Chapter 16: Heist
by: Mochaije
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Angel or its characters. Other than that, the story and characters are mine.
Summary: Max goes after Logan.
Rating: PG 13
A/N: This is the end, there is no more. Character death. **Also** I know that the ending has been done a million times, but are you going to go after everyone who does a Max-and-Logan's-daughter story? No. :)
Max's POV
I rocked slowly back and forth atop the highest tower of the Museum on the Bay. My right hand moved to my left, fingering my beautiful, perfect-fitting engagement ring. It felt wrong, like Logan should've ben the one to give it to me, not Scott. I missed so much with him, and it wasn't even his fault. I felt like I was with Scott because I couldn't be with Logan, even though it wasn't true. Scott was gorgeous; my best friend since I knew what the word 'trust' meant and that I shouldn't 'trust' anyone. We'd also missed so much together, but it was because I'd saved his life, not helped in ending it.
I ached for Logan's presence when I'd found out he had passed at Asha's hands. His voice, his touch, his kiss. Don't get me wrong, I loved and still love Scott with all my heart, but I can't decide who was meant to be my better half. A friend and an ally, one alive, and one... Well, that's what I was at the Museum for, to find out if Logan's out there. I wouldn't tell the others if he was living, I'd deal with him myself. It's just too wierd that he's around here when there's so many other places to be. The stars in the unusually cloudless sky of Montreal dance before my eyes, searchlights roaming, looking for trash like me. All I wanted was a file, and I could probably hack their network and get it. But it was just wierd with both Scott and Asha around... My heart lept into my throat and I realized I couldn't go through with this. Any of it. I couldn't be with Scott, I couldn't break into this museum . Physically I could, but I... Couldn't.
The searchlight flew by me by about an inch and I realized that it followed an unpredictable path--either that or the programmed path was very long. My watch told me that I'd been perched here for almost an hour, and most searchlight paths last ten minutes. From my squatting position, I connected the cable, stood, and dropped. Deja vu hit me hard mid-swing--I'd done this before, at Logan's apartment. Catching myself, I landed gracefully on an oversized railing and disconnected, letting the cable swing right through the searchlight. The alarms blazed outside my ears and I knew then that this was the turning point. Run from all of this and go back to Scott, or possibly find Logan and get myself killed in the process. Frantically, I kicked in the small window without much noise and dropped in, lowering my stance and sneaking around the empty halls until I found the room that I was looking for. The lab. The room where everything that needed to be on paper was kept. I took my lockpick from my pocket and went at it.
There were footsteps behind me--and an incessant whirring--, but I didn't mind them. I was a genetically engineered killing machine, not a stupid kid, I could take out anyone in this building. I whirled anyway and almost dropped dead at the sight of the person standing about thrity feet from me, on the stairs. Hair still spiked, glasses still petite and round, his usual brown leather jacket and almost-jeans. I finished picking the lock and opening the door and another alarm started. Logan just casually walked over, his stagger giving me chills. He was too confident; this was definitely a trap.
"Let's see your neck," I demanded, grabbing him and pulling away any clothing from that area. A two-inch-long scar, fading fast, looked at me. I shoved Logan away a few feet. "How the hell are you still alive? And could we continue this later? Security's gonna be on my ass in about three seconds."
"I'm alive because Asha used a little Swiss Army knife to ever-so-slightly cut my neck. It had scabbed over by the time I passed out. Some bum found me and I was hospitalized for malnourishment, dehydration, and severe blood loss. In case you were wondering." He coughed slightly. "So why are you alive?"
"Ima was in the apartment when 'you' came home. I have to go." I went to leave but he grabbed my arm. "What the hell do you want? I have to get back to Ohio before my bus leaves." The lie about my current homestate looked believable.
"Why are you here?" He asked. I didn't struggle against his hold.
"You and my dress were on the televis..." My voice drifted away as Logan pulled a knife out of his pocket. I struggled and found that I couldn't. He had me in a rock-hard grip.
"Surpise. You probably should've caught Logan the Clone after he escaped from your apartment. Because now, the deja vu is gonna hit so hard, you're gonna die. And you are going to die this time." His cold look sent icy shivers down my spine as I wriggled under his hold some more, kicked him in the gut to no effect.
"Suprised?" He chuckled, sending icy shivers up and down my body, from my hair to my toenails. "You guys are the new kids on the block when it comes to being strong and elite... You have no idea." I suddenly remembered something and used my free arm to jam my elbow into his face. He bled; nothing more. The fear must've been more apparent on my face then.
"Pain is a phantom of the mind," he yells, shaking me with an iron grip on both arms now. I spotted a fireaxe about forty feet away and a heavy-looking artifact not far from it. I looked right at Logan, or whoever this was, closed my eyes, and heard a satisfying smash, a whistling noise of a sharp object being thrown, and then the gush and crack of two arms being sliced off. I backed away immediately as Logan's useless forearms fell from my own.
"No, Logan, it's you who doesn't have any idea." Sickness washes over me as I realize I may of hurt a man who might be Logan, but he attacks with his legs. I sprang up to one of those flag-like objects that they hang from the top of museums and grabbed onto the bar holding it there. A window crashed open suddenly, right behind Logan, Scott springing on him. The axe, the axe! He doesn't feel pain, we gotta decapitate him! He seemed to have gotten that message, because he dove for the axe and cealnly cut off Logan's head. I knew from experience that the body could still support itself for up to thirty seconds and in that timeframe, he was much more dangerous than before, when he actually had a head. Scott jumped into a flying kick and sent Logan's bloodied body for a four-stoery freefall, then hand-motioned for me to jump down from the bar. Instead, I lifted myself of fan dcalmly floated to where Scott stood.
"Like I said... You could've just hacked the goddamn computers," he smiled weakly, more at the fact that I was in one piece than at the fact that I was here in the first place. The guards started up the stairs and we dashed through them, to the main level and through the doors, stopping only when I spotted something.
Ninja 600, black and inviting, with many different parts to it than had originally come with the beautiful machine. Most had been replaced, some added on. The leather seat was squeaky-clean, handlebars shining despite their leather coating. The windshield twinkled mystically, my old sunglasses sitting on the controls, keys still in the ignition. I gasped.
"That was Logan," I breathed. "Oh my God. We killed him."
"No, it wasn't, Logan wasn't all 'can't feel anything'. Let's go... Wanna take this bike?"
"It's my bike," I whisper, straddling it, running my hands over the handles, looking up at Scott. "It's mine." He hops on as well and I put on my glasses, shoving the keys in the ignition and revving it, then taking off. We blazed around town for almost ten minutes, not needing my brakes at all, until we hit a dead-end.. A brick building. I slammed on the brakes to no effect. Logan had rigged this bike. It was a trap, and we were going to die. Scott's hold tightened around my torso and he yelled for me to stop as we closed in on the building. No room for me to swerve... Fifty feet and closing.
"I love you, Scott," I shrieked over the sound of the motorcycle. I couldn't tell him. Couldn't let him know that I had--unknowingly--led him to his death. Couldn't.
"I love you too, Max," he says, holding me so tight and I almost can't breathe. I could smell the fear on him, he knew what was going to happen. Twenty feet and closing. We were going almost eighty miles an hour.
"Goodbye, my love," I turn quickly and kiss him as the motorcycle hits the wall.
