A/N: BOHICA: Bend Over, Here It Comes Again. Coming up for titles for this series is almost as much fun as writing it. So…I promised (sort of) you the beginnings of the Seattle Saga and here it is, with Chapter Two soon to follow! Enjoy!
October, 1999
Shelby Coates knew the second she laid eyes on the tiny little twin boys in the cradles before her.
She could see it in their eyes, their facial features, and their wide-eyed curiosity even at only a few hours old.
The one on the left, 493, had screamed bloody murder coming into the world. His twin, 494, had come quietly, almost resigned-like.
493 slept now, exhausted by his trials of the day, but 494 was watching the world.
"Hey there, little guy," she murmured, standing over the two of them as she readied their evening feeding. Optimized milk with genetically specified vitamins and nutrients designed to not only help them grow, but make them astounding.
Not that they weren't already miracles.
Running a finger down tiny 494's cheek, she smiled when he latched on to it. If she hadn't worked with the X5's in the birth year prior to his, she would have been flabbergasted by the amount of strength in that tiny little grip. As it was, she cooed reassuringly as she deftly maneuvered her finger out of his grasp.
"Strong one, aren't you?" She murmured, gently lifting him and placing the bottle to his lips.
It was frowned upon – but not outlawed – to cuddle with the soldiers as they fed them. Barely a couple hours old and already the staff had been instructed to refer to these tiny new lives as soldiers.
His brother woke then, his eyes snapping open even as he let out a puckered yawn before smacking his lips and moving his drowsy gaze over to the food.
"Hush," Shelby ordered scoldingly as 493 began to grizzle. "You'll get your turn."
But 493, as much as they wanted to call him a solider, was only a baby. He didn't understand the concepts of waiting for your turn, or even hush. He was hungry and he was letting her know the only way he knew how.
"Jordan!" She gave up trying to calm him down as she continued to rock 494, calling over another nurses aid.
"Ma'am?" Jordan was a young girl – barely in her twenties – a transplant from a nearby base. She was truly excellent at her job and one of the few others who couldn't see these children as anything but children.
She wouldn't drop 493 to see if those 'super snazzy genes' could make him 'bounce'.
The aid that had done that had been scolded even as the child he'd dropped had been rushed to medical for surgery.
He'd nearly cost them millions of dollars in damage with that single act. Two weeks later, he'd stopped showing up for work. When one brave soul had asked their shift supervisor what had happened, her reply had been grim and succinct.
"He screwed up," she had told them. "He paid the price for his actions."
Shelby took that to mean he was dead. Strangely, she couldn't bring herself to feel much sympathy.
"He's pretty," Becca Jordan held the tiny little boy and watched, enraptured, as he fed. Her normal duties were limited to blood work-ups and daily check-ups, so this was actually the first time she'd held one of them for feeding.
"They all are," Shelby pointed out, smiling slightly as the younger woman flushed.
"I know. I just – I meant – " she gave up on that sentence and, with a calming breath, started again. "They're special, you know? There's something…different about them. You know what I mean?"
"Yes." There was something different about them. And Shelby knew exactly where it had come from.
Those eyes were familiar eyes. She'd grown up with them.
She'd heard through the grapevine that Manticore medical personnel were a bit puzzled by the two of them. Apparently, though 493's genetics had been split to create a clone, a twin hadn't ever entered the equation.
With all their carefully crafted genetic cocktails, when 493's surrogate had undergone her first ultrasound and that second heartbeat had been found, they had been absolutely flabbergasted. 493 had been implanted at the equivalent of the third week of pregnancy, with no signs of zygote splitting. And then, lo and behold, there came 494.
There'd been debate as to whether or not to terminate the second child, but command was curious and frugal. 494 was an unexpected bonus that they weren't about to waste. So some hasty prenatal genetic alterations were instigated to keep there from being two 493's with identical features walking around, and then everybody sat back to wait.
At only hours old, the twins had already had quite a few interesting visitors, not the least of which was the doctor responsible for their inception.
