Disclaimer: Dark Angel belongs to its respective creators/owners. Not me.

Author's Note: I am SO incredibly sorry for posting this practically a MONTH after the first chapter! I've been a REALLY bad girl… -_-; However, this one's roughly three pages longer than the first, as well, so hopefully this makes up for it. It doesn't have the quality of my usual, regularly edited works, so if you find ANYTHING out of order, anything that you'd personally change, I'll see if it a) was intentional or b) needs to be changed. ^_^

Thanks goes out to, first and foremost, my lovely beta-reader, Sancho, who also writes Dark Angel fanfic (and which I suggest you check out and leave a wonderful review ^_~), and he's also conveniently located on FFN, as well. Do an author search. ^__^

Also, to my WONDERFUL reviewers! Your suggestions, followed-up emails, and most importantly GREAT ideas all combined to give me my Ultimate Plot Twist™ that was starting to be employed in this, Chapter Two. Oh, and BTW, this chapter's mostly in the POV of Logan. Enjoy! This chapter is dedicated to all who reviewed Chapter One! ^_____^ You guys rock!

Chapter Two

Portland, Oregon

The escaped X-5s found out about the Pulse differently, because they weren't all located in the big cities. Some ended up in orphanages, while others ended up in foster homes. A few of them decided they'd chance it out in the open, in the streets with the other homeless, and even less weren't even in the country, having escaped to Canada or Mexico.

Logan was one of what he considered being the unlucky ones: he ended up in an orphanage. Granted, it was one of the cleaner ones, but it still reminded him of Manticore. They were all up earlier than necessary and allowed only a meager amount of hours to sleep, they had grueling chores, they ate food not fit for rats, and they were forced outside once a day despite the weather. To him, the amount of sleep and condition of the food were the drawbacks from being free. Yes, he was out of Manticore, but… it just wasn't what he expected. It was as of yet too easy to shift back to memories, those haunted, hated memories of his creation place as he walked the halls and corridors of where he resided now.

He discovered the Pulse and its effects the day after it hit, when his chore of sifting through the new parent applications on-line didn't work. The computer didn't work, actually. Neither did the electricity, heating, or water, since they were all run by computer electronics.

"So, um, what do you want me to do now, ma'am?" he asked in his forced little kid voice.

The owner and operator of Portland Orphanage was a pretty redhead who had quite unpredictable mood swings when stressed passed her very minute limits. Sometimes they caused her to make her kids do menial tasks that weren't fit for little kids to do. This was one of those times. She had started yelling at any of the kids who'd gotten underfoot that morning, a clear sign for the rest to stay out of the way. When he approached with what could be mistaken as an offer to do anything, she immediately read it as thus and growled at him, having found her next 'willing' victim.

"Logan, get the kids outside and start chopping wood. I knew we'd need that wood this winter – why didn't I follow my instincts?" she moaned, throwing her hands up in the air helplessly. "It's all your fault!" She glared at him, her accusation of course false, being derived from her mental chemical imbalance. She paused for a moment, then tilted her head in a pondering fashion before smiling oily at him. "On second thought," she almost purred, "YOU go out there by yourself and chop enough wood to heat the entire building for the rest of the week!" See THAT be interesting, rascal!

Whenever she'd assigned him something to do that would have stirred the 'curiosity' – more like fear of getting a beating - of a normal kid his age for a few hours, he just said nothing and did it resignedly. And then he asked if there was anything else that he could do, to 'please' the madam. Well! Chopping that much wood should make him be a bit more involved with what he was doing! she thought smugly. He was too agreeable.

In fact, she was so smug that she missed the rolling of eyes coming from Logan's direction. That has the same amount of mental and physical stimulation in it as reading a romance novel, he thought to himself contemptuously as he walked outside to the woods with the axe. He knew, however, that he had to start toning down what others could call eagerness a little bit, so that he wouldn't be suspected too much. So he began chopping wood while reviewing military intelligence equations and torture tactics in his head. He figured that he would need the ability to determine such things once he got out in the world and met his siblings again, especially if they were to take Manticore down once and for all.

