Title: Angel of Death
Author: Nimitz4
Rating: R
Show: DA
Genre: Drama
Pairing: Max / Alec
Type: WiP
Summary: Alec has been captured and tortured by White…how dark will our angel Max allow herself to become?
Authors Note: This is for all the angst
addicts out there…I wrote this on a wet grey winters day when I was listening
to 'Clubbed to Death' (DJ Rob D) over and over and over again, so the weather
and that song set the tone.
Disclaimer: I don't own DA – if I did the show would still
be running…
ANGEL OF DEATH
Layer: 002 – Retribution
For an unknown period of time, she sat like that, just cradling his still form in her arms. The stiffness of her body made her wince in pain as she shifted her position, bringing her back to an awareness of her present location. The voice in her head startled her from her dazed grief.
*You have to go…*
Disassociated from herself, she nodded in numb agreement with the 'voice'. Her psyche automatically reverting to Manticorian basic training - mind and body now operating on autopilot, the natural response of her body to shield her from her anguish.
Looking down at his prone form, she saw that his shirt had fallen open, probably from her earlier ministrations. Her hand mechanically reached out to pull it closed…and her eyes suddenly locked on the marks on his chest. Her hand froze in its path, as her brain registered what she was actually seeing.
His shirt had partially covered it before, but she could see it clearly now…terrible in its brutality and cruel in its simplicity.
452…
A message for her…from White…carved into the skin of Alec's chest.
She stared at the obscene writing, its message clear to her. Alec had been killed…deliberately tortured and murdered, not for information…not to further Whites pursuit of the transgenic community…but as part of the sick 'cat and mouse' game he was playing with her.
Max felt an icy fury envelope her, burning her in with a fierce intensity...and the void in her soul, created by the loss of Alec began to fill with a violent vicious wrath. She felt her fingers quiver with the sudden desire to rent…to tear…to destroy White and all those that worked with him.
Her head bowed, as the bitter raw emotion assaulted her…and she surrendered to it, welcoming the warmth of her rage, bowing her head as if she were receiving a blessing. A gift… *Perhaps it is…a way through the pain…*
Wrapping its burning heat around the wintry coldness of her heart, she started to shake again…as if her body was unable to contain the force of her emotions within the confines of mere bone, muscle and skin. Her face hardened in an emotionless mask, like it had been carved from age-old stone…but her eyes burned with a black predatory gleam. A hunter yearning to kill…
"Well…well…well. How touching…" The voice was oily and mocking in its contempt.
Max froze, her body unnaturally still. Cocking her head to the side, listening…she heard the low snickering laughter of three other voices, and detected the distinct scraping of four pairs of feet on the concrete floor. A cold smile skimmed across her face, never reaching her eyes, and she patiently waited for them to approach.
Four men stepped forth from the darkened shadows of the warehouse, advancing menacingly towards her. Their appearance and stance identified them as trained assassins, professional killers each and every one of them. Max's black eyes studied their approach with the calm detachment of a predator assessing its prey.
The tallest of the four, taking the centre lead, was well built, lean and muscular with the physique of an elite soldier. He moved with the grace of someone well trained in the art of killing. Tattoos patterned his arms and shoulders, rippling with the movement of his muscles, and his cold blue eyes glittered with an unspoken savagery. Max felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle and rise – an instinctive sense told her that this tawny haired man was a Familiar.
The other three men looked like mercenaries - killers for hire. Although not in the same league as their boss, their stealth and natural hunting movements bespoke extensive training in the study of causing pain.
The tawny haired man motioned to the two men on his left. Of these two, the nearest mercenary was a heavy set dark man, his skin as black as obsidian, while the other had the swarthy angularity marking him as someone of eastern European descent.
"Archer…Vint… keep it tight on the left…Luca and I have the right." Both men nodded at his order, and then grinned at his next words. "Now let's have some fun…it's transgenic hunting season and we've just bagged us two for the price of one." The four of them spread out as they advanced towards her, creating a wide area for attack, establishing their kill zone.
Max sat waiting, her body primed with an eerie stillness…listening, and watching …observing every word, every action, registering each detail with the impassivity of a machine. She read the deference the other three men gave the tawny Familiar, their leader…she assessed each man individually, determined each weakness…and then she selected her first kill.
