A/N (aka backround info you really didn't need): This story is EPIC, man! Like, seriously! I actually had most of the ideas for it over a year ago, shortly after the end of season two, but I didn't get up the nerve to start writing it until just recently. Why? Because it's extensive. And epic. Really epic. So...yeah. This is probably gonna be long, kids. Quite long. Know this and prosper!

Now, on another note, I am aware that in recent times, ff.net has gotten a little...hostile, if I may say so. I don't mind constructive criticism; in fact, I welcome it, but I do not welcome what I like to call "crusading," as in people saying I'm not really M/L unless I do such and such a thing or that I'm trying to trick everybody or that I need to take so-and-so out of my story or blahdy blah. You can do that if you wish, but if you're going to, at least do the dignified thing and leave your email. Otherwise, expect to be ignored. :)

And now, on with the show.

Obligatory Disclaimer Thingy: I don't own 'em. Well, except for the characters I made up. They're mine. But everybody else, sadly, belongs to Fox. Grr! Meep.

*******

Clemente tapped his fingers on the dingy, grime-smeared table in front of which he sat, steadily watching the face of the girl who sat opposite from him, nervous and almost fearful in spite of himself. She was immensely powerful, and he knew it. He had seen some of what she could do and had seen the ease with which she seemed able to command the others of her kind, and was thusly apprehensive about making any move that could, on her end, be construed as offensive. However, at the same time, he knew that if she thought it best to kill him, it would be as a last resort - the consequences for the others like her would be too great if she attacked him on a mere whim. That was the other thing about her; she was intelligent and aware, and rather than being cold and cruel like the anti-transgenic propaganda might have one believe, she seemed warm, even altruistic. He admitted begrudgingly to himself that he had developed some amount of respect for her.

Currently, she was nodding and scribbling something in a beaten and wrinkled notebook that looked as if it had been lifted from a trash can. She then unceremoniously dropped the pencil that she had been using and leaned back against her chair, sighing heavily.

"Well, Chief," she said after a pause that, to him, seemed to go on for far too many eternities, "I can't say that I'm happy with all of it, but...if that's the best you can do, I guess I'm gonna have to agree to it."

Clemente leaned toward her, slowly, so as not to appear threatening. "Look, Ms. Guevara..."

She smiled with amusement. "I've told you, just call me Max."

His upper lip curved as if he might allow himself to smile at that statement, but he didn't. "Fine, /Max./ I want this all to be over with as much as you do. I mean, with most of my force concentrated in this area, a lot of street criminals in the city are taking the opportunity to get away with things that they otherwise wouldn't be able to. I'd like to be able to clean up that mess, but unfortunately, I'm currently under a lot of pressure to do something about this whole transgenic situation. A lot of people are afraid, a lot more afraid of you than some petty thief picking pockets and mugging old ladies."

"I understand that," Max responded calmly. "But, like you have to protect your people, I have to protect mine. Really, I think having guards around all the time will just make people more paranoid. Think about it; if the police think it's okay to leave us alone, that'll say something."

"You must realize, Ms. Gue...Max, that the guards wouldn't be there just to protect outsiders. They would also be there to protect you, to stop people from getting in."

She chuckled slightly at that. "People don't wanna get in anyway, Clemente. Before this all started, they stood outside the gates and threw things, thinking that was gonna do something. They wouldn't dare actually come in. They're too scared."

Clemente clicked his tongue, mulling this over for a few moments and realizing that she was, indeed, correct. The human citizens of Seattle weren't exactly clambering to get beyond the gates of Terminal City. Still, it didn't seem smart not to have at least some measure of security in the area, keeping things under control. "That's a very good point, but in the event that something gets out of hand, I just think that it would be a good idea to have some of my force nearby at all times. It's not like they'll be interfering with any of you. As we've discussed, you're going to basically be able to go about your business, as long as you stay in and around Terminal City. We just want to make sure things stay nice and peaceful."

"That makes sense, I guess. I mean, it's not like I expected you to even give us this much leeway..." Her brow furrowed and she sat upright in her chair, folding her arms across the table. "Why /are/ you giving us this much leg room, anyway?"

"Honestly, it's because I want to see this settled as quickly and quietly as possible," Clemente admitted. "We've had casualties the past two weeks and while some think that this means that we should crack down harder, I see tightening the rope as only making things worse. You're more powerful than us, all of you, I know that. I won't lie to you; it scares me. In fact, that's one of the reasons I'm taking this route. I'm /scared/ of what your kind might do if we push too hard. Basically, what I'm aiming to do with all of this is settle things enough for now so that neither my people nor yours are in danger at the moment, and so I can buy us some time to figure out how to handle the situation."

"I hate to be crude, /sir/," ejected Max sternly, "but does that mean that, once you figure out how to get rid of us, this agreement isn't going to mean anything?"