That was his mission to accomplish in the future, and he assumed that was what was on his brothers' and sisters' minds, as well. He would take point in the operation that would destroy their 'birth place.' Kelly would be right behind him, with Bryhan and the others waiting for the signal to attack. If he'd been an expressive person he would have grinned at the following thought. They had escaped the life of a soldier, but ironically they'd become one anyway to accomplish their duty to those that were unable to fight by their side ever again.

Pointless tasks that the 'headmistress' assigned him gave him time to continue his exercises that he'd gotten in Wyoming. He always finished his responsibilities to the orphanage early, which allowed him to do some of his more physical lessons, though this new one, chopping wood, might help him keep his back and arms in shape, he speculated. He went for an all-out run around the property for thirty minutes before heading towards his secret place. He'd found it one day while on his self-imposed break. It had everything that he'd need to practice his obstacles; a few pines here and there, a stream, a few boulders in the vicinity… All it needed was a sparring partner and it'd be just like the outdoor training areas back in Wyoming.

He slipped into his fighting stance and went through all of the motions he'd learned at Manticore three times in a row. Each time he practiced, he'd change the pattern of his moves, keeping both his logical reasoning and ability to use the moves differently from the textbook sharp. He only did this away from prying eyes. Only the woodland creatures frequented the area. He'd left no path showing he'd been there, taking a different route each time.

By the time he finished stacking the wood and got back into the house, night had fallen and everyone was preparing for supper. The mistress had expected to have to go and get him, but he was already there, perfectly fine and finished with his task. At least, he didn't look as if he hadn't done anything. He was sweating just the right amount for a kid who'd chopped wood like a machine all day.

Mood swings reigned as guilt raised its ugly head in her eyes when she looked down at the kid who had done so much by himself in the short time he'd been here. She shouldn't have made him do that, she thought in retrospect. It was a little too late now, though. It was done.

So instead, she looked upon him in kindness, smiling as she said, "Thank you, Logan. No one else here could have done what you did without several days' worth of chopping, along with help from others. I'm sorry for making you do that by yourself. If it's any consolation, you may have extra helpings of supper tonight…"

Logan mentally sighed, but his outward appearance showed nothing. He knew that she was attempting to be nice to him, but he still didn't know how to deal with it just yet. He shrugged and responded in what he hoped would be the appropriate thing to say: "Whatever."

The redhead just laughed, having expected that reaction. She shook her head, grinning. "Okay then. It's off to supper! Your customary large glass of milk, Logan?"

He nodded and followed her into the dining hall, already filled with the other kids in the orphanage. He filled his bowl with soup to the rim, his ability to balance anything coming to the fore as he went back to his seat, not spilling a drop. He did it unconsciously, not noticing the awe-filled stares from the other kids as he sat down at his customary place at the table. He was lost in thought, remembering the times he and his siblings played games, like when they filled their bowls with their tasteless soup-like mush, packed with nutrients that "did a body good," and raced back to their seats. The one who spilled the least got out of clean-up duty.

The memories that followed the innocent one of his food hit him like a ton of bricks that fell off an unseen cliff. It came suddenly, and without warning: they had hit him so hard, in fact, that he didn't even realize he'd collapsed in a heap in the middle of the orphanage's supper time, face in his perfectly-dished soup, seizing violently. He didn't hear the cries of the mistress for someone to get a doctor, nor the hands that latched onto him minutes later, lifting him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The only thing that he could utter before he was lost to his memories was, "Tryptophan…"

FLASH! Getting caught on camera, quickly followed by Lydecker stopping them in the halls. Fear of discovery, masked by determination. Remembering his responsibility towards his friends, his siblings, as one gets tazed in from of them and shot with a sedative dart. Deadly determination.

FLASH! RUN! Launched out of a window, going point, leading them to safety. Rain pelts painfully from above, the night sky illuminated by lightning as he dove for cover in the trees. Sounds of others joining him, hiding from their pursuants. Branches smacking him, getting one in the gut. No sound of pain, just pushing on.

