Author's note. Obviously I do not own Slade, I did create every other character in this though. Wynja created this vision of the future. I don't explain the rest of the world they live in, you can read Wynja's story '2060' if you want to know more about that.

There is death and violence, there are references to torture, forced prostitution, child soldiers, breeding pits, and all kinds of other terrible things you would find in a dystopia. Also it doesn't really have a happy ending.

This story takes place approximately an unspecified amount of time before Wynja's story.

Slade was reviewing the daily data feed from his global empire when the alarm sounded. It wasn't a loud alarm. It didn't need to be, he was alert to the gentle tone that indicated intruders had made it into his stronghold.

This hadn't happened in almost a decade. He activated a switch and suddenly the frantic commands of his security staff's communicators flooded the room.

As he activated the security system on his computer, a higher ranking security officer ran into the room.

"Sir, there's been a security breach" the breathless guard stated. Slade of course, was already aware. Seven individuals had accessed the building's ground floor, mild fire fight ensued; with the element of surprise they managed to overcome the first level of security. While Slade watched the screen it suddenly went blank.

"They've cut the internal security system" he said, not particularly to the useless guard, as he rose, pausing only to grab his staff and his side arm, he stormed out of the office to the security center.

As he strode through hallways and elevators, he paused to think. This was highly unusual. He had thoroughly crushed any group that could have orchestrated such an event. From time to time he still heard whispers about Ra's Al Ghul, and his League of Shadows, but never evidence, and even if they still existed, they had no reason to act up now. However, the intruders had known how to target his security system; they were talented and informed at least. No one was there to see him smile as he waited for the elevator to open. He had thought it was getting a little boring around here.

When he strode into the main security office, his chief of security was barking orders into his headset, directing the troops in a detailed sweep of the lower levels. The man was doing exactly as he had been trained, as were his subordinates. Events like this did not happen often, or at all really, but Slade still made sure their training was perfect. A thousand dress rehearsals had prepared them for this. Slade did not need to intervene; he merely observed them doing their job.

The audio feedback from the numerous officers was bedlam, but some of the details were coming through. At least one of the invaders had barricaded himself in the server room; the sophisticated computer nexus of Slade's empire. He couldn't do too much damage, there were always backups. Slade was nothing if not overly cautious. Over the audio he heard the team sent to extract him as they breached his barricade. "Live extraction please" he quietly says to the commander who only acknowledges it with a nod before relaying the information to his team in the field.

Over the audio they hear gun fire. "He trashed himself" he hears an officer say over the comlink. The culprit chose suicide over capture.

The commander looked to Slade, fear was evident, his team had failed to fill Slade's request. "We'll get the others" he tells Slade before he returns to the comlink and begins ordering a heavily guarded team of techs into the server room to assess the damage.

Three minutes later another of the search teams reports another live one. They caught her going for one of his server backups. They know where the server backups are, and are targeting them. He picks up the link and clearly tells the team himself this time "We need them alive!" he doesn't say "or else" because he doesn't have to.

The audio isn't clear in the fracas but then they hear a clap of massive thunder, a slight tremor runs through the building. She was wired for explosives. The intruders never intended to survive.

"All field operatives" he says over the com "they are wired with explosives, they are running a suicide mission, lethal force is approved, deactivating the explosives is your first priority, live capture when possible"

He hated giving that order. More then anything he wants to know who these people are, who sent them, who trained them, and how do they know exactly how to target this building.

Without any warning the video comes back up. The engineers were successful.

The technicians at the video screens quickly located three of the four of the intruders. Two are in transit. One is already trashing a server backup, and one is unaccounted for. The commander begins directing his teams to their locations.

The one who succeeded at destroying his target was removing the explosives from his body and was wiring them to a structural support when the response team reached him. He jumped back in surprise and pulled a side arm. His shots were not entirely clumsy, but he did not have the deadly accuracy Slade would expect from such a team. His shots hit two officers, before the darts of a electrical control device hit him. His whole body spasmed as he dropped. Four officers rushed to restrain him as the electrical current was released.

Three down, four to go. On the screens, grainy black and white screens that were stacked to fill the whole wall, he watched as two other teams stalked and hunted them. One of the intruders pulled a trigger device from his waist; three shots to the head took him down before he could activate the explosives. The last visible culprit was a female, tiny. When they found her she pulled her gun, she fired; uncertainty and fear were evident in her stance. The team had no trouble taking her down alive. She didn't have it in her to kill herself. She would be the weakest link when the interrogations began.

Seven had entered the building. Six were accounted for. One was missing. The commander asked the clerks for details. The clerk replied with an accurate description of the missing rebel. Female, dark hair, ponytail, approximate height, 5' 10", late teens, early twenties. The clerk replayed the video captured from their dramatic entrance. She moved like a lioness. It was obvious that she was the leader. She wasn't the oldest, but clearly she was the deadliest. Slade watched her grainy black and white video ghost give concise orders through barked words he couldn't hear and hand gestures to the others. Interesting.

