AN: Yeah, I'm a good writer! I finished the next chapter and its twice as long as I thought
it was gonna be cause I added a Joshua segment. Reward me with a review... pleeeaaasseee....
Don't ya'll love me? ;) (purely a rhetorical question by the way...)
See Prologue for inane disclaimer...
************************* Terminal Nation: Chapter Two *************************
Agent White, hidden agent of a not so hidden secret breeding cult, studied the reports before
him in the dim lighting of his office at the bureau. His superior eye sight didn't need much
to make out the words and he preferred the shadows. They hid so much...
Bodies, blood, sins that would damn him if he believed in his soul. He didn't.
Steady fingers reached out and brushed the face of the boy looking guilelessly at the camera.
At the man. At his son.
His son... Lost to him so long ago, ten agonizing years. He had been stolen, taken from under
his father's nose. Anger burned briefly in White's eyes as the face of his son's abductor
flashed in his mind. Strong fingers curled and he wished, feverently, for the shadows to have
blood to hide.
For 452 to be ruined, broken, torn and decimated by his hands. For her perfection to be
marred. For his thirst for revenge to be slacked. He wanted Terminal Nation destroyed and
the rogue transgenic leader who arrogantly called herself Max to be brought to her genetically
engineered knees.
He wanted to see Max beg. He wanted her to see everything she held dear brought to a swift and
brutal end. He wanted to see hope flicker and die in her dark, dark eyes.
Max... even the name filled him with fury. She was scum... she was an experiment gone horribly
wrong. She didn't deserve life. She didn't deserve the rights she demanding for her and the
other freaks. She wasn't important enough to warrant a name.
Yet still it slipped through... Still, sometimes, even if it was only in his mind his fury was
directed and Max, at the too human woman who promised to end him and his people's bid for
dominance instead of the nameless, faceless, worthless 452. It was a dangerous change.
It made things personal.
But what could be more personal than his son?
She had hidden him away for ten years. Ten years of his only child's life had been spent among
the very filth he would one day rule. Ray had grown and lived and breathed without him by his
side.
His own flesh and blood was a stranger. A stranger and an outcast all because of 452...
But not for long.
The reports of a missing 'Raymond Black' crumpled under his hands. His capable, cruel hands.
Agent White stood and popped his neck casually before grabbing his coat and striding out of his
office. He had things to do... a son to find, a nation to tear down, and a woman to kill.
Max...
**************************************************************************************
Raymond Black studied the skyline of Seattle from his perch on a slightly distant hill. He
chewed the smashed candy bar he had stolen from a convenient store absently. He had run out of
food several days ago and had resorted to not so ethical means to survive.
The logical thing to do was to use some of his cash to get to the city but he couldn't bear to
part with it. He might need it for something more than what he could steal. Besides, most the
bills were large anyway. Kids who looked like him didn't carry that kind of currency. Not
legally anyway.
The wrapper drifted to the ground as the gray, silent looking city sprawled down below. It was
like some kind of sleeping giant from a fairy tale of old, slumbering, but alive, somehow. Just
waiting to be reawakened. The thought didn't comfort him in the least.
How was he supposed to find the woman, Max, in that humbled concrete labyrinth? How was he
supposed to find answers buried under ten years of dust?
Ray sighed deeply and drew his jacket closer. It was getting colder, as time continued its
unstoppable march towards winter. Clouds gathered and thunder rolled overhead. He winced as
lightning split the sky with a brilliant flash that temporarily blinded him.
His tired feet found the pedals of his bike as he laboriously continued his pilgrimage towards
fate. The sky grumbled for a moment before parting like a curtain that obscured heaven, only to
unleash hell. Sheets of bitterly cold rain fell gleefully, soaking the already muddy ground
and the youth who continued doggedly onward.
Ray coughed and pedaled on.
*******************************************************************************************
Joshua growled at the gawking youth who delivered room service to the "luxurious" sweet he had
been afforded for his stay. The boy stammered incoherently and fled, leaving the battered but
useable silver cart at the door. The growl turned to a sigh as he brought the cart in. You'd
think that after ten years the world would be used to the differences between them. And
perhaps ready to see what made them all the same.