She didn't know his name, only that he had had kind eyes and he'd stared at 494 for the longest time with what could only be described as a befuddled expression.
Shelby was confused, too, but probably not for the same reason.
It was those damn eyes. There were only two possible places they could have come from, and Shelby certainly hadn't donated any genetic material to this place.
"What happened to their surrogate?" Shelby asked, both curious and dreading the answer.
"I don't know," Becca replied, gently removing the bottle from 493's mouth and maneuvering him upright to be burped. "Why? Did you know her?"
Maybe. Probably.
"I don't know." But staring into those tiny, now drowsy faces, she knew.
Laying 494 down next to 493, she waited until Becca was gone to brush a kiss across both little boys' foreheads.
"Hey there, little men," she whispered softly with a smile. "I'm your Aunt Shelby."
April, 2000
"What's going on?" Sipping her coffee and watching the military personnel as they maneuvered through the nursery, she had the sinking feeling in her gut that she wasn't going to like the answer.
"Selection," Becca replied, her eyes curious as she watched the men move through the room.
"Already?"
"They can walk, some of them are even talking," Lenae Williams inserted herself into their conversation. "In their minds, that means they're ready to begin basic training."
"They're not going to be giving them guns, are they?" Becca sounded so absolutely horrified by the prospect that Shelby almost smiled.
"Not for another year," a voice broke in behind them.
Shelby damn near jumped out of her skin as her fellow nurses shrieked and whirled on the man responsible.
"What the hell, Michael!" Shelby almost wanted to kill him just for that brief scare.
"Heya, Shelbs," Michael's eyes swept the older woman's form head to toe before meeting her gaze with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. "You're looking good."
"You're an asshole." Michael's grin, if anything, widened at that before he twisted his head to study the group on the other side of the glass.
"Selection, huh?" Shelby grunted her reply, concentrating on getting her heartbeat back into Earth's gravitational orbit as she once more turned to frown at the men.
"Seems like they just keep getting younger and younger." Michael's attempt at humor fell flat as the women continued to watch as their young charges were evaluated and assigned facilities.
"When's the transfer supposed to happen?" Shelby asked, her heartbeat leaping to her throat once more when the blonde haired, blue eyed Colonel they all knew to avoid came to a stop in front of her boys.
493 and 494 had always been hers, as far as she was concerned. They shared her DNA, after all. But the fact of the matter was that she couldn't simply walk away with them. She had no training on evading a top secret black-ops organization and she knew – with hatred and animosity – that they would look at her first if either of those children went missing.
Her heart sank to the vicinity of her toes and she actually felt herself tearing up when the Colonel said something the aid at his side before motioning to the boys.
Maybe they'll get shipped out together, Shelby found herself hoping. But her hopes were quickly sunk when the aid said something to 493, who hesitated for only a fraction of a second before marching clumsily to a group of X5's in a corner, leaving 494 standing there by himself.
494's gaze tracked 493's movements quietly but his expression remained closed off. Shelby counted herself lucky to get a smile from the younger brother, whereas 493 always seemed to have one ready.
And he was a talker. 493 loved to talk. His baby English was quick and garbled, but it came out in a steady stream. 494, on the other hand…
She was required to report when they started speaking. 493 had started almost a month ago. 494 only a week ago. He'd barely uttered a word since.
They were both curious little cusses, though. More than once Shelby had entered the nursery to find them huddled up in racks that weren't their own, or even in another room. Privately, she liked to call the two of them Harry and Houdini for their little escapades.
Though young and just developing memory skills, they were attached to one another. And with a simple word, the Colonel had taken those ties and broken them.
"Don't."
Shelby blinked, startled by the harshness of the word emerging from Michael's mouth.
"Don't what?" Michael gazed at her steadily.
"Don't do whatever it is that you're thinking of doing. It's not worth it."
Shelby was pissed now.
"Who the hell are you to tell me that it's not worth it?"
"A friend, a colleague, a man who's been there before. And I'm telling you now: whatever you're considering doing, think about this first: what good are you to them if you're dead? Because if you try anything, they will kill you."