An aide reported to the room and reported to the commander. "Sir, we have initial results from the bodies, and the two captured. They aren't tagged, they're feral" he said referring to the common slang for people born outside of Slade's civilization, and without the commonplace microchip implant that every person in this room had, besides Slade of course.

"We can assume she's feral too" the Commander said to his second in command.

"Actually sir" one of the techs from the monitors spoke up, "we have facial recognition on the female at large"

Everyone turned to the tech expectantly, the tech visibly cringed under the attention, but he continued "her name is Bluebird McKenzie, she was assigned to a pleasure house in Vancouver, her whereabouts have been unknown for the last two years, she is wanted in connection to the deaths of several high ranking military officers"

Data filled the Tech's screen; an ID photo shows a dark haired, blue eyed girl of about fourteen scowling at an unseen camera man as he captures her image. The photo would be several years old by now.

"Age?" Slade asks.

"She would be seventeen now" the tech says, he seems to shrink into himself under Slade's inquisitive glare.

She's only a child. Of course Slade remembers what these men do not. That even children can be effective. Bluebird. He runs her name through his mind again. It was not uncommon for children born in the breeding pits to be named after random objects. Her scowl in the ID photo reminds him so much of another bird from long ago. There's something about songbirds, he muses.

"I want her alive at all costs" he tells his commander. Turning to the resourceful tech who had found her information he says "send her data to my office" and then he leaves.

This whole situation is almost nostalgic. He wants nothing more then to hunt her down himself, but she could be anywhere. Best to stay centralized, when they find her he will hear it over the comlink, he will go to her. A songbird is just what he could use right now. He remembers her deadly accurate image on the security monitor as she burst into the ground level entrance, leading her crew with dominance and efficiency. She had fired with precision, with control, with a reckless regard for life.

He rounds the corner to his office, anxious to examine her personal files more closely, to tease out the details of Bluebird's mysterious assault on his base. He should have been expecting her there. It was the only room in the entire building that was not thoroughly saturated with hidden eyes and ears. He should have, maybe he is getting old.

Her first bullet got him in the left shoulder, not far from his heart her second bullet took him between the eyes. The last thing he heard was a sound over the comlink, 'oh good, they heard' he thought as the commander's voice over the link began directing security to his office, and then the world went black.

When he came too several minutes later there are bodies on the ground, she is wounded but standing, favoring her left leg. She has a sword, did she have a sword before, Slade's mind slowly, so slowly runs through his memories. It's like thinking through molasses; a bullet to the brain pan can do that to you, even when you're immortal. As he recovers he can only watch as she deftly defends her self against the officers still standing. Someone had dragged him against the wall; he is afforded a great view. Slowly and with great difficulty he gets his legs beneath him. She doesn't see at first, she is focused, when she lets her eyes divert for a moment, the fraction of a second to scan the room, he thinks he can almost hear her gasp.

"You're dead" her sharp voice is almost masculine, the voice of authority. It's all the pause the soldiers needed. They were well trained too.

Slade is still uneasy on his feet, he remains against the wall. "You're dead" he hears her shout again, though he can hardly see her for the mountain of men restraining her. "YOU'RE DEAD!!!!!"

When the men move aside she has been forced to kneel. One man is restraining each arm at terrible, uncomfortable angles. Leverage, she can't fight them. Slade sees shock in her eyes, but not fear. No, where there should be fear there is only something brighter, something hotter; anger.

Slade tries to talk, to tell her something, his voice doesn't seem to work right, too many bullets. She's his now though, he'll have all the time in the world for his new little bird.

That's why he can't talk when he sees the device come out of her sleeve. The trigger. He can't warn the men, he can't do anything besides throw himself to the ground as the explosion rips through the room. For the second time in twenty minutes, his world goes black.

When he comes too again, he is in his bed. Bandages have been wrapped around most of his body. A nurse immediately rushes to his side. He tries to get up, but finds himself hooked up to a wide variety of monitoring devices and tubes.

The nurse, professional, competent looking woman, immediately starts unhooking him.

"How long have I been out" he asks her

"About fourteen hours sir" she replies. She doesn't meet his gaze as she unhooks the IV's, but he can hear her gasp when he rips the bandages off to reveal unmarked skin.

He tries to return to his office, there is already a crew in there, gutting it, removing the damaged parts. Which is everything; the office had been totally destroyed by the blast.

A page is waiting for him there though; the nurse must have sent notice. He politely informs Slade that in the interim they had taken the liberty of preparing a replacement office until his office can be returned to a functional state.

"I was planning to remodel it anyway" he says in an offhand manner as he follows the page to the new room. The office isn't right, the chair isn't right, he sighs as the page leaves. Then turning to the computer he clicks it on.

Bluebird's data is still there. He sullen identification photo from two years ago is still scowling at him.

He brings up her history files. She was born at a Vancouver breeding pit specifically for military training. The military is roughly 80% male, but Slade had seen some intelligence in keeping a limited number of females within the ranks. He's had too many encounters with Amazons to not see their potential. All of her early test scores showed a bright intelligent girl who was dedicated to her studies at the Junior Military Academy.

