James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

I

As Max slowly woke up, her mind instantly went to work making sure she was safe. Her paranoia was the result of many years spent on the run, and it had served her well several times. The first thing she realized, before she even opened her eyes, was that someone was holding her right hand. She slowly clenched her left fist and prepared to strike whoever was with her, and cracked her right eye open the slightest bit. A small amount of grayish light was coming in through the window, but even that was enough to send a bolt of pain through her head. She fought the discomfort and struggled to focus on the shape next to her bed. Logan? she wondered immediately. She opened her eye a slight bit more, and confirmed that it was, in fact, Logan that was sitting by her bedside. A thin smile spread across her lips, and she opened both eyes fully.

"Hi," she muttered pleasantly, somewhat puzzled at the fact that she felt so comfortable around her friend. He knew so much about her, and that made a part of Max feel vulnerable. Still, she decided, it's nice. It's sorta like having a friend the way everyone always talks about them. She had friends from work, but none of them knew her the way Logan did. Of course, Original Cindy knew her nasty little Manticore secret, but she still had a while to go before she had the same insight that Logan had. After all, it was one thing to know about Max's secret, but it was quite another to live alongside Max for month after month as she dodged Lydecker and foreign powers that wanted her for the technology used to create her. As if those hassles weren't enough, she also constantly struggled to understand herself and stave off her all too frequent seizures. It put a bit of a strain on even the best friendships, and Max honestly could not understand why Logan had not only tolerated it all, but also always come back begging for more.

"How are you feeling?" Logan asked, concern etched into his expression.

"A little woozy," Max admitted. "And that sunlight's a killer."

"You got a pretty bad concussion, probably even a grade 3," Logan told her as he moved over toward the window. He closed the blinds, and Max's head immediately stopped throbbing as much. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Well, how much do you know so far?" Max asked, knowing that Logan had other information sources that he had likely already tapped.

"I know that Bling found you unconscious on my doorstep last night," Logan began. Max wondered for a moment whether she had been able to get to the apartment on her own, or whether she had had any help. Try as she might, she could not remember anything past the blast of heat that had sent her careening against a wall. "There was an explosion last night in Koch's penthouse suite," Logan added. "I also know that two of his guards were found dead as a result of smoke inhalation, and four others had apparently been incapacitated. There was no sign of Koch. However, there happened to be a television news camera crew on the scene, and they were able to prevent the police from covering up too much of what happened. There was all kinds of evidence of what Koch was into. I don't think his payoffs and connections are going to help him much."

"Meaning it's time to chalk up a win for the good guys," Max said.

"Not until they have him in custody," Logan responded warily. "As long as he's on the loose, he can still cause all kinds of problems. His back is against a wall right now... he might be more dangerous than ever."

"But we're pretty much through with him," Max surmised.

"Seems that way," Logan admitted. "The authorities are on his trail, and his power has been broken. He'll have to face some kind of punishment for his crimes."

"Great," Max said, trying to sit up. Another flash of pain shot through her head as she moved, and she was immediately beset by dizziness. Within a brief moment, she was lying back down on the bed.

"Doesn't look like you'll be leaving anytime soon," Logan commented. "So you gonna tell me now what happened last night?"

"Oh, that," Max replied. "I didn't have anything to do with blowing the place up, if that's what you think."

"I didn't think you did," Logan answered with a soft, affectionate smile. "I figured you would have at least been smart enough to get far enough away before you set off a bomb. Did one of them shoot some stored ammunition or something?"

"No, there was someone else there," Max said. "He was there before I got there. By the time I showed up, the security system had been disabled and the guards taken out. I ran into him in the living room. He was dressed up in a ninja outfit with a large black cloak over it. He sorta looked like that guy from that Star Wars movie you made me watch."

"Darth Vader?" Logan asked.

"No, the other one," Max responded. "You know, the movie that had that dumb-ass alien that just wouldn't die."

"Jar-Jar?" Logan asked, his smile shifting from affectionate to amused. Max nodded. "Oh, so you mean the guy looked like Darth Maul."

"Yep," Max confirmed. "He fought like him, too. Except that he was faster, and didn't have a lightsaber."

