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.
The Point of No Return
Another alley, another drug deal, Justice thought grimly. And once again, here I am on the rooftop above. With as long as I've been doing this, you'd think someone would have figured out to post a lookout where he can see above the alley. She took a shallow breath in anticipation of the fall, and stepped off the roof. Even as she plummeted, Justice was formulating a plan of attack.
There were five men below, all of them huddled in shadows and speaking inaudibly. Were it not for the fact that they were where they were, at the time they were there, Justice would have simply passed them by. But not in this neighborhood. Not at this time of the night. One dealer, two guards, and two buyers. Justice had done this type of job a hundred times. This would be easy. Unless there's another briefcase down there, she thought nervously.
She hit the ground in a roll and swept the feet out from under one of the guards. He fell awkwardly, his head cracking sickeningly on the pavement. One guard, one dealer, and two buyers. A split second later, her leg thrust out in a kick into the other guard's knee, and he crumpled in agony. One dealer, two buyers. Rising to her feet, Justice punched one of the buyers in the chest, audibly cracking his sternum but not doing enough damage to endanger his life. One dealer, one buyer. While the buyers fed the dealers, they were simply slaves to their addictions, and not the true leeches that the dealers were. Justice always saved the true criminals for last, so that she could give them her undivided attention. A quick elbow to the second buyer's forehead rendered him unconscious, and Justice followed up on the second bodyguard, clubbing him over the head with a sap. Okay, just one dealer. She heard shuffling feet behind her, and knew without looking that her last victim was trying to escape. They always try to escape, she thought with disappointment. It would be a fun change to have one or two hold their ground at least once in awhile.
A flick of her wrist brought a throwing knife into her hand, and Justice considered making quick work of her small-time prey. What she wanted even more than temporary satisfaction was information, and she doubted she would find any with her current victims. She dropped the knife, though, deciding instead to get back into the swing of things with a good old-fashioned ass kicking. In a blur of motion Justice had caught her prey, grasping him firmly and turning him to face her. The moment of shock prevented her from reacting as she should have. "Dis is not your lucky night, mon," the dealer muttered as he slashed desperately with a knife. Justice stepped back quickly, but not quickly enough. The blade bit through her hood and scratched her left cheek. She could feel the trickling of blood on her skin as she launched a backhand strike at the bridge of the dealer's nose, breaking it with a satisfying crunch. The man slumped over, immediately wheezing while he tried to see through the bloody haze that had fallen over his sight.
Having her victim prone, though, Justice took a step back, wondering if she should, or more to the point, could, finish the job. Her righteous anger had faded as soon as she had seen Herbal Thought looking back at her, and now she wondered how to handle the situation. Well, obviously he's started dealing rather than simply dabbling as a recreational user, she decided. That merits punishment, but can I really put the beat down on Herbal? There was simply too much to think about, and not enough time to do it. She shook her head and ran off, resolving not to mete out justice on someone she knew. She just could not bring herself to cross that line.
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Max's body was still trembling as she shrugged her thin body out of her outfit. I would have killed Herbal, she thought in horror, remembering how close she had come to simply throwing her knife to end the encounter. How many times have he and I talked to each other? How much advice has he given me? How much do I know I could count on him to help me out sometime, even after not seeing him for a year? Every question she asked herself only made her feel worse.
As she looked at her cut face in the mirror, a new thought came to her – have I actually accidentally killed anyone I know? She remembered Sketchy's short-lived employment as a courier for some thugs and admitted that if he had fallen in with the wrong crowd once again, she might have inadvertently killed him. It was a certainty that she had not seen the face of every person she had killed in the past year. There had been times she had judged a whole building full of people guilty, and simply demolished it rather than take the time to go inside to kill each person individually, up close and personal, putting herself at greater risk. What if Original Cindy had another friend get out of jail? Max wondered. What if that friend started to stray, and Cindy followed behind into danger to help her out? I could have blown her up, too. That thought was too much for even Max's increasingly callous soul to bear. "Get it together, soldier," Max muttered, hoping the sound of her own voice would help to calm her. It didn't.
