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.

III

With the expertise born of years spent as a thief, Max slowly slid open the window to Logan's guestroom. The sun was starting to come up, and the first streaks of gray were beginning to light the pre-sunrise sky. She took a brief moment to make certain there were no police hovercraft sentries nearby, and then she hoisted herself through the window and into the room. Her feet touched down with the noiseless grace of a cat, and she took a step toward the bed, only to come face to face with Logan.

"Good morning, Max," her friend said evenly. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Wanted some air," Max muttered in reply. She could hardly believe that she actually felt guilty about having sneaked out. It's not like he has any authority over me, she reminded herself. "I didn't think you'd mind at all."

"Is that why you took such great pains to sneak around?" Logan asked. His tone was certainly turning accusatory, and Max did not like it.

"I was quiet so I wouldn't wake you up," Max shot back, knowing full well that she was at least partially lying. It sickened her to know that not only was Logan right, but also that she was wrong.

"Fine," Logan answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Whatever you say. I guess you'll be leaving today?"

"Yeah, I have to get back to work."

"Would that be at Jam Pony?" Logan inquired. The tone of his voice set off Max's radar, and she immediately raised her guard. Logan was thinking something, that was for certain.

"Where else would I be working?" Max asked in response.

"I just got a call from a friend," Logan explained. "His name's Detective Lane. You ever hear of him?" Max shook her head in reply, not knowing for sure what Logan was after, but certainly having her suspicions. "He said one of Koch's arms caches got hit last night," Logan added. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Nope," Max answered. Her cool demeanor belied her inner conflict, however. Am I ashamed of what I did? she wondered. I'm a soldier. I was created to kill. I don't see why I should be getting all squirrelly about it now.

"You sure you weren't around there?" Logan pressed.

"Are you implying that you think I'm lying?" Max asked angrily. "Is that what you think?"

"I'm not saying that," Logan answered quickly. "I'm only concerned, that's all."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"I never said you couldn't," Logan responded, obviously trying to calm his friend down before the situation got even worse.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, but I'm outta here," Max muttered. She grabbed her backpack from the floor at the foot of the bed and began to walk out of the apartment.

"You don't have to go, Max," Logan called out after her.

"Got things to do," Max replied as she opened the front door and left.

As soon as she was out in the hall she started to loosen up. I can't believe the nerve of that guy, she ranted silently. Sometimes he treats me like I'm just a kid. Then other times he looks at me like he wants to bed me. What the hell is it with him? She continued her reverie as she reached the street and walked off into the brightening day.

IV

Max was not the only person faced with confusion as the morning grew brighter, the cloudy sky allowing only a pale, grayish light to descend on Seattle. Cameron Dean took a large gulp of his rapidly cooling coffee as he looked out the tinted bay window in his boss's apartment. Backup apartment, Cameron reminded himself. His boss was Norton Koch, a man whom the police were very interested in detaining. He was not able to go back to his real home, and now neither could his right-hand man. Not that going back to his real place would do us much good, the assassin contemplated. The large penthouse had, after all, had a huge hole blown into it by an unknown intruder. Who the hell could it have been?

Cameron considered the possibilities, and came back at the same conclusion he had over and over – it must have been a vigilante. A highly dangerous, extremely motivated vigilante. While Norton Koch could no longer count on his police contacts to keep him out of trouble, they could still provide a wealth of information. It seemed the police had no idea who was behind the destruction of Koch's home. That, combined with the fact that Koch assumed none of his competitors were in position to risk an assault of that magnitude, led them to a very large question mark. Cameron had first thought that a division of the police had been behind it, trying to do illegally what Koch's payoffs prevented them from doing legally. That theory had not panned out. Still, whoever it was had obviously been well trained. All of Koch's enforcers and guards, including Cameron himself, were ex-military. They were as rough and ready as one could get, but still they had been almost completely worthless.

Not only did this vigilante appear capable of a previously supposed impossible assault, but he also had been able to tip off the media. The presence of a news crew had made the situation extremely awkward. Now the police would not let up, at least not for a few weeks. Koch would have to deal with the police coming at him from one direction, while a vigilante came from the other. It was not a predicament Cameron enjoyed thinking about. This vigilante really has a hard-on for the old man, too, Cameron pondered. Hitting the penthouse had not been enough. When Koch had actually escaped, presumably against all expectations, someone had hit one of his arms caches. They could only assume it had been the same person. Or people.