He gulped and shied away from her, berating himself for not better choosing his words. "No. I just meant that it's a temporary thing until we can work out a more permanent solution. I don't think trying to wipe you people out is the answer. Like I said, it seems to me that pushing harder would only make things worse."

Max's vision fell to the surface of the table as she deliberated over what had been said. She was far from ready to completely trust Clemente, and she didn't quite believe his assertion that he wasn't for permanently removing transgenics from society. After all, there were few out there who hadn't taken that view, and most of those individuals were simply loyal friends and acquaintances of Max. She was wary of anyone, especially a law enforcement official, who seemed to be taking a balanced stance on the issue. However, she was at her wit's end at this point in regards to the siege and wanted nothing more than to put an end to it, preferably in as peaceful and mutually beneficial a way as possible. Mole had suggested that they simply rush out and blow away every human in sight, but Max knew that it was not wise to fuel anti-transgenic sentiment at this point in time and so had been desperately seeking a solution that would put she and her kind in a slightly more positive light. This was the only one that had readily presented itself, and if she didn't take it, who knew when another opportunity would come around?

"All right," she agreed finally, emitting a shallow and almost imperceptible sigh. "I'll go along with it. But I want the guards to be /in the area,/ not right outside the gates, and I want for us to be able to contact them if we need to."

"Define 'in the area,'" Clemente insisted.

"Stationed nearby," she clarified. "Not really hanging around here, but ready to respond if something happens. I will make sure my people are clear on using violence only as a last resort, you make sure yours keep outta our business unless we want them here."

It was Clemente's turn to let his vision fall to the table. He felt his stomach churning with turmoil and indecision, his skin tingling with trepidation. In all honesty, he didn't think that Max's proposal was good enough, that the citizens of the city would be willing to accept such a deal, one which would surely seem to be favoring the "rights" of transgenics over the "rights" of humans. Would they see him as unfit to serve as their police chief, accuse him of not providing them with adequate protection against the dangerous mutants that they so feared and hated? Would his own force turn against him, find some way to usurp his position and wind up charging unabashedly into Terminal City and breaking the agreement, thereby ensuring an onslaught of violence by an angry mob of betrayed transgens? It was quite possible for both imagined scenarios to transform into reality, and he was afraid of what would happen if either did. But he was also afraid that if he didn't strike some sort of agreement right now, tensions might rise to unbearable levels, patience on both sides might be lost and a cold, bloody battle might break out anyway. He considered that perhaps eventual violence was unavoidable, and decided that his best course of action was to prolong its occurrence for as long as possible.

"Very well," he conceded at last. "After I assign a team to the area, I'll get you a radio and give you each of the officers' transmissions."

Max smiled and nodded. "Good."

Clemente forced a returning smile and a moment of silence passed between them before he tentatively extended a hand over the table. Max took it with more confidence than with which he had offered it, not because she felt any less guarded than he, but because she knew how to keep from telecasting such feelings. The two shook firmly, retaining eye contact the entire time and praying that more good than bad would come from the peace agreement upon which they had just settled.

*******

"How's it coming?" Logan asked, pulling up a chair beside Dix. The transhuman was furiously typing code into an old, obsolete computer. It was a bit slower than what he was used to, but it did the trick and that was all that mattered in this place.

"Actually, I...I'm not working on the virus," Dix admitted, hanging his head slightly. Even as he displayed his remorse, however, he never missed a beat in regards to the computer, obviously quite absorbed in whatever project on which he was currently working.

A wave of irritation passed through Logan but he stifled it, knowing that behaving crossly would not get him anywhere. He was quite surprised that Dix had agreed to help him at all, and even if the guy hadn't been able to get around to working on it just yet, Logan didn't want to jeopardize the fact that he was willing to try. "Why not? The antigen keeping you busy?"

Dix continued to type, his fingers flying effortlessly across the keyboard. Despite the fact that, on the whole, he was considered to be an anomaly, his incredible intelligence had set him apart from many of the others and Manticore had decided that it would be worthwhile to train him as a lab tech. In such a position, he wouldn't be required to fight, but he would at least be doing something useful and actively serving the project instead of simply taking up space in the basement. He was not alone, either; many others had been like him, more than Max and her fellow X-series could have imagined. Manticore didn't like to waste their creations, so they attempted to find purposes for the less troublesome of the anomalies.

"Nah, it's not that," Dix began. "We have plenty of the serum, and from what I hear about Max striking a deal with the chief of police, it doesn't matter anyway cuz you and the other two ordinaries are probably gonna be able to get out of here pretty soon. That is, if she manages to reach some kind of agreement with the guy. But, anyway, I haven't been able to get her to give up any of her blood. She was convinced that it would accidentally be given to you."

"Did you tell her that I don't need as much as Sketchy and Original Cindy?" Logan asked with a sigh.

