Author's Note: As I continue to write, I'm thinking this fic will eventually turn M/L. I wanted to write a story that was a solid continuation to the series finale, and I tried to put myself in the mind of Dark Angel's writers. If this was an AU fic, I could probably turn it M/A. But since this isn't an AU fic, I'm following the theory that FOX and DA's writers made Max and Logan ultimately meant for each other. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of M/A (I've written a few M/A fics too), but this just isn't one of them. Sorry.
Just a quick note. From now on, warehouse numbers will be referred to in roman numerals. So when someone says something like "It's in IV," the person's referring to something in warehouse 4 and not that tube they stick in your arm.
Thanks in advance for the reviews, they're always appreciated!
The Gift of Daylight
Chapter 2 : Almost There, Going Nowhere
"Just wait one minute more,
because my heart is halfway torn.
And you're already gone." -- The Starting Line
Location: Clanskanie, Oregon
Time: 7:30 AM PST
Clanskanie was the type of town that was small enough to be peaceful, and large enough so that a newcomer didn't stick out like a sore thumb. The population numbered at about 1500, and the houses were spread far enough apart so that if one didn't want to be seen, one didn't need to be. In other words, it was an ideal place for an amnesiac genetically engineered killing machine in hiding.
Adam Thompson arrived in Clanskanie four—no, five— months, twelve days, and eleven hours to the point from Seattle Hospital after his car accident. Adam tended to be very precise like that, it was a unique trait that everyone who had encountered him, noticed. Over the spread of those five months, Adam had become a well-known hometown hero for performing a string of amazing feats. First, there was the group of five robbers that he dispatched, single-handedly. Then, the drowning kids he found, rescued, and resuscitated without any help. He was the type of guy who would run into a burning building and save someone's cat, as well as someone who would stop to help an old lady across the street. Adam Thompson was seemingly Clanskanie's very own Clark Kent.
It came to no surprise that when Ames White came looking for him, it was as if there was a huge billboard with an arrow pointing to the ranch where Adam lived. The Conclave had assigned White a red, rusted pick-up truck for this mission as opposed to his usual black town car, for obvious reasons. And instead of a black suit, White begrudgingly found himself in a pair of jeans and an ugly blue plaid shirt.
"Don't," he warned his assigned partner, Reeve, with a scowl. The other looked like he was about to burst out laughing at the sight of the outfit.
Reeve was sitting in the passenger seat of the truck, shrugging innocently. "Wasn't going to say anything, boss," he quipped up with a grin. The Conclave sent Reeve along for the ride, probably because White had screwed up enough times to permanently drill doubt into their heads. Reeve was wearing practically the same attire, except with his light beard, he somehow looked much better in the clothes than White— a fact that he was just about to point out, but at the last minute, decided against.
"It's that one," Reeve said, tapping his map before pointing to a modest white house tucked behind a few trees. It looked as normal as normal got, with a white picket fence, a dog running around in the yard, and cultivated farmland that stretched a few miles left and right. The truck kicked up dust as it rumbled down the dirt path leading up to the front of the house.
After a minute's pause, Reeve snapped a magazine into his handgun with a sharp click and holstered it. "Just in case," Reeve spoke up when White raised a brow. Reeve yawned and cracked his knuckles.
"Let me remind you once again, that we are to neutralize the 599 with words only. Possibly a tranquilizer if it comes to that— but we do not have clearance to blow his brains out," White warned. The said tranquilizer gun was pocketed. "Grab the folder in there," he said to Reeve, motioning to the glove compartment.
Reeve complied, and glanced at White, "What are they planning to do with him, anyway? Or rather, what are you planning to do with him?"
"That's none of your concern," he stated crankily.
"All right, all right, be that way. So why'd they send you here? Probation? I'm on it too, you know," Reeve said cheerily, as if being placed on probation was the greatest thing to happen to him.
That seemed to catch White off guard. "For what?" Pause. "And I'm not on probation," he protested defiantly.
Reeve ignored White's last sentence. "Got a little trigger happy during a training session. Accidentally put someone's eye out," he said with a weak grin. "But they can't deny I'm a damn good shot— pow," he made an imaginary gun with his thumb and point finger and pretended to shoot at the dog.