FLASH! Marea shot down from behind. FLASH! Faedra getting tazed by several before finally collapsing in a boneless heap. FLASH! The fresh scent of blood filling his nostrils, combining with the newly torn pine and exhaust from ATVs.

FLASH! Gunshots. Hector falling in front of him at the Wyoming state border. Blood on someone's hands – my hands. Cold realization: Hector's dead.

FLASH! Running, always running…

When Logan awoke from his tryptophan-lacking seizure of the brain, he found himself in what he'd been taught to recognize as a standard-issue hospital bed. That's what it felt like. He kept his eyes closed as he used his other senses to determine if there were any immediate threats and if there was any way to escape further identifying tests they might be able to run.

What he did sense was another person in the room to his far left. He could hear the heartbeat, smell something akin to perfume. From the fainter sounds beyond the assumed female in the room, he could tell the as-of-now enemy was located next to his only route of convenient escape. He could also hear that there was traffic coming from towards his feet. There, he assumed, was the window.

His Manticore training, having gripped him ever since he had escaped, did not dare to lessen. With haste, he reviewed any and all ways to get around the enemy and out of the hospital unnoticed. He took into account the unknown floor plan, the enemy's probably defense tactics – and whether or not she was Manticore; the standard number of armed guards (which he figured would be increased or doubled because of his presence); how high his room was located; and last but definitely not least his physical capability. He'd just come out of a seizure, which left him shaky and vulnerable, as well as hooked up to an IV while it dripped tryptophan into his veins.

He couldn't do anything effectively to aid in plan A.

This meant he would revert to Manticore standard plan B. So, he would wait, silently and supposedly compliant, unless further help or information arrived, or plan A could be successfully carried out.

Having decided thus, he opened his eyes.

His assumed female enemy guard, waiting by the door, was in reality the mistress from the orphanage - Maybel Finnigan. He still knew that she was a possible threat, but he was reassured anyway. She posed absolutely no physical harm to him, as she wasn't packing. The only thing he had to worry about was who'd she'd alerted to his presence.

"I'm glad you're up," she smiled, getting up. She positioned the chair so that she sat right next to him. Brushing his damp, limpid hair off of his forehead, Maybel continued innocently, "We were worried that maybe, what you said last about tryptophan, was all a hoax; a random word made out of similarly random sounds. Dr. Janson and I have had quite a time with it. Do you know you were out for almost a complete day?"

She continued to ramble on in the usual people who are reacting to severe relief, as Logan was also taught to recognize. She was completely ignored as soon as she said the word doctor. He had to talk to the physician who'd treated him, and quickly.

Screw Manticore standard B, he thought in a fit of rebellion. I'm not there anymore; why am I still following the rules? Ignoring whatever protests the redhead or his body made, he sat up, noticing he was on the third story. High-impact landing, but small possibility of the injuries being serious. It would be his last resort.

He turned to the other in the room. He was still shaky - they weren't allowing enough liquid tryptophan through the IV at once, which showed that they didn't know too much about him - but he was able to summon up enough energy to ask with military precision; "Where's the doctor?" It was more of a command to tell now or forever hold your peace than a question.

The mood swings in full upheaval again, she timidly answered him. "Dr. Janson just went on break, and I was told that if you needed any assistance I - I was to call in a nurse."

"How long has he been on break?" he snapped. Calculations flew through his head at nigh the speed of light.

"Erm... About five minutes ago?" She fearfully looked up to meet his eyes, hoping that it was okay to have said that much.

Logan barely nodded, unconsciously answering her unspoken question, before devoting every brain cell and neuron to figuring out what he needed to do. This caused the bag hooked up to the IV to deplete rapidly, much to the horror of Maybel. He was feeling better much more quickly, and took the irritating IV needle out of his arm. Pacing the garishly white room, he pondered. He couldn't get a nurse. He had to talk to the doctor, right away, before certain transactions could take place.

"You want me to lie down, right?" She nodded, eager. "I won't do it unless the doctor is here, in this room, in the next two minutes." Logan knew that if Dr. Janson didn't appear in that frame of time, then he'd be on the phone with Manticore, giving them all the information that he now had on his newly acquired patient. And if that went through, I'll be screwed.