"You're making a real name for yourself buddy... I can see the headlines now: 'Second in
Command of Terminal Nation Frothing Beast!'"
Joshua glowered at the human lounging in a plush but threadbare chair next to the room's
breakfast table. "Sketch would have written himself not long ago," he replied simply as he
revealed dinner, plain sandwiches, and the smell of tuna and ham filled the room.
Sketchy shrugged and reached out to grab the ham plate. Joshua batted the hand away. "I do
not eat fish." Sketch braved the tired transgenic's stubborn glare for a moment before
shrugging easily again and switching easily to the tuna.
"That was before you fed me on a regular basis."
Joshua continued to glare for another long minute as he watched Sketch eat, unconcerned, with
his right hand. The other arm was nonexistent from the elbow down, another casualty of
humanity's intolerance and blind hatred. Sometimes even their own got caught in the cross fire,
not that humanity bothered to care. Sketch was a traitor after all...
He lived in Terminal Nation. He championed transgenic rights, and he fought in all the
sporadic battles and skirmished that had happened in the last decade. Or he had, until his
accident. And Sketch still stood, unflinching, at Joshua's side as the transgenic diplomat
made impassioned speeches and danced the political dance he barely understood, trying,
desperately, to be seen as something besides a monster in the eyes of more than a precious few.
Sketch was one of the few that Joshua treasured as a friend and ally because he saw no
revulsion in the human's face.
The glare eased into tiredness as Joshua sank into an empty chair, ham sandwich temporarily
forgotten, as he buried his shaggy head into his hands. Frustration warred with helplessness
until both swirled together, taunting, in his mind.
"I should not be here..." he whispered into the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. Joshua
raised stricken eyes and met Sketch's own. "I do not belong here friend. I cannot..." With a
cry the uneaten dinner crashed to the worn carpeting as Joshua's huge hand swept the small table
clean.
"I am not good for our cause. Max should not have entrusted me. I will fail her, me, us..."
Sketch stood and swallowed before placing a tentative hand on the transgenic's anguished
shoulder. "Hay Big Guy... Listen to me. Listen to me Joshua!" Joshus looked up swiftly.
"Listen to me." Sketch took a deep breath before continuing swiftly.
"You can do this Joshua, you will do this because this is something Max can't do. She's our
leader Joshua but to every eye, even her own, she looks human. She looks more human than I
do." He waved his amputated arm before the mute transgenic's mute face for emphasis.
"These blockheads up here need someone like you Joshua, to stand up and remind them that we
are a little different. But as different as we are that we have rights. That we are people.
That we cannot be swept under the political rug and quietly cowed by a few deaths and acts of
meaningless violence. You're our poster boy Joshua.
"Be yourself and I promise you that you can do nothing but help. Max trusts you more than she
trusts herself with this. That's why you're here. If you don't trust yourself, or my own
ringing stamp of approval, at least trust Max's judgment. We're not dead yet so she has to be
doing something right."
Sketch straightened and looked sheepish as Joshua stared at him. Finally a slight smile
crossed his features as he watched the squirming human. "And you think I am a good speaker?"
he demanded incredulously.
Sketch coughed. "Let's order more dinner. I don't trust the floors in here. Hopefully we get
a new deliverer this time though... That boy was about to pee his pants..." Joshua sighed
again and nodded in agreement.
His fear of failure was still there but it was tempered by the knowledge that he wasn't in this
alone. That he had friends like Max and Sketch and all of Terminal Nation who would stand by
him the entire way, till the very end. Joshua was not a spiritual person, not in the
traditional sense, but it didn't stop him from appealing to some greater power. He prayed for
peace as he sat in the darkened hotel room at the heart of a nation still trying to rebuild
itself. Prayed for peace and dreamt of Annie for the first time in years as he slumbered
restlessly with Sketch's steady snoring coming from the other bed. She traced the new lines on
his face and held him as he cried in his bittersweet dreams.
