Cargo
by
Kel
Chapter 3: Go
Disclaimer: I don't presume to own Dark Angel, I could never have the genius to come up with
it or the stupidity to cancel it. However, I do own any original characters that may appear in this
fic.
Summary: Despite the escape of the Manticore transgenics, foreign organizations are still willing
to pay a large sum of cash for a live and breathing transgenic. A group of hunters are in Seattle
looking to capture some, and White decides they may be helpful in eliminating the transgenic
threat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Day 1
The world was covered in a haze of fog. Voices, angry voices, timid voices, drifted in and out of
the misty void like intangible spirits. Drifting, floating, always floating.
Well that sure was goddamn *whimsical*. What the hell?
-Let's try this again.-
His eyes were closed, so obviously he couldn't see a damn thing. His ears weren't working right.
He couldn't hear clearly and it was goddamned annoying. It sounded as if someone was messing
with his volume control; the constant rising and falling of sound around him was producing a
queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wished they would quit it. And he sure as hell wasn't
floating. He felt like his head was filled with concrete, and he was positive that if he felt pain,
he'd have a migraine to end all migraines.
He strained to hear what was going on around him as his head cleared. The roaring of crashing
waves in the distance. He swayed rhythmically back and forth. No, he was chained in place, cold
steel encircling his wrists and ankles. The whole room swayed. Huh. That was odd. Cool air
rested against his bare chest. As he swayed and shifted in his chains, he felt the pull of dried
blood on his skin in a few places.
He could hear water dripping, and nothing else, other than the sound of soft breathing. His own
and someone else's.
There was only one other person in the room at the moment. About fifteen feet in front of him;
unconscious, if the soft, even breathing was any indication.
White risked opening his eyes, and giving away the fact that he was awake.
It was dark, but it only took him a moment to recognize his surroundings. Dirty steel walls,
rickety metal stairs. Everything wet and dripping, junk littered all over the place. None of the
junk was anywhere he, or the room's other occupant, could reach.
He was in the cargo hold of the Greenland, a clunky old freighter operated by Martin Kean, who
was on Jason Blacksmith's payroll.
And approximately fifteen feet away from Ames White, X5-494 slumped bonelessly in his chains
on the opposite wall.
"Oh joy," White muttered.
********
White may not have been feeling any pain, but when Alec woke up, he found himself wishing that
whoever it was who had him chained to a wall would just knock him back out. He was covered
in cuts, bumps and bruises, and his left eye was almost swollen shut. His head throbbed with
waves of agony, forcing Alec to bite back a groan.
"Well, 494!" a cheery voice greeted him, impossibly loud. "It's so nice to see you awake!"
"Shut up," Alec mumbled.
If possible, the voice became louder. "What was that, 494? I didn't quite hear you."
Alec focused on the source of the voice. Of course. Good 'ole Ames White. "Oh joy," Alec
muttered.
The sinister grin on White's face darkened for a moment. He didn't like having something in
common with transgenic scum, even if it was just a phrase.
"What?" Alec scowled.
"Nothing, filth," White snapped.
"You wound me," Alec grumbled. For once, his heart just wasn't in the argument. Alec looked
up at the chains attached to his wrist and flexed his arm, testing the strength of the metal.
"You can't break it," White tossed offhandedly.
"You've tried?"
"Duh." White decided to leave out the fact that he had tested the restraints even before they had
been installed.
"Well you don't have to act so 'holier than thou' over it," Alec commented.
"This is going to be such a fun trip," White grumbled.
"So you know where we're going, huh?" Alec asked.
"Uh huh."
Alec looked at White for a moment. White appeared to not be interested in conversation, and
was doing his best to ignore Alec. "Well?" Alec prompted.
"Well what?"
"Where are they taking us on this loverly first class cruise?"
White rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. This promised to be a *really* long, long, *long* trip.
"North fucking Korea."
"Oh *shit*," Alec said. "This is going to be a *really* long trip."
White grimaced.
********
"What do you mean 'he wasn't there'?" Max just about yelled.
"If you understood English, you would know that he meant 'he wasn't there,'" Mole grumbled.
Max bristled, but restrained from hitting him. "What did you find?"
"There was definitely a fight in that warehouse. Couple drops of blood, stuff banged up, and
this," Biggs reported, producing a dart from his pocket. "Smells strong. I don't think it was the
same kind I got hit with. Probably could've taken him down given the time."
"Hmm. That's not good," Mole observed.
"Really?" Max hissed. "How d'ya figure that?"
"Well, it wasn't that hard, in fact, if you knew any math, you could probably figure it out too,"
Mole supplied helpfully. "You see, two plus two is-"
"Shut up!" Max snapped.
"If you insist, ma'am."
"Excuse me? Children?" Biggs interrupted. "Can we get back on topic?" He wiggled the dart in
the air. Max turned her ice glare in his direction. "Alec? White? Tranquilizer? Any of these ring
a bell?" Biggs reminded.