It wasn't anything Shelby hadn't already considered, but having the proverbial elephant in the room spoken to her out loud had the blood draining from her face.
"What am I supposed to do?" She asked finally through numb lips.
"Protect them," Michael replied, grim faced as the Colonel came to the end of this nursery and moved on to the next.
"How? I can't be in two places at once."
"So don't be. Pick somebody you trust, ask them to transfer."
"You've done this before?" Michael's gaze drifted to the wall behind her head.
"Once."
"Who?"
"A friend. You're better off not knowing names."
She was better off not knowing anything. Knowledge could either kill your or set you free, and in this place, there was always more than one way to die and more than one thing to kill.
She didn't want to leave either of them, but she was especially loath about leaving 494. With his quiet manner and wandering gaze he was more likely to be assumed defective than his energetic older brother.
"I'll stay here," she decided with a nod, her gaze wandering the room as she searched for a sympathetic soul.
Her gaze landed on Becca, who was watching 493 with sad eyes and a glum expression, and she felt something almost like relief.
She had a solution. But oh, how she wished she could just do away with the problem.
Michael watched Shelby move to the pretty brunette nurse and speak in hushed tones for a moment before turning his attention to the small cluster of soldiers that had been assigned to this facility.
They were tiny, some of them standing on still wobbly legs. They barely understood the world around them and Command already wanted him to start teaching them more.
"Biggs!"
"Sir!" Snapping to attention, Biggs tracked his CO in his peripherals as Rear Admiral Jefferson Shepherd made his way over, his chief aide Amon Brooke right behind him.
Nobody liked Amon. He had bug eyes, a big nose, and a marked superiority complex.
Bat-shit insane was a good way to describe the base Director. Whereas Colonel Lydecker from Gillette was a cold-hearted son of a bitch, Jefferson Shepherd was a straight-up sociopath.
He saw himself as a God and everybody on base knew better than to treat him as anything less, at least in his presence.
"Escort our newest members to their barracks and get them set up. Their first class starts tomorrow at 0800. See to it that they're there on time."
"Yes, Sir." Biggs didn't move a muscle after that as he waited for Shepherd to dismiss him.
The first week he'd been assigned to the base, he'd seen one of the Trainer's he'd come in with get shot, point blank, for relaxing before Shepherd had finished saying at-ease.
"You're dismissed."
Just like that, Shepherd lost interest in him as he wandered over to where Doctor Blaise was studying her newest collection with a frown.
Goddamn sociopaths and goddamn civilians. Blaise saw the young soldiers and scientific marvels and economic possibilities, but as people? Never. That would require emotions, and the red-headed bitch didn't seem to have any.
Moving at a brisk walk to take charge of his newest charges, Biggs wished, for the umpteenth time, that he had stayed home instead of joining the army.
Meeting people and going places was goddamn overrated.
"Lights off is at 2300," the Trainer was instruction from the front of the room. "You will report to your racks and remain there until lights on at 0530 hours. If you have to use the head during that time, you will report of the watch officer before leaving. You will have five minutes to conduct your personal business before you will return to your barracks, report to your watch officer, and return to your rack. Are there any questions?"
494 did nothing; he didn't move, he didn't blink – he barely even breathed as the Trainer paced in front of them.
Eighteen X5's occupied the room, the beginnings of Squad 6. Their CO, X5-764, stood at the front of the line, his back straight and chest puffed out.
He acted like he was important – 494 had no other way to describe his behavior.
And maybe he was. For the last six months they'd been teaching them obedience to the chain of command – outside of the Trainers and Manticore Brass, 764 was highest in theirs.
"You're in charge, 764," the Trainer reminded the young X5 one last time before leaving the room.
They stood in their lines for several long moments, eighteen very confused and scared kids until 764 took charge.
"Into your racks, soldiers," he ordered. 494 instinctively moved to obey, climbing silently into his new bed. Resting his head on his pillow, he tried in vain to go to sleep and failed miserably.
There was just too much going on right now – he missed his brother, he missed the steady breaths of his familiar nursery group.