Perhaps it was the unknown that set Cameron ill at ease. At least he knew what to expect from the police. They had certain rules that they had to follow. Their new enemy seemed to follow only the rules to which Koch himself seemed to adhere. That would be no rules at all, Cameron mused. Something would have to be done to remedy the situation quickly. Word was getting out that Koch was no longer untouchable. His underlings would soon begin to question his authority. Assuming the boss doesn't get himself arrested or killed before then.

Even as Cameron was debating possible solutions, Norton Koch walked into the room, moving up beside his right hand man and chief enforcer. "Wasn't it supposed to be sunny today?" the middle-aged criminal asked. Cameron turned to face his employer. Only the earliest signs of age were starting to affect the man. The salt and pepper hair betrayed his years, despite the surprisingly well-honed frame. Koch wanted to live as long as he could, and he certainly took good enough care of himself to make that possible.

"I didn't hear any weather reports for today," Cameron replied absently. The assassin knew that talk about the weather was a sign that Koch was nervous. He wasn't willing to discuss their problems, so he turned to small talk. That invariably began with the weather. Cameron would have none of that. He wanted to address ways to get out of their present jam. "So what are we gonna do?" he asked pointedly.

"About what?" Koch replied.

"Either the cops or the vigilante," Cameron answered, searching for any sign of doubt or weakness on his boss's face. He saw none, despite the fact that he was certain Koch had not yet developed a plan. He seemed so stolid, though, that Cameron still felt himself growing more comfortable. The experience was almost eerie.

"There's not much we can do about the cops," Koch muttered. "There are still enough people that make a show about the First Amendment, so we can't just shut down the press. There are people all over the city that know what we're up to. In time, they'll forget us for some other bogeyman. God knows there are enough of us in the city. Once that happens, we'll make enough payments to have the cops slowly ease the pressure. Within a year things should be back to normal."

"And what about this vigilante?" Cameron asked.

"We don't know who he is," Koch answered. "In fact, we don't even know if he's a 'he' rather than a 'she' or a 'they.' We'll just have to wait for an opportunity. If he comes back again, we'll be ready. I've consolidated a lot of my positions, and increased security around them. Whoever it is will be in for a big surprise if they try to hit us again."

"It can't keep up like this," Cameron answered. "We have to lay low because of the cops, and that makes us easier targets for this guy. We have to eliminate one or the other immediately."

"Patience will serve us best here, Cameron," Koch chided in a fatherly tone. "It will all work out."

"I don't think so," Cameron disagreed. "We should take action."

"And what would you suggest?" Koch asked.

"We should kill a few cops," Cameron answered immediately. "That'll get them to back off. They're too expensive to pay off, anyway. Once they learn their place, we can concentrate on taking out this yahoo that thinks he can mess with us."

"No," Koch said evenly. "Right now only the honest cops are pursuing us with any true diligence. If we start killing some of them, even the crooked ones that would otherwise take our money and look the other way would begin to look to take us down."

"We'll make them an offer they can't refuse," Cameron replied, quoting one of his favorite movies. "These guys have families. They're not going to come after us if they know their lives will be forfeit."

"It's not the way things are done," Koch replied wearily. "It's just bad business."

"Then business should change," Cameron shot back. "Seattle is there for the taking. You just have to show you have the will to take it. Come on, Norton. We can do this."

Norton Koch turned to his underling with a look of disappointment in his eyes. "Haven't I taught you better than that, Cameron?" he asked. "If anything happens to me – if I get arrested by the cops, or killed by this vigilante – you'll be left to take over. You're one of the brightest people I've ever met, but you lack patience. You're a man of action, I know that, but you have yet to learn that violence is only a last resort. Once you've begun a show of force, you can no longer take any other action. Violence is a path that cuts off all other options. As you always say, our enemies need to know that we're capable of killing. To have them suspect otherwise would undermine our position. But they also need to know we can be reasonable. To be otherwise is to be a monster that everyone – the police, the vigilantes, and the normal citizens – would have to put down."

"Fine," Cameron said angrily. "We'll do it your way. But if things go down the tubes, don't expect me to never say I told you so."

"Believe me," Koch said with a strained smile, "I would never expect you not to take every opportunity to remind me about how you feel you knew better."

V

Max decided to skip work, knowing that anyone who suffered a severe concussion would not be expected to show up only a day later. She would only arouse suspicion by going in to Jam Pony looking none the worse for wear. At least, that was what she told herself. In reality, she really had no use for continuing the humdrum, menial tasks of her life. With Rory she had been presented with a whole new set of options. The possibilities intrigued and excited her. Why should I go to work when I can make a much better living doing what Rory does? she wondered.

Max wandered aimlessly through the streets of Seattle, not particularly interested in where she was or where she was headed.