"Try an alarm," Dix jumped in. "I'll check around for military convoys," he offered, jumping into
the usual routine for transgenics in distress.
by
Kel
Chapter 3: Go
Disclaimer: I don't presume to own Dark Angel, I could never have the genius to come up with
it or the stupidity to cancel it. However, I do own any original characters that may appear in this
fic.
Summary: Despite the escape of the Manticore transgenics, foreign organizations are still willing
to pay a large sum of cash for a live and breathing transgenic. A group of hunters are in Seattle
looking to capture some, and White decides they may be helpful in eliminating the transgenic
threat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Day 1
The world was covered in a haze of fog. Voices, angry voices, timid voices, drifted in and out of
the misty void like intangible spirits. Drifting, floating, always floating.
Well that sure was goddamn *whimsical*. What the hell?
-Let's try this again.-
His eyes were closed, so obviously he couldn't see a damn thing. His ears weren't working right.
He couldn't hear clearly and it was goddamned annoying. It sounded as if someone was messing
with his volume control; the constant rising and falling of sound around him was producing a
queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wished they would quit it. And he sure as hell wasn't
floating. He felt like his head was filled with concrete, and he was positive that if he felt pain,
he'd have a migraine to end all migraines.
He strained to hear what was going on around him as his head cleared. The roaring of crashing
waves in the distance. He swayed rhythmically back and forth. No, he was chained in place, cold
steel encircling his wrists and ankles. The whole room swayed. Huh. That was odd. Cool air
rested against his bare chest. As he swayed and shifted in his chains, he felt the pull of dried
blood on his skin in a few places.
He could hear water dripping, and nothing else, other than the sound of soft breathing. His own
and someone else's.
There was only one other person in the room at the moment. About fifteen feet in front of him;
unconscious, if the soft, even breathing was any indication.
White risked opening his eyes, and giving away the fact that he was awake.
It was dark, but it only took him a moment to recognize his surroundings. Dirty steel walls,
rickety metal stairs. Everything wet and dripping, junk littered all over the place. None of the
junk was anywhere he, or the room's other occupant, could reach.
He was in the cargo hold of the Greenland, a clunky old freighter operated by Martin Kean, who
was on Jason Blacksmith's payroll.
And approximately fifteen feet away from Ames White, X5-494 slumped bonelessly in his chains
on the opposite wall.
"Oh joy," White muttered.
********
White may not have been feeling any pain, but when Alec woke up, he found himself wishing that
whoever it was who had him chained to a wall would just knock him back out. He was covered
in cuts, bumps and bruises, and his left eye was almost swollen shut. His head throbbed with
waves of agony, forcing Alec to bite back a groan.
"Well, 494!" a cheery voice greeted him, impossibly loud. "It's so nice to see you awake!"
"Shut up," Alec mumbled.
If possible, the voice became louder. "What was that, 494? I didn't quite hear you."
Alec focused on the source of the voice. Of course. Good 'ole Ames White. "Oh joy," Alec
muttered.
The sinister grin on White's face darkened for a moment. He didn't like having something in
common with transgenic scum, even if it was just a phrase.
"What?" Alec scowled.
"Nothing, filth," White snapped.
"You wound me," Alec grumbled. For once, his heart just wasn't in the argument. Alec looked
up at the chains attached to his wrist and flexed his arm, testing the strength of the metal.
"You can't break it," White tossed offhandedly.
"You've tried?"
"Duh." White decided to leave out the fact that he had tested the restraints even before they had
been installed.
"Well you don't have to act so 'holier than thou' over it," Alec commented.
"This is going to be such a fun trip," White grumbled.
"So you know where we're going, huh?" Alec asked.
"Uh huh."
Alec looked at White for a moment. White appeared to not be interested in conversation, and
was doing his best to ignore Alec. "Well?" Alec prompted.
"Well what?"
"Where are they taking us on this loverly first class cruise?"
White rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. This promised to be a *really* long, long, *long* trip.
"North fucking Korea."
"Oh *shit*," Alec said. "This is going to be a *really* long trip."
White grimaced.
********
"What do you mean 'he wasn't there'?" Max just about yelled.
"If you understood English, you would know that he meant 'he wasn't there,'" Mole grumbled.
Max bristled, but restrained from hitting him. "What did you find?"
"There was definitely a fight in that warehouse. Couple drops of blood, stuff banged up, and
this," Biggs reported, producing a dart from his pocket. "Smells strong. I don't think it was the
same kind I got hit with. Probably could've taken him down given the time."
"Hmm. That's not good," Mole observed.
"Really?" Max hissed. "How d'ya figure that?"
"Well, it wasn't that hard, in fact, if you knew any math, you could probably figure it out too,"
Mole supplied helpfully. "You see, two plus two is-"
"Shut up!" Max snapped.
"If you insist, ma'am."
"Excuse me? Children?" Biggs interrupted. "Can we get back on topic?" He wiggled the dart in
the air. Max turned her ice glare in his direction. "Alec? White? Tranquilizer? Any of these ring
a bell?" Biggs reminded.
"Try an alarm," Dix jumped in. "I'll check around for military convoys," he offered, jumping into
the usual routine for transgenics in distress.