"Faster?" Logan asked suspiciously.

"As fast as me," Max said. She figured Logan had already come to the same conclusion she had. "He was Manticore, I'm sure of it. And he knew who I was."

"But you didn't recognize him at all?" her friend asked.

"No, but he's got to be one of the ones that escaped with me, though," Max added. "If he was still with Manticore, he would have taken me out. He let me go, though. Well, after he called the news crew, that is."

"So that's who called the news?" Logan's forehead started to crease ever so slightly as the wheels in his head obviously started to turn more quickly. Max thought Logan was cute when he started to get all into his Eyes Only idiom.

"He called the news, and then set off the bomb," Max explained. "He set up the whole thing to get Koch caught."

"And you're sure you have no idea who it was? Not even a guess?"

"Not at all," Max admitted. "The only guy I've seen from the project is Zack, and I wouldn't have known him if I bumped into him on the street. We've all grown up so much, Logan. We were just kids when we escaped."

"But you said he knew you," Logan pointed out.

"He saw my bar code, I think," Max replied with a shrug. Several minutes of silence followed as Logan pondered the matter, and Max watched him, all the while wondering what it was about him that she found so sexy when he was being all intellectual.

"Alright," Logan finally said. "Why don't you stay here for the day? I know you're probably not going to sleep at all, but at least get some rest."

"I have to get to work," Max countered. "I'm late already."

"That's been taken care of," Logan said.

"What?"

"I had a doctor I know call your boss this morning," Logan answered. "He said that you had gotten a concussion last night while moonlighting at a homeless shelter."

"A homeless shelter?" Max asked dubiously. "Normal would never believe that."

"Maybe it was an orphanage," Logan pondered.

"That's even worse."

"Whatever it was, Normal said that he was surprised you had it in you to do charity work, and that he would need documentation of your injury before you would be allowed back to work," Logan said.

"That sounds more like him," Max replied.

"It's all taken care of," Logan said. "You have a couple of days off, so make the most of them. It can take up to a year for a normal human to recover fully from a concussion like the one you had. I know you're not really just one of us mere mortals, but you'll need time all the same."

"I'll be fine," Max said with a faux yawn. "Just leave me here for a little while. I'll watch some TV or something."

"Want me to put on a movie?" Logan asked.

"Sure," Max replied. "Put on that one with Darth Maul. Just make sure you give me the remote before you leave the room, though," she added. "I wanna be sure I can mute it when that Jar-Jar guy is on screen."

II

Logan's apartment had been silent for over an hour before Max dared to start moving around. She knew that Logan wouldn't want her to leave, and while his concern was touching, it was unnecessary. Max had decided to get out for some fresh air. A day in bed was far more relaxation than she needed. She crept noiselessly around the guestroom that had slowly started to become her second home and gathered up her things. In a matter of minutes she was ready to go, and sprang out the window with catlike grace.

She made her way out onto the street, and was immediately greeted by a slightly familiar, yet muffled, voice.

"I was hoping you'd come out to play tonight," a man commented from behind her. Max whirled and came face to face with her foe from the previous evening. Once again, he was clad completely in black, from the combat boots, to the jeans, to the t-shirt and duster, and finally to the motorcycle helmet with a shaded visor that screened his face from view.

"Who are you?" Max asked warily. She didn't feel threatened, simply curious. She knew that if this man had wanted her dead, he had had at least one prime opportunity already.

"Come with me and find out," he answered evasively.

"Where?" Max asked.

"Someplace we can talk," he replied. Max could almost swear she could make out a mischievous grin underneath the visor. The tone of his voice made it clear that he enjoyed being in control of the situation.

"And where would that be?"

"My place," he said. "It's not far from here." He took a step forward, and Max instinctively took a step back. He then paused for a second, as if he was unwilling to make Max uneasy, and then gestured toward a Harley parked next to the curb. "I'm just getting on my bike, Max," he said reassuringly. "You're welcome to join me if you'd like. If not, I'll give you the address and you can walk there if you'd prefer."

