Rating: R

X5-364 felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He analyzed his
options within the space of a second. He could do nothing, and wait for the hostile to
make the next move. It was more than likely that his adversary lacked proper training and
skills and would make some stupid mistake, allowing him to gain control of the situation.
Then again, he or she might pull the trigger now and blow his fool head off. His muscles
tensed in the milliseconds that followed, preparing to spin around and snatch the weapon
from his opponent's grasp. His breathing intensified ever so slightly and he could sense the
small surge of adrenaline rocketing through his veins.

"Put your hands on your head. Now!"

The voice stopped him. That voice, it's distinct tone, that pitch, that echo,
the slight hiss that went with it whenever the person it belonged to was pissed, he could
recognize it anywhere. It took him awhile to realize who it was. Christ, he thought she had
disappeared from his life forever. Never would he have suspected that she was not only
still kicking, but here in Seattle with him, and wind up pointing a gun at his head as he
was busy robbing a drug peddler's home.

"X5-672?"

The young woman froze, reduced pressure on the trigger about a
centimeter. Her eyes popped open in shock as her lips parted to ask the question.

"364? Is that you?" The smooth young voice trembled with anticipation
and uncertainty.

"Yeah." He said nonchalantly, a overjoyed grin slowly forming on his face.

"Holy shit."

He spun around to face her, her beautiful, silky yet hard features filling his
vision once again. They slammed back into his consciousness, re-stamping the image of
her face in his mind with indelible ink. Deep dark brown eyes, somewhat like his, but
rounder, bigger. Perfectly shaped nose, thin soft lips. Jet black hair cut short, worn like a
crown that covered her ears and went down to the point where the neck ended into the
upper back, enough to cover the barcode but not enough to be impractical. The last time
he saw this face was back in the woods, bullets flying all around them, her lying on the
ground. Face a agonized grimace due to the searing pain coursing like venom through her
left leg.

She put the gun away. They clung to each other in a tight embrace. His
chin rested on 672's shoulder as her fingernails pressed hard against his back.

"What the hell happened to you? Thought you were dead."

"So did I. Long story. Maybe later. Mind if I have some of that cash?"

"Mind saying please?"

"Please."

His hands reached into the safe and started pulling out large chunks of the
fresh green bills. She helped him out, slender, somewhat delicate hands snatching the
dough greedily. They tossed the money into a large empty trash bag she found in the
corner of the room. Hoisting the sack over his shoulders like Santa Claus, he followed her
out the back door of the building. They trotted down the street, the wind ruffling their
hair. 364's mind was enclosed in it's own little world, which 672 played a major part in.
He was oblivious to his surroundings, past events playing out in his head. Running. Shouts
and gunshots. Fear, adrenaline. The words of his trainers played fast-forward through his
mind. A thought of hope struck him.

He opened his mouth, stumbled with the words, making awkward noises.
He slowly forced the question out. "The others..... I mean... did anyone else make it?"

She stopped suddenly. Damn. Knew he shouldn't have asked. She said
nothing for a few seconds, and without turning, gave a slight shake of the head. "I saw
their bodies being stuffed into bags. We're the only ones."

He turned his head downwards, staring at the concrete for a minute. There
was nothing that needed saying. They continued moving, and icy silence engulfed them
like a wave.

As they got into sight of the sector 3 to sector 4 checkpoint, about 12
minutes walk from the store, he finally got around to asking the question he didn't have an
answer to. "Where are we going?"

" I've got a place on the lower east part of sector 4. That okay with you?"

He nodded, diverting his eyes to his surroundings. Hookers hanging out
under the pale light of lampposts, drug dealers scoping for potential customers. A torn
basketball lying in the gutter, where urine mixed with water and flowed into the ravaged
sewer system. Graffitti sprayed like paint across walls and broken down cars that were the
homes of some of the worst off. A couple of Seattle's finest were laughing as they beat a
homeless man in a passing alleyway, ignoring his cries for mercy. The cops at the gate
watched in half-hearted interest, taking long drags from cigarettes, reminiscing on their
day to day misery and bantering about the shittiness of their jobs and superiors. A rank
odor filled the air, what smelled like rotten fish mixed with the stench of unwashed bodies
and garbage.

