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Generation X: 1
X5-989
by Stef
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"You know we could get sent to psych ops for this?" a man said to the
girl lying to next to him.
She rolled over. "And since when do you care where
you get sent, as long as you get free reign?" her blue eyes piercing his
own.
"Since I spent six months there," he said. "It isn't fun there.
You'd hate it."
She sat up, looking down at him. "Since when did you care about my
well-being?" she mocked. "You're showing your emotions,
soldier." She playfully punched his shoulder.
As she did so, he grabbed her wrist. "How the hell you survived the
training we went through - and still go through - amazes me. You act more like
the people out here, than like the soldier you are."
"That's 'coz I'm one hell of a soldier. They just can't bear to kill me
just 'coz I'm a little eccentric." Her tone was playfully cocky.
He rolled his eyes. "And they thought I would be the one to go mad,"
he muttered.
She smiled innocently, leaning over to cover his mouth with her own, causing
him to be silent. "Admit it - you like me the way I am," she said
challenging him.
With fluid movement, he flipped her over. Now lying on top of her, he smiled a
cocky smile that challenged her tone. "We're not even meant to know that
we're both in Seattle. She'll frown upon us, you know."
"She might frown on you, maybe," she replied raising her eyebrows.
"But she happens to like me. I'm her informant, remember. I tell her
everything I see, hear.... and perhaps everything that I do."
"Even this?"
"Who knows," she replied, managing to shrug beneath his body.
"Maybe she'll get a sick pleasure out of it."
"Or she'll make sure we never work in the same area - or maybe even same
country - ever again."
"Tell me," she started, "how is it that you always come up with
the worst possible scenario?"
"I practice," he said, kissing her lips.
With a strength that no man - let alone a woman - could possibly have, she
flipped him back onto his back, half-laying on him. "You know you love
this. Besides, when have you ever been one to follow rules anyway?"
At that instant, a muffled beeping broke of their tryst.
"Damn. Whose is it?"
The girl fumbled with something on the floor. "It's mine, genius. Yours
plays some stupid tune. Now, shush, or we'll really be caught." She
answers the phone.
The voice on the other end was cold, icy, and devoid of emotion. "State
your designation."
"X-5/989, ma'am," the girl replied automatically. This was what she
had been trained to do.
"Has your target been eliminated, 989?"
The guy's eyebrows lift, and his face portrayed the look that said, "I
told you so." He was listening in to the conversation. Extra sensitive
hearing was a bitch. She shrugs at him. "Negative. Target returned to the
designated area. I'm awaiting target's arrival home."
"Report when target is eliminated, and return to base," the female
voice said, slightly impatient.
The line went dead.
"Yeah, nice talking to you, too," 989 said into the dead phone line,
sarcasm lingering in her voice. She climbed off the bed, picking up her clothes
as she went. "Stop staring. It's rude," she reprimanded him, walking
into the ensuite to get changed.
He shrugs. "You didn't seem to think so last night."
She emerged and saw him smirking. Dressed in an all-black outfit, her
light-brown hair pulled back into a pony-tail and her good mood fast
deteriorating, she replied, "Yeah, well, since you and Renfro seem to both
have missions and rules on the brain, I figured I'd high-tail it out of here,
before I go nuts," she said, picking up her gun, tucking it in at the back
of her belt, covering it with her jacket.
"Damn. And here I thought we were going to have some fun," he said,
getting out of bed, walking towards her. Grabbing her shoulders, he kissed her
forcefully, taking her jacket off - well, he tried to.
"Uh-uh, sir," she said breaking free of his grasp. "That's how
we ended up here last night. Like you said - we have missions to attend
to," she said, re-adjusting her jacket. "See you back at base.
Later," she said, opening the door and walking out - only to narrowly
avoid knocking over someone.
That 'someone' happened to be a Jam Pony messenger - a dorky-looking guy with
dark hair.
"Jam Pony Messenger service. I have a package here for a 'Mister X',"
he said, seemingly amused at the name.
989 grabbed the package. "Where do I sign?" she asked.
He looked at her weirdly. "You Mister X?"
She put on her most seductive face. "No, but I can sign for him. He's out
cold. We kinda had too much fun last night - and this morning. You don't have
to tell your boss that I signed for him, do you?" she flashed him a killer
smile.
"No…no, of course not. Sketchy here is always willing to help the
ladies." He took her signature and left.
When he was out of sight, she walked back into the room. "You know, 494,
this is one habit you ought to kick," she said, dropping the box of cigars
onto the bed, and walked back out again.