"… Great," said White dully. "And what exactly is your purpose on this mission except being annoying?"
Reeve looked hurt at that question, and if White had a heart, he might've felt a little bit sorry. Too bad. "Well, I'm here to provide the extra muscle just in case things go sideways. Like, you know, your last mission," Reeve just had to sneak in his own little snide remark. I'm useful, I'll show you.
They didn't talk the rest of the way. Once he reached the house, the truck was parked, White killed the engine, and got out of the vehicle. A much larger and malicious looking gun was pulled from under his seat and loaded slowly with bullets the size of his thumb. It was Reeve's turn to raise a brow.
"And what the hell exactly do you need something like that for?" Reeve asked.
The two of them walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. White glanced at Reeve.
"Just in case," he said.
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Location: Terminal City. Beside Warehouse 5, the makeshift storage room.
Time: 8:45 AM PST
"Is she still not talking to me?" Alec asked dully.
"Actually, Wonder boy, she had a few words for you," replied Normal from across him.
"Four letter ones, I'm guessing," said Alec.
"Correction— lots of four letter ones," Normal said cheerily. Ever since he volunteered to drive one of the food trucks into Terminal City and hang around a bit, Normal was strangely chipper. Many wondered why, considering he was in the middle of a toxic dump, amongst a group of genetically altered humans, and temporarily locked behind a military barricade. With Normal, things were always abnormal. "Then again, she's always had a bad attitude, that one," he said knowingly. "Aw, and aren't you the cute one?" No, Normal had not just called Alec cute. He was enthusiastically bouncing Gem's baby on his lap, the baby he had delivered at Jam Pony, the same baby, by the way, he was made godfather of. Normal wore his new title with great pride as he held Hope, as she was eventually named. A great choice, many complimented, since everyone needed it these days.
"Just because she doesn't like chocolate, doesn't mean she should be breathing down my neck," Alec protested with a shrug, dipping his finger into the cake and scooping some into his mouth.
"Of the one hundred and sixty crates of food, fifty of them were chocolate cake. How else did you expect Max to react, Alec?" interjected Logan as he approached the three of them.
"Well, I guess I deserved the verbal slurs. But, the flying chair was uncalled for," he said, looking mock hurt. "Besides, you don't see the little kids complaining."
"That's beside the point," Logan replied, putting an end to a pointless debate.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" asked Alec.
"Max wants to know how you're holding up, Normal," Logan replied, glancing at the aforementioned.
"Does she now?" he looked up from Hope and shrugged. "Well, I'm feeling great. This place smells a little funny though. But I haven't transformed into a mutant green creature yet so I'll be fine."
"All the better," replied Logan with a shrug. He turned to say something to Alec before Normal continued on.
"—Which is more than I can say for Max and her two partners in crime," he meant Sketchy and O.C. "A week's leave without notice? Incredible. Tell them they've lost their jobs," he said dismissively, in usual, cranky, Normal fashion. Then went back to playing with Hope.
"Honestly, I think that's the least of Max's worries right now," said Logan, before turning his attention to Alec. "There's a meeting in VII in about fifteen minutes. Clemente says that military's getting impatient and the government's pressuring them to move in soon."
"They wouldn't. That would be a slaughter," Alec replied nonchalantly. He then added, "because they have no chance against us with that small task force."
"You wanna bet there are tanks and helicopters on the way?" Logan asked gravely.
"Not unless I wanted to lose," Alec replied thoughtfully. "So what's your next move, exactly?"
"Our next move," Logan corrected, "won't be made yet. Believe or not, we made a huge move by not moving at all. Standing our ground speaks volumes about transgenics. It's their turn now, they have a chance to make peace."
"But that's not to say that a bunch of people won't still die horrible and painful deaths," Alec added in sarcastically.
Normal twitched.
"Always the optimist," Logan said with a sigh.
"I prefer 'realist," Alec corrected. "Thanks for the meeting notice. Normal, we'll see you in a few." He got to his feet and dusted his jeans.
Normal nodded dismissively and went back to playing with Hope. He seemed more interested in her than the news that he might die potentially a potentially bloody death.