And dawn didn't seem quite so dark anymore as they rose the next morning, ready to begin their
quest anew. Not bright exactly, but no longer so terribly dark.
it was gonna be cause I added a Joshua segment. Reward me with a review... pleeeaaasseee....
Don't ya'll love me? ;) (purely a rhetorical question by the way...)
See Prologue for inane disclaimer...
************************* Terminal Nation: Chapter Two *************************
Agent White, hidden agent of a not so hidden secret breeding cult, studied the reports before
him in the dim lighting of his office at the bureau. His superior eye sight didn't need much
to make out the words and he preferred the shadows. They hid so much...
Bodies, blood, sins that would damn him if he believed in his soul. He didn't.
Steady fingers reached out and brushed the face of the boy looking guilelessly at the camera.
At the man. At his son.
His son... Lost to him so long ago, ten agonizing years. He had been stolen, taken from under
his father's nose. Anger burned briefly in White's eyes as the face of his son's abductor
flashed in his mind. Strong fingers curled and he wished, feverently, for the shadows to have
blood to hide.
For 452 to be ruined, broken, torn and decimated by his hands. For her perfection to be
marred. For his thirst for revenge to be slacked. He wanted Terminal Nation destroyed and
the rogue transgenic leader who arrogantly called herself Max to be brought to her genetically
engineered knees.
He wanted to see Max beg. He wanted her to see everything she held dear brought to a swift and
brutal end. He wanted to see hope flicker and die in her dark, dark eyes.
Max... even the name filled him with fury. She was scum... she was an experiment gone horribly
wrong. She didn't deserve life. She didn't deserve the rights she demanding for her and the
other freaks. She wasn't important enough to warrant a name.
Yet still it slipped through... Still, sometimes, even if it was only in his mind his fury was
directed and Max, at the too human woman who promised to end him and his people's bid for
dominance instead of the nameless, faceless, worthless 452. It was a dangerous change.
It made things personal.
But what could be more personal than his son?
She had hidden him away for ten years. Ten years of his only child's life had been spent among
the very filth he would one day rule. Ray had grown and lived and breathed without him by his
side.
His own flesh and blood was a stranger. A stranger and an outcast all because of 452...
But not for long.
The reports of a missing 'Raymond Black' crumpled under his hands. His capable, cruel hands.
Agent White stood and popped his neck casually before grabbing his coat and striding out of his
office. He had things to do... a son to find, a nation to tear down, and a woman to kill.
Max...
**************************************************************************************
Raymond Black studied the skyline of Seattle from his perch on a slightly distant hill. He
chewed the smashed candy bar he had stolen from a convenient store absently. He had run out of
food several days ago and had resorted to not so ethical means to survive.
The logical thing to do was to use some of his cash to get to the city but he couldn't bear to
part with it. He might need it for something more than what he could steal. Besides, most the
bills were large anyway. Kids who looked like him didn't carry that kind of currency. Not
legally anyway.
The wrapper drifted to the ground as the gray, silent looking city sprawled down below. It was
like some kind of sleeping giant from a fairy tale of old, slumbering, but alive, somehow. Just
waiting to be reawakened. The thought didn't comfort him in the least.
How was he supposed to find the woman, Max, in that humbled concrete labyrinth? How was he
supposed to find answers buried under ten years of dust?
Ray sighed deeply and drew his jacket closer. It was getting colder, as time continued its
unstoppable march towards winter. Clouds gathered and thunder rolled overhead. He winced as
lightning split the sky with a brilliant flash that temporarily blinded him.
His tired feet found the pedals of his bike as he laboriously continued his pilgrimage towards
fate. The sky grumbled for a moment before parting like a curtain that obscured heaven, only to
unleash hell. Sheets of bitterly cold rain fell gleefully, soaking the already muddy ground
and the youth who continued doggedly onward.
Ray coughed and pedaled on.
*******************************************************************************************
Joshua growled at the gawking youth who delivered room service to the "luxurious" sweet he had
been afforded for his stay. The boy stammered incoherently and fled, leaving the battered but
useable silver cart at the door. The growl turned to a sigh as he brought the cart in. You'd
think that after ten years the world would be used to the differences between them. And
perhaps ready to see what made them all the same.
