A/N: first fic, so go easy on me. Please review and let me know what you think.
Nucleic Exchange Research Development, London Complex
It was a scene straight out of a nightmare, so horrific and bloody and gruesome that it defied the imagination. Screams and roars ripped through the air. Three dozen hybrids, bloodied and sweaty, stripes gleaming against their exposed flesh, moved in a wild frenzy to avoid the long, lethally sharp blades that played a horrendous game of hide-and-seek with them, flashing out of the steel walls like streaks of deadly silver lightning. Blood sprayed against the walls in a Rorschach of scarlet on the dull grey, dripped off the flashing silver blades, and pooled on the floor beneath the bodies of those with the misfortune of not moving fast enough.
In the viewing area, safe behind a sheet of inch-thick glass, stood two people, calmly and silently watching the slaughter occurring in the death pit. One was a short, thick man with thinning grey hair and thick spectacles perched on a beaky nose; he wore a pristine white labcoat that seemed blindingly bright in the harsh lighting. The woman beside him, however, was tall and lean, shiny dark hair cut short and dark eyes alight. She wore a dark green jumpsuit, torn and well-worn, with a pale scarf tied around her neck, battered knapsack slung over one shoulder. "The others?" asked the woman.
"They'll be ready soon. We're finishing up the final touches," replied the man. With a rendering scream, another hybrid fell beneath the mechanical thrust and parry of the blades; he made notes on the clipboard in his hand. "Once we get the regulator chip implanted and install the neural impulses, they'll be ready for use, Ms. Ambrose."
The woman nodded slowly, a deadly grin coming to her face. It was hardly a smile at all, and the expression sent chills up the man's back. "What about the ones in Manticore?" she asked at last. There was a shriek of pain cut short from the pit, and a scarlet arc of blood splattered across the viewing window; she frowned slightly at the obstruction, now unable to clearly see the action. "How many are left?"
"A dozen out of the original set, ma'am." A small grin tugged at his thin lips. "Some of the others have taken them to calling them the Deadly Dozen," he said. "The small one, Subject..." He shuffled a few papers on his clipboard. "... Echo Thirteen Omega, has particularly excelled. It's become somewhat of a leader amongst the others. Another round or two, and they will be ready as well, right about the same time as the hybrids," he added.
"Excellent work, Dr. Grant." She reached out and pressed a button on the control panel in front of her. The blades in the death pit ceased their deadly movement, and the hybrids collapsed on the floor in sheer exhaustion, panting and sweating, covered in blood. "Stitch them up, get them ready."
"Yes, ma'am."
As she turned to leave, though, an animal roar of fury and pain seemed to shake the very air. There was a shriek of protesting metal, dragging across her ears like nails over a chalkboard. She whirled around just in time to see a metal spear—she recognised it as one of the blades from the pit, ripped from the mechanism, arm and all—shatter the inch-thick glass of the viewing window. The bladed end slammed into Grant's substantial chest, the sound of shattering bone and rendering flesh clearly audible over the sound of shattering glass falling to the ground. The scientist's face took on an expression of near-comical disbelief as he collapsed on the floor, blood spurting from the wound, limbs twitching and jerking spasmodically before going still and dying. One of the hybrids scrambled up through the gaping hole where the window had once been, unheeding of the glass that cut into its exposed flesh, and it slammed one hand on the release. Red lights began to flash warning as a tinny mechanical voice broke out over the loudspeaker: "Warning. Containment breach. Warning. Containment breach."
The hybrid looked at her and let out a snarling roar, dripping blood and gore as it leapt towards her. Only her deadly sharp reflexes, honed over years of living a solitary life in hostile environment, saved her; she tore a pistol from the holster on her hip and shot the creature in the head, dropping it to the floor. As the doors of the pit began grinding open, the woman ran. She knew that she didn't have a chance against multiple hybrids, even in their weakened state. Keeping the pistol in hand, she sprinted down the corridors, skidding around corners so fast she nearly collided with other people. "Get security in there now!" she shouted. "Contain them! Do not let them escape!" God help me if they escape...
Sounds of gunfire echoed up the hallways, mixing in the sound of earth-shaking animal roars and human screams of agony, the latter cut short with a brutal snarl. The woman, for the first time in a long time, felt a slight curl of fear beneath her breastbone. Perhaps she'd designed her little pets too well... As if to confirm her morbid thoughts, a panicked-looking soldier came limping up to her; his leg was sodden with blood, leaving a trail of scarlet drips and spatters behind him. "Th-they've reached the other containment cells. The rest are loose," he gasped out, trembling as shock overtook him. "They've freed the Dozen." At that, her blood ran cold.