Switching tactics, Max resolved to simply give herself something to do. She reached into the medicine cabinet and started threading a needle to sew her face back up. A quick examination of the thin laceration below her left eye allowed her to decide that she would only need one stitch, and she knew that if she went to a hospital they would likely only give her some butterfly bandages. It was, in the end, only a scratch, and she decided it would likely not even leave much of a visible scar. It would likely only be visible to someone who knew it was there. Discarding the stitch for a simple Band-Aid, Max trudged out of the bathroom and went directly into the kitchen. I think I need another one of my less-than-famous milkshakes, she decided. Only this time I think I'll omit the milk and the shake.
She unscrewed the bottle of rum and took a long swig, only to grimace in disgust. She thought it strange that liquor which mixed so well with so many other drinks would taste so absolutely repellent on its own. Time to spend some time with Mr. Stolichnaya, then. She placed the bottle of rum back in the cabinet and took out the bottle of vodka. This time, she was far more satisfied as she began to drain the bottle, taking long gulps that slightly burned her throat on the way down. Max had never truly been hammered before, and she wondered if alcohol could make her completely forget her problems as well as some of her acquaintances had always claimed. It seemed like as good as time as any to find out.
A few quick strides brought Max into the living room, and picking up her stereo remote she selected a random track. It would be left to fate to decide her mood. Immediately a high-pitched middle-aged woman's voice blared out of the speakers, and Max hurriedly hit a button with disgust. There was no way in hell she would listen to Christina Aguilera's so-called comeback album. How the hell did that get in there, anyway? She could only think that Rory had sneaked it into her stereo as a prank. Within seconds another song came up, and she was surprised to hear what Bling had once referred to as 'classic Seattle rock.' The particular selection was a song called 'Hero,' by the Foo-Fighters. That seems just a little too relevant, Max thought, suddenly giving up on music and turning off the stereo.
She wondered how she could even deal with her inner turmoil. It went much further than simply coming face to face with an old friend. It was more than the fact that she had almost killed that friend. Max decided that what truly concerned her was that she had let her friend go. For the past year she had steeled her resolve, endeavoring to mold her personality into something as inhuman as her body. She had wanted to be dark and ruthless, as cold and strong as iron, but discovered that she had not achieved the success she had thought. Maybe I was wrong when I told Logan that I had already gone too far. But that would mean that he was right. As she shook off the thought, a thin smirk formed on her lips despite herself. She remembered an old quandary – what was worse, her being wrong, or him being right? So if I can go back, do I really want to? And if I do want to, does that mean what I've been doing this whole time is wrong, just like Logan has been saying?
Her head started to swim as she realized that the alcohol she was drinking was finally beginning to hit her. So if what I've been doing is wrong, how can I even begin to atone for my sins? The flurry of questions made her get a headache, and Max threw the half-empty bottle of vodka into a corner, smashing it. "No, I need to be able to think. No sense running away from what you are, Maxie."
"Strike true, Peter Pan," a voice responded from the doorway.
"Rory?" Max asked, falling back a half step into a makeshift fighting stance. It was the best she could muster as her coordination continued to fade right along with her sobriety. "How did you get in here?"
"Do you really have to ask?" he countered with a mischievous grin. He almost always has that stupid, shit-eating grin, Max noted. What the hell is he always so damned happy about? What makes him so special?
"Come on in," Max said, making a wide gesture of greeting. Already forgetting that she had decided to once again embrace sobriety, she walked back into the kitchen, deciding that perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea after all to drink the rum straight. She gazed at Rory as she undid the cap and took another long guzzle of the rum, surprised at how much smoother it was than she remembered.
"You must be drunker than you look if you think that tastes good," Rory commented. He closed the door, walked into the living room, and sat down on the couch, putting his feet up comfortably on her coffee table.
"Make yourself at home," Max said.
"Something happened out there, didn't it?" Rory surmised. Max only nodded her head in affirmation. "So what's eating you up inside?"
"I don't know if I've been doing the right thing all this time," Max said, summing up all of her confusion in a single sentence.
"Well then that's something we're going to have to remedy," Rory said smoothly.
To be continued.............................
