I try to walk. They have started taking us away for a couple of hours in the daytime. We sit on the floor and are shown pictures and funny marks on a screen while a big Unknown tells us what they mean. Sometimes I can repeat what he says.
I take my first step. I stand, hardly a part of the air, and fall down. I start crying in frustration. This isn't what I want.
I want to walk so I can see the Others Like Me, and find a way to make them stop crying at night.
And suddenly I feel arms lifting me up and rocking me as I cry, and a voice soft, saying, "Don't cry, little baby, it's all right, don't cry..."
I feel... good. Is this what makes littler Ones Like Me feel good? Being hugged, being talked to gently?
It is. It is for me.
I want to walk, and now I know what to do when I can.
* * *
I am Ex-Fyve Six-Fyve-Six. I am a soldier. I am five years old.
I wear uniforms over my body, which still has ten fingers and ten toes and everything else, to keep me warm and help me run. Because we do a lot of running, me and the other Ex-Fyves.
Aren't you proud of me? I found out what we are. It has something to do with these marks on the back of our neck.
And I can walk now. I can run, jump, swim, march- I can definitely walk. When I was a baby I'd sneak out at night and teach the Littler Ones how to walk as well. I held them up and taught them how to move their feet. When they fell down and cried and felt stupid, I put my arms around them and told them everything was going to be all right, if only they'd just try again. So now all of them can walk and it's all thanks to me.
I sit in a desk now, in a classroom. I can spell any word you throw at me, even big long ones. They're teaching us special ways of fighting. When the Littler Ones fought each other and felt angry afterwards, I had the See-Oh, Ex-Fyve Fyve-Nine-Nine, declare that squabbles related to the classroom should be kept only in the classroom. Hitting someone in there doesn't mean anything outside. See? I'm smart, but not as smart as he is. I was wrong. He is the Oldest.
I am an Ex-Fyve. I know what I am. I know what I have. I know what I want.
I want to help the others survive.
I want to help them live like I helped them walk. In the dormitory, after dark, I teach them to march properly and stand properly and run properly. Sometimes their giggles and thumps of falling down get too loud, and we have to dive into bed. But I will take the fall for them. I have to protect them.
I only protect the ones who are littler than me. The ones the same age or older stare from their beds at the ones who are smiling. They're beautiful, aren't they? Beautiful Ex-Fyves.
Beautiful... children? Yes. That's what we are. That's what they are. Beautiful children. My beautiful children.
One Little One, Ex-Fyve Fawr-Fyve-Too, is impatient and will not learn from me, even though she is the Littlest and must learn the most. She gets distracted.
One My Age, Ex-Fyve Fawr-Nine-Free, holds up his hands against a stream of moonlight from a window and makes pretty shapes to amuse himself. They stop. They laugh. Fawr-Fyve-Too wanders over to him and asks him to make another one.
I get an idea.
I tell the others to stay and come over alone to Fawr-Fyve-Too, taking her by the shoulder. "Yes, they're pretty shapes, aren't they? Make another one, Fawr-Nine-Free."
Bewildered, he makes another one. Fawr-Fyve-Too giggles and claps her hands.
"It's nice, isn't it? Well, if you do just two more sprints around the dormitory, soldier, you can watch Fawr-Nine-Free make pretty shapes." I turn to him. "You HAVE more pretty shapes, right?"
He nods.
"All right then. Go on!"
Fawr-Fyve-Too runs to practice sprints. I sit and talk with Fawr-Nine-Free. "I'm sorry I don't look after you too. Do you want me to?"
He considers this. "I help you help them and you help me?"
I giggle. "Yes."
I want to help the Littler Ones survive, and now I know I'm going to need help.
* * *
I am X5-656, but in private you can call me Tinga. I am a big sister. I am eight years old.
My life has now settled into a comfortable routine. I look after everyone. I baby everyone. Everyone except Zack.
"I'm so hungry," groans Brin in the bed next to me.