"No, I'll come along," Max answered. She was confident that she could take care of herself if the situation turned ugly. True, she was possibly walking into a trap set by a genetically engineered super-soldier, but it was nothing that she had not been trained for as a child.

------------------------

"Nice digs," Max commented as she walked into the spacious apartment. She could see a kitchen with a connected dinette, a small living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. In this neighborhood, I'll bet he also has hot running water any time he wants, she thought jealously. He's done well for himself.

"It's certainly more comfortable than our childhood barracks ever were," her host replied, his voice still muffled by the motorcycle helmet that he had yet to take off.

"You plan on letting me see you anytime soon, or were just gonna wear that helmet for the rest of the night?" Max asked

"Oh, sorry, I forgot," he answered. In one fluid motion he removed the helmet without any of the suspense that Max had been expecting. After the dramatic build-up, she had figured he would slowly undo the chinstrap and begin to remove the helmet, only to hesitate for a brief moment before continuing. "Remember me?" he asked as soon as she looked at his face.

"I think so," Max said slowly, scanning his features carefully. The young man had fiery red hair and pale skin, along with the bright green eyes she had been able to see the previous night. She broadened her scope and examined his body as well, noting his compact, athletic frame. He seemed to be built virtually identically to Zack. "Robert?" she asked after another moment.

"No," the man replied. "My name's Rory. At least, it is now. I decided long ago that Robert died when we escaped from Manticore. I'm a free man now, a new man. I've found my place in this world, and I figured a new name would help represent the new me."

"Okay," Max said, unsure of what else she could say.

"Would you like some cappuccino?" he offered pleasantly.

"Real cappuccino?" Max asked skeptically. She had heard about it, but never had some.

"Yes, it's 100% real," Rory said with a smile. "Jut don't ask how I got my hands on the espresso beans." He wandered into the kitchen and started to measure espresso beans into a coffee grinder. He seemed completely at ease, and Max couldn't help but wonder why. She marveled at her host as he poured water into the top of the machine, and then set the grounds in it as well. As he worked, he started to whistle a tune that Max needed a few seconds to place. She smiled as she finally realized Rory was whistling 'Just a Gigolo.' She wondered if the song was a clue as to how he gotten such a comfortable apartment.

"Are you on any special medications that I should know about?" Max finally asked as Rory began to froth the cream.

"What?" Rory asked over the sound of the machine, unable to hide his surprise.

"You seem way too relaxed," Max commented. "I ran into Zack, and he was nothing like you. I mean, I don't exactly think I'm uptight or anything, but I'm certainly not the type to start making cappuccino for houseguests.

"I don't need any drugs to be at ease, Max," Rory explained simply. "I just know who I am." Without any further explanation, he turned back to the task of making the cappuccino. Within another couple of minutes he had walked back out to the dinette. "Here you go," he said pleasantly, handing a large cup over to his guest.

"Do I just drink it or what?" Max asked, looking at the thick foam uncertainly.

"Well, I do," Rory responded. "Sorry, I guess I should have given you a spoon, too, in case you wanted to stir in the cream."

"No, this is fine," Max said politely. She took a cautious sip, and could only smile as she tasted the cappuccino. It tasted wonderful to her, the strong coffee flavor mingling perfectly with the frothed milk.

Both of them sat in silence for several minutes before Rory finally broke into discussion. "So, Max, what exactly are you doing here?"

"Excuse me?" Max asked, thrown off-balance by his bluntness.

"In Seattle," Rory explained. "What do you do here? How do you make a living? Do you really just work as a mail courier?"

"Where did you hear that?" Max asked.

"Zack told me," Rory answered.

"Zack?"

"I ran into him in Portland a couple of weeks ago," Rory explained. "Come on, Max, think about it. It's not like many of us escaped. What do you think the chances are of two of us ever ending up in the same city just by pure coincidence?"

"Not likely," Max admitted.

"Surely not," Rory agreed. "I only came to Seattle because I heard you were here."

"Meaning?" Max asked.

"I wanted to come here to help you," Rory said, "and to ask for your help."

"My help?" Max asked. "What do you want from me?"