There were two of them here now – 501, a male, and 202, a female. They hardly made up from the loss of 493, but focusing in their familiar breathing patterns helped calm him.
Drowsy eyed, he blinked his eyes open to find 501 staring at him from the bunk next to his. Offering the other X5 a tired smile, he relaxed further when that smile was returned.
Watching 501 close his eyes, 494 felt extreme relief.
At least he wasn't alone.
June, 2000
Biggs stared at the lizard kid. The lizard kid stared back.
"Doesn't that itch?" Biggs finally broke the silence, motioning with his free hand to the wool blanket the boy – at least, he thought it was a boy – had wrapped around him.
"Yes," the kid replied grimly.
"Then why are you wearing it?"
"It's too cold in here," was his logical response.
"Oh. That makes sense." It was seventy-five degrees, perfectly comfortable for Biggs, but not for the kid. He was a conglomeration of human and a variety of lizard, which made him a unique mixture of reptile and mammal. He had a base temperature higher than most of his cold-blooded animal brethren, but he also required higher outside temperatures to remain comfortable and functioning.
"So what would be comfortable for you? Eighty? Eighty-five? Ninety?"
The kid gave him a suspicious look, on that all but screamed 'you're shitting me, right?' but Biggs wasn't. Shitting him, that was. He genuinely wanted the kid to be comfortable.
It would be a great start to their working relationship if he was.
"Eight-five would be fine," the kid finally stated, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself before wincing as the material scratched at his skin.
"Right. I'll get right on that." Turning to go, Biggs hesitated a moment before glancing over his shoulder.
"You got a name, kid?"
The lizard boy smirked at him.
"Shouldn't you be asking for my designation, Sir?" There was a sardonic way to how he said those words that had Biggs almost grinning at the barely disguised 'fuck you'.
"Sure. What's your designation, kid?"
"DAC-0251," he replied, turning to head back into his habitat before hesitating and turning to glance over his shoulder. "But you can call me Mole."
"Mole?" The kid smirked at Biggs' obvious confusion but offered no explanation as he slipped silently back into his sandy sanctuary.
"Right. Mole it is." Shaking his head and lifting a hand to hide his grin, Biggs set about getting the temperature raised for his newest charges.
The X5 training had been his right up until the moment he had dared to question one of Shepherd's fucked up training protocols. The only reason he wasn't six feet under was his record and his former CO. Major Jacobs had somehow managed to convince Shepherd that sending Biggs down to the sub-basement to work with the Special Projects was a fate worse than death and that a demotion would be an even greater punishment.
Having just had the most interesting conversation he'd ever had in months with a five foot something and still growing lizard kid who, according to his file, was only about ten years old, Biggs could safely say that this was probably going to be the highlight of his career.
If nothing else, he was going to have a good time with Mole. They were gonna be best buddies before he knew what hit him.
August, 2001
"You're an asshole."
"Good morning to you, too, Sandy."
"My name's not Sandy, it's San-dra."
"Yes, but Sandy's considered an acceptable nickname for Sandra."
Mole watched with a grin as his eldest female stopped her foot in the sand before whirling around to walk away and steam…literally.
"I'm starting to cook over, here, Biggs," Malcolm, his SIC, complained, running a rough hand over the ridges on the side of his head.
"It's the hottest desert in the world," Biggs commented dryly. "I thought this would be like paradise to my cold-blooded brethren."
"Different DNA samples, different temperature preferences and survival capabilities," TD, a young and most outgoing male, commented, picking something up off the ground and giving it a cursory once over before eating it.
Biggs bit his lip to keep from laughing at the face he pulled.
Over in the corner, Click said something and Biggs automatically looked to Mole to translate.
"He says he's comfortable," was the drawled reply.
Click was…unique. Ish.
Biggs had found Click in the real basement with what command liked to refer to as the 'Anomalies' which had been universally shortened to Nomalies by almost everybody else.
He was there both for his appearance and his unique speech patterns.
