Power

Disclaimer: Dark Angel and all associated with it belong to Fox and various people associated with that. Therefore do not associate this fic with me, I just wrote it.
Author: Big Sister
Rating: PG-13
Status: Standalone
Summary: White is evil. White is bored. White is powerful. White is sexually frustrated after killing his wife. Max is his prisoner.
Timeline: After Freak Nation, and after the fall of TC. After all, the Coming must have worked right? Seeing as the show was stopped.
Pairing: M/W
Author's Note: I've just read through all the Max/White fics I could find – I loved them of course, but I just got rather disappointed with White constantly being portrayed as … well … 'nice'. So I wrote one in which he's evil. After all what is the point of White being a bad guy if we're just going to reform him! I don't mean to offend anyone with this though – if you don't like it, well, I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm just trying to provide a little change. Varity is the spice of life, as they say.

Dedication: This one's for Krissie-mouse, my favourite M/W fan, as a sorry for all the trouble I've caused her recently – even though I'm not sure how much she'd actually like this story herself….Still it's dedicated to her, which is kinda cool right?

"What do you mean, we're out of holding cells?" White snapped, his dark eyes flashing as he turned on his assistant.

"Well sir … TC's population was pretty large towards the end," Gottlieb stuttered, "Our holding cells … just to many for them…" He faltered under White's burning glare. Gottlieb swallowed heavily, his eyes fixed on the tips of his boots.

White folded his arms across his chest. He sighed and started to speak incredibly slowly, as if explaining something simple to a retarded child.

"So - kill - the - damn - freaks," he intoned, sneering, his eyes dark and icy cold.

Gottlieb's head shot up. His face draining of colour. "Kill them, sir?" he gasped, refusing to believe what he'd just heard.

"You heard me," White snapped, "Kill them. Put them down. Blow their fucking brains out! Why do they need special treatment? We never signed an agreement with the president of little 'Tansgenic Land' granting them all prisoner-of-war status. They're not even human for Christ's sake! All we need to worry about with this lot are animal conservation activists!"

Gottlieb swallowed again. "Yessir," he muttered, turning away to rush off and execute yet another order he wasn't to keen on.

White smirked, and then sighed again. He stretched slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. All this hard work … he felt tired …

On an impulse, he turned and headed off towards a specific one of Gottlieb's precious holding cells. He'd spent a lot of time in there recently. Interrogating mostly. It was her cell after all.

He opened the door and stepped inside.

She hung there. Weak and helpless in front of him. Her eyes staring glumly at the wall opposite. All the fight gone.

He sneered - and all of a sudden she became aware of his presence. Her body tensed. Her head darted upwards to fix him with wild dark eyes, now tainted with the beginnings of a real fear. He grinned.

Her jaw set and her shoulders stiffened. She tried to put on a defiant face, but White could see straight though it. This was only a shell. A mask she hid behind. Like a scab concealing the repulsive puss behind it. A little gentle pressure and all the revolting white goo would come oozing out.

It suddenly occurred to him how much he really enjoyed squeezing pimples.

His hand flew out behind him and slammed the door back into its frame.

He strolled towards her. His cold eyes taking in her battered frame. She'd already lost everything she loved. That pathetic paralytic Eyes Only … her puppy-eyed sidekick 494 … the few humans who seemed to show a strange 'affection' for her … even that lizard man and the mules from her broken command team – one by one he'd had them all in here and killed them all in front of her. Simply because he could.

You should have seen how she begged and pleaded, screamed and wept for their lives, but it had done no good. When she finally lost the fight for TC, she had surrendered to him. Thrown herself at his mercy, but the thing was - he had none.

His hand shot out. The unnaturally strong fingers pressing down hard on her jawbone. Smirking, he turned her face to face him. His dark eyes almost amused as they meet the wide terrified brown ones.

"Hello 452…" he paused, "Or now that we're so close … should I call you 'Max'?"

Her body lurched backwards, straining her restraints to the limit. But the grip on her jaw remained firm, no matter how much she danced in her chains.

He pulled her forwards by her face. His free hand sneaking behind her back. A slow smile crept over his face.

In a single movement he tore her top away, pressing her resisting lips against his own. The hand behind her crept into her torn jeans.

Max felt sick. She felt violated, burned, diseased. She wanted to throw her naked body into the burning inferno of her old home. She wanted to scorch it in sulphuric acid. She wanted to do anything to get rid of the touch, the feel, of that … creature on it. In it. Make herself clean again. But she couldn't. She couldn't. Max wanted to die – pure and simple – she wanted to die…

Bitter tears ran down her face.

White smirked as he shut her naked body back up inside her cell. He actually started to whistle a few bars of one of Wendy's old favourite songs. He had had her completely at his mercy. There was nothing she could do or say about anything he chose to do to her – for she was weak. He had all the control. The power. He actually laughed out loud at the thought. Yes, he had the power all right.

He turned and strolled back down the corridor with his hands loosely hanging off the trousers of his dark suit. His jacket hung loose and open off his shoulders.