"If the English language made any sense, a catastrophe would be an apostrophe with fur." – Doug Larson
PrefaceThough some of you out there in Internet-land may not care about what I have to say here, I'm typing up this foreword to The Siege to sate my own desires to feel special. Hopefully, most of you can understand that. This is actually meant for those who have read Siege, so if you haven't read the original version, this introduction will probably make little to no sense. New readers are advised to ignore this and just read on—please?
If you've read the original version—bless ya. I hope you have enough patience with me to read this new version, which is much closer to what I intended to create when I first began writing Siege. Though I'm still very proud of the original, I believe that this second version delivers the story in a much clearer and clean-cut way.
When I began writing Siege, I had no idea I would take it to the level that I have today—two sequels and a spin-off or two. Furthermore, I couldn't have predicted how attached I have become to my characters—they're like old buddies nowadays. It may make me seem like a psycho with no real friends, but it's true. I have created a world that I'm genuinely proud of, and at fourteen years old, I like that feeling. However, as time wore on, the more I looked back on The Siege, the more I realized how much my writing style has changed and, in my opinion, advanced since then. I believe that, through writing The Siege and its successors, I've been able to move forward as an author and, therefore, I need to give Siege the long put-off makeover that it deserves.
In my opinion, the new Siege is edgier, simply because I've been able to mature to a point where I'm not uncomfortable talking about and dealing with some of the concepts in this fan fiction, such as sex, which was hard for me to work around as a thirteen-year-old fledgling fan fiction author. Also, I think that I gave some of the characters a more accurate portrayal, as my ability to write sarcasm and recognize personality traits has evolved. The action sequences are more clean-cut and read at a faster, hopefully more interesting pace than before.
So here it is—The Siege, as I could never pull it off before. Hopefully you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did revamping it.
Thank you so much for sticking it out with me,
Brin.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story that appear in the hit syndicated TV show, Dark Angel, owned and created by James Cameron. I do, however, own any and all original characters that appear in this work of fan fiction.
Summary: At the end of the season finale, we were left with a siege between the American military and the transgenics holed inside Terminal City. Now what? Inside the transgenics' new home forms romance, controversy, and an adventure none of them will very soon forget.
The Siege
by
Brin
"Most days, I get by fine. I blend with the crowd. Just another one of the huddled masses yearning to get by unnoticed. Problem is, I'm not as like them as I'd like to be. I got made, not born, and because it was humans made me somewhere along the line couple of wires got crossed in my head. Someone botched the job. So some days, that's how I feel - a botched job." –Max Guevara
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So many days have passed since my world hit the fan. One day, Jam Pony Messenger with a general irritation with the universe… the next, a half-assed excuse for the leader of a nation. The Freak Nation. I knew it would someday come to this. It was always at the back of my mind… but I had always hoped it would never arrive. What happens now, only time will tell.
Chapter 1: Gathering
There were few words to describe how X5-494, more popularly known as Alec, felt on this drab, depressing day. He wasn't cold, but he wasn't warm, and he wasn't comfortable, but he wasn't uncomfortable. The rain had soaked him to the bone this morning as he ran a check of the perimeter, but dry places in Terminal City were few and far between. He tossed some more shards of wood onto the fire. They were running dangerously low on fuel for the tiny fires that worked as makeshift heaters in a town where nothing worked unless you fixed it yourself. The sandy-haired transgenic wiped his hands on his pants and plopped down next to Logan, who was looking haggard and stubbly in the odd light.
"After the wood is gone we'll have to use the battery-powered heaters and lights. We want to save the generator and gasoline as long as possible," declared the transgenic, attempting—and failing—to warm himself on the flames.
Logan, deep in thought, only grunted in reply.
"Fine then. Don't feel social. I understand," muttered the X5, standing up and going over to Mole, puffing away on his cigar like always and toting that trusty shotgun of his. Everyone knew it was empty—it had been since the Jam Pony situation—but the hunk of charred metal seemed to be the only thing (besides cigars) that could calm the hotheaded 'nomlie. "You okay?"
"Peachy." Mole took the smoke from his mouth and glimpsed around the area impassively. About twenty fires dotted the slippery floor of the parking garage they had taken refuge in, each of them surrounded by roughly ten transgenics.
Alec let out a breath that could've passed for a slight chuckle, but instead sounded like a winded sigh. Knowing he was not going to get more out of the brooding anomaly, he went over and sat down next to Max, who was talking in hushed tones with Joshua next to a slightly larger fire. "Hey, guys." He patted Joshua on the shoulder. "Holding up, Big Fella? Max?"