The Deadly Dozen—an apt name, considering that they were twelve of the deadliest creatures in existence. She had designed them with the speed, strength, and agility to take down Future Predators; she had seen it herself, a dozen small, weak-looking human beings in a chamber with two dozen Future Predators. When the slaughter was over, not one of the Dozen had so much as a scratch on them; the Predators had to be cleaned up with a mop. If they'd been freed, without containment, without their programming activated to control them, then the complex was lost. There would be no stopping them.
She bolted. She ran and didn't stop running until she was outside and nearly a kilometre away, lungs burning, heart pounding. Finally, she stood panting at the top of a nearby hill, turning around to look at the complex behind her. Even from here, the screams of the dying could be heard, mingling with the sounds of unbridled animal rage and the odd spurt of gunfire. "Fuck," she whispered under her breath. She rarely cursed like that, but this serious of a situation called for it. The hybrids and the Deadly Dozen were loose on the world. The convergence point wasn't far off either, and from the direction they were going, there was an infinitesimally small chance they would miss it. All those anomalies, there was no telling where or when they'd end up; there was going to be some serious hell to pay.
Reaching in her knapsack, she pulled out a small device, tapped a few commands on the screen, and pressed a button. An anomaly sprang open just a few feet in front of her; shoving the device back into her pocket, she walked through the anomaly. It snapped closed behind her, leaving no trace of Helen Cutter behind.
Anomaly Research Centre
Jenny Lewis sat at her desk, idly twirling her pen in one hand as she stared at the stack of paperwork spread out in front of her, just waiting to be done. Lester wanted it done before the end of the day, but she couldn't make herself work on it. Her heart simply wasn't in it. With a low sigh, she turned in her chair to look around her neat, conservative office. Her gaze came to rest on the calendar, and she realised with a jolt that tomorrow would be the one-year anniversary since the disappearance of Professor Nick Cutter and Connor Temple. She leant back a little further in her chair, gripping the pen tightly. She'd tried for a long time not to think about the Scotsman or the affable student, to avoid the pain it caused, but there'd always be one thing, just a small little detail that'd stir up some memory of them, and she would ache all over again.
Deciding to leave the paperwork for now, she stood up and left her office, leaning up against the railing of the ramp, looking down at the central hub. It was quiet, unusually so, but only because the new team leader, former copper DC Danny Quinn, had led them all out on a new anomaly alert. Jenny didn't quite know what to think of Danny yet. He seemed like a nice enough bloke, a good leader. He had a rather...unusual sense of humour, and he did a fair job of keeping the others on their toes. One hell of a reckless streak too, but still responsible. He was also a bit flirty, at least towards her, and she'd been returning his flirtatious advances, despite the little curl of guilt that coiled under her breastbone. Snap out of it, Jenny, she mentally scolded herself. Why the hell should she feel guilty about anything?
You know why, that traitorous little voice whispered back. Yes, she did know why: even though they'd never actually been involved, she had been—and still was—in love with Nick Cutter. And even though it had been a year, she still felt guilty about flirting with Danny, as if she was basely betraying the professor somehow.
As she stood there mulling over her rather maudlin thoughts, the sound of her mobile ringing nearly startled her out of her skin. Shaking her head as if to physically remove thoughts of Cutter, she took out her mobile. It was Stephen's number calling. Odd; he didn't usually call her for anything. Curious now, she flipped open the mobile and held it to her ear. "Hello?"
"Jenny, it's Stephen—"
"Yeah, I gathered that," she replied caustically.
"Damn it, woman, this is not the time!" the lab technician snapped, surprising her.
Jenny straightened up slightly. Stephen usually had a fairly tight hold on his emotions; for him to sound so panicky meant that something serious had to be happening. "What's going on?" she asked, all the sarcasm removed from her voice.
She heard his irritated huff, and in her mind's eye, she could almost see him running a hand back through his hair, pacing with barely controlled energy. "At the anomaly site," he replied at last. "I-I don't know where he came from, but... Christ, Jenny, it's Nick. He came through the bloody anomaly."
The words hit her like a physical blow, and she nearly dropped her mobile out of shock. "What?" she managed to get out, barely able to force the words past her lips. Hope swelled almost painfully in her chest. Nick. He's back. He's alive, her mind said over and over. "Where is he?" she demanded.
"They've taken him back to the Home Office—"
"'They'? Who the hell is 'they'?" she demanded even as she strode down the ramp, heading straight for the car park.
"Becker and his men. Lester's orders. Jenny, I've got to tell you...I'm not sure it's really him," Stephen admitted.