Since leaving Manticore, Max had only ever fought out of necessity, to either escape or evade danger, to rescue and to save…never just to kill. Despite Manticore's dehumanising training, and its indoctrination, she'd never allowed it to fulfil its ultimate goal, that being to turn her into the perfect soldier…the perfect killer. She'd always known she'd been born to kill, that it was what she'd been designed to do, better than any other, and because of this she'd always resisted that deliberate killing impulse, never wanting to cross the line within herself. Unwilling to find pleasure or satisfaction in the giving of death…until now. With Alec's death, she now embraced the instinct.
The four men slowly creeping towards her glanced across to each other, sharing grim smirks at her apparent immobility. Mistaking her stillness for surprise…or fear.
They had no idea that they were already dead…
The tall Familiar faltered as he came close enough to see her face clearly… his eyes narrowed in consternation. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with a precognitive sense of foreboding. *Why doesn't she look afraid…?*
Sensing that something wasn't quite right he turned his head slightly to motion to the other three to hold back. He opened his mouth to speak the order…and halted in shock as he felt something impact him at the base of his throat.
A hot sticky substance bubbled and filled his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. He tried to speak but no words issued forth from his mouth. Confused he raised his hands to his neck…and felt the handle of a knife jutting out close to the skin. Looking up in disbelief, he saw a horror and incredulity mirroring his own on the other men's faces as they stared at him with mute shock.
*I didn't even see her throw it…*
Choking on his own blood, his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees, his hands now desperately clawing at the knife hilt, unable to pull the cold metal from his flesh. He could now feel the edge of the knife pressing on the vertebrae of his spine, and the tip of the blade extending through the flesh at the back of his neck.
Max smiled coldly as she watched the Familiar's hands scrabbling at his own throat. Then with a sudden swift movement she let her body fall backwards, neatly rolling over her shoulders to rise onto her feet with the fluid agility of a cat.
Startled by her sudden movement Archer, the dark skinned mercenary swivelled his attention back towards her, shouting a warning to the other two men. Each of the men just starting to realise that they had severely underestimated the woman.
"Holy shit… look sharp!"
The soldier that stood to the right of the now dead Leader was pure blond in colour, almost albino skinned. He was suddenly thankful that he had a metal table and at least eight metres separating him from this deadly woman. He studied her standing silently before them, her hands resting beside her body…
*So damn fast…how'd she thrown the knife so fucking fast?!*
He watched her expressionless face, and shuddered when he looked into her eyes, because they were as black and emotionless as a bird of prey. He took an unconscious step backwards…
His nervous movement drew Max's attention, and she swivelled her head to focus on him, like she had picked up his scent. Her cold eyes fixed on him like a target. She recalled hearing his name…*Luca…Luca…lucky Luca…. Moving with an unnerving speed, she suddenly launched herself into a dive over the table separating them.
"Oh Fuck!" Luca immediately reached for the gun he had secured in a chest holster, but it was already too late.
Max's body curled in a somersault as she flew over the table, uncoiling at the last possible moment with a snap, slamming both her feet on the hard ground. Using the force of the action to build her momentum and drive her forward, she began a series of flips and layouts that enabled her to cross the open space between them in a matter of seconds.
Luca's eyes were wide with fear and he frantically kept repositioning his gun, desperately trying to get a lock on her. A nervous twitch jumped in his check as he clenched his jaw, his eyes wild with panic. The blinding speed and confusing pattern of her movements made it impossible for him to focus on her long enough to shoot. The alarmed shouts of the other men were doing nothing to relieve his sudden morbid foreboding.
The gymnastic tumbling of the girl abruptly ceased, as she suddenly landed with the lithe grace of a wild cat directly in front of him. With an inhuman speed she grabbed his extended gun arm and displaying an unexpected strength she pulled him towards her. Luca felt himself suddenly unbalanced and he stumbled forward.
Her actions blurred with another burst of speed, and he was conscious of her dipping sideways under his arm, pivoting so her back was towards him, and she was now standing beside him. Max's arm whipped out with a striking action, and Luca screamed in sudden pain, as she snapped the wrist of the hand that had been holding the gun, with a clean break – with no more effort than if she had been breaking a twig. He stared in disbelieving horror as he watched his gun fall from his now useless fingers, to the concrete floor – not one bullet having left the chamber.