"Holding up," replied the dog-man softly. Though a most formidable man, Joshua looked like nothing more than a wounded puppy, moisture shining in his eyes as he gazed into the leaping flames.
Max passed her doe eyes over Alec's face, the bags under his eyes and Terminal City grime in the grooves of his face. She shrugged as she replied, "I'm fine, too. Thanks for asking. You wanna… uh… sit down?" Awkwardly patting the place next to her, she provided him with a small, almost nonexistent grin.
"Uhh… sure," he replied, thankful that he really wasn't invisible. "So what's going on? Any plans yet?" The male transgenic wasn't used to sitting and waiting; he wanted to do something. He was not a patient man, nor one to sit around in the face of apparent and almost certain death. Go down fighting, in an explosion of bullets and fire—that's how he wanted it to be.
"Nope. Right now we're just… hoping for a miracle," Max replied sadly. "I don't think anything short of that will get us all out of here alive." She dragged her hand over her face, disgusted at the feel of her own skin. In Terminal City, showers were few and far between. They had five working showerheads, all of which were always occupied considering the hundreds of residents in the infamous TC. The water was collected, purified, and pressurized through a number of machines set up by several specially-trained mechanic transgenics. It was one of those instances where one was glad to live in a city where it rained every day.
"Not all of us will walk away from this, Max," said Alec gently. "Sometimes it's the price you have to pay." He slung a strong arm over her shoulders comfortingly, pleased when she didn't stiffen or shrug away from his touch. "There's always a price to pay for happiness."
Joshua twiddled his thumbs. "Alec right. Anything worth keeping is never kept without a fight, Little Fella," he said, remembering the words from one of Father's many novels. "You've got to fight for what you want."
"I know, Josh, but…" She hopelessly waved a hand towards the other transgenics present. "Look at us. I don't want to lose anyone."
Alec slowly drew his gaze over the room. Across the fire was an anomaly with three babies—two in her arms and one in her lap. There were a few X6s huddled together a few feet away, sharing one dirty woolen blanket. A lizard-like transgenic sat chatting with Original Cindy, his mate sleeping peacefully with her head in his lap. Some younger anomalies laughed and chatted as they played a game of checkers. This building was the most tolerant, housing at least one of every different kind of transgenic.
"We shouldn't be here," announced Joshua quietly. "None of us deserve this." He waved one large hand over the fire, dumping some copper nails into the flames, which burst green in response. He grinned in small enjoyment at the spectacle of chemistry.
Before Max could reply, she heard Sketchy calling her name and quickly ran over to where he was focused intently on the television. "Look," he murmured, his voice severe.
Max reluctantly turned to watch, unsure of what she should expect to see.
"…Chaos erupted today on the siege front as five transgenics armed with AK47's and carrying backpacks containing stolen inventory from a local convenience shop were apprehended by the National Guard as they tried to enter Terminal City. The leader of them, wanting to be known as simply 599, injured ten officers in his attempt to resist arrest. The prisoners were taken down with high-potency tranquilizers, and reports say that it 599 took enough sedative to knock out a male elephant before he lost consciousness. With the permission of National Guard, we were able to interview one of the prisoners," the reporter was saying. Behind her, a mob of people jeered at the camera, waving their anti-transgenic signs threateningly.
There was a quick switch to another reporter, standing next to a young man with a brace round his neck and cuffs on his hands. A police officer held a gun to his side, making no effort to hide it from the camera.
Max's jaw went slack. Her chest tightened with anxiety. "Krit," she whispered, touching the screen gingerly.
Krit glared at the reporter, who shied away slightly, but, to his credit, stayed close enough to remain on camera. "What?" the X5 snapped, his rough, deep voice sounding like a literal bark.
"I, uh, have a few questions for you," replied the reporter, adjusting his glasses uncomfortably. "First of all, what's your name?"
"Let's keep it simple and you just call me 471," Krit replied flatly.
"Okay… 471. Tell us… why you are trying to get into Terminal City? Most would assume that you would try to get out of this place, seeing the situation."
"My family is in there. We were trying to get them supplies since you assholes are content to just let them starve to death in there while you sit out here drinking champagne and complaining about how your toast is too hot," growled the X5 emotionally. He narrowed his eyes.
