Author's Note: Hi everyone! I know it's been ages since I updated this story, but it has not been forgotten. I hope you're all still interested in reading this. Please let me know. I'm feeling a little more inspired currently, so maybe I can bring this thing to a conclusion before another few months come and go. Here's hoping.
And now, on with the show!

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Part 12: Parental Issues

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Colonel Donald Lydecker was a complex man. Not that you would know it from casual acquaintance. At first glance he would seem rather simplistic. Just another army character, grim and gritty, interested in nothing but the next mission, the next objective. He was all that, granted, but there was more to him than that.

When he had first been approached about taking over the Manticore Project, leading and training the finest soldiers the world had ever seen, he had just come out of a deep depression. A mission gone sour, comrades-in-arms dying, alcoholism, his wife leaving him, everything had come together to drag him down. He had clawed his way back out, though, and this new command, this new mission, had quickly become his lifeline and purpose.

No one who had seen him train and shape the X-5 soldiers would even have considered the notion, but Lydecker did feel a sort of fatherly love for his kids. A form of love only very few people would ever understand. Tough love of the most severe kind, maybe. Training these kids, making them the best soldiers they possibly could be, was his life's work. He wanted to see them succeed. If that meant pruning the weaker ones and putting the strong ones through the wringer over and over again then that was what he would do.

On one hand Manticore was a tremendous success. For the last several years the X-5 had undertaken numerous missions for the government and had scored a one hundred percent success rate. And they were still so young, all of them. They would only get better with age and experience, he was certain of that. His kids were growing up and at times he could not help but beam with pride (though no one would ever see it through his grim mask).

On the other hand one giant failure still haunted him. The twelve escapees. Ten years had passed since they slipped from his grasp and how many had he managed to recapture? One. Only one. And even that one only because she had been delivered to him by the other escapees in order to save her from the same degenerating syndrome that had brought down several other kids from that first X-5 batch.

He was getting closer, though. During the last year things had started going his way more and more. Some of the X-5 were starting to make mistakes, chief among them X-5 452, the one called Max. And after that debacle just a few weeks ago the other X-5 were all on the run, chased out of their hiding places and looking for shelter. No one could completely cover their tracks while on the run, not even his kids. It was only a matter of time now.

Today he would make a beginning. Less than two days earlier a fresh sighting of Max had been reported to him by his surveillance technicians. It seemed his favorite daughter was growing desperate. While she had been busy in the Seattle region this past year, she seemed to have moved on as well now. She had been spotted during a televised charity gala held by Nabbit Industries in Los Angeles, working as a valet. Running low on cash?

Whatever the case, he had immediately mobilized a capture unit and brought it to Los Angeles. It was time to nab this most rebellious of all X-5 and put her back where she belonged. Breaking her will would not be easy, he knew that, but it could be done. No one was unbreakable. That was one of the first lessons he had taught his kids. Given the right methods everyone could be brought low, made to talk, and reshaped into whatever you wanted them to be.

"We have the information," his second-in-command said, bringing him out of his thoughts. "The valet service for the charity gala was provided by a company called Windham-Price General Service. We have their office address."

"Mobilize the troops, captain."

Fifteen minutes later they were disembarking in front of a simple office building in downtown Los Angeles. Something was bothering Lydecker about the building, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was just that the neighborhood seemed a little bit too seedy for a company that was working for Nabbit Industries. Well, whatever the case, there was little he had to be afraid of. He had enough troops to take down Max and any other X-5 that might be with her. This time she wouldn't escape.

A few hand signals were all it took to divide his troops to cover all the entrances and exits of the building. Moving in, they quickly made their way up to the second floor and stopped in front of a glass door with the company name on it. Lydecker frowned. It almost looked like the name was ... freshly painted?

Alarm sirens were going off inside his head, but it was too late.

All hell broke loose suddenly. Gas grenades exploded all over the staircase, quickly spreading man-made fog into all available room and reducing sight to zero. Without even thinking about it Lydecker slipped on the gas mask that was part of his combat gear, but by the coughs and choking sounds he could hear over his radio it was clear that not all of his people were fast enough. Bodies dropped to the floor as the knockout gas took effect, taking out an estimated quarter of his troops.