Alec finished the last of his cake and licked his fingers clean. He started for VII slowly, waiting for Logan to hurry up. After a few seconds, he turned around to see him disappearing into warehouse 5. "'Ey, where you going?" he shouted, to which he got no response. Alec mumbled something probably vulgar, and started back to the warehouse. By then, Logan had already exited with a big bag of something.
"What's that?" Alec asked curiously.
"What else? Chocolate cake. Let's go, Max is waiting."
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Location: Clanskanie, Oregon
Time: 12:11 PM PST
It was four hours since Adam Thompson had been invited out of his home to talk at a diner with two men he swore he had never seen in his life before, two hours since they had finished explaining to him his intricate and amazing history, thirty minutes since he stopped asking questions, and a few seconds since he stopped talking altogether. It all seemed like a bad dream, one that he couldn't wake up from. Or maybe, one that he didn't want to wake up from. It didn't feel real— but in a strange way and unexplainable way— it felt right. Maybe it was the time he discovered he could hold his breath for four minutes, or the time he caught up to Buddy's truck when it was running at full speed. Either way, he came to the painful realization that he wasn't normal. Nor would he ever be.
Some of the history, as it was explained to him, felt like someone shedding a bright light on dim areas of his memory. But some parts that were explained seemed like new pieces added altogether. Regardless, the man in blue and the man with the beard had told him the truth. Something Buddy had failed to do all this time. Zack was rather bitter about that fact, he felt betrayed to a certain extent but got over the feeling fairly quickly. White had told him that the Conclave had send him to live with Buddy for his own protection. Something Zack expressed his gratitude over and over about during the course of their conversation.
As far as Zack was concerned, after escaping Manticore and striving to protect his siblings, he was deceived by X5-452 and tricked into believing she loved him. 452's deceptive ways led him to a failed infiltration of Manticore (failed in some ways, successful in others) where he was shot in the head, had his heart removed, and his organs harvested. 452's wrongdoings also led to his eventual memory lapse and brush with death when she struck a puddle of water he was standing in with a detached (and very much alive) power cable. All of this done to protect the real love of her life, Eyes Only. That name had struck a chord in the weary young man, and it summoned a restrained anger inside of him that he never knew was there in the first place. 452's motives were to steal the Manticore files and disks, destroy all previous experiments via cauterization, and sell the remaining information for millions of dollars to sellers in South Africa. The Conclave was an underground organization of mistreated transgenics who strived to fight against 452's private army of miscreants. Her band of transgenic rebels, known infamously now as "Freak Nation," was eventually cornered in Terminal City, Washington where they still were living to this day. Zack didn't need White to tell him this, it was on newspapers and TV stations everywhere. All in all, Zack took the huge chunk of information he was given much better than anyone could ever hope to imagine. Strangely enough, as confusing as things were right now, everything was beginning to make more sense than ever before.
"And your names are what again?" he asked a silent White, for perhaps, the fifth time. He was relieved that the loud jukebox in the corner of the diner was drowning out most of their conversation so that hardly any of it was hearable. But even so, Zack couldn't help but look over his shoulder from time to time. He noticed the suspicious group of five members at the opposite end of the restaurant stealing glances at him and his party. Maybe his mind was just making things up, but he swore that one of the faces looked very familiar.
"Ames White," White replied smoothly and patiently, catching Zack's wandering attention. White contemplated lying about his own name, but what was the use when Zack didn't know who he was to begin with? Besides, if White lied and by chance, Zack found out, trust would be lost and the plan would go horribly wrong horribly quickly.
"You?" Zack glanced at Reeve, who was busying himself with his cheeseburger and coke.
"Jack," he replied with a grin.
"Jack what?" asked Zack, completely oblivious to the upcoming bad joke.
"Jack M. Off-- ow," Reeve cringed as something hard slammed into his toe. "Okay okay, fine. It's Reeve Tanner. I was just kidding, doesn't anyone here have a sense of humor in this place? The cows are funnier than the people," he muttered, falling silent again as he continued eating.
Zack grinned into his orange juice, he found this Reeve man very likable.
