Here was my attempt to add in a little more action...

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The alarms had not gone off.

She was getting better at breaking into things.

Stormie raced down the first runway and then swung sharply to the right, dashing up a flight of steel steps. Her almost cautious steps eerily echoed in the dark, empty halls of the plant, an open map in her hands, which she glanced upon every now and then to assure she would not get lost. A flashlight was clenched between her teeth, a pack of supplies on her back.

There!

She stopped, seeing a row of doors before her. Now, it was just a matter of finding the right one. Consulting the map again, she made her decision and strode towards the third, kneeling before it and beginning to pick the lock. Security guards were roaming the place, so if she didn't act fast, the two plants she was supposed to be freeing wouldn't be going anywhere. In time, the latch clicked and she swung it open, finding that the room within was even darker than the dusty halls outside. Moonlight from the windows filtered in and glanced upon the two bulbs, which sat side by side, alighting on the sleeping plants ever so slightly. Yup, two males, just like Desma had said. But how to get them out? The bulbs were highly evolved, and liberating them was going to be tricky. She closed the door and locked it, dashing to the computer. If only she could unlock the code...

It took her nearly half an hour, but Desma had taught her a few things, and the disengaging process began. She watched the bulbs begin to power up, ready to expel the plants within, and then she saw the system freeze, and saw that this wasn't working.

It made her angry. She'd come so far, and now these petty problems were messing with her? She'd get back at Naoshi, and she'd do it with the help of these captive plants.

Both were still asleep, peacefully floating in their own little worlds, enveloped by angel wings, and she felt almost guilty for disturbing their rest with the only intention of asking them to fight for her and for others. Her cause was hardly noble.

Picking up her chair, she lifted it over her head and slammed it into the bulb, barely cracking it. Again and again she slammed into it, gritting her teeth and growling at how hard it was. And then it broke, shattering within, and the liquid began to spill out. For good measure, she bashed in a large hole, and the whole front caved in, spewing out all its contents. Moments later, a man lay on the floor in a puddle of fluid, sprawled out on his side and slowly stirring. He was tall and broad-shouldered, obviously strong and perhaps as aged as she, and had blonde hair cut just at the nape of his neck. He was unclothed, shivering in his new, colder atmosphere, and she made sure to clear the glass away from him with her toe before moving on and freeing the next man.

He was much younger with such platinum blonde hair that it appeared a silvery white in the dark. It tumbled down his bare back in slight waves. He opened scared, wild blue eyes and turned them on her immediately, shaking either in fatigue or fear.

His older companion was sitting up and holding his head, trying to find his voice by clearing his throat and coughing.

She knelt down before them and drew two pairs of clothes out of her pack, regarding the two doubtfully. The older man was tall and thickly muscled, his pale face already turning red as he stared intently at the clothes in her hands, obviously wanting them. She supposed the larger pair of pants and shirt would fit him. But the boy...she hadn't expected him to be so young. He was very thin as well, and she doubted anything she had would be the right size. In the end, she tossed him the smallest items of clothing she had brought and handed the larger to the eagerly waiting man. "Get dressed," she commanded. "We're getting out of here."

The elder seemed excited and hurriedly pulled on the pants, stumbling to his feet while avoiding the shards of the broken bulb. Spurred on by the other's actions, the boy, who she estimated to only be about a year old, though he looked like he was ten in human years, followed suit.

Once dressed, the boy's clothes sagging on him horribly, Stormie motioned for them to be silent. "I'm a plant - you can trust me," she said gruffly. "We're going to get out of here, but you have to be quick and quiet and follow my lead, got it?"

They nodded.

She waved a hand, motioning that they should follow, and ran out into the hall, down the flight of steps, and through a corridor, all without pause. Not used to the physical exertion, they lagged slightly behind.

A guard passed by just before Stormie ran out into him, causing the woman to jerk back around the corner and shoot out an arm that the others might not pass. Once he was gone, she proceeded to walk at a slower pace down the last flight of stairs, smirking at how the boy was grasping onto the railing, as if he was afraid of tumbling down and breaking his neck.

"Almost home free," she encouraged him, and he smiled back at her innocently.

In the next five seconds, he shot about two feet up into the air with a yelp and dashed down the rest of the stairs, sent into a panic by the wailing siren that suddenly went off.

Stormie's heart leapt in fear itself and she nearly tripped. Well, actually, she did trip, but the plant behind her reached out his hand and grabbed the back of her shirt, saving her from a nasty fall. "They found out we're here," she explained loudly, struggling to be heard over the alarm. "I suppose we should - where'd the other one go?"

"He ran," replied the man gruffly, his voice sounding irritated and just a bit sour.

"What?! Ok, ok - you go out that back door down there and there should be a jeep behind the dumpster. Just get in the back and wait while I retrieve the boy."

"If you're not out there in five minutes, I'm leaving without you."