"Me too."
"Me too."
Men burst into the cafeteria just as we were being served dinner. We were sent to bed. There was a commotion. Gunshots. We haven't had anything to eat, or even showers. We're all hungry.
I feel a warm rush of love for my sister. She's eight like me, but only a little older than the oldest of the seven-year-olds.
"Then I shall get you all some food. Anyone coming?"
"Tinga, don't," warns Zack. "They'll kill you if they find you out of bed."
"They won't kill me. I'm too valuable. All of us are."
"I'll come," says Brin. "I'm so hungry."
Zack gets in my face. "That wasn't a request, soldier, that was an order! Get back into bed, now!"
I look at him. "I'm the oldest. I look after everyone. Everyone is hungry, and that means I get them food! What is it about that that you can't seem to understand?"
Zack considers this. "Then let me go," he says. "I won't let you get hurt."
"You're CO. You can't get taken away. I'm not as important."
Brin seems to take this as a personal insult and tugs at my sleeve, so much littler than me. "You're very important, Tinga!"
"Thank you, Brin."
We leave.
I am Tinga. I know what I am. I know what I have. I know what I want.
I want to protect my family against those who would hurt them. I want to protect them from the enemy.
"It's dark," says Brin. The dark doesn't scare us. "Are there Nomalies, Tinga?"
"Only if we're slow, Brinny. Come on!"
We run along corridors to the cafeteria, and try to break it open. They've closed the doors. I can smell our dinners congealing on our plates.
"What will we do now?" asks Brin.
"You there!" barks a voice, and a torch beam falls across us. Brin squeals and darts behind me. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"We're getting food, sir!" I yell, standing at attention and squinting against the light.
"You were under orders not to leave your dormitory, 656!" barks the soldier. "You will be punished! What have you to say?"
Brin's voice quavers as she speaks. "It was my fault, sir! I should have stopped her!"
"Leading the older ones astray, are we, 734? That's not good. This girl is next in line to become CO should her brothers fail! Do you WANT a corrupt CO, X5-734? Answer me!"
"Sir, no sir!"
"Very good," he says, eyes gleaming. "Let's get you back to bed, soldiers."
As we reach the dormitory, he suddenly grabs hold of Brin. "Not you, 734," he says. "You are going to be punished."
The look of shock registering on Brin's face is horrible to see. "Sir?" she asks.
She's practically dragged off her feet and forgets herself, reaching out for me. "Tinga!" she wails. "They'll give me to the Nomalies! Save me!"
"Brin!" I cry, forgetting the rule about names. "Give her back!"
"Go back to bed."
"GIVE HER BACK!" I yell. "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL ANYONE WHO HURTS MY FAMILY!"
I've killed her. They'll give her to the Nomalies. I'M the bad soldier, why aren't I the one being punished? It's not her fault!
I'll kill him. And yet... I can't move. He's a superior. I can't kill a superior. I'm too afraid.
I'm the big sister. I have to save her. But I can't move. Why can't I move? I could kill him with my elbow. I could kill him before he even knew I was there. I could kill him and save my sister from certain doom.
"IT'S NOT HER FAULT!" I scream. "GIVE MY SISTER BACK!"
I hold onto the doorframe, crying. Zack comes and takes me inside. He doesn't yell. He doesn't tell me I was wrong. He just leaves me alone.
This is when it dawns on me that perhaps the superiors don't have our best interests at heart, like I've always thought.
I want to be a brave big sister, and now I know they don't care about my family.
* * *
I am Penny Jameson, a perfectly normal regular woman. Pfft. Yeah, right. A perfectly normal regular woman with a tattoo and the martial arts skills to put black belts to shame.
I am living in Portland at the moment, and working at a bakery, which I thought would be a suitably un-Manticore profession. Manticore expects the rogue X5s to be working as bouncers or boxers or security guards, not rolling dough for a living.