Without sparing him any time to recover Max ducked, and using a quick sliding motion, she repositioned herself back inside the confines of his arms. With her back now pressed hard against his chest, she kicked her leg up over her head, smashing her foot into his face, splintering his nose. She slammed her elbow backwards into his chest, and smiled with cold approval as she both felt and heard the satisfying crunch of breaking bones.
With a preternatural sense, Max spun on the ball of her foot and danced outside the screaming mans' arms, blurring and ducking behind him – just as a half dozen bullets slammed into his chest and torso. Using his gurgling body as a shield to protect her from their weapon fire, she moved rapidly across the area towards the remaining two men, forcing them backwards against the wall.
Despite the fact that the man previously known as Luca, was now a dead weight in her arms, Max tossed his lifeless body at the angular mercenary to her right, like she was tossing a mere parcel. She moved with a speed and incredible force terrifying to behold – transformed into a weapon of utter destruction. Internally she was ablaze with a terrible wrath, and completely focused on one objective…total obliteration of those that stood before her.
Luca's body slammed into the other man, knocking him to the ground, momentarily rendering him senseless. Max turned to face her new opponent, the dark skinned man that had seemed so cocky only moments before, now looked decidedly less sure of himself.
*Archer…I'm here to make you a citizen of Death's grey land…*
With a growl of frustration he threw his now empty gun to the cement floor – having fruitlessly emptied the round into his ex-partner Luca. *Didn't even hit the bitch once!!?!*
A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face as he observed the woman before him. She'd resumed that trademark stillness, which he now knew indicated that she was preparing to strike. For the first time in his career as a professional killer, he felt a total certainty that he had met someone who was more than his match…he could almost feel the cold breath of the Reaper upon the back of his neck. He reached down and removed two lethal looking knives from their bindings against his thighs, a wide smile stretched his lips across his brilliant white teeth, and he spoke directly to her – one warrior to another.
"Bring it on baby – I'm ready when you are…"
A distorted mirror image of his own smile spread across her full sensual lips – however it was hard and cold, and he shivered slightly at the callousness he witnessed in her eyes. Taking an opportunity to attack her first, he lunged at her without warning – but he found to his horror that his knife was simply thrusting into the empty air she had possessed only moments before. He never even saw her move, it was like she was made of shadows and air…she simply blurred away from him faster than his eyes could track her.
"You missed…I'm right here." The taunting sound of her voice spoke into his left ear.
He desperately swung the blade he held in his left hand towards her position, turning his body in the same motion. Gasping he realised she was gone again.
"You missed again…how sad for you" This time the voice came from his right, and despite it's honeyed charm it had a cruel jeering edge to it. He roared in fury and frustration…this time though he spun out of his position, hoping to confuse her. He ran forwarded and turned, staring wildly about him, searching for her around the room.
"Enough…you are beneath me." He froze in shock, and terror. The voice was directly behind him. It had whispered with a harsh vehemence directly into his ear. He felt a steely strong hand snake along his left arm, forcing his hand downwards, imprisoning the blade and the arm against his body…whilst she reached from behind to grasp his other hand in her own. Forcefully moving it against his will, until he was pressing the blade against his exposed throat.
"I won't even waste my time killing you – you can do that for me!" With that she drew his hand swiftly back across his neck.
Blood sprayed out from the wound, bright flecks of crimson staining the side of her face. Max didn't bother wiping the spatter from her skin, instead she calmly released her hold on the mercenary and stepped backwards to survey her handiwork. Archer slowly sunk to his knees before her, staring in voiceless horror as his life force ran out across the cement, painting a lurid mural in burgundy against the grey background. His eyes fluttered shut and he fell heavily forward.
A terrified noise sounded to her right, and Max spun slowly on her heel, like some kind of menacing Music Box doll. The frightened murmuring had come from the final soldier of mis-fortune, now recovered from his concussion, who was desperately trying to heave the heavy body of his fallen partner off him. He desperately increased his efforts as he watched Max slowly walk towards him.
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Authors note: Yes, apologies for the violence – but I really wanted to capture how a human weapon like Max might react if she were ever seriously provoked into it…I promise a positive resolution to this story in the final chapter (Layer 003 – Resurrection). I 'pinkie' swear it…honest I do!