The reporter gulped tensely, but determinedly continued the interview. "And what do you know of the transgenics inside?"
Krit raised an eyebrow. "Now why would I tell you that?"
"It's for the people. They want to know the truth."
Krit glanced over his shoulder at the heckling crowd. "Looks to me like they want to tear my head off."
"Please, just a few words, 471."
"Well," began Krit with a sigh, "I've been told that they have adults, teens, children, infants, and a few pregnant females." He paused long enough to shrug. "Just like a small town."
"Thank you," said the reporter, adjusting his glasses again. "Back to you, Sheryl." His voice had taken on a subdued tone.
Mole slapped his hand against the television, shutting it off. "No more. They want us dead! Like Biggs! They're gonna hang us in the street!"
"Cut it, Mole," snapped Max, not wanting this hotheaded transgenic to get everyone riled up.
"What was that about 599?" asked Dix from his perch on a broken couch several feet away. "I remember having a run-in with him after Manticore burned. Tough guy."
"Yeah, yeah he is," whispered Max, her throat suddenly dry. If Zack and Krit were outside the perimeter… she had to get them in. She hugged herself and rubbed her arms, though not because she was cold.
"Leave her alone," insisted Sketchy, putting his arm around Max. "You okay, Maxie-girl? I haven't seen you this shaken up since that Josh Hartnett guy retired."
"Thanks, Sketch." Max laughed lightly and hugged the scruffball that was Sketchy, thankful he was at least competent enough to understand this situation. When she pulled back, she put on her best determined face and declared, "I'm gonna get Zack, Krit, and whoever else is with them inside." She took a deep breath. "Just watch me."
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After arming herself with a knife, Max wandered through the groups of transgenics in a search for a few willing, able-bodied soldiers. She couldn't risk any more tension between them and the public, so she preferred to recruit X series instead of "monster-faced" 'nomlies. Logan had offered to come, but she refused because, though his bionic legs gave him extra power and speed, his upper body strength held no comparison to that of a transgenic.
She found what she was looking for in a group of teenage transgenics roughhousing in a dark corner of the parking garage. Adolescent transgenics weren't necessarily as strong as the older ones, or as wise, but they had natural street smarts and tended to be a bit more nimble than the transgenics who had reached their twenties. Some of them looked normal, but the majority resembled cats, dogs, lizards, or rodents, and some were just deformed. Currently, a lizard-like girl and a young man with black spots all over his skin were arm wrestling. It seemed to be a deadlock; their arms remained almost completely still, but their faces were tight with effort. The rest of the teens were hooting and shouting or booing and jeering. One of them, a doggish young man of about 19, spotted Max and swaggered over.
"What can I do for you, beautiful?" he drawled coolly. He was different in appearance from Joshua, his eyes spaced wider, his ears squared off, and his nose more triangular. It was almost like he was based off of a different breed of dog—and, in reality, that was probably true.
"I'm looking for a few capable gents to help me spring five X5s from the police barricade," she replied crossly. "And by the looks of it, you're the guy I need to see."
"Xs… not my problem," declared the young man, crossing his arms over his barreled chest and flashing her a smug grin. "It's a dog eat dog world out there. Every kind to themselves."
"My ass. I see those Xs over there, and they're probably throwing most of the money on the table," snapped Max with a threatening glare. "Shall we do this the easy way or do I have to bash that smug grin of yours inside out?"
"Now, now, no need for threats milady. I, a mere mortal, would never be able to deal with the prowess of a great X5." The anomaly complacently winked at her, then bellowed over his shoulder, "Hank, Junky, Pick, Eddie, come 'ere."
Max watched as four young transgenics disengaged themselves from the mass of teenagers and jogged in their direction.
"The name's Axle, by the way," stated the dog 'nomlie. "I was one of the less-successful models to come after you X5s." He waved his hand over the three boys and one girl he had called over. "Hank, Junky, and Pick. X6's."
Max nodded. The three boys looked as normal as could be. Hank was shorter than the other two, with curly brown hair, a crooked nose, and tan skin. The kid next to him, Junky, was a cocky, lazy-looking blonde who probably would've been right at home hanging out with Sketchy. On the end was Pick, an alarmingly tall youth with a muscular abdomen and exceptionally thick arms.
"And this is Eddie," stated the dog 'nomlie with a toothy grin. He put his broad hand on the shoulder of a sixteenish anomaly with distinctly feline features and, of all things, a tail sticking out of a hole in her ratty jeans.