His vocal cords didn't allow for the formation of words, though five minutes of interaction with him had assured Biggs his comprehension of English was good enough. Instead of words, he communicated through clicks and a sort of high pitched squealing sound.
Sadly, it hadn't taken much for Biggs to get the kid out of the dirty cell he'd been shoved in. Truth was, nobody gave much by way of a damn about the nomalies.
Reassigning him to the DAC's had taken some finesse. Shepherd was still pissed at him for his apparent disrespect of the previous year, after all. So instead of making a forthright request, he'd maneuvered so that it seemed like he didn't want Click reassigned.
So, naturally, he'd gotten the exact opposite.
The reassignment had both pleased and worried Biggs. Pleased, because Click had family now, and worried him because if Shepherd was truly that easy to manipulate…they were in trouble. Big trouble.
"Alrighty, then," Biggs addressed the men around him. The DAC's were only about nine in number, ten if you included Click. Manticore, upon reaching a quota of about forty for the entire lot, had split them into four teams, sending two of them to the desert paradise of the Las Vegas facility, one to their Atlanta Facility, and keeping one in Seattle.
"Your mission, should you chose to accept it –"
"Wait, we have the option of refusing?" Heron blinked innocently as Biggs shot him a dirty look.
"You were kind of ambiguous," Mole pointed out with faux innocence. Biggs was really, really starting to like the kid.
"It's a turn of phrase," Biggs sulked, mostly for show.
"Alright, as I was saying, your mission is simple: capture…the flag," holding up the strip of bright blue material, he waved it with the wind for a few moments before grinning widely and handing it off to one of the junior trainers who'd been unlucky enough to pull this detail.
Sergeant Troy Eckhart had stared with wide-eyed surprise the first day he'd been assigned to work with the DAC's.
"They're so…big," had been his first words. It was true, too. The DAC's seemed to physically mature faster than their more human counterparts. Mole, their leader and the biggest amongst the lot, was already over six feet tall and he was only eleven.
"And you're so small," had been Mole's sardonic rejoinder, causing Eckhart to let out a very unmanly eep and just barely managing to keep his feet on the ground.
"They talk?"
"Yes," Sandy had hissed in reply, her slightly forked tongue making her sound unbelievable snake-like when she felt like it. Normally she worked very carefully to speak bland English, but she also hated to be mocked for her natural born skin. Eckhart had inadvertently insulted her with his simple words.
"They walk and talk. They even sing, if you ask politely." TD sang, at least. That's how he'd gotten his name. The poor kid was completely horrible. Enthusiastic, but tone deaf.
It'd taken two weeks for Eckhart to get over his initial bought of nervousness, but the DAC's weren't letting him forget the fact that they were bigger and stronger. They'd taken a shine to Biggs, especially when he'd refused to call them by their designations and only used their names, but Eckhart had to work for it.
He was doing an okay job, too. He was polite, he brought them apples, and he didn't jump whenever they did something weird and inherently lizard like.
Click, for example, happened to have a tongue he could extend like a whip to catch flies for his dinner.
The first time Biggs had seen him demonstrate that odd little skill had been one of the weirdest moments of his life.
They'd been working on basic rifle drills out at the range when Click had said something to Mole.
"What'd he say?" Biggs had asked, head down as he worked to overcome a jam in one of the M16's.
"He said he wants to eat you." That had been alarming. Mole had said the words with a puzzled air, his attention flicking between the two of them as Biggs jerked his head upright to stare.
"Say what?" Mole opened his mouth to repeat his previous words, but Click broke in with a frantic series of chattering notes that only made Biggs more confused, but seemed to answer Mole's question.
"Ah, sorry. I mistranslated. He wants to eat the bug in your hair."
"I have a bug in my hair?" Since he was no longer in charge of a bunch of impressionable young supersoldiers, Biggs had let his hair grow into a dark unruly mass on the top of his head. His main reasoning, as justified to Major Jacobs, had been the simple fact that he couldn't impress his grooming standards upon his new men: none of them had hair.
"Yeah," Mole had replied. "A pretty big one, too."