White stored his scathing look for another time and took a sip of his root beer. "The Conclave's worried sick about this situation, and has requested your assistance in the matter."
Zack's grin disappeared from his face. "I've thought about what you've told me, and I'm grateful that you even bothered," he paused tensely, "but ... I don't want to be apart of this little war." He avoided both of the mens' eyes, it wasn't like Zack to disappoint anyone. "I figure that it's not any of my business, and whatever wrong 452 has done to me," he paused once more, this time the look on his face was undeniably furious. He clenched his teeth and gripped the cup of orange juice so tightly, that it cracked, "I ..." forgive her? No, some scars never go away, "don't want to open old wounds," he finished finally, heaving a sigh. Zack took the napkin that Reeve offered to wipe his fingers clean of the liquid.
"Think about the people she's murdered, the ones who were left to burn alive in Manticore's cells, your siblings ... you," White protested earnestly. He didn't want to come off as pushy, that was the last thing he wanted to do.
"So ... you guys find a way to get to her, I'm happy where I am," that was an outright lie, really. Rural life was too boring for Zack, and now that he knew his capabilities and history, it seemed duller than ever.
"And what about your brother Ben?" he opened the Manila folder again and tapped the gruesome picture. "Snapped his neck."
Zack fell silent.
"If Freak Nation succeeds, no one and nothing will be safe. This will no longer be safe," he waved his hand around the diner and outside towards the trees, the grass, the houses, the people, etc. "It hasn't been confirmed, but we have reason to believe that 452's developing biochemical weapons specifically targeted to normal human beings. We need you Zack, to lead the task force we've prepared to permanently neutralize 452. We need your leadership skills, tactical knowledge, and so on."
"Now the virus thing I don't believe," Zack said. "And what tactical knowledge are you talking about?"
"You don't? Do you even know the people she's working with?" White questioned, ignoring the second question.
"No, but I have a feeling I'm not going to care," he retorted.
"I beg to differ," replied White. "Him," he pulled out a colored snapshot of Eyes Only. It was, literally a picture of eyes— only. But eyes that Zack instantly recognized. "Do you know who this is?" White asked slowly as he dangled the picture in front of the X5.
While sipping on his drink, Reeve observed silently the startling reaction that came from Zack.
The photograph triggered something in Zack which made him sit eerily still. His jaw tightened and his muscles tensed considerably, his eyes were set solidly on the picture. "Eyes Only," he replied coarsely, reaching out to snatch the picture out of White's hand. "But ... but I don't get it, why would she set loose a virus targeted to humans only?"
Ooh, and Reeve knew the answer to this lie because it had everything to do with the Conclave's true intentions. He interrupted White, "Why else do you think? Genetic purification."
White nodded in agreement.
"Look, I'm not going," Zack repeated firmly. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to see this 452 girl again, I don't want to save the world, and I don't want any of this to happen. I didn't ask for this to happen."
"We know this must be difficult to swallow," Reeve piped up sympathetically. Or maybe he was acting. Either way, his words and attitude appealed more to Zack than White's. "And it's probably unfair to unload all this crap on your feet when you thought you left it all behind. But what does your mind tell you?"
"I see pictures and faces ... sometimes fragments of conversations." Zack said wearily.
"Do they coincide with what we've told you so far?" Reeve asked.
"Well..." minus a few things that Zack had no memory of, for the most part, it seemed to be all true. "Yeah, they do, Reeve."
"Then come with us to Seattle. You don't need to do anything you don't want to. We'll give you more answers to questions we know you have. I think showing is better than telling."
White, who was currently impressed with Reeve's attitude, finally realized why the Conclave had assigned him on this mission. White was tactical, and Reeve was social. It all made sense now.
Zack fell silent again, rubbing the back of his neck and breathing slowly. There were a million things running through his mind, things that would surely be sorted out by the time they arrived to Seattle, right? Well ... maybe, maybe not. "I'm in," he finally said.
Reeve simply nodded enthusiastically, he really liked this Zack guy and got along with him just fine. "Awesome," he commented, to which Zack smiled weakly in response.
"When do we leave?" asked Zack finally.
