Honesty

Part Three

Gods above, but I'm so lucky sometimes. One of the asshole kidnappers breaks my fall, and I'm heavy enough to knock the wind out of him. A good bit of the vent shaft cracks another upside the head. Only three are left standing, still pretty confused.

I roll quickly out of the way, before they can comprehend what has happened. I draw one of my laser pistols as I roll, firing off two quick shots at them. One of the shots hits the mark, the man dropping like a rock. The other misses completely, barely grazing another's shoulder. Damn, but I hate modern weapons. The other two have drawn their own laser pistols, and decide to empty their ammunition into me. Damn.

I barely manage to dodge the first volley. A lightning fast reflex has me flicking a knife from my vast armament. As expected, it found it's mark, lodging in one of the guy's throat. I think by this time, the guy I landed on is recovering, but the last man standing was quickly getting worried. I mean, in twenty seconds flat, I'd taken out four of his companions.

As I said, I'm pretty fit. Papa taught me quite a bit of martial arts, and I can easily best any other Preventer in hand to hand combat (Add lighting quick reflexes and a natural speed and grace to that list of things that makes me *special*). One guy makes the mistake of getting too close, and though he dodges the punch I throw, I drop to the ground and take out his legs with what Daddy calls a Russian Leg Sweep. I never did know where that name came from. But that one guy, the worried one, cheats. He pushes me back into the wall with sheer brute force. "Ow," I complain as my head cracks against the wall. For a split second, I feel a bit faint, but it passes. But that second was all he needed.

His gun levels at me, even as the leg swept guy regains enough brain cells to stand, draw his and do the same.

"Alright. This can be done the easy way or the hard way," Guy 1 says. I'm crouched by the wall, with two guns pointed at me and adrenaline pumping through my veins. I remember promising Daddy not to do anything rash or stupid. But considering what he did when he was my age... I think he'll forgive me.

"Daddy always said I was stubborn as my Papa," I quipped smiling. I get two confused stares in response, so I decide not to elaborate. Verbally at least.

I take a chance and bet that I can take out both of them before they kill me. I move as quick as I can, and two knives leave my hands at the same time. It takes a bout a whole second of shock before I realize that I made a mistake.

I might have just lost that bet. Maybe.

Both men drop, dead, but Guy One had been able to fire his weapon first. I stare at him in amazement as I feel the shot that hit me on the side of my abdomen, tossing me back against the wall.

I press a hand gingerly against it, and it pulls away wet and sticky with blood. A shot that should have just stunned me had left a rather large, gory burned wound. Damn. Did I mention that I hate modern weapons? From such close range, I was damned lucky he just hadn't been a better shot. Shit.

My parents are never gonna forgive me.

~*~*~*~*~*~

By some amazing fortune, that little fight didn't trigger any alarms. I retrieve my weapons, and theirs, before continuing down the corridor. There's no one nearby, expect for one faint signature up ahead, so I take a moment to bind my side and stop the already sluggish bleeding. I can't help but remember a time, long ago, when my Uncle Heero had sustained a similar wound protecting Uncle Quatre... back on-board 'Loralai'.

About ten minutes later, I arrive at the cell. It has a solid titanium door with a (once-upon-a-time) state of the art locking mechanism. No chance of simply picking it open. I break out my handy mini-laptop and manage to wire it into the electronic circuits. Damn, but I'm grateful to have a computer hacker as an uncle (and one as a father, too. Lucky me). I was able to pick up quite a few tricks from Uncle Ro... and my Daddy, of course. It takes me only about two minutes to override the door controls, and they slide open.

It's quite dark inside. I close my computer and slip it back into my pack, shouldering it again. Then I enter the holding cell.

The life sign I feel, the emotional signature, is faint and flickering, as if a candle was going out, but the green eyes that meet mine were quite alive. And full of fear, confusion, and something like hope. All emotions that sort of welled up and *hit* me in one big wave. It was really the fear that scared me most. I clearly wasn't one of his captors... so why the fear?

