Disclaimer: Dark Angel and it's characters do not belong to me. I do not use them for personal financial gain, only for my own and others' online entertainment. Please do not reproduce this work in anyway without my permission, since the new characters and plot are mine. If you would like this story for an archive or other online source, please email me for permission prior to posting.


Author's Note: I began this story before the end of the first season, and this is the universe in which it will remain. I enjoyed the first season more than the current one, anyway. So, this story takes place before the destruction of Manticore, before Lydecker is in limbo between being good and bad, and before the virus which keeps Max and Logan separated. It would just be too difficult for me to explain the plot line otherwise.

In addition to this, I have rewritten and revamped the first few sections of the story. If you read them before, you may want to read them again. I'm older, and my style has grown and matured considerably. I appreciate any reviews, as long as they aren't flames! Constructive criticism is always appreciated. You're welcome to email me with any comments, and I will respond to you (eventually). Please let me know if you enjoy the three original characters I will be introducing. If you do, I might decide to write a few prequels/sequels to this story with them playing central roles. EG

Now, I'll let you get to the story! Enjoy!
Love always,
Bethany
Ottiga@aol.com

Cruel Twists of Fate


2012


The fourteen-year-old kicked at the door in frustration. It was locked! She had work to do, and someone had locked her out of the lab! She could have spit nails. The graduate students were not fond of the teenager. Her IQ was close to twice their own, and she'd beaten them out of countless scholarships, grants, and funding. This was just one of the many things she had to endure. She steeled herself, remembering that anger never solved anything.

She fished through her purse until she heard the familiar metallic tinkling of a key ring. With a sigh of relief, she produced the key to the chemistry lab. The professor had been kind enough to make a copy of it for his prize pupil and best teaching assistant. As she lifted her hand to the lock, she heard something in the shadows. Half turning, she looked up and down the empty alley. "Silly, there's nothing there. You're alone. Stop being so paranoid." She scolded in a joking tone which was betrayed by the slight fearful tremor in her voice. She may be a child prodigy, but she was still a child. The threat of a boogey man in the shadows of abandoned alleys had not yet disappeared with the coming of adulthood. It lingered, threatening to choke out her breath. With a shiver she could not conceal, she turned the key in the lock and rushed inside.

Unknown to her, a young man stood in the shadows. He could not have been more than a few months older than her at the least. But, there was a maturity forced by years of pain and torment evident in his deep brown eyes. He checked his pocket, producing the switchknife he'd shoplifted earlier. This girl was rich. She advertised her wealth from the tailored cut of her clothes to the designer tennis shoes. She *had* to have a lot of money on her. Money he needed.

Flicking the blade open, the boy held it up to catch a few stray beams of light. It glinted like silver in the darkness. A hint of a smile played at his lips. Tonight, he would leave no witnesses. That was just too risky. He'd been taught, no trained, to kill. Tonight, he would put his training to good use.

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The teenage girl worked tirelessly for three hours, taking samples, running tests, recording results, and beginning again. Her work was never done, but unlike many, she enjoyed the rigorous hours spent in a lab. When she worked, she didn't linger on the fevered thoughts which so often entered her young mind. Instead, the work took every ounce of her concentration. Unless, her mind was to wander, as it was now.

With a silent curse, she watched the test tube she'd been holding crash to the linoleum floor. "That's what you get for thinking about your father on the job." She muttered, searching for a dust pan to clean up the glass. When the lab was again spotless, she decided it might be wise to return home. She was getting tired, and when she was tired, she made mistakes.

During the course of her work, she'd forgotten about the incident in the alley. It was only paranoia on her part, nothing more. There was no such thing as a boogey man. And, even with the state of post-pulse Seattle she didn't feel threatened. Why should she?

Stepping out into the dark Seattle night, she took a few deep breaths of air and turned to re-lock the door. A sound. The same sound which had incited such fear in her a few hours before. Then, a movement. A flash of black upon black in the corner of her eye. She whirled to face the flurry of movement, but instead found herself locked in a tight embrace.

One strong arm encircled her neck, squeezing her until she thought her windpipe might collapse. She felt his grip loosen for a moment. Another sound, this one slightly metallic. Then, she saw the glint of a steel blade. She tried to call out, to stop him. But, before she could utter even a gasp of surprise, the cold blade sliced into the fine skin of her neck and a warm stream of hot blood mingled with the tempered steel.

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