"Weapons ready everyone," he yelled to his people. "I want an orderly withdrawal from the building on the double!"

His men complied quickly, but he had the feeling that whoever had set this trap wasn't just going to let them walk out of here. A moment later his fears were vindicated as he heard the tell-tale signs of flesh hitting flesh, followed by screams of pain and more bodies hitting the floor. He saw a shadow move through the man-made fog in front of him, moving much faster than a human being should.

"X-5 sighted," he yelled. "Fire tranquilizers!"

All their weapons expect a few were loaded with knockout bullets, all of them carrying loads strong enough to knock out elephants. His people were all wearing Kevlar, so the risk of being taken out by friendly fire was minimal. He heard multiple guns go off, heard the singing of bullets cutting through the air, but the sounds of combat didn't lessen.

"Lydecker to Team 2," he called for his backup, stationed outside the building. "Give me a report!"

Nothing came back but the crackle of static. Damn it! Whoever was doing this to him had either already taken out his backup or was expertly jamming his radio. Probably both. They needed to get out of here and fast.

"All units, withdraw to the vehicles! I repeat, withdraw to the vehicles!"

There was no answer, either. By now he had almost expected that. Throwing caution to the wind he quickly made his own way down the stairs, almost stumbling several times as he came across unconscious bodies, all of them wearing the black combat gear of his troops. If any of the hostiles had gone down he couldn't see it.

It seemed he had taught his kids too well.

Somehow he made it down to the ground floor and found the exit, the gas clearing as he stepped out onto the street. A grim sight awaited him. The vehicles he and his men had arrived in were still there, but there was no sign of his soldiers. Instead a horde of street kids seemed to have taken over, all of them looking at him while brandishing weapons ranging from baseball bats to submachine guns.

A bald black man, apparently their leader, was leaning against the hood of Lydecker's car and sported a big smile.

"Welcome to the mean streets, Donald! Hope you enjoy your stay!"

Covering his rising fear with the same grim mask that made young recruits cringe in mortal terror he addressed the other. "I don't know who you are, but you have no idea of the trouble you just got yourself into."

"Oh, he has a pretty good idea," a new voice announced. A familiar one.

Turning around, he spotted the object of his hunt. The one who had quite obviously turned the tables on him.

"Max!"

"Our last meeting was cut tragically short," the girl went on, grinning. "I was hoping you could stay a little longer this time around. I wanted you to meet some of my friends."

A large group of people walked out of the building behind her, removing gas masks as they came. At least one of them he recognized: Zack. Self-appointed leader and guardian of the escapees. Had he planned this ambush? Maybe Lydecker had underestimated him.

Some of the newcomers had the right age and looks to be the rest of his kids. Ten of them, to be exact. All the other escapees? All in one spot? What about the others, though? There were half a dozen of them, all females, all of them at least thirty years old.

"It's a family reunion, Donald," Max said cheerfully. "All your kids are home. Plus a few other relatives you might not be familiar with."

One of the older women stepped up beside Max and something about her was eerily familiar to Lydecker. A moment later he remembered. Twenty years ago when he had first taken over command of Manticore he had been shown the original files. They had included a picture of all the genetic donors for the project, including the one whose DNA had made it all possible. A young girl at the time, her name, origin, and everything else about her had been classified.

He remembered the face, though. It was looking at him right now.

"I hear you're the closest thing to a daddy my brat pack here has," the woman said, the smile on her face anything but friendly. "I think we need to work out a few parental issues, you and I. You know, father to mother."

Lydecker was frozen, unable to think of anything to say or do. Another figure walked out of the gas-filled building at that moment, a man in his mid-twenties and dressed all in black. What made him stand out, though, was the fact that he wasn't wearing a gas mask and seemed none the worse for wear for it.

"And just in case we don't manage to arrive at some sort of civil custody agreement," the woman went on as the man walked up to him, "meet the kids' favorite uncle."

The 'uncle' stopped a step away from Lydecker and, despite the youthful face, something about his eyes chilled him to the bone.

"I'm sure the good colonel can be reasoned with," the black-clad man said. "One way or the other."

Before Lydecker had a chance to process that rather ominous statement the man's hand lashed out faster than the eye could follow and the world went black.


TO BE CONTINUED