White drank some of his root beer to mask his smirk. After finishing the last of his drink, he pulled out his wallet. "Right away, time's short." White got to his feet and dropped a few dollar bills on the table.
"What do I tell Buddy and Mary?" Zack asked.
"We left them a note when we left for the diner," White replied, "they know you'll be back."
"I don't think 'be right back --Adam' covers 'Hey, I'm off to save the world from a deadly plague set loose by a rogue group of mutants.'" Zack pointed out.
"Aha, does this mean the Conclave finally has a tactical leader for its task force?" Reeve questioned hopefully.
Zack shrugged with a smirk.
"The less they know, the better," White said gravely.
Zack gave this some thought and finally nodded. "All right. But tell me we're not driving to Seattle in that piece of junk," Zack motioned to the rusty truck.
"What's wrong with the truck?" White asked, sounding offended.
"It barely got us to this diner," Reeve spoke up in agreement to Zack, wiping his mouth with a napkin soon after.
"We're taking the truck," White said with a note of finality in his tone. "And you're driving, so go warm up the engine," he tossed the keys at Zack, who easily caught and looked at them. White stared at Zack, wondering what was so fascinating with a few car keys. "You do remember how to start a car, right?"
"Yeah, and I can drive it in heavy snow at 90 miles per hour while dodging enemy fire," Zack repeated automatically, as if someone else had said the words. Strange. He blinked, then exited the diner.
"Good enough for me," Reeve shrugged and followed after Zack.
"Hold up," White stopped him before he reached the door. He glanced behind his shoulders quickly to make sure no one was listening in. He didn't like the look of that shady group of five in the diner's far left corner.
Reeve paused in step and turned around. "What?"
"The Conclave has found a new use for you on this assignment, Tanner."
Reeve seemed to perk up at the sound of this. "Is that so? Go on, what is it?
"You're to be 599's watcher from now on. Mentor him in our ways, feed up propaganda when needed, but above all— keep him alive throughout this mission."
For the first time since the two met up, Reeve lost his goofy shell and straightened up. He seemed to take the order very seriously. "I won't let the Conclave down," besides, Reeve was really found of Zack and the both of them shared the same kind of humor. This wouldn't seem like work at all. "Is that it?"
"His memory might come back quicker if he sleeps. We'll let him drive for a few miles, then alternate. Answer all the questions he asks about his past honestly, information involving 452, Freak Nation, Eyes Only, and The Conclave will be filtered with our propaganda as usual. Seattle's, what, 11 hours away? By the time we're there, I'm positive he'll be completely turned. And yeah, that's it. Dismissed."
Reeve nodded and exited the diner with a much more cheerful attitude than the one he entered with.
White nodded to the waitress and spared one last quick glance around the diner before exiting. He noticed that the suspicious group in the corner had disappeared. Well good. Anyway, he got into the truck with Zack and Reeve (who was singing along to really bad country songs on the radio) and together, they sped off towards Seattle. Despite his previous irritation with everything, White couldn't help but grin right now. 452's days were numbered.
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Location: Clanskanie, Oregon
Time: 1:30 PM PST
The black SUV hummed softly in the diner's parking lot. The red, rusty pick-up had left no more than fifteen minutes ago and was already out of sight. "All right, that's enough of a head start for them. Drive," a strained voice commanded from the back.
The blonde woman in the driver's seat begrudgingly replied by shifting gears and driving in pursuit of the truck. The other three sat silently in their seats, obviously disturbed at what they had just witnessed inside the diner.
The man in the back pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed a certain number. "Pick it up, come on, pick it up ... oh damn," he grumbled as he got the voice message instead of the actual person he eagerly wanted to talk to. "Long time no talk. All right, I'll make this short until we get a chance to talk. I'm alive. Anyway, I'm sure she doesn't need more chaos at the moment, so don't tell her about this. Tell a few people around her that White's on his way back to Seattle ... with Zack. Long story, I'll explain later.
"And if you're still wondering. Yeah, this really is Lydecker."
He hung up.
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A/N: I'm introducing a lot of my old favorite characters back into the story via this fic. It should make things busy and exciting, I'm buzzing with a lot of ideas right now. It'll all clear up and come together at the end, I promise. Review please.