This could be bad.

Zack wandered throughout Seattle after he and Logan parted ways. He was doing some thinking about the sudden predicament in which he found himself, and not a bit of it could be considered cheery.

He wasn't supposed to survive. He kicked at the nearest bum, and she scuttled out of the way as fast as possible. He was the most devoted out of all of us; I could have sworn that just getting out'd destroy him. He broke into a light jog, trying to get these thoughts over and done with by just moving faster, even though he knew such a thing was impossible. Zack grimaced at his own memories of the years after the breakout. He sometimes still had nightmares…

(Flashback)

There were Others around him – across the street, standing next to him, in the building down the way. They were the ones that Lydecker had always warned them about – those that, if they knew, could kill him with their own stupidity.

Like that'll ever happen. Zack looked around him with contempt, very aware of his military-esque appearance. His shorn hair, his dressing gown/hospital-style clothing, the barcode on the back of his neck – all served to make him hyper-sensitive to looks he'd garnered along the way. He'd gone a fair distance, as well; Gillette, Wyoming to New Orleans, Louisiana isn't just a short midday trip, even with his enhancements. So, he decided to sit back and relax, content to watch the Others milling about him, gather information upon how exactly to act and dress, and wait for his hair to grow longer.

It was just a matter of time.

(End Flashback)

Zack had mechanically finished the journey to his richly furbished flat and was opening the door when he heard noises from within. Chuckling quietly, he shut the door behind him and placed his keys upon the ledge near the entrance without care as to where they'd land. He ignored the sounds, however, and thought again of his memories. I don't know why I get nightmares, came the general feeling running through his mind. He supposed that perhaps they were nightmares because they were of a time in his life when he wasn't completely in control.

Mmm… Control…

Speaking of control, he turned away abruptly from his path towards the kitchen for a bit of late dinner and headed down a different hallway. There was only one room connected to this passage, and the room had only one opening: the door itself. Opening said door, Zack entered.

Compared to the other rooms of his personal set of living quarters, this room had absolutely no decoration. In fact, the only things in it made the place seem like a jail cell: a bed (single, of course, which seemed more like a cot); a sink; a mirror; a rather small, round metal bowl that could be used comfortably as a bathtub for a five-year-old; and a table with clothes set upon it. The clothes were all grey, the same exact shade of the room's interior. In short, it could have passed for a step back in time to Manticore's barracks.

There was a person in the room already, although one had to look carefully because the clothes caused a camouflage effect. The skin colour wasn't healthy, either – it looked like the prisoner had recently lost a lot of blood, even though there wasn't a scratch on the body. The hair was matted to the scalp through sleep, lack of cleanliness, and the fact that a hairbrush hadn't been allowed into the room period.

Eyes, always brown but previously luminous in their cast, set upon the figure intruding into the mood of respite, of the calm before the storm. Zack.

Said intruder smiled viciously at his captive, betraying his hidden dislike. And in an uninformed person's point of view, Zack greeted the person in a rather cordial tone.

"Hello Kelly. Hungry?"

(Flashback)

She'd almost found them all! In lieu of her commanding officer's disappearance, Kelly had taken command of the remaining members of the unit. This meant seeking them out from hiding.

She'd discovered that most of them had remained in contact with at least one other member, and while that was dangerous as hell (as she'd informed them countless times), she was grateful. It was a sign that they had the resilience to withstand the Outside, and it also helped her to find them. The only person with whom everyone had lost contact was her brother and C.O., Logan.

This wasn't the time for regrets however, she quickly reminded herself. The previous sibling she'd visited had given her the last whereabouts of Zack, the remaining one of their number to escape alive.

Kelly'd never liked Zack though, not even during their time in Manticore and he was her only backup. She'd always feared that if she had her back turned for just shade too long he'd pounce and take her out. This was a completely unfounded paranoia, and she knew it. They were always heavily monitored during those exercises. It still didn't change her opinion, though. Zack was not to be trusted.