The shock of the words made her stop dead in her tracks for a moment. "What? Why?"
"I-I don't know. I can't put my finger on it, but...something's not right."
Jenny felt the flare of hope in her chest sputter slightly, and she steeled herself, shaking her head. "Look, I'll meet you at the Home Office in a few," she answered, then snapped the mobile closed before he had the chance to answer her.
Home Office
Jenny didn't waste any time beating around the bush, no preamble as she strode into the room, marching up to Becker. "Is it him?" she asked shortly.
The captain didn't answer right away, folding both strong arms across his chest. It was clear that he didn't want to outright say 'yes' or 'no' to her, but he was uncomfortable with not responding. A muscle in Jenny's jaw ticked as she clenched her teeth, forcibly restraining her temper. "I don't know," he answered at last.
She forced a deep breath, feeling the slight tremble in her chest. "I want to see him."
"Ms. Lewis, I really don't think—" Becker started to protest.
"I want to see him," she repeated firmly, the tone of her voice leaving no room for argument. She looked over to Danny, Sarah, Abby, and Stephen; the other members of the response team had been standing off in the corner of the room, silently listening and looking increasingly uncomfortable. "You know where he is?" she asked, and Abby nodded, then slipped past Becker, walking down another corridor. Jenny followed after her, vaguely aware of the others trailing behind. "Has he said anything?"
"No," the lizard-girl answered, her voice uncharacteristically subdued. "Lester and Stephen both tried talking to him, but he hasn't said anything yet." It was clear that she was perturbed by the events, but there was still something in her that wanted to believe the man they'd found truly was their leader, the maverick professor. Danny was a good leader, no doubt, but he was no Nick Cutter.
Jenny could tell they were near because there were suddenly a lot more soldiers around, looking tense and wary. Abby led her around a corner to a small viewing area; the two-way mirror looked into an interrogation room. Why there was an interrogation room in the middle of a government facility, she didn't know, but at the moment, she didn't care. Jenny felt her breath rush out in a whoosh as she looked through the two-way glass, her heart lodging in her throat. Nick… she thought.
If it wasn't Nick Cutter, then it had to be his twin brother, but the difference between the man that had disappeared a year ago and the man in the interrogation room was enormous. His hair was longer than she had ever seen, reaching to his shoulders, and most it was matted down and black with dried blood and dirt. He was barefoot, feet cut and bloody; his clothes looked almost like hospital scrubs, seeing as how the fabric was mint-green were it wasn't ripped and stained with filth, blood, and God-knew what else. They looked stolen, too, ill-fitting to his form. His hands were covered in cuts and scrapes, his knuckles raw as if he'd been in a recent fight. Half his face was a dark, swollen bruise, and blood had dried on his skin like streaks of black war paint. Very little of his skin was free of bruises, cuts, scrapes, or blood. And the way he moved…pacing back and forth like a caged animal, wearing a track in the floor. There was a fluid sort of grace to him, just hovering on the line between feline and predatory, a stance that said he was aware of every muscle and joint in his body and possessed total control over each one. Not quite a slink, but something damned close to it.
"He broke one of my men's nose," said Becker stiffly, arms folded tight across his chest. "I don't know if he's the real Cutter or not, but he's not leaving that room."
"I-I'll talk to him," Jenny said softly.
"Jen—" Danny's voice held a note of warning, but she waved a hand to brush him off.
Lester, somehow, had managed to join them without her notice, like some suited wraith. "No, no, Mr. Quinn, let her try. It's quite clear that neither Stephen nor I are going to make any headway with him short of extraordinary measures, which is something I'd rather avoid at all costs," he said with a brief glance towards her. "You couldn't imagine the paperwork involved." The worst part was, she didn't know if he was joking or not; Lester brushed a piece of non-existent lint off his suit sleeve. "Of course, Jenny, you do realise that should things get...eventful, we have no liability in this," he added.
"I'll talk to him," she repeated. She didn't know what she could possibly do to make him talk if the professor wouldn't talk to Stephen and Lester, but she had to try. If he wouldn't talk to her, maybe he would talk to his precious Claudia Brown. She rounded the corner, passed up the several soldiers in the corridor, and pushed open the door. All at once, Cutter went still, his body going marble-still as he stared at her. "Nick," she murmured softly. She took a step towards him, but he leant away from her. It wasn't overly obvious, just a subtle leaning away from her advance, and it was enough to make her stop. There was a tightness to his eyes, a tension to him that hadn't been there before. Still, Jenny felt a tiny, weak smile come to her lips at the sight of him. He didn't smile back, though. His pale blue gaze flicked towards the door behind her, and she could almost hear what he was thinking. "There's a half-dozen soldiers out there with guns, Nick," she said quietly. "Don't."