Who am I? The question ran through her mind, time after time, each word taking on a life of its own. Who am I? Max searched for an answer to the question, hoping she would find an identity that fit her. I'm Max, she decided. That answer certainly did not suit her, though. 'Max' was only a name, and not an identity. Deciding that she was 'Max' did little to quell the doubts that had begun to rise up within her, like an angry mob searching for a voice. She pondered the matter further and decided she had to be more than just a name.

I'm a soldier, she told herself, thinking that would be enough. She quickly decided, though, that it was not. For the first several years following her birth, she had been trained as a soldier – that much was true. Her entire body, from the genetic level on up through the benefits of a daily physical training regimen, was every bit a soldier's body. She could not bring herself to conclude that she was a soldier, though. She had simply spent too much time away from that life.

I'm a delivery girl? she asked herself doubtfully, the thought seeming absurd even as she considered it. Making deliveries was what she did, but not who she was. She truly believed that she was so much more than a courier. Well then why are you doing that for a living? she asked herself. The question hit her hard, and she had trouble finding an answer.

It's certainly not because I like the work, she concluded immediately. And it sure as hell ain't the money. She remembered the friends she had made at Jam Pony, and realized that they were part of her reason for staying there, but certainly not the only one. She knew full well that she would be able to spend time with her friends even if she no longer worked with them, so they provided no incentive for her to stay.

Is it really to stay below Lydecker's radar? she wondered. She had said as much to Rory, but no longer believed that it was entirely true. Ever since Max had saved Lydecker's life at the genetics conference, she had ceased to be so completely afraid of him. He was only human, and therefore was much less than she was. He was far from being the bogeyman she had built him up to be over the years. He was, in fact, no match for her if it ever came down to it. The only power he had ever held over her was fear – fear of being caught, fear of the treatment she would receive if she was, and fear of the loss of the freedom that had come to mean so much to her. She had overcome her fears, though. Now Lydecker held no true power over her. She was free of his influence.

So why am I a courier? she asked herself again, once more returning to her main quandary. She looked around, found that she had arrived outside a small coffeehouse, and walked inside. She ordered a small latte and biscotti, and then sat in a shadowy corner, resolving to come to a conclusion about herself. Rory had asked her who she was, and she had decided that she would be able to give him and answer the next time they saw each other.

I am not a courier, she decided. Her skills were not exactly developed in that area, and she was doing herself a disservice by avoiding her true self. I was created to be a soldier. Like Rory says, that creates a responsibility in me. Just as a great poet has a responsibility to use his gift to bring insight and happiness to his fellow man, so do I have a responsibility to use my gifts to serve people. She sat back and confronted a new question. So, how do I serve them? This, Max knew, was the vital question. The answer would provide her with the solution to her other, greater question. To decide how to serve her fellow man would be to discover who she was.

I could be like Rory, she knew, though the thought did not entirely entice her. He planned to go around to all of the Manticore escapees and present them with the same question. His service was to his fellow project members, and not directly to the populace at large. True, his encounters with the others might get other Manticore members to start using their abilities constructively, but that was just a bonus of Rory's true mission. No, Max decided, I want to be like Rory is in this city. I'll stay here. Seattle has become my home now. She suddenly knew how Logan had felt when he had reached the decision to become Eyes Only. He had laid everything on the line to do what he felt was right. Now Max was doing the same.

She had seen Logan work, and seen his endeavors succeed and fail. She would pick up where his efforts left off. Eyes Only could do a great deal for the citizens of Seattle, but he could not do everything. Sometimes, harsher methods were needed. Like Logan, Max would bring the residents of Seattle what they truly needed – justice. With that thought, her face lit up in a bright smile.

I am Justice, she realized. That is who I am, and that is what I will bring to my fellow man. Her beeper suddenly interrupted her reverie. She looked down and saw a number she did not recognize, and concluded that it had to be Rory. The timing is almost eerie, she thought. It's almost like he knew exactly when to call me.

She walked across the floor to a pay phone, and returned the call.

"Hey," Rory's voice came from the other end of the line. "I have some good news."

"What?" Max asked excitedly.

"I found Koch," Rory said evenly. "He's at a large apartment that he holds through a dummy corporation. I think we can get our hands on him and end this."

"Want me to meet you at your place?" Max asked.

"As soon as possible," Rory confirmed.

Max hung up the phone and started walking quickly away. Justice, she thought, over and over. Koch was a thief and a murderer. He had preyed on his fellow citizens, and instilled fear in them to force compliance with his wishes. Any who opposed him were killed. Max could think of only one way to bring justice to such a man. He must die, she decided. Justice has spoken.

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