Being pregnant, thought Kara loathingly, is the crappiest thing in the world.

Forget being immune to the flu, measles and the common cold- didn't the geneticists take morning sickness into account? Ugggh.

Rolling her eyes, she shuffled through the crumpled pamphlets her 'neighbour' Ally, another woman who lived on the street, had pulled out of her bag. She seemed to take an awful lot of reading material around with her.

She'd given them to her after Kara had retreated into a doorway, poking herself repeatedly in the stomach and hissing, "Being pregnant blows. I'm NEVER letting a man touch me again. Y'hear that? I'M- REMAINING- CELIBATE-!"

"Uh, are you OK, Kara?"

Kara had whirled around to find her standing there, eyebrows raised. "I'm fine," she sniffed.

"I don't mean to intrude, but here," said Ally hesitantly- many of the people in that part of San Francisco were a little afraid of Kara. She pulled some tattered bits of paper out of the mangled suitcase she always lugged around with her. "Take these, perhaps they'll help."

"That's your damn solution to everything, isn't it?" growled Kara. "To read something."

"Like I said, maybe they'll help. I'll save you a space at the bonfire later, OK, Kara?"

Even the name, Kara, was a mistake. She'd been having a sector pass made up and was asked for her first name.

"Carla," she muttered with her head down.

"Cara?" asked the woman behind the screen.

She'd considered that. "Yeah, Kara. K-A-R-A. And my last name is D- is... Dean. Kara Dean."

Until arriving in Carson City she'd continued using Carla Frank as her name. She regretted the loss of 472 immensely.

The signal had continued to flash in the sky a few days before changing. SCATTER AND GO TO GROUND. Kara had been crestfallen. She'd continued doggedly anyway, and upon reaching the rendenvous point had found it deserted.

She'd made her way back to the hospital and asked for Matt Liosis at the front desk, only to find no men there by that name. When she'd given them his description it turned out he'd never even gone in.

He had to be dead. "When soldiers die you pay your respects," she muttered, and slunk out to the steps, waiting 'til the lights went out. Out of the trash she found some glass and began carving. It took a few minutes, but finally she'd etched something into the cement.

332231418472. BORN 2000, DIED 2020. YOU'LL ALWAYS BE MY BEST FRIEND.

"Damn, damn straight," she'd smirked as tears pricked at her eyes. She'd wandered away humming 'Taps' (the first thing she could ever remember him commenting on- "Bugle noi'e outside, Sevvun-Six-Sevvun.") and vowed not to ever let anyone know how her bad judgement... had killed her brother.

NO! It hadn't been her fault. If anything, it was Manticore. They killed him.

She didn't FEEL guilt. She wasn't supposed to FEEL anything. Least of all guilt.

A month pregnant, alone in the world and all the help in the world was supposed to come from some stupid paper? Pfft.

"So what are you gonna do about it? The baby, I mean," asked Ally that night at the bonfire. Ally spent a lot of her time sloping off to some place she called 'my quiet place' to read through all the random crap she'd accumulated.

"What do you care?"

"Well... you don't seem to have any friends. Or family."

"I guess I don't."

"A friend of mine... he's a doctor. He's not practicing much any more, but- well, he could refer you to someplace. Depends, really- what are you planning to do about the baby?"

"Dunno," said Kara shortly, waving her hands over the heat.

"You can't just sit on your ass and hope it'll go away, Kara."

Kara threw Ally a piercing look. "I don't want to think about it."

"I'm trying to HELP you. I mean, would you particularly like to give birth in some back alley somewhere with freaks standing around?"

Kara flinched at the word 'freaks'. The tabloids were picking up on the situation with transgenics- some early experiment had been splashed all over the front page. "Seems to be my destiny."

Kara glared into the fire. Her confusion was almost childlike- she was not a freak. She was a soldier. A soldier. They told her that every day of her life, from her very first lessons. Words she couldn't even read, blasted over a screen. YOU ARE A SOLDIER. YOU ARE A SOLDIER. YOU DEFEND THE COUNTRY. YOU SERVE YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER. YOU TAKE ORDERS. YOU FIGHT. YOU KILL. YOU PURSUE. YOU ARE A SOLDIER.