"Well, like I said, I know who I am," Rory replied evenly. "Or rather, I think I know," he amended. "I just want to test myself, to make certain that the conclusion I reached is the right one."

"And what was your conclusion?" Max asked curiously.

"Not yet," Rory said, avoiding the topic. "I want to talk about you, first."

"What about me?" Max suddenly noticed that she had immediately become uneasy, and her guard had been put up. She had no desire to get into an overly personal discussion with someone whom she had not seen in years. She simply hoped that the conversation stayed pretty much on the level of small talk.

"Well, like I already asked, do you really work as a courier?"

"Yes," Max answered with a smile, wondering what a fellow Manticore escapee would think of such a mundane vocation.

"Why?"

"Well, it certainly keeps me below Lydecker's radar," Max explained. "I doubt he'll ever start looking at courier companies thinking he could find me at one of them. Also, I have some friends there, so it's nice to spend time with them. The pay's not entirely bad, either, and the sector pass that comes with the job is more convenient than you can possibly imagine."

"So you don't supplement your income at all?" Rory asked.

"How do you mean?" Max did not particularly want to admit that she ran the occasional scam, or that she had been known to partake in the theft of private property. For some reason, she suddenly felt ashamed of some of her activities. It was a new experience for her.

"Most of the others have become criminals of some sort," Rory explained. "Thieves, mostly. Our training and less-than-God-given talents make us perfectly suited for that kind of work. I also heard that one of us has become an assassin."

"I'm not an assassin," Max replied. "But I have stolen a few things here and there."

"Is that what you feel you were born to do?" Rory asked pointedly.

"Come again?" Max asked in response.

"Do you think you were born to be a thief?" Rory asked.

"I was born to do what I wanted," Max answered. "It's not like there's such a thing as destiny or anything."

"Are you so sure?" Rory asked. "Have you never laid awake at night and thought about it?"

"I have plenty of other things to think about," Max shot back. "I have enough going on without trying to get all philosophical about stuff I can't control."

"So you admit there are things you can't control?" Rory asked. "Are you admitting that there's some hand that guides us through our lives, for good or for ill?"

"If you're about to tell me you've found religion and want to convert me, let me just warn you not to," Max said with a hint of menace.

"No, far from it," Rory answered. "Religion is simply a means to an end, and not an end unto itself."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Max asked, starting to fidget slightly in her seat and tap her fingertips against the cup of cappuccino.

"As I see it, all people have one of two choices," Rory explained. "We can either believe that there is no rhyme or reason to the universe, and do as we will, or we can believe that there is some kind of plan out there for us. Personally, I refuse to believe that life is random."

"Why's that?" Max asked, deciding that playing Devil's Advocate could be fun.

"Because if life is random, then it has no meaning," Rory said simply. "I believe that my life has meaning. I believe your life does, as well. I want to help you find your purpose, and have you help me discover if the course I've set for myself is indeed the correct one."

"Fine," Max answered. "So what are your thoughts?"

"We weren't born, we were created," Rory began. "So, from the very beginning, we were engineered with a specific purpose in mind."

"We're warriors," Max surmised, pretty certain where Rory's thoughts were heading.

"That's right," Rory agreed. "We were meant to advance the goals of our government. However, the universe allowed us to escape. It obviously had a different plan for us."

"And what plan is that?" Max asked skeptically.

"Well, Marcus Aurelius, and many other lesser philosophers, believed that all men were created with a clear purpose in mind," Rory responded. "Like you said, we were designed to be warriors. However, our freedom indicates that our purpose is to fight for someone other than the government. I think we're meant to fight for the innocent."

"The innocent?" Max asked with a genuinely amused smile. "And who exactly would that be?"

"There are decent people in this country, Max," Rory said. "Like that Eyes Only guy that comes on the TV once in awhile. He points out the corruption, despite the fact that he likely does so at great personal risk. I'll bet he has all kinds of money and connections. He has the means to make this world a better place, and so he does. We also have the means, Max. We were born to fight. You can't expect the average citizen to do what we do. They'd get killed. Likewise, you can't look at our abilities and expect us to remain uninvolved. Our abilities give us the responsibility to act, because if we won't do it, then who will?"