"It's my car!" she exclaimed, already not appreciating his attitude problem. She didn't get to say much more to him, for he was off like a shot and bolting into the desert night. She continued on down the hall, dodging the near clueless security, and located the scared plant huddled up in a small corner, rolled into a ball. "Come on, kid," she tried to reassure him. "It's ok - your friend's already out in the car. He's waiting for us." She took him by the hand, and from the look on his youthful face, round and pale and fine-featured, he seemed to trust her.

She smiled again, pulling him to his feet, and the next thing either of them knew, the wall just past his head had dented swiftly and with a sudden explosion of thunder. Another bullet whizzed past the boy's head, and he cried and ducked in fear. She threw herself to the ground, dragging him along, and then rolled over, looking for the enemy.

A security guard was glaring at them from behind a shiny revolver, the gun aimed for Stormie's head.

She threw the boy away from her and raised her hands, showing she was weaponless. And when he began to approach, her left arm whipped out before her, palm facing outward, fingers spread, as if it was a sign to stop, but he ignored it. Ice blue eyes narrowed.

"Don't move!" warned the man. He never suspected her to be a plant.

On one knee, arm outstretched, Stormie bade her time, waiting until the very last second. The boy, still huddled in a corner, sunken into his much- too-big clothes, watched in awe as Stormie's shirt sleeve suddenly erupted, feathers bursting out of her shoulder blade. The angel arm cannon appeared in only a matter of seconds where her hand should've been, and the guard stumbled back almost in slow motion. But it was too late. The blast caught him unprepared, at the same time throwing Stormie back against the wall with its power. She had not been ready either, having released the power prematurely while in the act of rising.

After the light had faded, she sat up, found her arm back to normal, hanging limply at her side with shirt in shreds about the one shoulder. The mangled man lay not far away, and she looked on him briefly. It's not like she regretted it.

"Come on," she beckoned, taking the boy's hand once more and beginning to walk calmly through the halls, which still echoed with the screams of the siren. Lights flashed, turning her fair skin red every other second. And they said nothing of the killing, the angel arm, or anything else.

She led him back out to the jeep at a brisk jog, finding, just as she had expected, the man lounging in the back seat.

"It's about time," he said, growling when the boy hopped in next to him.

Stormie slammed the door and buckled herself into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition. "Off we go, Mr. Forks," she said in a mock cheery voice.

"What'd you call me?" Her personal joke had put the man on the defensive.

"I have a friend - well, not really a friend - but his name is Knives, and he's got your rotten attitude, so I make fun of him by calling him Mr. Forks."

"I don't get it..."

"His name is Knives."

"Oh."

"So, what are you guys called?"

The boy in the back immediately leapt up at the chance to talk, seizing forward and leaning over the front seat, long hair streaming back in the wind. "They called me Eleven," he volunteered, smiling at her sweetly. His voice was soft and satisfied.

"You were born in the plant?"

"Yes."

"Oh, so this is quite the experience for you, huh? What happened to your parents?"

"My mom died in the plant, so..."

"I'm sorry."

"And my dad is - "

"Worried that you're going to fall out of the car. Sit down." The elder plant had crossed him arms loosely over his broad chest, scowling at Eleven in displeasure. When the boy obediently settled back beside him, he smacked him lightly in the back of the head. "Buckle in too."

"Why are you so grouchy?" Stormie demanded, glancing over her shoulder to see that Eleven was struggling with his seat belt, his tongue sticking out slightly in his concentration. The older was watching him like a hawk, head turned so that she could only view his profile. He was pretty cute, she had to admit, even with his snobby personality. He was a lot more rugged looking than Knives, his nose straighter, eyes a bit slanted, jaw stronger, and lips fuller. "And are you saying that your the kid's father?"

He looked at her sharply, emerald eyes glinting. "That's what I'm told."

"Wow, how'd that happen?" she mused, and when he began to reply, she hushed him quickly with, "It was a rhetorical question! And what is YOUR name?"

Begrudgingly, he told her, "My name is Mitayo. What should I call you?"

"Stormie."

"Pretty name," complimented Eleven.

She grinned. "Thanks. You know, Eleven, I have a daughter around your age."

"Really?"

"Yup. Her name is Faith."