And in the barracks, and in her cell, had been words to remind her- DUTY. DISCIPLINE. HONOUR. OBEDIENCE. On the back of the door in her cell was a placard with THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE BORN TO DO written on it.

Every morning she woke up staring at it. Drills, lectures, training, war games, practical lessons... she was a SOLDIER, doing what she was BORN TO DO. The propaganda stung at her mind all day, every day.

All her life- she was 'Soldier', 'Private', 'X5'- now she was a freak.

Not a freak. A soldier. Not even a subject- soldier, soldier, soldier.

I fight, she thought grimly. I kill. I pursue. I take orders and defend the country.

I'm not a MOTHER.

It was a lie, it had to be. Or a trick. Or... some sort of punishment. They'd planted this alien thing inside her body because she'd done something bad.

What the hell for?

Everything reminded her of the other members of her unit. A lot of people smoked in her part of town, and she started one day when she saw a girl with a mop of curly brown hair taking a deep drag from her cigarette. But she'd relaxed a little after. It wasn't her. She was in deep cover- not to mention twenty years old.

Like 453. She smoked since she was thirteen, maybe about twelve. She wasn't the most sociable of the X5s... she got on well with 702. She rarely slept, just sat up in her cell and gazed into the darkness, lighting up one cigarette after another. When something bad happened, like a demerit, a failed mission, a bad day... she'd viciously press the lit ends into the soft skin on her wrists, into her knees and ankles, into her arms. By the time morning came the burns were barely visible, the X5s healed so fast. She left her hurt in yesterday.

And 472. She saw his ghost only once, sitting at the top of some impressive steps into an office building. She could see quite well, but could have sworn she could see him down there, not a prone seizing wreck in desperate need of treatment and answers. Just sleeping. He looked peaceful.

She almost got up, almost walked away with him in her mind, but she couldn't bear it. She couldn't leave him alone again, where nobody would ever care for him.

What's after death? asked her sarcastic voice softly. He's just dead and cold. He's gone and dead and he's never coming back. He's dead.

She sat there all night until the sun came up and she saw there was nothing where she'd thought he lay. Instead of 472, she thought of 799, aged sixteen, curled up on the floor of her cell.

"Hey, come on. They wanted us in the quad early, remember?" 799 didn't respond. "What's with you?"

799 breathed through her teeth.

Kara had begun to feel scared. "Are you OK? What are you doing on the floor?"

"I'm not gonna make it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm weak, not strong."

"Yes, well, if you're weak it's usually assumed that you're not strong," kidded 767. "Come on. I- I don't know why you've decided to get all whiny all of a sudden, but being on the freezing floor can't help your mood. Let's go to our mission briefing and then go for breakfast, then we'll lift weights or something, OK? Or go on the target range. You like guns. Just quit moping, all right?"

799 looked at her mournfully as Kara helped her up. "I wish I were strong like you. Nothing ever phases you. You're such a good soldier."

She squirmed. "Need I remind you that an army marches on its stomach? The faster we're briefed for our mission, the faster we get breakfast. C'mon!"

Kara had never been very good at comforting people. Sadness freaked her out.

And about the baby on the way...

She definitely didn't want to think about it. For the first time in about two weeks, Kara Dean slept.

Her subconscious, usually a bleak expanse where voices were numb and colour did not exist, was disturbed with dreams that night. She dreamed of being back in her cell at Manticore, back in the breeding programme, with her breeding partner. I thought we were attacked, she thought idly.

But she soon enough she didn't even think... It was weird. She didn't feel ugly and used and embarrassed, but warm and happy. Kara felt wistful too. It was just sex- didn't mean a thing. She hated it like this, and a lonely ache took her. She found herself with a single tear coursing down either cheek. "I wish someone loved me," she found herself mumbling indistinctly.

"Why are you crying? You know I do." He kissed her. Something was definitely wrong here. Her breeding partner barely had been able to look at her, clothed or otherwise. She and some of the other females out on sentry duty had had a laugh about that, questioning "... exactly which team he's on..." but it had unnerved her. In all the cheesy novels and women's magazines she'd half-read on missions, what they ordered her to do with him was supposed to be something genuine.