Dix turned his head toward his companion at that, his face communicating that he thought such an inquiry to be silly and superfluous. "Of course I did," he replied matter-of-factly. "She'd already sort of figured that out, you know, cuz of Joshua's transfusion and all. But she was still freaked out about it. Said something like, 'any chance at all is a chance I don't wanna take.'"

Logan chuckled inwardly. It was a decidedly Max thing to say, filled to the brim with her unique brand of insecurity and sometimes neurotic worry. He found himself thinking that such was adorable but abruptly pulled himself from the clouds, focusing on the present and the stark reality that surrounded him. He wasn't even sure at the moment that he would still be able to get her back; it would do him well to refrain from entertaining any overtly romantic notions at the moment.

"Hey, why don't you just talk to her about all of this?" asked Dix after Logan offered no response to his explanation. "It'd be a hell of a lot easier to get her to participate if she knew the name of the game."

Logan cringed. "She's...not really talking to me very much right now."

For the first time, Dix ceased his typing and presented Logan with his complete attention. "Well, god, no wonder it's been so hard to get her to give anything up. What's going on?"

The human rose from his seat and began to pace nearby, folding his arms across his chest, his back to the anomaly. "I'm not even sure. I thought things were going well the first couple of days after we got here, but...now it seems like it's her mission to avoid me. Still scared, I guess. Or maybe..." He sighed. "Forget it."

"No, what?"

"You know Alec," he stated, turning back around to face his companion. "Well, Max sort of...she said, in so many words, that she was seeing him. I thought I'd let her go if that's what it took to make her happy, but...then things just starting going so well again. I thought we were really getting better. That is, until she decided to stop talking to me." He walked back over to the chair and took his seat again, leaning on his knees. "I guess I thought if I could get the virus out of the way, that would be the clincher."

"So this is all about getting her back, huh?" Dix questioned, smiling slightly.

"Well, even if I can't get her back, it'd sure be nice to be able to walk by her without thinking I might die."

Dix chuckled, pleased that Logan could find at least a little bit of humor in so dire a situation. It seemed a bit forced, as the man was quite obviously the serious type, but it was still welcome. He patted the ordinary on the shoulder with friendly vigor. "Well then it's a noble cause, for sure."

At that, the door creaked open slightly, drawing the attention of the two men. Through the small opening between door and wall poked Alec's head, his eyes lighting up when he caught sight of the human and anomaly.

"Ah, Logan, there you are," Alec exclaimed. Logan raised an eyebrow. "Some X8s were fiddling with some of our security equipment and kinda busted it, so we were wondering if you could maybe, you know, do your whole technological thing and help us fix it up."

"Don't you guys have training for that kind of stuff?" asked Logan, clearly confused as to why a bunch of genetically engineered beings needed his help with something of the sort.

"Not everyone. And there's really not that many people around right now who have specific training in that area," explained Alec. His eyes shifted and he bit his bottom lip, clearly thinking things over. "I mean, if you're busy or something right now... Or, you know, you're a tech, aren't ya, Dix?"

"Uh, lab tech," Dix clarified. "My specialty's in cracking genetic code, not programming computers."

"It's all right, anyway. I'll do it," interjected Logan, rising from his seat.

"Aw, thanks. You're a good guy, Logan. A real humanitarian," Alec quipped. "Or...transgenicatarian... Well, whatever, I appreciate it."

Logan grinned and began to move toward the younger man, ignoring the volatile pangs of jealousy that he felt cropping up in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to be Alec's enemy; despite the fact that he longed for Max's affection, she had the right to choose her own path and if the path she took wound up leading to Alec in the end, that was something that he was going to have to accept. He had learned much about controlling his temper in the past year and a half and he knew that this situation was one of those that would not be made better by anger and bitterness, as painful as it was and as much as he wanted to give into those feelings. Entirely counterproductive, they were.

Before he could move more than a few feet, Dix grabbed his elbow, forcing him to momentarily turn back toward the transhuman.

"Don't worry; I'll get her to give up some DNA somehow," the anomaly said quietly.

Logan smiled, not only as a result of the hope given him by such a promise, but as a result of the fact that he seemed to be steadily building a decent friendship with this individual. "Thanks a lot, Dix," he said gratefully before joining Alec, his words carrying a double meaning.

*******

The flicker of a match briefly illuminated the corner of the dark room, moving upward with calculated grace to light the end of a cheap cigar. Mole coughed, shifting slightly on the box on which he currently sat, taking the stogie from his mouth and twisting it idly in his fingers, as if carefully studying it. It wasn't on par with what he was used to; it didn't have the same taste or texture, and instead of feeling a sense of calm as he usually did, he felt as if he had just inhaled a few lungs worth of sulfur.