Damn. It only occurs to me now how I must look. I had wore a long sleeve black shirt and move-able black cargo pants for this mission, with my very curly golden hair pulled back in a braid. My braid was disheveled, with blonde curls flying every which way- probably looking something like the Medusa of myth. My shirt was ripped along a sleeve, and I had torn it off at midriff to dress my wound. I probably have various smudges of my own blood and grease from the ventilation shafts on my face, and I'm pretty sure I'm probably scowling.

I must look hideous.

"Brandon Carter?" I ask. All I receive is a skeptical look and a bare nod.

"I'm Agent Heart, Preventer Level One. Call me Trinity."

He stares at me, then slumps back against the wall. For a whole moment, I feel the way he simply basks in hope and relief, before the emotions calm back down a bit.

"Where's your backup?" He asks. His voice is rich, but hoarse from misuse, or screaming. Maybe both. I shudder at that thought.

"No backup," I say as I look at the electromagnetic cuffs used to shackle him. Pathetic things... modern technology for you. I pull out my scanner, set it to a certain frequency, and the EM field it emits makes the cuffs drop off.

"No backup," he asks, rubbing his wrists. "Preventer's sends a fifteen year old girl to rescue me? I think I should be insulted that I mean that little to them."

"Be honored," I assure him. "I'm the best of the best- and that's not bragging, either."

He stares at me for a moment, and apparently knows I'm telling the truth.

"Trinity, eh? Got a last name?"

"Maxwell-Chang," I reply. No-one can find out much by that name. The only documentation I have is the adoption papers, and that'll lead to a dead end- I love my family and our 'special' status. "Trinity Maxwell-Chang. Let's go." I pull him behind me and out into the corridor. We can take it back to a lift, and then up two levels before we'd run into any kind of trouble. He's kind of slow, but that was to be expected. (And I'm not complaining. Slow is pretty good when you've got a wound the size of L4 on your stomach.

"You're not even going to check and see whose out there? Some best you are," he gripes. I growl, and pull him along. "Preventer's latest model. Comes with built in security sensors" I tap the side of my head sarcastically. "Just do as I say and I'll get you back to your family, friends, and whatever snooty girlfriend you've got pining for you."

"I don't have a girlfriend, Miss Maxwell-Chang. And I'm sure you're just as ready to get back to your husband," he grumbled. "Though who let a fifteen year old girl get married is beyond me."

I barely resist the urge to slap him. Ungrateful curr.

"Listen," I growl, not stopping pulling him along, "I am not fifteen. I am seventeen. And I am not married. So shut up."

"But... Maxwell-Chang?" Hell. He actually sounds a bit confused along with the curiosity. Understandable, I realize after a moment; I'd been asked about it many times before. On L3 and L1... and many places on Earth, most combined names come from marriages, and most children have one or the other. I can almost forgive him for that. Almost.

"My father's name is Maxwell," I snip. "And my other father's name is Chang. We all have the same family name.... Maxwell-Chang."

"Oh..." he breaths and follows along quietly for a moment. His emotions die down a bit, and they don't push as hard at my shields. For a minute or two, it's almost *comfortable* (well, as comfortable as the situation could get, anyway). But then, I feel a little worry wash up.

"Are you hurt?" he asks. He motions to my side as I push him into the lift.

"It's nothing big," I lie.

"Liar," he says. Must be something in my voice, because I know I'm a good liar and people rarely call my bluffs. "How bad?"

I sigh, leaning against the wall and trying to catch my breath. Running with this kind of wound is not a good idea. "Laser pistol from three feet," I say.

The words that come out of his mouth are not as nice as my preferred 'shit' and 'damn'.

"And you're still running?"

I nodd. "Endurance training. It helps. And if you ignore the pain, it sort of goes away," I admit.

"Masochist."

"I don't get off on pain. Not my own, and not others."

"Yet you just killed at least... how many? Five, six men on your way to rescue me," he points out.

"Sadist," I mutter. "Just because I can, and just because I do... doesn't mean I like it. The first man I killed, it nearly killed me. But it was either him or me... or my father."

"How old were you?"

"Old enough to understand, but young enough not to give a damn."

"How old?"

"Six," I snarl, turning crackling amber eyes to him. I really, really don't like thinking about that instance. "Happy now? Fuckin' Sadist. Why don't you just shut the fuck up for a moment and let me do my damn job?"