I am in a steady relationship and I've never felt less like a soldier in my life. My boyfriend's name is Charlie Smith.
I am an adult now, and always on the run. I know what I am. I know what I have. I know what I want.
I want to forget.
Nothing will let me forget. How can it? I have a goddamn machine gun in my car. I don't feel safe without a machine gun in my car. It's hidden underneath the driver's seat.
I have to hide everything.
Brin and I were separated the morning after the Pulse. I was a bad person. She could be dead now, and... I...
Why am I still the big sister? I haven't seen any X5 but Zack in years.
I can't forget. They're my family. They made me what I am. I love them.
I wonder what they're doing now...
I'm such a failure. I can't care for them. They need me. Just thank the Blue Lady I wasn't the CO. I haven't got a fraction of the intensity that Zack has.
I remember screaming at the guard to give Brin back. It's true. I would happily kill any person who harmed my family.
Charlie is my family now too. In a different way...
I'm walking home. I can't wait to boil up some water for a bath, make myself something to eat and kick back. Then Charlie's going to come home. He gets off work later than I do, you see. We live together.
We have a television in our kitchen. Television bores me. I like to cook, spar with anyone who can take me on (not many, mind you), run and talk guns. When a few swimming pools were still being run in America, I liked to swim. Fully clothed. That was when I started to realise they did things differently on the Outside.
I put on the radio and hum along. Four pots of water boil on the stove for my bath while I play with a pack of cards.
"It was love," I mouth expertly to some techno-pop song, "at first sight-"
"Sorry, Penny?" asks Charlie, entering the room.
"Hey," I say. "This is for you. Reminds me of someone- can't think who." I hand him the King of Hearts. He smiles at me.
God, I love it when he smiles at me.
"Pass me an oven mitt and how was your day? Mine was... usual."
"OK, pleasant but exhausting and all right then," says Charlie, handing me the oven mitt. I stagger off to the bathroom and pour in water.
I make about five trips between the bathroom and the kitchen. Charlie sits quietly at the table, staring at the card I handed him. Damn, I never knew anyone to be so taken with a playing card.
I lie in the bath, closing my eyes. I get my best ideas bathing. Once I slid underneath the water and was half-asleep. Charlie walked in. I was lying underneath the water, bubbles streaming from my mouth, eyes closed.
He freaked out. He yelled out my name and I sat up, smiling at him. Forgetting that it's not natural for someone to be able to do that. I have no idea how I managed to convince him that I hadn't nearly died. I think I told him it was something I learned at a self-defence class.
It's not even really MY name...
I climb out, get dressed and go to help Charlie with dinner. He hasn't even started.
"Charlie!" I say. "Nineties Love Songs will be on in ten minutes. I wanted to listen over dinner."
He looks ruefully at me. "You listen to that segment?"
"Yes, and they actually have quality music. I'll ask you not to make fun of me."
He's laughing now. "I can't believe you listen to that segment. Nobody listens to that segment."
I roll my eyes and begin cooking. Men! Since when is 1990's music a crime? I think it's very... vintage. Yeah, that's right. Vintage.
"Penny?"
"Yeah?" God, if it's another word about that stupid segment...
"I'm going to ask you a question and if you say no or laugh at me I'm gonna die."
"Shoot."
"Will you marry me?"
I freeze. I must have heard wrong. "Pardon?"
He's got a ring out. A ring. Why does he have a ring?
"Please," he says quietly.
I want this.
I smile, and he relaxes. "Yeah... OK. I'd love to."
"I love you," he says.
And in this moment, I don't feel like a bad big sister or a fraud or a failure.
I feel like I have everything I wanted.
"I love you too."
* * *
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue.
NOTE: I have nothing to say. I seriously can't write romance. Oh, and I'm not ditching 'The Children of Manticore Castle', for anyone who's interested. It's just that I'm going through a bit of a Tinga phase at the moment and this story has been biting at me for awhile.