James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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Reopening Old Wounds

After more than twelve hours of walking aimlessly through Seattle, Alec realized that he had once again reached his apartment building. He considered turning away just as he had the last time. And the time before that. The fact that he hadn't gotten any assignments for the month the previous morning – while unprecedented and financially unfortunate – had allowed him an extra day to decide what he was going to do about his dilemma. This is crazy, he told himself, wondering what the hell he was thinking. What Keri had told him was true – he couldn't afford to keep her in his life at all if he was concerned about her safety. Being a contract killer in the middle of a city, surrounded by potential enemies, was far less than safe. He had resolved just to slip out and disappear the next time she went shopping when a new thought occurred to him – he would inevitably go somewhere else and put himself in the same situation all over again. Sure, he might succeed in keeping any and all interpersonal interactions safely at arm's length, thus avoiding romantic entanglements, but he would once again be a contract killer in the middle of a city, surrounded by potential enemies. The life isn't just unsafe for Keri – it's also unsafe for me. He had been unable to avoid the obvious conclusion that he had deliberately put himself in such a risky position because he wanted the danger. There was simply no other explanation.

He then began to wonder why he wanted to put himself in that situation. Why would someone put himself in a position that would inevitably get him killed sooner than he'd like? The only answer he could produce was that on some level, it wasn't sooner than he'd like. He took a step back and examined everything in his life, from his career, to his drinking, to the seedy neighborhood he'd chosen as his home. He was daring the world to kill him, and the whole time secretly hoping the world would succeed. It was an uncomfortable epiphany.

But why would I want to die? he'd asked himself. Especially now, when I'm so happy? That was the question that had brought enlightenment. He remembered his early days at Manticore, when Lydecker had them run an experiment. They'd placed a frog in a shallow pan of water, the edge of the pan and the water level both low enough to allow the frog to jump out at any time. They then raised the temperature of the pan extremely slowly – one degree every half hour. The frog adapted to the increase, never realizing that its environment was getting dangerous. In the end, all of the frogs died – cooked in the water – because they had grown so used to adapting to the gradual, almost imperceptible changes that they overlooked taking the comparatively drastic step of just jumping out of the water. Alec realized that he was the frog.

I didn't put myself into this position because I've been subconsciously looking for a way to get myself killed, he realized. I put myself in this position because I've spent years adapting to the immediate situation without ever looking at the wider picture. Ever since leaving Manticore, he had made slight changes, one after the other, each of them allowing him to adapt to the current dangers even as he became more threatened by his surroundings. It was inevitable that at some point he would reach the threshold where he realized further changes were impossible, that he had run out of options and there was no escape. I'm jumping out of the pan of water, he told himself. I'm giving up my job – it's not like I need more money, anyway – and I'm leaving Seattle. I'll move east, maybe to Vermont or Maine. Somewhere with lots of clean air, wide-open spaces, and very, very few people. And I'm taking Keri with me. He couldn't help but grin. I can't believe I'm doing this…

A tingle ran up Alec's spine as he entered his building, replacing his giddy, adolescent joy of life with wary anxiety. Something was wrong – he knew it in his gut the way a field mouse feels the shadow of a watching owl. It was instinctual, and years of experience had taught him to listen to his instincts at all times. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

The stairs creaked softly under his feet, just as they always did; the light on the second floor landing flickered in the same way; a cool, summer night's breeze still wafted in through the space between the boards covering the shattered window at the end of the second-floor hallway. So many things seemed the same that, at first, Alec had trouble identifying anything identifiably wrong. As much as he trusted his instincts, there was still an overly rational part of his mind that demanded objective evidence for his hunches.

It's quiet, he warned himself. Too quiet. He checked his watch – 23:30. By this time of the night the Robertsons were usually going at it like cats and dogs. Bill would be home late again, and Sally would be convinced (rightly, Alec knew) that her drunken husband was carrying on an affair. But there wasn't so much as a muttered complaint coming from apartment 203. And it's a Thursday night. Those goddamn college students in 307 should be raising a hell of a racket. But they're not…

Alec's breathing shallowed out as he climbed the staircase to the third floor, realizing that he couldn't hear a single conversation coming from any of his neighbors. Sidling up against the wall, he crept down the hallway toward the last door on the left – his apartment. He was still a dozen feet away when he realized the door was open a crack, though there weren't any lights on.

That enough objective evidence? he asked the logical side of his mind as he pulled a Sig-Sauer 10mm from the holster at the small of his back. He moved painfully slowly, managing to avoid making the slightest noise as he snuck over the rickety, timeworn wooden floors. He crouched low as he reached his door, and softly pushed it in on its hinges.

"Oh my God," he muttered. "Keri."

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"Max, you really shouldn't leave your door open like that," Alec called out, pushing the slightly ajar door fully open. He wasn't even aware of the gasp that escaped his lips as he took in the carnage before him.

His sense of smell was assaulted by the pungent, coppery scent of fresh blood, though he didn't need his nose to tell him what his eyes could fully see. Shortly before the escape from Manticore, Alec overheard one of the other X5s reporting on the results of a strike, describing the scene as a slaughterhouse. Alec remembered thinking the other X5 to be engaging in some drastic hyperbole, trying to play up his success for Lydecker. He'd never believed – or been able to imagine – how a hit on a single individual could make a home look like a slaughterhouse. Now he knew.

Blood literally drenched the living room, and Alec could only guess at how so much space could have been doused by the blood from only one individual. Splatter covered the walls, with grey tissue adhered – as if by glue – to one particularly large, bright scarlet stain on the window frame.

Max's scent permeated the metallic odor of the blood, clouding Alec's reason and bringing tears to his eyes, obscuring his vision. He staggered through the apartment, trying to find her, hoping that despite all evidence to the contrary she would be okay, maybe hiding in a closet after fighting off her attackers. The truth slammed home as soon as he entered the bedroom. Her body was laid out on the bed, stripped and eviscerated. Her hands were resting on her throat, sickeningly peacefully now, though Alec could only assume that their position indicated that Max had died trying to free herself from the section of intestine that was used to strangle the final breaths from her body.

Max's mouth remained open in a silent death wail, but her eyes, gouged out and filled with viscous pools of blood, were hideously vacant. Alec had no idea how long he stood there staring, but he was aware that at some point his eyes began to drift over the rest of his friend's corpse, and he noticed that her left index finger was missing. Just like… he realized, knowing that this scene was his fault. How could I have been so careless? How could I have left the job only half-done, knowing that something like this could happen?

Alec had no memory of what he did next. He was vaguely aware that he screamed, but he had no idea how loudly or for how long. The next thing he knew, it was three days later when he woke up in the hold of a tugboat tied up at the docks – three days after their war against the Familiars was over; three days after Max was killed in the very first moment she was away from her guards. Only one thought existed in his mind – one obsessive desire that blocked out everything else.

"Vengeance," Alec muttered, his voice so consumed with fury that it sounded hollow. He turned his eyes away from the all-too-familiar bloodbath and focused his thoughts and his rage inward. "Whoever did this is a dead man." And it'll take a long, long time for it to happen. There are no words to describe the suffering that I'm going to inflict.

To be continued……………………………………