She affirmed that the address on the slip of paper in her hand was the same as that on the mailbox in front of her. They matched all eight times she checked it.

This is it, she thought. Reawaken the dragon – smooth…

Knocking on the door, Kelly waited a bit nervously for Zack to answer. Even though she didn't particularly enjoy her brother's company, she still felt the familiar rush of giddiness mixed with adrenaline that had coursed through her body right before she'd been reunited with each of her other siblings. She seemed about ready to burst with that said emotion when the door was opened.

"Hello?" came the man's wary yet still curious voice.

Her breath caught. Like always he looked stunning – how he did back in Manticore she'd never know, but he managed it. His strongly-chiseled jaw, his occasionally hard-as-ice blue eyes, the dirty, dark-blonde hair that seemed to defy physics once it grew out… Her brother had certainly grown up in the seven and a half years that she hadn't seen him.

I still don't like him, no matter how good-looking he turned out to be.

Kelly cleared her throat. "Zack?" Her eyes peered into his. "Do you recognize me?"

Now his eyes were the same ice blue she remembered as he examined her from head to toe in slight confusion. He blinked several times with realization, his eyes clearing and turning warm again. "…Kelly?"

With a joyful squeal from his long-lost sister, Zack found said young woman in his arms, hugging him madly. He was still partially stunned at his good fortune when she finally let go. It even took him a moment to massage the feeling back into his upper arms. "Been working out much, sis?" he asked with a semi-rueful smirk. Her grip was almost unbreakable!

***

"So how've you been, Zack?" Kelly asked before sipping her tea. She watched as he moved around the kitchen, making something – she didn't know what. "Pretty good." A cabinet door shut. "Been moving around a lot thought. Nearly got caught twice – those suckers can move fast!" He came out bearing a plate of food in one hand, his drink in the other.

"Oh, I can attest to that." A dry chuckle escaped her lips as she recalled her own near misses since they escaped.

"I'm sure." A small grin. "As second-in-command, you must be highly sought-after. Hungry?" He offered the plate of food, an un-telling gleam in his eyes.

(End Flashback)

I can't believe I fell for that!

Kelly didn't allow her anger to show on her face as Zack grinned foolishly in front of her. He was smart though; she had to grant him that. After all, the sleeping draught he used was undetectable until after one ingested it. Be then of course it was too late, for the drug's effects were already starting to make themselves known. Oldest fucking trick in the book: poison in food. Jesus, Kelly! How could you let your guard drop like that?!

Zack, meanwhile, had grown tired of Kelly's characteristic silence sooner than usual - most probably because he met their C.O. and brother that day. "Talk to me!" he raged and, stepping further inside the room, he raised his hand against her. The blow forced her backwards, despite her best intentions to stay upright and thus prevent his smug glee.

Still, she didn't talk.

Zack was obviously having a bad day, and one thing he'd discovered about bad days is that they only get worse instead of better. Right then would have been a prime example. Therefore, since she was so convenient, he used her as a punching bag, always keeping within the edge of killing her. He never got much enjoyment out of this particular pastime, though, for the knowledge that she couldn't fight back – he had been drugging her since he captured her the first time - was kept on the backburner of his mind.

In keeping with the tradition, by the time he left Kelly was a mass of bruises, curled up on the floor in a puddle of her own blood. Almost in a dazed sort of fascination she watched bits of her clothes darken with her life force. The thought came unbidden into her head: How pretty. The red provided the only contrast in her room to the grey of everything else.

And then she knew no more as the seizures took over.

++++

"Wait." Max stood back from her mother's chair in the computer room. "This can't be. They can't be after me." Slight laughter, as if to shake off that simply /ridiculous/ notion. "I mean, sure, I can and have done it, but… the theory seems so improbable!" She paced the room restlessly, gesturing with her hands to emphasize points in her speech. "I can see them wanting someone to hack into a television program, but anime characters? Honestly!" She shot her mother an incredulous look. "How old are these people? FIVE?" She refused to admit that she was obsessed with anime, too.