Some homeless kids, their bodies sickly thin and faces pale as death,
watched them as they passed by. A mobster's stretch limousine cruised arrogantly up to
the checkpoint, oblivious towards the suffering and degradation of the neighborhood,
however responsible the occupants within may be for it. It paused only a few seconds at
the checkpoint, then continued on it's way, leaving transparent fumes in it's wake.
Meanwhile, the two transgenics swept swiftly and silently around the guard shacks, every
movement with a unparalleled ease and calmness. They were on the other side and out of
sight before the guards turned around.
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672 had a nice little 4 room apartment in one of the cleaner neighborhoods
of the sector. Light gray walls with bits of paint peeling off of them, a floor that was a
little dusty, an overhead light in the main room. Sparsely furnished, a couch lay on one
side, fridge on the other, small TV perched on top of a dresser. He walked around slowly,
examining the place some more. The closet held another jacket in addition to the one 672
was wearing, and a old wood door lead to a bedroom with a double sized mattress, and a
clear view of the streets behind the building. Peering out the window, 364 could see the
rusty metal balcony with stairs leading to the street. With two exits, one of them being
down the long hallway and a flight of stairs, the place wasn't the most secure area to hole
up in, but it was half decent, as far as living standards went. The two other rooms
consisted of a kitchen with a table, stove, oven, and the usual necessities of life. The
bathroom was somewhat cramped, and had mildew stains on the shower wall.

He centered his head to look at her, eyes meeting hers as she crossed her
arms and stared at him expectantly. "Well? What do you think?"

"I think somebody's been pretty damn busy. How the hell did you get this
place?"

"Previous owner was stabbed to death in a mugging down in sector 1. No
landlord or anything, everyone who crashes here are squatting. We get together to pay off
the sleazebag cops every month. I came across this place a few days after I got away,
figured it was as good a shelter as I was likely to run across. You get some privacy since
the neighbors don't interact much, and no one asks questions. Plus I get to keep most of
the furniture and whatever the previous resident left behind."

364 suddenly noticed the growling of his empty stomach again. It hurt
worse than before, a steadily rising ache that sapped him of his strength and made it hard
to think straight. The fury of it was driving him insane. He needed something to *eat.*
672 noticed his hand rubbing his famished stomach. She opened the fridge and started
laying out containers of food at random. He stared for a second, then dove into it like the
starving wreck that he was, tearing open a package of bread and devouring it half a slice at
a time. After he finished about a quarter of the loaf, he slowed down and took the time to
swallow, a little embarrassed as he scraped in a piece of crust that was hanging from his
lip. He moved on to a large helping of chicken wings, salad, and lunch meat. He washed it
all down with the large supply of bottled water she kept. She waited patiently and without
comment. The burning ache in his belly faded away, replaced by a heavy, bloated
sensation. He leaned back and burped loudly. The transgenic's breath came in deep,
wheezing intakes of air.

"Now that you've eaten half the food in my fridge..." she grunted, irritation
creeping into her voice "..... why don't you get yourself cleaned up?"

"Huh?"

"I mean take a shower already, you smell like crap." She pinched her nose
and smiled slightly, other hand pointing him to the bathroom.


"So, what happened back there?" His body smelled fresh, his skin felt moist
and clean. He had changed into a black T shirt and dark blue jeans the previous tenant had
left behind.

She took a deep breath. Her mind made a painful shift back to the events of
two weeks ago, the night the bastards tried to burn down the base.... and them with it.