"This cigar is crap," he complained, although he slid the end back into his mouth and began slowly smoking it.

A man who could pass for the younger version of Mole slid off of his own box and took a few steps toward the older anomaly, sighing in aggravation. "It's the best anyone could do, Mole," he insisted. "Cops are everywhere and Max won't let us..."

"...kill any of them," Mole finished for the man as he took another puff. "I know, Norse. I know all about her sensitive, pseudo-compassionate bullshit. And, hell, this is one more reason not to wanna take it."

From the shadows emerged another anomaly, this one a female who had obviously gotten a bit too much cat spliced into her DNA. For the most part, her face appeared human, but the long, tapered ears that poked through her charcoal hair and the menacing incisors that prevented her from fully closing her mouth gave her away. "She might have a point, though," the girl interjected. "If we show we're not so bad, maybe the ordinaries'll start to come around."

Mole laughed bitterly and rose to a standing position, slowly making his way toward the cat anomaly. "C'mon, Lace, you don't actually think that'll happen, do ya? It doesn't matter how cute and cuddly we act, they're still gonna hate us. And even if they don't, I'm still gonna hate them. A lot of others are, too. That's the thing Max doesn't seem to realize - some of us don't wanna coexist. We wanna be without them, without their laughable weaknesses and ignorant fears... It's not like we could ever really be a part of their society even if we wanted to. Look at us, we're freaks. There's no denying that. We might as well accept it and deal with it instead of trying to shove it under the rug like Little Miss Fearless Leader seems to wanna do. She's just spent so much time outside she's forgotten who she is, and we don't need someone like that running things."

The others in the room fidgeted uncomfortably, folding arms, tapping fingers on elbows and shifting weight from one foot to the other. Deep down, each of them felt the way Mole did, that Max's vision of lasting peace between transgenics and humans was too optimistic for anyone's good, that it was just a silly fantasy bred of her attachment to her ordinary friends. She also seemed relatively uncertain, even as she asserted herself and took charge, laying down rules and regulations seemingly without regard for the opinion of the people over whom she was ruling. There were rumors that she was somehow special, somehow more powerful than anyone in Terminal City and anyone who had ever lived, and many used that as partial justification for supporting her and letting her get away with whatever restrictions she felt like enforcing. However, even if she was the epitome of Manticore perfection, that did not automatically make her a good leader, and quite a few were beginning to dissent, to cross to the other, less human-friendly side of the fence. This was a war, and they wanted to fight it instead of behaving like sitting ducks. Besides, why should anyone have to compromise him or herself simply to appease a species that was so underdeveloped and contemptible?

Mole stopped a few feet from Lace and looked over his companions, from her to Norse to the most confounding of the anomalies present, a boy with striking white eyes and a slightly deformed head who had taken the name "Rally." Mole was looked up to by the three of them, and he knew it. They tested him sometimes, as Lace had done with her suggestion that Max might be correct in her methods, but it was more to show off than anything else, to display their intelligence and pray that he might be impressed. Truly, they felt that he more represented them then did the willful X5, and it was him to whom they could most relate and him to whom they went if they had a problem. It certainly had a bit to do with the fact that he was more like them than Max; she looked so human that to be around her was often a painful reminder of the persecution that was faced by everyone within the gates of this toxic wasteland. It also made it more difficult to accept her ideals and proposals, as she didn't seem to realize that, while it was quite easy for her to relate to ordinaries, such was far more difficult for the more exotic fruits of Manticore's labor. She was out of touch. Many were beginning to come to that conclusion and Mole fully intended to exploit it.

"I know it's crossed all your minds," Mole finally said after a few moments of intense silence. "You don't wanna put up with her anymore than I do. She's gonna get us in trouble, ya hear? She's too much of a damned softy. And let me tell you, throwing flowers and dreams of equality at a bunch of people armed with guns and hatred never did nobody any good."

His three followers cast their vision toward their feet and nodded slowly, at this point so taken with him that they were fully prepared to do whatever he wanted. "So whadaya think we should do, Mole?" asked Norse softly, his eyes shifting upward to capture those of his role model.

Mole paused momentarily, chewing lewdly on the end of his cigar, then turned and began making his way back toward his crate. "I haven't worked out all the details yet," he replied. "For now, all we can really do is get together people who feel the same way and see about coming up with a game plan, figuring out how we can knock /X5-452/ off her high horse. One way or another, things have gotta change. I ain't standing around to let her screw things up more than they already are."

Rally stepped forward, wringing his hands together, a nervous habit that he seemed unable to stop. "You think someday, you'll be in command, Mole?"

Mole grinned; it wasn't often that he was happy unless things went his way, so naturally he had entertained the thought of being Terminal City's leader. However, the fact that another had now voiced the idea made him take the possibility far more seriously. "Who knows?" he answered. "We can only hope."