The best students are allowed to take elective classes, and she took anything she could. Semester schedules show that she kept busy, that she learned all she could; grade results proved she soaked it up. Extra curricular activities included a heavy emphasis on martial arts, and wilderness survival. Even in her early childhood she was tough. He opens a video attachment of her brown belt trials at age seven. Even then, smaller, more petite he sees the girl who put bullet in his brain just yesterday. She takes down her opponent, even though he is larger, older then her, she does it with craft and precision.

At thirteen she began the application for officer school, all evidence shows she would obviously be accepted. She was appointed the position of squadron leader for their senior class tactical maneuver. A six week long staged battle between different divisions of the senior students at the Junior Military Academy. Attached was a photo, of her at age thirteen, smiling broadly as her and her team pose with the prize, after she had led them to victory. There were other photos. Yearly ID photos, and videos, from some of her class demonstrations, all show a poised, serious girl. The victory photo is the only one from her school records of her smiling. Her black hair cut short and militant, her serious continence. She was very reminiscent of another bird. A Titan from Slade's past.

He remembered what the tech had told him the previous day. She had escaped from the pleasure house she had been assigned to several years ago. Why was she working in a pleasure house? Her education history shows a girl clearly dedicated to her future career in the military, a career that would have led her into Slade's orbit sooner or later.

She was transferred to the pleasure house two days after her official interview with the local military commander. The interview was part of admission to Officer School. It was an official document and would have been recorded. It was missing. To have an official document missing from her record was disturbing. On another screen he brought up the medical records from the Commander who conducted her admission interview. He was treated later that day for a broken nose and other contusions.

Slade didn't need to have it spelled out for him. She was a pretty girl, she had to have been the brightest thing in any room, and the commander had propositioned her. She had declined. He had probably tried to force himself on her, she defended herself. Slade would be certain when he interviewed the commander, and he would. The video would have been deleted to hide wrong doing on the commander's part.

The girl did not last long at the pleasure house, though a detailed list of her patrons, a list that burned into his memory with anger tinged detail, showed that she entertained quite a few high ranking military officials, including the commander who administered her interview. There were photos from this section of her history too. Slade opened them and absorbed them with in a clinical manner. She was better then this. In all the photos her scowl remained, it was evident that she was deeply unhappy.

His eye caught one name in particular. One of the head computer technicians here at headquarters had been sent to Vancouver around that time to troubleshoot some dataflow issues. He had stopped to see her too. He would have known where to access the main servers, and the backups. Slade also noted to have him brought in for an interview.

She was discovered missing from the pleasure house the same morning her patrons from the night were discovered dead. The commander who had denied her from Officer School, and two of his associates. Slade would not be interviewing him after all.

She was never found, until she showed up here.

Slade also saw that the techs had attached a full transcript of the entire preliminary dialog with the two rebels captured yesterday.

The male had said very little. The female had told them everything with out coercion. Coercion would be applied later anyway, under Slade's supervision.

They were ferals. Untagged. Less then 1% of the world's population were untagged. Mostly indigenous peoples; primitive nomads who fly beneath the radar, avoiding Slade's conquering armies. They had lived in the Canadian wilderness. Their tribe found her alone, she had killed a bear by herself; they had followed the bear's tracks and found her.

She joined their tribe. Several months later they encountered soldiers. She helped defend them. After that she had taught them what she knew.

She lived with them for most of the last two years. The idea of the raid had been one of the elder males. The specific details of the raid had been hers. She was always a good soldier.

Slade closed the screen and leaned back in the chair that wasn't right, looking at the office that wasn't his. There was work to be done, there were prisoners to interview, he should be focusing on the tasks that need to be done, not daydreaming about what could have been.

He calls down to warn them as he starts to make his way to the prisoner cells. The prisoners have been kept separate, and given no news of their comrades. For all either of them knows, the others could be captured, or alive and free, they have been told nothing.

He begins with the male. He doesn't waste time on the details. "Tell me about Bluebird" he asks. When the male spits at him, he triggers a device that sends pain coursing through the male's nervous system. "Bluebird" he says again. The male only glares at him. Slade hits the switch again. It's going to be a long day.

Hours later Slade is pondering over what he had just heard. One statement in particular stuck with him, the man, throat dry with pain had looked Slade in the eye and told him "If Bluebird had had the sense to take a face full of shrapnel while she still had the chance, she would have been your star soldier, not ours"

It was painfully true. Slade had created the entire system to weed out the Bluebirds and bring them to him; it had all failed because of one weak man's desires. There were going to be overhauls.

When he returns to his office, he browses through her files one more time. He takes one last look at the victory photo, the one where she smiles before he closes the files and moves on to more pressing business.

There's just something about songbirds. Still, she wasn't the only songbird in the world. He mentally noted to contact several doctors; he had some suddenly urgent questions he wanted answered about cryogenics. Then stood up and left the room, time to get on with his day.

.........

The end

Author's note:

Slade's offhand comment "I was planning to remodel it anyway", in reference to his destroyed office. Total foreshadowing to his strange office decor, display case, seen in her story.