She tried to protest... "But, Logan, dear, these things take ti - " ...to no avail.

"Get. Him," he ground out through clenched teeth, his manner that of a coiled snake ready to spring.

This convinced the woman more than anything that she needed to work swiftly. However, getting the doctor there in time posed a temporary problem. Doctor Janson could be anywhere in the hospital. She then remembered that a nurse could easily page said doctor over the intercom, from when ER was run again on the new Oldies TV channel. She also knew that just telling the nurse Logan needed to talk to the doctor wouldn't get the professional to come to the room within the time limits that Logan had allowed. She would have to tell a little white lie to get the results desired. Suddenly pious, she prayed, Please forgive me, O Lord, for I shall soon sin.

After her millisecond prayer, she made him wait there while she sprinted towards the nurses' station. "There's an emergency in room 628! Help! Someone, please get Dr. Janson right away!"

There was a flurry of action after that. A nurse ran down the hall to Logan's room while another set aside her paperwork and quickly sent the message echoing down every passageway and through each room in the building:

"Dr. Janson, room 628 has a problem. Dr. Janson, room 628 has a problem. Please report immediately."

Logan nodded to himself when he heard it, just before the first nurse burst into the room. He immediately leaped off the hospital bed, knocking the nurse out with a well-placed chop to the sensitive nerves in her neck. Landing, he drug her over to a corner hidden by the bed, leaving her there to recuperate. He searched her for anything that might prove useful later. The only thing he found was a dart gun loaded with tranquilizers. She didn't even have a scalpel.

Damn. Well, beggars can't be choosers, he quipped mentally, using a phrase he'd heard one of the kids from the orphanage say. He quickly inspected the rest of the too-clean room for any extra tryptophan. Unfortunately, there was only what was left in the IV bag. He kept it in mind as he laid back down on the bed. It'd been a minute and a half; the doctor had thirty more seconds to get there. But there was a bad feeling digging at the back of his skull… He made himself comfortable as Maybel came back in the room. Time could only tell.

"Dr. Janson, room 628 has a problem. Dr. Janson, room 628 has a problem. Please report immediately."

The same man mentioned above hesitated in his speech when he heard that, then continued on carefully to the voice on the other end; "Ah - Logan's here, yes… Yes, Colonel Lydecker, he's not been harmed in any way… Yes, we gave him tryptophan… He seems to be having another attack; they just - " He was interrupted harshly, and it was all he could do to not slam the phone down in its cradle and rush to room 628. Both his medical training and his ethics were urging him to do obey his instincts, because there was someone out there in pain, and he was more than qualified to help. If only this damn man would stop barking instructions into my ear! He was reminded yet again as to why he hated the military types.

The voice went blessedly silent - he could now understand why this mere child had wanted to run away from his father. He carefully picked up that precious silence and said, "Of course we'll keep an armed guard posted, though I don't see why - "

The colonel roared so loudly that Doctor Janson had to hold the phone away form his ear. "WHY? I'll tell you why! One of that kid's cells alone is worth more than it takes to run your tiny hospital for a month! He can take out all of your Rent-A-Cops without breaking a sweat! He is HIGHLY DANGEROUS - do you understand me?!"

Replacing the phone closer to his ear, Janson replied, "Yes, sir, I fully understand now." He rolled his eyes at the lies this man created just to get his son back. "I'll place all of our guards around his room. Is there anything else?" he asked blandly. Glancing at his watch - it'd been three minutes since the intercom had beckoned him to room 628 - he thought, Hopefully the nurses have it under control by now… He could only hope that, as the phone went dead, the kid could survive going back home. He briefly thought about calling social services before shaking his head. Since the Pulse, there hadn't been enough financial support for the facilities to stay open. There was nothing to do but be on-call as the boy was brought in time after time for probable beatings.

Checking his appearance in the floor-length mirror on his door, he took one last look at the picture of his wife and daughter setting on his desk before heading out to place the guards. It would be a long night.