A muscle in his jaw ticked in frustration, knowing that those odds weren't exactly in his favour.
"Why don't you sit down? Can't imagine walking about so much feels good," she said with a small gesture towards his bare feet; it almost looked as if he'd tried walking across a bed of mud and razorblades. He'd left smudges of blood and dirt on the floor in his pacing. Cutter didn't move, still staring at her with a guarded, blank expression. Had he always been so closed off? "Well, you can pace a track in the floor if you want, I'm sitting down." Jenny walked around the table and sank down into one of the chairs. He resumed his pacing the moment she sat down, and though he wasn't looking directly at her, his attention didn't stray from her for an instant.
Looking at his face, her stomach knotted painfully, taking in the dark purplish bruises, edged in angry red, broken by small cuts. He'd been hit hard enough that the vessels in his left eye burst, turning the white of his eye red. Suddenly remembering how Becker said he'd broken a soldier's nose, she abruptly realised how the soldier must've come by it. "You shouldn't have done that," she admonished in a soft voice. "He was only doing his job."
He only gazed at her sullenly.
"Nick, please. Say something. Anything," she said, and though she meant to demand it of him, it came out more like a plea than anything else. "Just give us something to let us know that it's really you and not—" She caught herself there, barely, unable to even say it aloud: not one of those bloody clones. She didn't even want to consider the idea of him being a clone. Having her hopes brought up only to be torn down by some pale imitation would probably break her all over again, and she'd barely managed to keep together as it was.
He paused in his near-prowl back and forth, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her. Jenny swallowed hard, suddenly feeling quite small and fragile under the intensity of his stare. It felt as if he was looking clean through her, straight past the defences she'd built up around herself into the very heart of her. "Not one of them?" he asked quietly. His voice had changed somehow, had gone low and velvety and rich, underlain with the Scottish burr she knew all too well. It didn't even seem human, dragging across her nerves like the whisper of wet silk over stone, and it sent a shiver crawling up her backbone. "You think I'm one of those cheap knockoffs, don't you?" he asked. His lips curled up, but she wouldn't call it a smile. More like a predator's show of teeth before the kill.
Jenny barely managed to repress a shudder, her hands fisting on the material of her skirt, and again she felt far too vulnerable, like a little girl playing grown-up games. "Until you give us proof otherwise, we have to," she replied, proud that her voice didn't shake at all. But then something in her broke, buckling beneath the strain, and she said, unashamedly pleading now, "Nick, please, for God's sake, talk to me. What the hell happened to you? Where have you been? Why didn't you ever come home?" There was another question she wanted to ask, but with the last shreds of her restraint, she managed to bite it back: why didn't you come back to me?
He leant back slightly, the mask slipping for just an instant as a look of surprise crossed his face, but just as quickly, he'd schooled his expression back to a blank wall of indifference. His jaw tightened. "I have to get out of here."
She let out a heavy sigh. "Well, Nick, that's not going to happen until we—"
"No!" he shouted, making her startle at the sudden volume and fury in his voice. "I have to get out of here," he repeated in a low snarl, resuming his pace back and forth across the floor, now more agitated than before. Again, Jenny was struck by how closely he resembled a wild animal forced into a cage too small for it, and again, she felt terribly aware of how small and soft she was. She wasn't a fighter, nowhere near it, and even if she believed with all her heart that Nick Cutter would never raise a hand to a woman, she knew that in a fair fight he could take her apart like a tinker toy.
"Nick—" she tried to say, attempting to soothe the ire she'd somehow managed to stir.
"Get out."
She was so startled by the abrupt demand that she was momentarily speechless. "What?"
He whirled about to face her, and the look in his eyes made her shrink back into the chair, heart stuttering in fear. "If you're not going to help me, then get out!" he shouted, an animalistic snarl rippling beneath his words, a sound that didn't resemble anything remotely human.
Jenny stood up and barely managed to keep from bolting for the door, aware of the man's—she couldn't call him by name—gaze practically burning a hole in her back. But then something in her tugged hard, keeping her from leaving just yet. One hand on the door handle, she half-turned back towards him, somehow managing to find the courage to meet that furious blue glare. "Do you know what happened to Connor?" she asked softly. She couldn't let Abby suffer any more, not knowing what'd become of the affable student, and this man, whoever he was, might just have the answer. "Do you know where he is?"
For a moment, he only stared at her, unblinking. But what he said next made her blood run cold. "Dead, I hope," he answered, voice flat and devoid of all emotion.
Horrified, she yanked the door open and bolted from the room.