"They'll spot us right off with that," argued Max, waving a hand at the swishing appendage.
Pick glared at the X5, protective vibes coming off him in waves. "She can tuck it away," he insisted through clenched teeth.
Now that he was focused on her, the kid seemed even more formidable. His brown eyes smoldered with a passion not found in most people after the Pulse, especially teenagers. Standing a head over the X5, his biceps and triceps bulged, stretching the fabric of the black t-shirt he wore to the limit. This was not a young man who Max wanted to get into a fight with. She held up her hands submissively and muttered, "Whatever." A pause. "Is this the best you have to offer?"
Eddie scoffed and swished her tail
Max grinned at the girl, liking her already, and instructed, "Arm yourselves and meet me at the back of TC. We'll work out the details there."
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Amos Mantilla of the National Guard knelt behind a patrol car, his automatic fixed on Terminal City. He hated this work; it was like sitting there waiting for a monster to come out and eat him up. The entire siege had been uneventful, but he couldn't get rid of the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. This side of Terminal City had no protestors. It was the side farthest away from where the main transgenics were said to be camping, and after so many years in the service, he had learned that protestors mostly stuck to large groups—they were safer that way.
"Hey, look!" called one of his comrades, jolting Amos out of his thoughts.
The middle-aged man jerked his head up to see something jumping from roof to roof, coming towards them. "What the hell is that?" he grumbled, raising his binoculars to his eyes. At first glance he perceived it to be a large cat bounding from building to building. It had a long, heavy tail and pointed ears, but he quickly realized that it unmistakably had the posture of a human. "It's a transgenic!" he yelled, locking onto the target with his sniper rifle.
The group of guardsmen all readied their guns, but before they could get any level of aim on the transgenic on the roof, four more sped out of the buildings in front of them and pummeled the surprised guardsmen senseless in 2.3 seconds.
Max let her last victim slide to the ground, his nose broken and teeth flying everywhere. "That was too easy," she commented agitatedly, her eyes flying around the horizon of buildings.
"Yep," replied Junky whilst arming himself with the abandoned guns. "Someone get a lock on the snipes."
"Roger that," answered Pick in a half-serious tone.
Eddie caught up with them and accepted an AK47 from Hank. "Nice," she commented as she expertly hefted the submachine gun.
"Got a lock?" asked Max as she handed Eddie some ammo.
"There are three of them," replied Pick, cocking the trigger of his gun. He held it up and shot three times, but as he did two of the snipers also shot, striking Hank in the shoulder and Junky in the thigh. No more bullets, came, however, as Pick's aim was true and the three weapons were rendered useless in a burst of metal shards.
"That was real marksmanship, right there," complimented Max. "All three guns. I thought you were going kill them."
"Now where would that leave us in the media's eyes?" He winked, then ran to his friends' sides.
"Shit," growled Junky through clenched teeth as he leaned on his good leg, pressing a fist into the hole in his thigh to stop the bleeding. "That'll leave a mark." He accepted a piece of cloth from Max and tied it around his wound while Hank did the same for his.
"All right?" asked the X5.
"We'll be fine," replied Hank through deep breaths.
"Okay. Let's go."
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Max pulled her hood down so that it covered all sides of her face as she maneuvered through the crowd of angry Ordinaries, slowly but surely making her way towards the front where the prison truck was. Behind her, Pick and Junky followed, though they kept their heads up because they were not yet known as transgenics. Hank had been posted as a last-resort sniper while Eddie, not exactly normal-looking, rode on Pick's back with her face buried in his jacket and her tail tucked away underneath the oversized sweater she had borrowed from Junky.
"ETA approximately thirty seconds," Max mumbled, knowing that her companions' enhanced hearing would pick up her words. "Keep it cool."
They passed several reporters and finally came to the police barricade, where the anti-transgenic chanting was the loudest and most violent. On the ground were burning pictures of transgenics—especially Joshua.
"That's sick," Junky growled under his breath. "Bastards."
"Ssh!" urged Max nervously. She peeked at the prison truck, which had been pelted with rotten fruits and vegetables and eggs, creating a rancid stench . "There it is. The only question is how to get there…" Glancing around, the young woman spotted ten more snipers situated on the roofs around them. From his position inside one of the surrounding buildings, Hank flashed her a signal by reflecting the sun off the face of his watch. "Watch for the snipers. They're everywhere."