Two enemy at the door, one below the window, and two people to get out safely. He wasn't about to leave Ms. Finnigan by herself to face Lydecker. More enemy on the way - he could hear them - coming from about three miles eastbound. Approximate time until arrival: four minutes. Personal optimal speed possible with two people on foot: eight miles an hour. Hopefully Maybel was in the best condition possible, or he'd have to dump her in the nearest town. Unless he could hot-wire a car with a full gas tank. The odds were slim, but he loved games of chance.

"Maybel." The woman turned toward him curiously. "When I say go, we're going to jump out the window and run for our lives." At her stunned look, he growled, "I'll break the fall. Now get over here." Logan had to drag her over to the window. He looked down, saw the guard about thirty yards away helping a lost driver, and got up on the ledge, lifting the headmistress in his arms, covering her mouth with a hand.

He launched himself through the glass without warning and hit the ground with a melodramatic THUD. The sound of breaking glass, however, was what caught the cop's attention, and he came sprinting towards them. Maybel had finally stopped screaming when she realized what was happening, and she took off after the kid's fast-disappearing silhouette.

When the Manticore soldiers arrived, they didn't find any trace of X-5366 in the building, only terrified patients, nurses, and doctors. Lydecker knew that his young CO had escaped through the broken window when he reached Logan's previous room, but had ordered the building searched anyway. Muttering to himself, he barked into his walkie-talkie. "Move out! I want the entire premises and surrounding buildings searched! NOW!"

The now-fugitives bolted for roughly twelve blocks before Logan noticed that the woman had stopped a ways behind him, gasping for air. Too late did he remember that even though he was just thirteen, he was equipped with longer endurance, more leg strength, and a greater lung capacity. Jogging back towards her, he guided her into an alleyway.

"Wait here. I'll be back." He dashed off, leaving his fellow escapee shivering in the cold December wind with no protection other than the thin clothes she had on.

Maybel had no idea what he was going to do. All she could concentrate on was getting her breath back and keeping her feet and hands from turning into small blocks of ice. Soon, however, she did get her breath back, and while her fingers and toes would probably never be the same, she knew that at least she wouldn't suffer from asphyxiation.

In about fifteen minutes, she was comforted by the sight of headlights coming right towards her. Being saved by anyone was better than freezing to death, she rationalized. She didn't even know why she was in the middle of a frozen alleyway the day after Christmas. Getting up, she headed towards the passenger side of the vehicle, warmed by the heater running in the truck. No sooner was she sitting on the seat did the truck wildly swing backwards out of the alleyway, then lurch forward through the streets. It swerved on patches of ice here and there, but soon enough they were on the old interstate heading towards California.

She didn't get a good look at the driver, but she knew instinctively that it was Logan. She waited until they had crossed the state line before attempting to ask any questions.

"Logan?"

A grunt in response.

"Um… Logan, why are we running away from the hospital? How did you land after jumping out of a three-story window and just get up to run half a mile without breaking a sweat? What caused that seizure?" Frustrated, she spat, "Who are you?"

There was a brief pause, lasting only about three seconds as he pondered the consequences of telling the truth, before his clipped reply split the silence between them. "There were men coming after us. I have a special skeletal structure and healing ability that allows me to do such things. I suffer from a lack of a certain chemical in the brain that is made only by tryptophan." He paused again, then plunged on ahead, baring his genetically-made soul to his traveling companion. "I am a genetically-engineered soldier, made by doctors splicing genes from random animals and humans, put together in a mixture guaranteed to make me what you would call Super Man."

Stunned for the second time that day, she sat in silence for the rest of the trip, standing as a shadow as they deposited the car once they ran out of gas and as they acquired a new car during each duration. It soon became routine for them, running in every direction plausible.

Logan never said much, but he was always considerate towards her, handling their basic needs without complaint. He periodically wondered where his siblings were, never sharing the escape's events with Maybel. He never took time away from their flight, however, to go look for them. He was obsessed with keeping farther away from Manticore more than anything. His siblings, his comrades, and his friends would have to wait; the mission had to be accomplished first.