"They're not for me, you know," he said, rolling over.
"That wasn't the habit I was talking about," she
called out from the hallway as the door closed with a click.
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X-5/989 stood in a phone booth, waiting while the phone rang.
"Hello?" The male voice was cool and calm.
"Sir, it's me," 989 said, lacking the formality she used with Renfro.
"989?" the voice queried. "Who is your target?"
"Margaret Haroldson. Forty-five year old, female caucasian. Born
fifteenth..." 989 started rambling off details.
The voice stopped her. "That's okay, 989. What's her location?"
She remembered the details. "A town house in sector three. Really old house.
Doesn't have an exact address. It's easy to spot - practically next door to the
north checkpoint, sir."
"Very good. And what is your plan?"
"Permission to speak frankly, sir?"
"Granted."
"I've always been a bit of a pyromaniac, sir."
"ETA?"
"One hour, sir."
"Very good, soldier."
"Thank you, sir. See you back at base."
"Yes. Oh, and Jordan..."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't get caught out."
"Yes, sir."
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^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
X-5/989. That's me. When I was younger, my first team had this thing about
names. They named me Jordan. Then in 2009, 12 members of that team escaped. I
was especially close with those 12. Me and Jace were the only two left. We went
through extensive re-programming. I guess some of it worked. Most of it didn't.
After that, no one called me Jordan. Well, almost no one. One other person,
besides the occasional reprimands from Jace – but she escaped herself not long
ago. My place at Manticore is very hard to explain. I'm meant to work
exclusively for Dr. Renfro. But I'm also meant to work exclusively for the only
adult at Manticore that I ever trusted. That sometimes presents a problem,
since Renfro and my mentor don't really get along. That's actually a huge
understatement.
I'm also not meant to be fraternizing with other X5s, or anyone else for that
matter. But I swear that X-5/494 started it - okay, that's a bit childish, but
it's the truth.
The only real problem I face is that the world outside of Manticore looks like
more fun. But then I lose 494, and more than I could possibly imagine. So much
for being one of the best super-soldiers, huh?
So now you know about me –X-5/989/Jordan. This is my story...
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
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Margaret Haroldson's house was ancient, to say the least. It was ancient before
the pulse hit in '09. A house that old would have cost a fortune, especially
since it was in almost near perfect state, rare for this country now. You'd
have to be very wealthy to own it. And Margaret Haroldson was.
Ms. Haroldson was an ex-employee of Manticore. Therefore, in addition to
retirement funds, she was also paid silence-money from Manticore. In essence,
money to make her keep her mouth shut. And she had, until one of the escaped
X5s contacted her. Then she made an announcement via a newspaper that
discreetly said that she would reveal all unless Manticore paid up. Big time.
Jazz looked the place up and down. 'Not bad,' she thought. 'Could get a whole
stack of cash from a place like that.'
She couldn't walk up to the front door and pick the lock - not so close to a
checkpoint. But on second thoughts, why not. It wasn't exactly like Margaret
would be home. Her guy would have made sure of that.
She walked up to the front door, using one of her lock picks discreetly, as she
picked the lock. After a few seconds she heard the click, and turned the knob,
opening the door. After a cursory look around her, she proceeded through the
door.
It took her only a moment to see the dead body of a soldier on the floor in the
living room. A few moments after that was all it took to see the safe. Smiling,
she walked over to it, cautiously. It wasn't necessary, but old habits were
hard to kick.
Pressing her ear to the door she started turning the knob until she heard the
three distinct clicks. Ah, the wonders of extra-sensitive hearing. The safe
door opened, and inside were two envelopes, and a black velvet box. The box
contained a silver sapphire necklace, embedded with diamonds. Taking it out of
the box, she tucked into the inside pocket of her vest. She opened the smaller
of the two envelopes first.
X-5/989,
Let's not be greedy.
See you back at base.
Jordan groaned as she read the words. It was her boss' handwriting. Meaning
he'd taken practically everything of any real value. Ripping up the note, she
opened the final envelope. It contained $10,000. She sighed as she put that
into her other inside-vest pocket.
'Next stop: kitchen,' she thought as she found her way there. She found the
small matchbox, and struck one of them. Staring mesmerized by the flame, she
was almost reluctant to fling it onto the floor. A satisfactory fire started,
and she walked back into the first room, lighting another match.
She smiled a small satisfactory smile, then made her way out
of the house, and her way back to base.
Mission Accomplished.