"That's a little melodramatic," Max replied.

"Is it?" Rory asked. "Let me ask you this – what were you doing at Koch's place last night?"

"That's none of your business," Max shot back immediately. She had started to grow uneasy as soon as Rory had mentioned Logan's alter ego, and now her anxiety was increasing. Part of her suspected that Rory was there to get information about Eyes Only.

"Fine," Rory replied. "I was there to take down Koch, though," he admitted. "I had a plan, and I was sure it would work. Somehow, he escaped."

"But the police are after him now," Max pointed out. "It's just a matter of time."

"In the meantime, though, he'll be free to continue business as usual," Rory replied darkly. "Every gun he sells, every young girl he abducts and sells into slavery, every drug sale that destroys another life... these are all crimes that are my fault, because I failed."

"You can't think that," Max said.

"Yes I can," Rory answered, his voice growing stronger as he obviously became more worked up. "If I had succeeded, he would be off the street. I failed. It's my responsibility."

"So what will you do?"

"It's funny you should ask," Rory replied. "I happen to know where there's a cache of weapons that Koch has been collecting to sell off to a drug cartel. I was planning on taking it down tonight."

"By yourself?" Max asked, though she already suspected the answer.

"No, actually, I was hoping you would come along and help," Rory said, confirming Max's suspicions. "We have all this wonderful training, Max. It would be a shame to let it go to waste. No, more than that... it would be a crime. You may not know exactly what it is you were meant to do, but sitting on the sidelines is obviously not it."

"I guess not," Max agreed. "You wouldn't happen to have another one of those ninja suits, would you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Rory answered with a smile. "And as luck would have it, it just happens to be the perfect size for you."

------------------------

Using the utmost caution, Rory and Max approached the small, seemingly innocuous shed located on the thinly wooded outskirts of Seattle. They knew that inside the structure were two former Navy SEALs, and an ex-Army Ranger. All three of the men they would face had received the highest level of training the United States armed services had to offer. There might have been a depression going on, but the U.S. military was still second to none. That was why no one ever considered military action against the fallen super-power, despite its apparent vulnerability. Inside the shed, the guards would have access to the most modern weapons available, from the time-tested and reliable AK-47, to the ultra-modern EMP rail gun that Walther was still testing.

Rory led the way, and Max was more than willing to let him. He had been out in the field a great deal recently, and thus had been forced to keep his skills more finely tuned than Max needed to. She might have been the toughest woman in the city, but she was not all that she could be. She spent far too many hours each day delivering packages to devote the necessary time to her training.

The pair of soldiers raced from shadow to shadow, neither one betraying their presence to any watching eyes. It was because they were being so careful that the sudden barking of a dog caught both of them off-guard. Damnit! Max cursed. There weren't supposed to be any dogs! By the look on Rory's face, she guessed that he was just as surprised and concerned as she was. Each of them dove behind a tree just a split second before a set of floodlights lit up the surrounding area as bright as day.

"We know someone's out there," a voice called out from the shed. "If you come out right now, we'll only cripple you. You stay out there, though, and we'll kill you."

Good luck, Max thought with a wicked grin. Her bravado was greatly decreased a moment later when automatic weapons fire started tearing through the trees she and Rory were using for cover. Several rounds embedded themselves in the tree she was crouched behind, and bark and wood chips flew all around her. A brief, eerie silence followed, and Max had almost convinced herself that the guards had given up when she saw it – a jet of flame shot toward her, illuminating the woods in the dancing red glow of fire. A flame-thrower?! You've gotta be kidding. Small arms fire was bad enough, but the prospect of being roasted alive made Max more than frightened. Instinctively, her hand went down to her thigh and closed around the grip of the Glock 10mm that Rory had lent her.

I don't use guns, she had told him. He had insisted, but she had been adamant. It was only when he had asked oh-so-nicely, with a look of concern that rivaled Logan's, that Max had relented. I'm not going to use it, she now remembered telling him. He hadn't cared. He just wanted her to have it in case something completely unexpected went wrong. It seemed it just had.