Mercedes took a shuddering breath, still freaked by the situation but attempting to calm down enough in order to calm her daughter down. "Hon, I don't know what to tell you. The report made it to me – or, rather, to Kevin – last week. The only explanation is that the conversation you overheard wormed its way subconsciously to the portion of your brain that was creating the story." She shakily ran her hand through her hair and looked away to her computer screen.

Max just gazed at her mother in amazement. She still didn't believe that this was happening – after all, her story was a work of fiction! Not being able to stand it any longer, she fled the room and raided the refrigerator. There was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that the whole mess would make a lot more sense after a few coolers.

She plopped onto the couch and flicked on the T.V. Remote in hand, she was determined to put the incident out of her mind – although she knew deep down that watching T.V. wouldn't help. Screw it. She didn't care.

This was how Logan found the Guevera household an hour later when he decided to drop by to get a status report of his case. No one answered his knock, which he thought suspicious. He picked the locks and came in only because he heard the noise of the T.V. and the click-clack of the keys in Mercedes's office. He knew better.

Cautiously he approached the couch from behind, seeing the top of Max's head poking about the back. "…Hello."

No response, unless one would count the dull roar of the T.V.

The conclusion was quickly drawn that something was wrong. Each time Logan had come over, Max had either been very snappish and angry with him, or she had ignored him like one ignores a wall. Puzzled, Logan thought this over and came up with a slightly helpful – and very logical, in his mind – solution.

"Are you a clone?"

Logan couldn't see it, but Max's face at that moment twisted into a grin, and she visibly fought off the impeding laughter. Once she had herself back under control, she choked out, "No, though I wish I had one."

Thinking this weird, Logan decided that he'd try to further his education in being "normal" and impart his knowledge upon the unsuspecting – in this case, Max.

"You could always go to Manticore."

"What?" Max whirled from her position on the couch so she was looking at him over the back of the couch, the remote clattering to the floor. "I'm sorry, but I thought I just heard you suggest I go to Manticore? As in, the place you were created, you know? Yeah, those evil people who torture little kids." Her sarcastically cheerful voice then turned cynical. "Are you insane?"

Logan mentally winced, scolding himself for his horrendous judgment. Some things, he was slowly discovering, you did not mention in polite company, even if the person in whose company you were wasn't very polite. Maybel, he guessed, hadn't taught him nearly as well as he'd originally assumed. "I apologize," he stated in his again-monotone voice. "I should have realized not to discuss the issue with you – "

"Hey!" Now she was indignant. "I never said you shouldn't mention Manticore-related information around me." She turned back to the T.V., leaving Logan to draw his own conclusions about the situation. This would have been a lovely idea if they'd been in the middle of a war and Logan was the last surviving commander of the army. For civilian purposes, however, it wasn't, and he was lost. Seeking his remaining option, he tentatively walked around the couch and sat on the other end, joining her in watching the television.

The silence between them reigned for a little while as they took in the reruns of the old Pre-Pulse sitcoms. After a bit, Max broke the quiet and spoke. "I have terrorists after me."

Logan didn't quite know how to respond to this, but he tried anyway. "Really."

"Yep." Her eyes glowed with the images of the screen. "Apparently they want me to hack a T.V. station and transmit anime images containing code." She watched Harry from 'Third Rock From the Sun' make a fool of himself for the millionth time with some sort of detached fascination. "This code will be watched by thousands of these terrorists, and they'll all assemble to receive orders detailing how to attack the government." She snorted scornfully. "Of course, the President has no hold over Congress anymore, let alone the people. I wouldn't be surprised if we were suddenly launched into a dictatorship overnight."

Logan took this in carefully, still silent. He was a little stunned by how badly the government had retrogressed from the standards of not even a quarter of a century ago, but it didn't truly affect him as much as he thought it might.

"They going to kill you?"

"Yep."