"I remember...."

|Flames and smoke filled her vision, the charcoal smell of the fire burning
away at the walls inflamed her nostrils. She pounded her fists against the door with all her
strength, tearing open the skin of her knuckles. The sound of screaming soldiers locked in
their cells inundated her ears, fueling the grim terror inside of her chest. The voices were
all mixed together, high pitch with deep pitch, male with female, bellows of rage mingled
with shrieks of fear and desperation. The louder, deeper sounds of fellow X5's
accompanied by the softer, younger cries of X6. She could even hear the bestial roars of
the anomalies coming from the lower levels in faint, transient echoes. She was now
viciously kicking the area of the door that had the ultra dense steel bolts, the horror and
rage of being left to die this way shooting white hot adrenaline through her muscles. A
thin sheen of hot sweat rolled down her throat and back. In the recesses of her mind, she
knew it was no use, the fucking door wouldn't give if there were three of her in there. She
was going to die, slowly, horribly. Inwardly, she prayed that the fumes would get her
before the raging flames did..... "NOOO!" "OPEN, DAMN YOU YOU PIECE OF SHIT
OPE----"

She didn't believe in God or any sort of spiritual deity, but it was a miracle
that seemed to suggest there was someone listening up there. The bolts of the door
suddenly snapped back and unlocked, and the thick silvery barrier opened up to reveal a
hallway filled with smoke and murderously intense heat. She charged out, limbs moving
faster than she could imagine, only the run down the hall seemed to last for an eternity.
She could feel the presence of the others running alongside of her, each of them fleeing for
their lives. 672 didn't need to slow down to figure out where she was going, the layout of
the base was something you didn't forget when you lived there your entire existence.
Somewhere along the way, she bumped into 364. Panting, then coughing on the thick dark
gray smoke, he latched onto her hand and pulled her towards the nearest exit. They
dashed through the maze of the barracks, bursting through several doors, following those
ahead of them. The gray-blue corridors were lit bright red and flickers of orange, black as
tobacco where the flames were furiously peeling it away.

When they finally got out, she sucked in the cold, fresh nighttime air and
felt relief wash over her skin as the rushing air cooled her sweaty body. She looked to the
left and saw her C.O, X5-586 gathering the rest of their squad, amid a frenzy of shouting
and frantic hand signals. They ran up to join them, energy renewed by the sight of familiar
faces, of family. Some of them were starting to panic, bombarding 586 with questions she
could not answer, shouting wildly.|

"---anyway, you know that part already. She had us all stick together, stay
with the unit."

"Bad move."

"Yeah, she should have split us up into three's or something. At least then
most of us would still be alive."

"Not her fault, really. We were family. She wanted us to stick together,
there'd be no way to track each other down if she divided us."

"I'm not really blaming her, it's just... I don't, a stupid decision, I guess.
For once I wished that she'd follow what they taught us, use military logic instead of
following her heart."

He looked down, then stared at her as she leaned against the table. "That's
what we always loved her for. She cared about keeping us together, acted on what she felt
for us rather then what they said was logical. None of us were ever expendable."

"And now she's gone."

He exhaled sharply, narrowing his eyes as he turned to the side. "Yeah."
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|They were all headed for Seattle. Together, that was. They had gotten a
good 15 miles away from the site when they spotted a large contingent of regular army
troops coming after them. Too many to deal with. Unarmed and unable to fight, they did
the only thing they could.... they ran like hell. It seemed easy to get away, they moved
infinitely faster, booted feet blazing their way through the trees, leaving light imprints on
the forest floor. 672 weaved sideways and around bends in the dark foilage, making it
harder to follow any tracks. The others were doing the same, calmly ignoring the few
sporadic bursts of gunfire that came nowhere near their targets. It was easy. A little too
easy. It should have tipped them off that there was a welcome committee waiting on the
other side of the bridge they came to. Both her and 364 got within sight of the bridge
clearing in time to see 214 literally get torn apart by a angry, buzzing swarm of high
velocity rounds. The bullets tore massive chunks of flesh from her chest and abdomen,
shredding the internal organs into confetti, tearing off the lower part of the left arm and
leaving a crooked hole where the face used to be. The now lifeless body of 214 dropped
to it's knees, strips of dark red flesh dangling over the hole in her face you could see
straight through, and fell forward into the grass already soaked crimson with gore.

Someone screamed in horror and rage, it might have been her, it might
have been 586 as she suddenly stood right behind them, looking at what was left of 214
and at the bastards who just killed her. Over two dozen heavily armed troops stood at the
other side of the bridge, weapons and uniforms glistening in the bright sunlight, flanked by
trucks mounted with .50 caliber machine guns. Some carried M79 grenade launchers, the
pitch black holes that were their barrels pointing at the other side of the concrete walled
bridge.