THIS was genuine. But it wasn't real. She was all alone, why did someone love her?

Kara didn't get love. She was a soldier, and a bad one at that. She left 472 behind, she left Splint behind-

"I do," he insisted.

Wait a second.

His voice was so different. He wasn't being curt and bossy. Kara suddenly realised and pulled away in confusion.

She wasn't with her breeding partner. She was with Splint.

Kara woke up alarmed and sore, blinking rapidly. She shook her head. "All right, that was just perverted. Great. On top of everything else, I'm depraved. T'riffic."

Best dream I ever had, thought her sarcastic inner voice cheerfully, causing her to go an incredible shade of red. "Shut UP," she said aloud.

She picked herself up out of her sleeping place groggily and then, feeling her morning sickness make itself known as per usual, raced into the alley.

"Hey, Kara," called a voice as she mopped at her face wearily.

Kara grunted something that could be construed as a greeting.

"Baby holding up?" asked Ally, coming to stand nearer her.

"Mmm, he's fine."

"Why do you say 'he'? I thought you hadn't gotten any of those tests done."

"I just know, Ally." Kara wished she'd go away. Ally seemed to sense this- her grave optimism was almost unbearable.

"Got you something." Kara perked up a little.

"Money?"

"No."

"Food, then?"

"Not that either, I'm afraid. I got you a notebook and a pen."

Kara gave Ally a look of disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

"I know you don't like me. But I'm a woman on a crusade, Kara Dean."

She rolled her eyes. "Get lost."

Ally seemingly turned to go and murmured in her ear as she left. "I know what you are, Kara."

Kara froze. "Excuse me?"

"I've seen you without that sweatshirt, Kara. I saw your barcode. Don't worry- I know what it's like to be a freak. I won't say a thing 'cept this- there's a lot of people around this morning. A LOT of people who weren't here yesterday and have been asking around for women with blonde hair and barcodes, do you understand?"

She looked at her fearfully and nodded.

"You'd better split, Kara. They didn't look all that jovial. From the government, I'll bet."

Kara picked up the small bag of things she'd accumulated over her month and week in the Outside. Ally called. "Kara, take it. It's a gift."

Hesitantly, Kara took the gift from Ally. Some gift- a thick notebook with a dark green cover and a thin black pen to write with.

"What the hell's it for?" asked Kara dubiously.

"Writing things eases pain almost as much as reading them," reasoned Ally.

"O-K," replied Kara, not wishing to argue. "I'm gone. Th-Thanks, Ally."

Ally waved, picked up her suitcase and sauntered away. Kara began to jog. She was halfway down the street before she spoke to herself.

"Jovial? Damn, she reads too much."

Her escape was fairly uneventful until she reached the bus station into the next sector and out of the city, finding a lockdown imposed almost moments after she entered. Men dispersed through the crowd, giving her description. Dilating her pupils she saw some were carrying copies of her last Manticore mugshot. She bit her lip.

Perhaps they were from Manticore. Perhaps it wasn't dead and she wasn't all alone. This was a comforting thought- she might be able to go home. A roof over her head, regular meals and more or less all of the people she grew up with. She could see 657 and 418 and 799 and everyone else again.

She could go into battle with them. She could feel power and blood thirst ringing in her body, and no more guilt... never any guilt. She didn't have to feel guilty and freaked and scared any more, if they were from Manticore and she went with them.

But this went against protocol. Why all the commotion? They were actually stopping buses that were halfway down the street. She'd thought tactical manoeuvres of this ilk were all about stealth.

Creeping from shadow to shadow, she imagined dragging a child through all of this. God, she found it bad enough, and she'd been in far more stressful situations than this.

Trying finally to blend in with a crowd of stopped passengers, she found someone tapping her shoulder.

"Miss, we'll have to ask you to come with us," asked the operative. He was pleasant-sounding actually, pity he was the enemy.

She had to get out. Manticore- everything she'd ever known- had come crashing down on her, and now the transgenics were under definite threat.

"No."

"We're authorised to take you by force if necessary."