"Figures." They lapsed back into silence, neither of them commenting as to how this camaraderie between them developed literally within seconds, for fear that it might dissipate just as quickly. Neither wanted to admit that they were happy with the sudden changes, or that they'd completely given up their animosity yet, either.

And Mercedes typed on.

***

Security around Max was heightened, going from absolutely nothing to the enforced constant company of Logan whenever she went out. Max still couldn't figure out how her mother had persuaded Logan to keep an eye on her, but she thought it might have something to do with the payment of Mercedes's research into Logan's 'family.' Instead of cash, he got the probably more interesting yet increasingly frustrating 'privilege' of trailing Max. She knew he wasn't happy with the situation either, and took it upon herself to make it all the more difficult for him.

However, there was no way in any circle of hell that her mother was about to allow Max into Crash. Even though that part of her daughter's story was false, Mercedes still didn't feel as if it were safe. Max wasn't going to be denied the joys of her friends' company, so instead of her going out, they came in. Occasionally she decided that they would traipse around the city on foot, or they would all meet up on a run while at work, the one place that Logan couldn't accompany her for appearance's sake, and they'd skip out for a beer.

Needless to say, she didn't put the fear of a painful death at the hands of her mother for not watching her in his heart.

Max sat on the floor in front of the couch watching TV and lifting weights. Some old soap opera was on, and while the acting, the plot, and pretty much everything contained within needed a massive overhaul, she wasn't picky. She decided to entertain herself with singling out all the inconsistencies. At least, that's what she told herself.

It was an off day, meaning that Logan wasn't around watching her every move. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, he had to work today. Ha. She loved her seniority over him; slight as it was, it gave her more time off from doing the grunt work. On these days, she tended to just sit at home and laze around. Sometimes she'd actually apply herself and do some studying for her additional college courses, but those days were few and far in-between.

Today was a no study, no work, and no anything-that-Max-didn't-want-to-do day. So far, she'd succeeded. She'd gotten up at the delicious hour of eleven thirty; she had a quite unhealthy breakfast consisting of cold pizza her mom had made the night before; and she hadn't gotten out of her robe until three in the afternoon. She was still in the blissful state of timelessness. She hadn't checked a clock at all except when she'd gotten up. She only had the sky to go by, and that was perfectly fine by her. She was finally almost forgetting the "terrorists are out to get me!" thing. Her mom wasn't home yet from the market, either. To Max, nothing could go wrong.

The doorbell rang.

Max gave a short sigh and put her weights on the floor. It was a good thing that it was about time to take a break anyway, because otherwise she would have punched first and greeted later the person who'd dared to interrupt her day. Grabbing her towel and mopping a bit of sweat off, she got up and opened the door. It was no surprise that Logan was standing there. It looked as if he'd just gotten off work, too, because even though he had higher endurance than normal, his cheeks were still flushed. She could always tell.

"Hi." She raised an eyebrow curiously, dabbing with the towel at the back of her neck. "What do you want?" She turned around and let him close the door behind him, heading into the kitchen for a bottle of water.

"Just to check up on my case." He leaned against the doorframe that separated the kitchen from the living room, a small smile playing on his face. He'd had a good run right before he'd gotten off work. A little old lady had been sent pictures of a kitten from her granddaughter, and she had been determined to share them with the "nice delivery boy." Some days, he knew it was worth escaping Manticore. This had been one of them.

"Well, Mom's not back yet from the market, and since certain people won't allow me to work on the case as well..." here she took a long swig from her water bottle and gave him a very pointed look. "I have nothing to tell you." A pause. "Well, nothing new, at any rate."

Logan shrugged and went into the living room, lifting a brow at the choice of program but not saying a word. Instead his attention focused upon the weights that Max had just been using. They were pretty standard, actually, but not nearly as heavy as he thought she'd have. For some reason, Logan had the assumption that she was into lifting heavily, but he mentally shrugged. He was going to rid himself of that habit if it killed him.

