Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Dark Angel remains the property of Fox/James Cameron/Chick Eglee.
A/N: This was my...maybe failed attempt to write from the perspective of those that had been re-indoctrinated at Manticore.
Home
They stood lined up shoulder to shoulder with only inches between them. The air smelled of overused bodies. Every day, they formed these stiff, unrelenting lines through the gravely enclosure. But they never touched. Touch was too personal, too emotional. Feeling was something that they'd been trained to live without. They didn't miss it; none of them remembered a time when they'd experienced it.
Should to shoulder. But not touching.
A short man with a firm face walked casually before them. His cold, blue eyes surveyed them in the same manner he might have used to inspect frozen cattle carcasses hanging in a slaughter house. They were objects, implements...nothing short of hulls carved clean. Whatever inner softness they may have at one point hidden in their hearts had been consumed by the parasitic bane of inflexible ideals and blackened eyes.
They turned toe to toe. But didn't touch.
The plan was set. All that was left was the order. A simple word and no one would think of anything else until the mission was complete. Precision, strength, and keen determination drove them like a freight train toward their objective. The blond, sharp man with the wickedly cold eyes stopped in front of them, his legs set wide apart.
Turned again, they were elbow to elbow...fist to fist.
They were home. After long years of bitter resentment and running, they'd all eventually come back to this same place. They'd been taught the same things, been created for the same reasons by the same people. They were brothers and sisters in every way that mattered -- born of the same flesh, of test tubes and DNA and science. But when they looked at one another, they didn't see another person, for they were far from human. They saw a comrade, a member of the brethren, and a tightly installed ideal.
Kill or be killed.
Know your enemy.
Home and family. But no semblance of either. No sense of hope filled the gray cement enclosure. No love or even casual friendliness was found in anyone's eyes. Soldiers 'till the end.
Quickly, efficiently, they moved out of position when signaled to do so, taking a new formation. This mission was one of family security.
Only two were left in the hostile, outside world. Young Max. Brave Zack. It was time they came home to the beating, waiting heart of Manticore. Back to the only place where they belonged, no longer on the run, no longer afraid. Time to bring them back to the place of security and family where they could huddle up against the warm nerve center of the beast that had spawned them and drink its black, poisoned milk.
The group of X-5s moved out, keeping close together like a hive.
Heel to heel. Heart to heart. Never touching.
Bring them home.