"Whatever. I've got a bus to catch, and I hate holding everyone up."

"Frankly, you haven't got a choice."

Ooh, that's a daring way of putting it, sneered her sarcastic voice. Didn't even try to sugarcoat it for me. I must be growing up.

She put on a confused face, followed him through the crowd, feigning cooperation. "Hey, can I say something?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't talk."

"I don't know your name," she said innocently, "so I'll call you Sir, is that OK?"

They headed around the back of a bus, where an SUV was parked. As soon as they were out of sight of everyone else she grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into the side of the bus. "I'll make it easy for you. I was too powerful, you fought for hours, I finally got away by the merest stroke of luck, OK?"

He glared at her. "Transgenic scum."

"Whoa. I've never been called THAT before," Kara said sarcastically.

He threw her off easily. She hit the ground and gazed at him in confusion- no ordinary human had ever been able to take her on before.

Kara jumped easily to her feet and kicked out at him, but he caught her foot and twisted it. She gritted her teeth against the yelp of pain.

IT DOESN'T HURT, her instincts immediately snarled. YOU JUST THINK IT DOES BUT IT DOESN'T. SWITCH FEET, SOLDIER, AND FIGHT BACK!

Obediently, she jumped onto her hurt foot and managed to catch him in the stomach with her good one.

What the HELL is going on? barked her sarcastic voice. Take him out, soldier?

She was revving herself to kill, trying to avoid his blows (who the hell taught this guy to fight, anyhow?) when there was a yell.

"Hey, what's going on?"

Some of the delayed passengers had strayed around the empty buses toward the promising sounds of a fight. Kara took advantage of his momentary distraction to kick him hard in the chest. She heard a rib break, two ribs and sped away to the nearest bus.

She remembered sprints in Manticore, being lectured on proper posture and breathing. Head up, arms steady, feet never ever stopping, head up, head up, what kind of soldier do you think you are?

Why am I like this? she thought angrily, not sarcastically. I was innocent once. I was happy once. I lived in a bad place but I- I never...

I want to go home. As Kara thought this her face was warring with itself, trying not to grimace (that showed you were angry and easier to antagonise) or wail (that showed you were scared, and people told things when they were scared). She sorted her face out- unemotional, a mask of cool indifference.

There. Great.

She crashed onto the bus, to the alarm of the seated passengers and blurted, "We've got the all clear." She was a smooth liar, you had to give her credit for that. Then Kara lost her cool, seeing the crowd outside stir. "Drive, dammit!"

The driver jumped, stared at her and started the bus. It trundled slowly out of the car park.

I thought you were the group's master of Battle Psychology? her inner voice smirked.

She couldn't even reply. Kara was sick of the Outside, sick of people and predators and dirt and sirens and guilt. She stalked into a seat.

Shaking her head, she leaned her head against the window and pulled out the notebook and pen from her bag.

I'M HAVING THIS KID, she wrote in a vicious uppercase scrawl. THEN I'LL SPLIT AND LEAVE HIM IN A CHILDREN'S HOME. IF THIS KID'S ANYTHING LIKE ME HE'LL KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR HIM FROM DAY ONE.

I'M NOT. THE ONLY THING I COULD EVER DO IS COMPLETELY DESTROY HIS LIFE.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. All the songs on the soundtrack belong to their respective owners. Not me. So don't sue.

NOTE: Something- whenever I reference 472 I'll probably have Kara begin to refer to him as Matt. Just in case anyone would find that confusing. I might try and find an explanation for that change. On the other hand I'll probably leave it up to all of you.

I've got something to ask in case there's a perfectly good answer for this question- if the '09 escapees all had clones, then why didn't Lydecker know what they looked like? Ames White even flashed a picture of Sam around in 'Freak Nation'. I mean, of course you'd have to take into account things like diet and living circumstance, blah blah, but REALLY. Their looks wouldn't have changed THAT much. That's just odd.

SONGS FOR CHAPTER THREE:

Kara's Dream- 'A Woman's Worth' by Alicia Keys

The Trip To The Bus Shelter and the Fight- 'The Glass Prison' by Dream Theater