"Ugh." Max plopped onto the couch, sprawling out and leaving him practically no room at all if he wanted to sit – unless he wanted to be punched. She took in another mouthful of water and looked up at him curiously. "So how was work? Normal being worse than usual?"

"No." He decided to perch on the armrest instead of braving the cushions. "He was actually a bit calmer. You know, there's a pool going as to whether or not it's because both you and Cindy were gone today." Only his programmed reflexes prevented his leg from receiving a bruise the size of Max's foot.

She glared up at him and turned back to the TV, suddenly deciding that the love lives of the characters were immensely more interesting than listening to him gabble on about things that she didn't care about.

Logan followed her attention to the melodramatic nonsense taking place through the radio waves of the television station. He held most all TV shows in contempt, simply because he knew too much of the world around him. Fiction, therefore, held no appeal for him.

"You actually watch this garbage?" His voice was a mixture of disgust and amazement. And here he'd thought she was sensible! He really needed to work on his assumption reflex.

Max glared at him for a second time. She was not about to let it be known that she liked this stuff, and that included observations. "No!" A huffy sigh. "Just because the channel just happened to land on this does not mean that I'm a fan! Geez! This is... utter crap! People who watch these things have.. no life whatsoever." A pointed look in his direction. "I, on the other hand, have a life. Therefore, I cannot, by pure logic, be interested in this... drivel." She immediately avoided eye contact with him by shifting her line of sight back to the TV. If she ignored him, she might just catch the ending words...

"Well," Logan interrupted once again with a wry tone, "I think that you like it, and that you don't have the guts to admit it." He was pushing her with those words, but it was the perfect opportunity, and he couldn't on good conscience let it pass – despite the warning bells sounding off in his head.

Max looked at him in outrage and perhaps a hint of astonishment. That anyone would dare say to her face that she didn't have the guys for something – what an atrocity! Her face twisted into the most potent glare yet and she stood from the couch in a huff. Instead of going directly to her room, as Logan had suspected, she went first to the kitchen. He heard the telltale sounds of the refrigerator being open and shut, and then watched her storm through the living room, down a hallway, and lastly into her room. The door slammed behind her seconds after Mercedes opened the door to the penthouse. Logan watched in amusement as his employee blinked a few times before she was able to form a coherent thought.

"What the hell?"

***

Kelly sat listlessly on her cot, staring at the wall opposite her and calculating the number of strokes the painter had to use in order to paint said surface. She got to upwards of a thousand before she stopped to think of the type of paintbrush, and how that would influence the stroke number. With a narrow brush, the painter would have to use many more strokes than with a wide roller. Without so much as a flicker of emotion on her face, she started counting once more.

That is to say, a portion of her brain started the counting again. The rest of her brain was devoted to escape tactics and had been ever since she'd been captured, although it didn't help matters that Zack had kept her drugged through her food and water ever since. He was humiliating her enough through the capture, but he just had to add not even making the drugs unnoticeable. The drugs muddled her brain and her responses to the point that anything she did or thought sounded ludicrous. It underscored the natural human tendency of going slightly less sane when cooped up for long periods of time.

She knew this, because it was the only thought that helped keep her sane in some moments. She also knew without a doubt that there was only one way out of the room. She was pretty sure that this wasn't a well-used hallway, since there were footsteps down it only as Zack was coming or going. This lead her to believe that this was the only room connected to this particular hallway. That was only an assumption, though, and didn't carry any weight when figured into escape measures.

Unfortunately for her already troubled state of mind, Kelly's plans kept getting wilder and wilder. They had now devolved into where one of her siblings, armed with one of the old-style machine guns, would kick down the door and haul her out of there. On the way out, they'd see two others holding Zack between them. He'd be beaten within an inch of his life, and as she passed him she'd deliver the final blow even in her weakened state. Then they'd leave him in his apartment and go east to allow her to recuperate. Or maybe they'd go south; she'd always enjoyed California.

Nine hundred and seventy-eight strokes for the wall in front of her. That is, if they used a primer and only one coat. For two coats...