Max loaded the first round into the chamber and started to gauge the distance to her target. She caught sight of Rory, and could only look on in wonder as he scaled a tree ten feet away from her. He almost seemed to be moving with the ease of a spider along a wall. Max knew Rory would be in an ideal firing position in just seconds, so she steeled herself for the effort she was about to expend.

She heard the first burst of gunfire from his MP-5, and in a blur of motion she moved from behind the tree and toward the shed. The man with the flame-thrower was collapsing in front of her eyes, and she assumed he had been Rory's target. A second man was now becoming visible, taking aim at the treetops. I can't reach him in time, Max thought quickly, wondering if she was more concerned by the fact that she was going to use her pistol, or that Rory would die if she didn't. She knew she would likely only get one or two shots before her target could unleash a salvo in Rory's direction, so she needed to make her shots count. She pulled back on the trigger and felt the familiar recoil of the weapon in her palm. It sent a chill up her spine as she remembered, in a momentary flashback, the pain that she had seen firearms cause when she was only a child. A moment later, however, her mind was back where it belonged – focused on the task at hand. Two additional shots followed her first hit. She saw the man in front of her fall back a couple of steps from the velocity of the rounds she fired, but it did not actually register in her head that she had just killed a man. Her only thought was that she had simply removed one threat and gained a tactical advantage in achieving her goal. She never even noticed that she was holding the Glock more tightly than ever.

Max's mind continued to race along. There's one left, she reminded herself. She searched the shadows around her, and then stopped short and listened for the slightest sound. Only her genetically enhanced hearing allowed her to hear the muffled sound of breathing coming from her left. She dropped into a defensive crouch even as she whirled toward her left. In the back of her mind she heard a shot ring out. Then a second, and a third. Without thinking she returned fire, and saw her attacker jolt every time her finger twitched. She had shot him four times when the man was suddenly thrown back in a barrage of automatic gunfire. Reinforcements, she realized. Rory finally got in position to take a shot. With all three of the known threats immobilized, the pair moved once again toward the shed.

They found the building unoccupied, as they had expected. Stacks of wooden crates holding ammunition and weapons dominated the one room, and Rory whistled with glee when he saw them. "Merry Christmas," he said with a flourish.

"I thought you said we were going to destroy them," Max said. "I thought we were gonna send a message."

"Oh, we will," Rory assured her. "First, though, I'm taking some of this stuff."

"So you're a thief, too?" Max asked. "What about all your high-minded posturing?"

"This man is a criminal," Rory explained. "I steal from him because he steals from the innocent. I wouldn't break into a normal person's home and take their stuff. But when I hit criminals, I feel free to take what I want. I use their money to support me, and their weapons to fight them. In essence, I'm a guerilla, and I become strong on what they leave behind."

"I see," Max said, appreciating the value of his argument. "So that's how you got such a nice place."

"Absolutely," Rory confirmed. "Just last night I got over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars from Koch's safe. I don't see any shame in making myself a little comfortable when I'm not fighting my war. I think I deserve it."

"Of course you do," Max muttered.

"It's what we are," Rory reminded her. "We're soldiers. If we hadn't left Manticore, all of our material needs would be taken care of and we would only be expected to fight. I'm doing the same thing, just as a private citizen. Oh, and if it makes it any easier, I usually donate fifty percent of what I scavenge to local orphanages."

"Really?" Max asked, suddenly thrown off-balance.

"I didn't have all that hard a life when I fled Manticore, but that doesn't mean I don't understand what some of these kids go through," Rory explained. "I told you before, we have a responsibility to use our abilities to help those that don't have the strength to help themselves. Haven't you been listening?"

"Yeah, I guess I have," Max admitted, pondering what Rory had been saying. She kept to herself, though, the thoughts of just how much she had enjoyed their raid against Koch's weapons cache. She had forgotten what it felt like to be in a real firefight, where her enemies actually had held a chance of winning. The shot of adrenaline had been a rush unlike anything she had felt since her childhood. Perhaps he's right, she mused. Maybe we really do have a responsibility. Maybe I've been going about my life all wrong for all this time. Maybe I'll have to start taking an active role in protecting the innocent, just like Logan does.

To be continued.............................