The barrel of a grenade launcher popped and made a whooshing sound as
the projectile was fired and sent sailing through the air, heading towards the transgenics
clustered in a circle.

Although her mind was still frozen in silent screams at the sight of one her
family being blown apart, 672's bodily reactions were fortunately much more responsive
to the situation. She was already moving by the time the explosive reached the apex of it's
flight, despite the absence of any conscious thought on her part. Her entire form
transformed into a untrackable blur which dived behind a thick tree. The deafening
explosion shot shrapnel across every inch of their side of the bridge, piercing into the
bodies of two more of the X5's who responded too late to reach cover. The heat seared
her back and face, making her recoil in pain. The air erupted with gunfire, jagged white
hot lead ripping through the foilage, mercilessly stabbing into the bodies of the transgenics
as they scattered for cover. They started to speed back the way they came, but the troops
in that direction were suddenly upon them like ravenous wolves, brutally mowing down
those who tried. She saw 586 rush toward the bridge to help someone shot in the leg, only
to have both of them quickly riddled with .50 cal shots.

All around her those she loved were dying, their screams echoing through
the lush greenery of the trees. Her body was utterly paralyzed, her mind kept screaming
orders to move, but the limbs didn't respond. 672 closed her eyes, unable to witness the
massacre. Somewhere in all the chaos, a bullet found it's way into the tendons of her leg.
She almost screamed as blinding pain burned it's way through the shredded tissue, but bit
her tongue sharply, almost drawing blood. Eventually the gunfire died down, leaving a
haunting stillness in the air, punctuated by the cries of birds and the beating of wings.

She opened her eyes halfway to see 364 miraculously alive and fleeing to
the east like a freight train, a tiny, barely visible figure she could only recognize when she
used her enhanced vision to zoom in on it. In a second he was gone, never looking back, a
shooting star vanishing from view.

Then she felt a rifle barrel pressed against her chest, and she shut her eyes
again, waiting for death to fly out of the muzzle.|
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364 stood with stony silence at the other side of the table. "Well? What
then?"

She remained silent and perfectly still for a moment, mouth numb, ears
deaf.

"You're still here aren't you? You must have gotten away somehow. What
happened?"

She took a deep breath, moved to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water
and poured herself a cup. The icy coldness of it cooled the feverish burning in her brain,
letting her concentrate enough to talk again.

"They took me back to their field base, strapped me to a hospital bed, put
me under. I thought the fuckers were going to cut me open for study, but I woke up hours
later, feeling like shit, thirsty and hungry as hell." She frowned, expression becoming
agitated. "Thing is... there was something after that, but I can't seem to remember what it
was..... the more I try to remember, the more my memories go blank...."

"There was this guy in charge, 30 something cold hearted bastard the
others called White. He wasn't military, dressed in civies, looked like some kind of
government goon, NSA, CIA, that kind of thing. He transferred me to a cell and left me
there for a day or so. During the night, one of the doctors got the keys and let me out.
Guess he felt sorry for me, I guess. Strange thing was, there were no guards around. None
whatsoever, except for a few just lying around at the other side of the camp, talking and
joking and not doing much. The whole damn camp was asleep or somewhere else. Got
fucking lucky, I guess. I slipped out, traveled along the streams and through the woods,
took an alternate route to get around checkpoints and throw them off. Stole supplies like
water and clothing, hitched a couple of rides, and made it to Seattle about two and a half
weeks ago. And here I am."

"Hell of a ride."

"Too bad we're the only ones who made it."

He couldn't think of anything to say. Minutes ticked by on the rusty old
kitchen clock. She wasn't talking either. The silence, he supposed, was the best eulogy
they could offer for those loved and now dead and gone. Words couldn't do them justice,
not in a million years.

She broke the silence. "This place isn't safe. We need to get out of the
country. Canada's our best bet. But we'll need help first, someone with money and
connections."

"You have any suggestions?"

"Remember that guy everyone was talking about? The journalist who tried
to expose Manticore?"

"Eyes Only?"