Pick looked around warily. "They could take us out in half a second and they're not going to hesitate like they did back there. Those were amateurs; they were probably waiting for word from command before shooting us. That means the Guards here know we're coming."
"Yeah, but they won't tell the public… might cause mass panic," interrupted Max. Her head snapped to attention as the prison truck suddenly began to sway back and forth, nearly tipping over and causing the crowd to grow quiet in utter fear of the "monsters" inside. A smiled momentarily crossed the transgenic's face. "They've seen us."
"Who?" asked Pick, moving from behind Max to her side.
"The other X5s. They know we're out here. Must've heard a transmission. This is gonna be quick and it's gonna be dangerous, so be on your toes," she announced. "Junky and Pick, I want you two disarm the cops. Eddie, come with me."
"What about my face?" asked the girl, peeping out from underneath her hood.
"Don't worry about it. As soon as we cross the barricade, it won't matter," said Max with a small grin as she pulled a gun from her jacket. "On two… One… t—"
Before she could say 'two,' however, the prison truck totally capsized and five familiar figures jumped out. The snipers fired and the National Guard rushed to contain the panicking crowd while the local Sector Cops tried their best to figure out what the hell was going on.
"Go!" shouted Max over the mayhem. She, Junky, Pick, and Eddie joined the frenzy. Bullets rained around them, but they moved so quickly the snipers could barely keep them in sight.
Max sped over to the five figures who had jumped out of the truck, nodded towards Terminal City and ran off. The other X5s were hot on her heels to escape the downpour of bullets. Eddie remained behind to help Junky and Pick while Hank jumped from the warehouse he had been stationed in, flying over the heads of the crowd and landing next to Junky. They stopped briefly enough to steal some guns from the Officers, then ran back into the safety of Terminal City.
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"I've got injured people over here!" called Max as she entered the parking garage-turned Ground Zero.
Joshua and Alec came rushing over, along with a few other transgenics carrying medical packs.
Max turned and, for the first time, looked over the five she helped to escape. Her jaw went slack. "Krit… Zack… Syl… Brin?"
Krit didn't say anything at first, but embraced his little sister in a tight bear hug. He smelled of gasoline, pork rinds, and lemons—good ol' Krit. Pulling back, he brushed a thumb across his sister's cheek and kissed her forehead. "Maxie, we were so damned worried about you! Your face was all over the national news. CNN, NBC, CNBC, ABC, MTV, you name it. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, but I don't know if I can say the same for you," she said, gesturing to the gaping hole in his shoulder, which had consequently bled all over her own clothes—but she didn't mind at the moment.
"Just a scrape," he joked before going over to an anomaly holding a medical case.
Eddie, Hank, Pick, and Junky had caught up with them by now. Hank sported a good-sized hole in his palm and Junky's kneecap had been shattered after a bullet had ricocheted off of one of the patrol cars, injuring his other leg. Eddie and Pick, my some small miracle, got by without a scratch and helped their ailing friends limp back into TC.
Max, after making sure that the X6s and anomaly were okay, turned to the remaining four X5s. Zack, Brin, and Syl she recognized immediately, but the last one, a brunette, Max had never seen before… or had she? Her face struck a chord in Max's memory. Thick, dark hair played about her slim shoulders and her wide-set blue eyes twinkled with childlike mischief. Max felt her chest tighten with astonishment as realization hit her like a cold bucket of water. "Jondy?"
"Last I checked," replied the pale-skinned transgenic with a playful grin. She pulled Max into a tight hug—the first one they had shared in over ten years. Two sisters were suddenly reunited, and their childhood feelings of complete devotion to their friendship came rushing back like a waterfall. "I would cry, but you know it's just so unbecoming of an X5…"
"You're Jondy alright," Max stated with a wry smile, noticing the suspicious moisture shining in her long-lost sister's azure eyes. "Who could mistake that sarcasm? You haven't changed a bit."
"Besides the hair and boobs, not much," retorted Jondy, laughing. "Good to see you again, baby sister. I've missed you so much."
"Okay, okay, break it up before Jondy gets all emotional on us," interrupted a sharp voice. "What, no hug for me?"
Max looked up at Syl, all blonde hair and biting attitude, and smiled toothily. "Syl!" she embraced the blonde, then leapt back with a gasp of shock. "What the hell happened to you?"
Syl turned sideways and showed off her expanding belly proudly. "What, this? Do I really need to explain where babies come from, Max?"
