Part Eight
Hell's Angels
Alec was raging inside as he ducked between the wet metal shadows of the parking lot, waiting. On his left, the half broken neon sign of the Raven seemed to mock him, calling out to him with its dark warmth. It seemed to him as if sharp icicles were merrily rushing to nose-dive over his location, but he had to huddle behind smelly old crocks, for he, X5-494, had been assigned on a rescue mission. He swore, feeling like kicking some of the vehicles around, but refrained, for fear they'd crackle and crock up, attracting too much attention.
Just like Max to take it out on him. He had been afraid of it, but thought that his help now would make up for all the times he had deliberately or not interfered between her and Logan. He still believed he could have been able to talk some sense into her, but that had been before Cindy's arrival. The few minutes they had before Max had called, were used to talk things over and plan how to help her.
What Cindy finally brought herself to confess, hit him like a ton of bricks and also severely limited his options. That explained everything: Logan's grumpiness and more than distant attitude, the swiftness with which he and Max had broken up, everything. At first, he had felt incredible anger at the guts Max had to draw him into her sorry excuse for a relationship - or break-up for that matter - with Logan. Those two never seemed to be able to do it right. Even if he liked her that was no reason to let himself be used as a pawn for her to get rid of wonderboy. Hell, he was angry right now, furious and the icy drizzle did nothing to calm him down.
But he could not let that anger out tonight. He had screwed up royally. Again. He hadn't actually intended it when he just went along with Max' lie, but who cared, she still blamed him somehow, even if she never said so. If Manticore had ever bothered to issue indications of usage for its X5 soldier series, Alec was sure there would be one mentioning: "X5-494, to be used for hopeless missions, bringing in corpses or terminally ill subjects, retrieval of items lost in battle and laying blame in case of exposure."
But there was one thing Alec had to thank Manticore for: his perky attittude. It had saved him from many hopeless situations and right now it let him take a glimpse at what he imagined as X5-452's indications of usage: test subject for psychological warfare, kills every person she comes close to. It reminded Alec that he owed Max and would have to tread very carefully with her. Just like he had to tread carefully now, waiting for the right moment to jump the scruffy bum three times his size, happy to take it all out on him. Darn, now there were two of them. Well, the more the merrier.
*
Let the worm twitch in the rain a few minutes more! Serves him right. Carl's best chum and occasional dealer, Frank, sure as hell didn't own a watch. Why would he? Living on the road off clever deals like this one would require nothing more than he already had: six foot in height and lots of muscle mass, in fact, just mass would do, too. Sure enough, he emerged from the Raven to meet Carl. After all he might not care about Carl, but the goods might get wet and he was planning on having fun tonight.
"Where is it? I hope it ain't rotting in the rain like you?"
"Money first, goods later."
"It's in here," Frank vaguely pointed to his large belly pouch. "Is it hot? Where did you swipe it from anyway?"
"It's not, some cops grabbed it today and needed cash for it."
"Lemme see."
As Carl finally deigned to show his mate the shabby barn where he had hidden the precious goods, he could have sworn he saw something brushing past him. But he never could find out what actually happened. When he awoke in the morning next to his pal, both of them with a monster headache and the clothes almost rotten from the heavy Seattle rain that had poured over them that night - the wonderful bike he had swiped was gone.
Alec was raging inside as he ducked between the wet metal shadows of the parking lot, waiting. On his left, the half broken neon sign of the Raven seemed to mock him, calling out to him with its dark warmth. It seemed to him as if sharp icicles were merrily rushing to nose-dive over his location, but he had to huddle behind smelly old crocks, for he, X5-494, had been assigned on a rescue mission. He swore, feeling like kicking some of the vehicles around, but refrained, for fear they'd crackle and crock up, attracting too much attention.
Just like Max to take it out on him. He had been afraid of it, but thought that his help now would make up for all the times he had deliberately or not interfered between her and Logan. He still believed he could have been able to talk some sense into her, but that had been before Cindy's arrival. The few minutes they had before Max had called, were used to talk things over and plan how to help her.
What Cindy finally brought herself to confess, hit him like a ton of bricks and also severely limited his options. That explained everything: Logan's grumpiness and more than distant attitude, the swiftness with which he and Max had broken up, everything. At first, he had felt incredible anger at the guts Max had to draw him into her sorry excuse for a relationship - or break-up for that matter - with Logan. Those two never seemed to be able to do it right. Even if he liked her that was no reason to let himself be used as a pawn for her to get rid of wonderboy. Hell, he was angry right now, furious and the icy drizzle did nothing to calm him down.
But he could not let that anger out tonight. He had screwed up royally. Again. He hadn't actually intended it when he just went along with Max' lie, but who cared, she still blamed him somehow, even if she never said so. If Manticore had ever bothered to issue indications of usage for its X5 soldier series, Alec was sure there would be one mentioning: "X5-494, to be used for hopeless missions, bringing in corpses or terminally ill subjects, retrieval of items lost in battle and laying blame in case of exposure."
But there was one thing Alec had to thank Manticore for: his perky attittude. It had saved him from many hopeless situations and right now it let him take a glimpse at what he imagined as X5-452's indications of usage: test subject for psychological warfare, kills every person she comes close to. It reminded Alec that he owed Max and would have to tread very carefully with her. Just like he had to tread carefully now, waiting for the right moment to jump the scruffy bum three times his size, happy to take it all out on him. Darn, now there were two of them. Well, the more the merrier.
*
Let the worm twitch in the rain a few minutes more! Serves him right. Carl's best chum and occasional dealer, Frank, sure as hell didn't own a watch. Why would he? Living on the road off clever deals like this one would require nothing more than he already had: six foot in height and lots of muscle mass, in fact, just mass would do, too. Sure enough, he emerged from the Raven to meet Carl. After all he might not care about Carl, but the goods might get wet and he was planning on having fun tonight.
"Where is it? I hope it ain't rotting in the rain like you?"
"Money first, goods later."
"It's in here," Frank vaguely pointed to his large belly pouch. "Is it hot? Where did you swipe it from anyway?"
"It's not, some cops grabbed it today and needed cash for it."
"Lemme see."
As Carl finally deigned to show his mate the shabby barn where he had hidden the precious goods, he could have sworn he saw something brushing past him. But he never could find out what actually happened. When he awoke in the morning next to his pal, both of them with a monster headache and the clothes almost rotten from the heavy Seattle rain that had poured over them that night - the wonderful bike he had swiped was gone.