"You're making a real name for yourself buddy... I can see the headlines now: 'Second in
Command of Terminal Nation Frothing Beast!'"
Joshua glowered at the human lounging in a plush but threadbare chair next to the room's
breakfast table. "Sketch would have written himself not long ago," he replied simply as he
revealed dinner, plain sandwiches, and the smell of tuna and ham filled the room.
Sketchy shrugged and reached out to grab the ham plate. Joshua batted the hand away. "I do
not eat fish." Sketch braved the tired transgenic's stubborn glare for a moment before
shrugging easily again and switching easily to the tuna.
"That was before you fed me on a regular basis."
Joshua continued to glare for another long minute as he watched Sketch eat, unconcerned, with
his right hand. The other arm was nonexistent from the elbow down, another casualty of
humanity's intolerance and blind hatred. Sometimes even their own got caught in the cross fire,
not that humanity bothered to care. Sketch was a traitor after all...
He lived in Terminal Nation. He championed transgenic rights, and he fought in all the
sporadic battles and skirmished that had happened in the last decade. Or he had, until his
accident. And Sketch still stood, unflinching, at Joshua's side as the transgenic diplomat
made impassioned speeches and danced the political dance he barely understood, trying,
desperately, to be seen as something besides a monster in the eyes of more than a precious few.
Sketch was one of the few that Joshua treasured as a friend and ally because he saw no
revulsion in the human's face.
The glare eased into tiredness as Joshua sank into an empty chair, ham sandwich temporarily
forgotten, as he buried his shaggy head into his hands. Frustration warred with helplessness
until both swirled together, taunting, in his mind.
"I should not be here..." he whispered into the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. Joshua
raised stricken eyes and met Sketch's own. "I do not belong here friend. I cannot..." With a
cry the uneaten dinner crashed to the worn carpeting as Joshua's huge hand swept the small table
clean.
"I am not good for our cause. Max should not have entrusted me. I will fail her, me, us..."
Sketch stood and swallowed before placing a tentative hand on the transgenic's anguished
shoulder. "Hay Big Guy... Listen to me. Listen to me Joshua!" Joshus looked up swiftly.
"Listen to me." Sketch took a deep breath before continuing swiftly.
"You can do this Joshua, you will do this because this is something Max can't do. She's our
leader Joshua but to every eye, even her own, she looks human. She looks more human than I
do." He waved his amputated arm before the mute transgenic's mute face for emphasis.
"These blockheads up here need someone like you Joshua, to stand up and remind them that we
are a little different. But as different as we are that we have rights. That we are people.
That we cannot be swept under the political rug and quietly cowed by a few deaths and acts of
meaningless violence. You're our poster boy Joshua.
"Be yourself and I promise you that you can do nothing but help. Max trusts you more than she
trusts herself with this. That's why you're here. If you don't trust yourself, or my own
ringing stamp of approval, at least trust Max's judgment. We're not dead yet so she has to be
doing something right."
Sketch straightened and looked sheepish as Joshua stared at him. Finally a slight smile
crossed his features as he watched the squirming human. "And you think I am a good speaker?"
he demanded incredulously.
Sketch coughed. "Let's order more dinner. I don't trust the floors in here. Hopefully we get
a new deliverer this time though... That boy was about to pee his pants..." Joshua sighed
again and nodded in agreement.
His fear of failure was still there but it was tempered by the knowledge that he wasn't in this
alone. That he had friends like Max and Sketch and all of Terminal Nation who would stand by
him the entire way, till the very end. Joshua was not a spiritual person, not in the
traditional sense, but it didn't stop him from appealing to some greater power. He prayed for
peace as he sat in the darkened hotel room at the heart of a nation still trying to rebuild
itself. Prayed for peace and dreamt of Annie for the first time in years as he slumbered
restlessly with Sketch's steady snoring coming from the other bed. She traced the new lines on
his face and held him as he cried in his bittersweet dreams.
And dawn didn't seem quite so dark anymore as they rose the next morning, ready to begin their
quest anew. Not bright exactly, but no longer so terribly dark.