The younger X5 chuckled in spite of herself and rubbed the taut skin of Syl's stomach affectionately. "Congrats, Syl!"
With a wink, the blonde X5 replied, "Don't forget to tell Krit that, too. And from now on, I am Mrs. Krit Guavera. This is all his fault."
Max's eyes widened. Krit? Syl? Married? While it made perfect sense that these two would marry, it was also strange that they would go to such a domestic level since they were usually labeled as the 'wild children' of the '09 escapees (which was really saying something)… but there's a first time for everything, she supposed. "Are you serious?"
"As hell," replied Syl, displaying her wedding ring with pride. The band was platinum with a massive, sparkling diamond sitting on top of it like a goddamn Ring Pop. "We would've invited you, but it was a sort of last-minute thing."
"Excuse me, Miss?" interrupted a transhuman with eyelids that blinked from side to side instead of up and down. "Are you hurt?"
Syl and Jondy glanced at him, then at Zack, Brin, and Max, all of whom were studying the ground with rapt concentration. A silent agreement passed between them, and excuses to leave bubbled out of their mouths like second nature. Being a genetically engineered liar definitely had its benefits when it came to uncomfortable family reunions.
"My back aches," announced Syl nonchalantly.
"I got nicked by a bullet on my arm," Jondy piped in.
"If you'll step this way, we have medical units waiting."
Jondy and Syl shot Max farewell, slightly empathetic glances over their shoulders before allowing themselves to be led off by the transhuman, leaving Max totally alone…
With Brin and Zack.
Max uncomfortably shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her gaze was still pinned to the grimy floor. "Hey, guys. Long time no see," she murmured almost shyly.
"Hey yourself," replied Zack tentatively. He dragged his fingers through his hands and let out a long breath of apprehension.
"I… um… I thought you were working for that old farmer, Buddy, nowadays," continued the younger X5, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Me too," he said quietly. "That is, until I saw my little sister's mug all over national television. It was a slap in the face. Then, three days later, Syl and Krit turn up on my doorstep telling me that we had to come here to help you out. The Manticore insert in my brain did its job. Only this time, I won't be trying to kill Logan, or anyone for that matter… well, with the exception of the Ordinaries intent on hanging us, of course."
"You remember trying to kill Logan?"
"Nope. Not a thing. Krit told me about it. He heard it from an X6 who heard it from an X5 who heard it from an anomaly who heard it from another X5 who heard it from Joshua who must've heard it from you or someone else here in the ever-lovely Seattle." He chucked and held his arms out invitingly. "Basically, it was the word on the street."
Max couldn't help but smile as she embraced him tightly. His ratty leather jacket smelled vaguely of cow dung and alcohol. "Glad to have my big brother back," she whispered, tears welling up in her doe eyes. Over his shoulder she spotted Brin, who was staring back at her hesitantly.
Zack juggled his gaze between his two younger sisters and, sensing the need for them to be alone, quietly announced, "I'll be over getting some bandages while you two sort things out." He pointed to his leg, which was dotted with small spots of blood. "Shot me in the thigh with those damned darts about twenty times."
Max grinned at him humbly as he limped away, then turned to Brin. The Asian X5 had changed more than the others, but it wasn't in physical appearance. She was more… subdued than before. Before reindoctrination, when Max had had those small instances to look into her sister's eyes, she had seen hardy determination even in the face of apparent death. After being brainwashed into Manticore's beliefs once again, her black orbs had been fiery with loyalty to Manticore and a need to bring the other X5s back into custody. Now… she stared out from behind docile black eyes. She held herself like a tired, weatherworn veteran than the twenty-something soldier she was. Brin had been defeated by Manticore. Max sucked in a breath and, unsure of what would come out of her mouth, began, "Look, Brin…"
The shorter X5 shook her head and held up her hand. "No, Max. Whatever you're gonna say… I just want to cut to the chase and say I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." Tears glimmered in the small X5's eyes.
Max affectionately touched her smaller sister's cheek and felt a wave of forgiveness wash over her. No matter how many angles she tried, there was no way to stay mad at Brin, who was suddenly transformed into the innocent, passive little girl from her childhood memory. "Baby sister… it's alright. It's not your fault. They brainwashed you."
Brin gulped and managed a tearful half-smile. "Thank you." She paused long enough to wipe her eyes. "Krit and Syl found me, after Manticore was destroyed. Those two have really helped out. God, Max, I've missed you so much!"