Biggs normally prided himself on his flippant, but effective, way of dealing with situations. Having a bug in his hair, though…
"Sure, yeah. Great. Go right ahead." It sounded a bit weird, even in Biggs' head, but he had a real hate-hate relationship going on with Mother Nature. With his luck, the bug was probably poisonous.
Just please don't be a spider, he prayed silently as Click stepped forward and stopped.
And then Click's tongue had whipped out, smacking him so lightly on the head he barely felt it, before drawing back into his mouth so fast that, if he had blinked, Biggs would have missed it.
"I'll be damned," Mole had blinked in surprise as Biggs had stood there, completely godsmacked. "Click, my man, I had no idea you could do that."
The DAC's had crowded around him, cooing and generally in awe of Click's lightning fast tongue, while Biggs had continued to stand there. Godsmacked.
He'd gotten used to it since. Even come to see it as a beneficial tool. He'd been testing Click to see the weight limitation of his appendage and had been pleasantly surprised to discover that, if separated from his weapons, Click could use his tongue to retrieve a Glock 9mm, and move an M16 within grasping range.
It was…pretty damn cool, actually.
"So," Biggs clapped his hands together as Eckhart disappeared over some dunes, the faint cough of a dune buggy echoing in the small clearing before the vehicle roared to life and Eckhart took off into the desert.
"What's happenin', Captain?" Mole asked.
DAC's, much to Biggs surprise and delight, were gossips.
Which was great, because Biggs loved to talk.
October, 2002
"What's going on?" Biggs blew on his coffee to cool it off as he watched the young soldiers on the tarmac maneuver.
"Selection," grim-face Staff Sergeant Jeffrey 'JJ' Jones, stated, wincing as one of the young soldiers tripped over her own feet and went tumbling to the ground, taking half the squad with her.
"Shit, man, I hope like hell I don't get assigned to that squad. They're a fucking mess."
"Which squad is it?" Biggs squinted at the squad members, trying to discern who was who. He had a vague familiarity with the X5 squads through his early work and scuttlebutt.
"Six," JJ replied, grimacing as one of the new kids turned the wrong way. Gleeson, the Trainer in charge of basic drills, jumped on the mistake so fast, the kid's face actually drained of blood, his eyes widening in stark terror.
"Jesus," Biggs breathed, disgusted with the whole state of affairs as, instead of correcting the error, Gleeson jerked his head towards the guards who unceremoniously hauled the young boy away.
"How are the freaks?" JJ asked, in such an off-hand manner Biggs knew he was asking to ask, not to mock Biggs for his position like some of their colleagues.
"Great. 0765 beat her record on the obstacle course."
"No shit?" JJ arched an eyebrow, impressed. 0765, or Callie as she preferred to be called, was the youngest female of the group. Her best time on the course had been around eighteen minute. The X4's, who used the same course, had an average time of just under fifteen minutes.
Considering when the DAC's had first come into being, Manticore had designed them mostly with the desert environment in mind. They were sturdy and durable, but not as quick or agile as their X-series counterparts.
Callie was blowing that idea out of the water by steadily shaving off a few seconds every week on the course. Pretty soon she'd been breezing past the X4's times.
"Watch your back, Biggs," JJ warned, tucking his hands into his pocket as he turned back towards the building. "As soon as Manticore realizes those DAC's are valuable, Shepherds going to reassign your ass."
"I'll deal," Biggs replied, focus still on Squad 6, his eyes searching for a familiar little boy.
"Pretty hard to deal if you're dead," JJ muttered quietly, but the wind carried his voice over.
Biggs didn't have much of a response to that. Truth was, he was walking on thin ice. He'd managed to sneak the DAC's out for real world training a couple of times without Shepherd realizing, but it wasn't going to slide for much longer.
He only hoped he trained those kids enough for them to withstand whatever was coming.
A/N: I had thirty-two pages of the first chapter started and it wasn't even done yet, so I decided to shorten it a bit so I could post it. Like it? Love it? Absolutely hate it and wish I was dead for writing it? Tell me!
Review!