The rest of the ride home was silent.

~~~~~

Mitayo took his time getting out of the car when they reached Stormie's house, a simple one-story building. He rolled out and lazily stretched his arms and legs, aware that his son and their rescuer had gone on inside already. Then, taking his good time, he strolled after them and into the open door.

"Hey, mom!" called a girl around Eleven's age, running out to meet them. She was a bit on the short side, and, much to Mitayo's surprise, looked nothing like Stormie. For one thing, her hair was snow white, and for another, her eyes were two different colors. The left was powder blue, and the right was deep violet. She ran to her mother and hugged her, ignoring the visitor's for the moment. "You said you'd be back about an hour ago! I thought something happened!"

"Sorry - it took longer than I thought," Stormie sheepishly apologized. "But look what we have here. Some guests. This is Eleven - " She pulled the boy by his shoulders over to stand before her " - and this is his father, Mitayo." She gestured the man behind her. "Take Eleven back to your room and show him your new toys. I have to talk to his father."

Faith nodded and grabbed the boy by the hand, grinning almost evilly out him. "We'll have fun," she promised with a wink, causing the boy to gulp down a lump in his throat just before being dragged after her.

Mitayo watched the children leave and then turned to Stormie, the scowl melting off his face. "Why'd you bring us here?"

"Oh, are you ready to be nice to me now then?" she demanded, fisted hands on her hips.

A hint of annoyance crept back into his tone. "What?"

"You're were being pretty rude before. You were even mean to your poor son."

"Maybe I was a bit - um - confused?" He spread his arms out with a flourish, one brow arched. "Embarrassed?"

"Embarrassed?!" she sputtered, not comprehending his meaning. And then, looking at him, standing there with his head bowed and his arms crossed tightly, she understood. And she laughed, loudly and rudely. "You're embarrassed because when I broke you out of the bulb, you weren't wearing anything! Oh, that's hilarious! For goodness sake, Mitayo, I'm a doctor! It's not like you're the first naked man I've seen before!"

"It's not funny!" he cried, and then whirled around, his back facing her. "At least I have some decency. You probably wouldn't care. Now, are you going to tell me for what reason you are putting me through all of this?!"

Stifling the last of her laughter, she strode over to the kitchen. "Sit down and I'll tell you," she invited, pulling out a chair for herself and waiting for him to do the same. Once both were comfortable at the table, she cleared her throat. "Listen, I can tell you're an impatient man, so I'll get to the heart of the matter. The plants are being killed off slowly, one by one. Our race will soon disappear if nothing is done."

Mitayo's voice was softer now, more tolerant. "Who is killing them?"

"A single man. A half-breed. His name is Naoshi."

"And you want us to help you stop him?"

"Yes."

Mitayo remained silent, staring at his hands, one resting on top of the other on the table's surface. His brow was furrowed in contemplation, blonde hair gently draping over his narrowed eyes in fringes. "I see. You know that Eleven will be of now use to you in a fight."

"I know that. Neither will Faith."

"What of Faith's father? Is he plant?"

Stormie gave a short, little sarcastic laugh. "Faith's father is the one we're trying to kill. Naoshi. The plant assassin. He has this nasty little habit of going around raping the female plants before he kills them. I'm just a survivor. " She smiled at him smugly, seeing that she was making him obviously uncomfortable. "I didn't ask for Faith - she's just a good thing that happened after the worst night of my life."

"Hmm..." he looked away from her, fiddling with his shirt sleeve. "I never asked for Eleven either."

"Well, dear, I'm assuming that your situation isn't as bad as mine."

"No, no, I'm not saying that..." He kept glancing away from her, as if ashamed. No longer was he cocky and rude, just a bit uncomfortable and soft-spoken. Nervously, he bit his lip. "I was incorporated into a sort of selective breeding program at the plant. I suppose they realized we were becoming far and few, and...that's where Eleven came from. I never really even knew his mother... She was quite a bit younger than me, I suppose. Very unhappy." He sighed. "I never asked for a kid. I'm not the fatherly type, I'm sure you can see, and I didn't have to be his dad or anything at the plant. But now...now I have to take care of someone other than myself. Is it as hard as it seems?"

"Not when you get the hang of it." Stormie rose from her seat and patted him on the shoulder on her way out. "Don't worry about it, Mitayo. You help me, I'll help you. I'm going to check on the kids now."

He remained seated, as if frozen in his spot, glumly staring at the flickering candle in the middle of the table. The flame danced and tottered, just on the edge of life, and it captivated him. He hadn't seen fire in a while.

"FAITH!" screeched a woman's voice from down the hall.

Mitayo jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over in surprise.

"UNTIE THAT BOY NOW!"

Gasping, he took off down the hall to assist his son, who, from the sounds of it, was obviously in need of help.

~~~~~

Knives had packed his bags, had left a note, had made up his mind. He borrowed Vash's old ship suit, which he had patched up, and then his brother's red trench coat over that. He put on his shoes, a pair of sunglasses, and grabbed his gun. With a bag of supplies slung over his shoulder, he began to walk away.

Naoshi had raped her.

His face was set in a firm scowl of determination. When Stormie had come home injured, he had done nothing, had held off, even though Grayfall told him to resist, to fight. He had been a coward, and she had left because of it.

Well, now he had made a decision. He would kill Naoshi.

He would do it alone.

He would do it for Stormie.

~~~~~

I need more reviews!! MORE!! lol Newayz, tell me if you have any ideas.