His mouth snaps closed, and I sense an abrupt wave of guilt wash over him.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Five minutes later, we're making our way down another corridor, ducking in and out of rooms at regular intervals to avoid people I'd rather not meet. Carter stays silent for that whole time.

We're about two hundred feet from my shuttle when things go from bad to worse. My mind hazes over for a moment, and I stumble backwards a bit.

"Trinity?" Brandon asks, hands on my shoulders to steady me. "Are you alright?"

"Peachy," I reply, my eyes closed to keep the room from spinning around. I think I may have got a concussion when my head hit the wall earlier. That certainly didn't bode well.

"Right. Even super-girl can't function with severe blood-loss," he remarks sarcastically, but the hands on my shoulders are gentle.

"I'm not super-girl," I reply weakly. "I'll be fine in a moment."

It takes a little longer than a moment, but the nausea does pass, and I can feel my empathy wanting to crash down on me. Damn dizzy spell weakened my shields. I spend a moment longer re-enforcing them, concentrating. It's a good ten minutes before I feel well enough to press forward, and we manage to make it almost all the way to the shuttle before things go from worse to 'hell in a handbasket' as my Daddy is fond of saying.

They've discovered my entry hatch, and there's at least five people in the room when me and my new charge get there.

"Damn," I mutter. I should have seen them, but stupid empathy doesn't work that well when you're *this* close to passing out from blood-loss. I move between them and Carter with a shift of my weight. At least if I die, I can take them out and get Carter into the shuttle pod. I could finish the mission.

"Stupid girl," one of the men says. "Did you really think you could pull this off?"

"No," I tell him. "I know I can pull this off, there's a difference." That damn face. I could never forget it. Those cold eyes, that greasy hair. Unlike years ago, he has a limp now- because of the metal plate in his leg. "Now, if you don't let us leave, then I'm going to have to shoot you... again."

Black eyes narrow at me. "Again?" he asks. He obviously doesn't remember me. Well, he probably *does* remember, but just can't picture this Medusa-creature with that scarily innocent looking baby angel back years ago.

"Yeah. I told you not to mess with that can, but you didn't listen. Now, you've got a metal femur and your boss is dead. Time flies, huh?"

His eyes widen in recognition.

"You..." he sputters. "You're that fuckin' *child* that shot me. You're the pint-sized bitch that killed Brag!"

"Yeah. I"m the pint-sized bitch that's gonna kill you." His gun... along with those of the four other men... rise to point at me.

"Like that's gonna stop me," I laugh before I kick out at the closest man, knocking the gun from his hands even as I duck, pulling Brandon down. My side protests the movement, but I press on. Two knives take down two guards. A shot from a liberated stun pistol takes down a third. The fourth I knee in the groin, and he's effectively disabled for a while. I'm left facing Delecroix now. His gun pointed at me, mine at him. A fair imitation of a classic stand-off.

"So, it's down to this, is it?" Delecroix asked.

I shrug, my aim not wavering an iota. Pain is radiating from my side, the bleeding has started again, and I'm pretty sure that I've bruised... if not broken, I think at the sharp pain in my chest... at least one rib. I was in bad shape. If this came down to a fight... I'm not sure I could win. My only option is finishing this before it comes to that.

"I don't want to kill you," I say. I don't. I think that I've killed enough in my quest to protect peace. Daddy tried to save me from this life. Him and Papa both... they didn't want this for me. But it was in my soul... this is what I was meant to do. Sure, I planted explosives... but only as a contingent plan, and only in case they didn't head my warnings.

"You're a lot different than that little girl all those years ago," he smirks. "Still so small, but oh so beautiful. I think that maybe I'll finish up what I wanted to do back then."

My stomach churns. My weakened shields are letting all his feelings... all those horrible, wicked, disgusting feelings. I have to end this. I have to...

Before I can even finish that thought, Delecroix sinks to the ground, stunned. I spin and look to see Brandon standing behind me, a stun pistol in his hands. He holds it like he's unsure of what it is, or how to use it.

"Bastard," he spat.

"Agreed," I say. "Can we go now? I'm feeling very.... woozy."