Laughing softly, they embraced each other, and Max was surprised to find something wriggling on Brin's back. "What's this?" asked the taller X5, turning Brin around. She started chuckling when a tiny baby peeked out at her from inside its carrier. "How come everyone is having babies nowadays? Did I miss something?"
"For me, it's all about the breeding program," replied Brin with a rueful expression. "But for the lucky ones like Syl and Krit, it was by choice."
Max tickled the baby's chin and he giggled, grabbing her finger with pudgy hands. "How cute! What's his name?"
Brin took off one of the carrier's shoulder straps and gingerly pulled the infant into her arms, placing a kiss on his cheek. "His name is Ben."
"It's perfect," affirmed Max, her smile widening. "Little Ben."
They stood in companionable silence until Alec trotted over and handed Brin a change of clothes and some cotton blankets. "Here. You can freshen up at the showers. That guy over there with the goggle, Dix, will show you the way." He waved a hand at the transhuman.
"Thank you," said Brin, accepting the items with a grateful smile. "See you around, Max."
"If there's anything you need, just ask. Most of the people around here are friendly," called Alec as she left.
Max grinned at him. "Since when did you become Mr. Hospitality?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow.
Alec playfully flicked her nose, then dodge her flying fist and received a kick in the shin. Laughing, he choked out, "Since you became the transgenic queen."
"Is that good or bad?" she asked uncertainly, looking faintly disturbed by the idea of it. Her, the leader of an entire nation? The Freak Nation, of all nations? It didn't seem right. She was a street savvy X5 with no real agenda other than staying alive. It wasn't her job.
"I think it's a good thing. Definitely. Would you rather have Mole as our leader?" asked the male X5 with his trademark crooked grin.
Max cringed. "I see your point."
Alec imitated putting a cigar in his mouth and slinging a shotgun over his shoulder. "Damn Ordinaries, myeah! I'm gonna kill 'em all!" he joked in his best Mole voice. "Bring it on!"
"Smartass," replied Max though she was laughing at his little show.
"No, no, no, Max! Smart Alec. You must remember that. Smart Alec."
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That night, Eddie and Pick sat cuddling on the rooftop of the parking garage, watching Joshua's flag wave in the chilly night wind. It was a good feeling to have their own flag… to know that they were a united people. In a way, it symbolized their need to be normal—to have their own flag, their own nation, and to live their own way, without having to be afraid. That was what all humanity wanted, wasn't it? Besides, it no doubt annoyed the Ordinaries to no end, which was always a plus.
"You think we'll ever really be free?" Eddie asked, laying her head on Pick's shoulder.
The X6 idly played with a lock of her dark hair, twirling it around his finger. "I think it'll cost both sides a lot, but one day we'll be free. Or maybe the new generation—the new babies without the barcodes—will be free. Good or bad, one day this will have to come to a close."
Eddie snuggled up to him, purring like a household kitty cat. "We could start our own country in Terminal City. We're the Freak Nation."
"We should rename the place," Pick suggested, the idea causing a smile to spread across his handsome face. "One that shows our pride, like Transgenic Central."
"Sounds like a high school," snorted the anomaly with a grin.
"Okay then, what about…" he chewed on his lip. "The City of Dark Angels?"
"Enticing, but without a beat."
Pick sighed dejectedly. "Alright then, you try it."
"Me?!" she asked incredulously. "My name's Eddie. Enough said."
The X6 laughed and kissed her on the top of the head. "Well, it was a good idea."
"I got an idea for ya," interrupted a rough voice, causing both teens to jump.
"Mole!" exclaimed Pick, embarrassed at having let his guard down. "What are you doing up here?"
"I was just checking the grounds," he answered, taking the cigar from his mouth as he looked down at them. "Are you two lovebirds okay up here? She's underage, Pick. Watch it."
Eddie blushed at his blunt words. "We're fine," she mumbled, turning away from the older anomaly to bury her face in Pick's shoulder.
Mole laughed heartily. "The truth is damned humiliating, ain't it?" He began to walk away, then, as if thinking better of it, turned back around and said, "If you guys want to rally the troops with a good name, try taking a good look around." With that, he turned and went down the stairs, leaving them alone again.
Pick glanced up at the night sky, seeing only the brightest stars shining down upon them through the smog of Seattle. He put his arm around Eddie's slim shoulders and whispered, "This place is our last hope. Some of us will die here and some of us are born here. It's our nation. Our home. Our Last Hope."
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