It was dark and chill where Logan sat. Small splinters of glass dyed red with his blood rested on the tile beside him. He thought he'd managed to pull most of them out by the glow of his cell phone's display. He thought he'd managed to suppress all his whimpers of pain.
((He came to alone in his living room, lying in the dark amidst the remnants of his shattered coffee table. He could hear Max moving around his kitchen.))
Cold sweat was stinging the cuts on his cheeks and the back of his neck. The shallow cut on his scalp was still bleeding quite a bit, matting his hair to his scalp and soaking the collar of his shirt. He clutched the phone in his left hand, the hand that wasn't slashed and bleeding. But he couldn't bring himself to dial. He couldn't call the police. There was something wrong with her but it wasn't her fault. It wasn't her.
((Holding nothing back, Max punched him. His body flew up in the air and back down, pulled flat by gravity to land upon the glass coffee table. The two layers of glass shattered under his weight. Shards of glass scattered across the floor like the pieces of a sharp jigsaw puzzle. His body lay limp within the metal frame.))
But, it wasn't her fault. It wasn't her.
So Logan sat on the cold tile in the pitch black bathroom with his cell phone clutched to his chest, and prayed that she would just leave him to bleed.
A light breeze was blowing. It tickled his cheeks and brushed his bangs across his forehead. His hair was getting longer. Soon he wouldn't have to put up his collar to hide his barcode. Out of habit, he shrugged the leather covering his broad back and shoulders until is sat a little higher. Max was always harping on him to cover it better. It was ironic that a woman so concerned about exposure was running around throwing store owners through windows and shooting at hoverdrones.
Alec sat astride his motorcycle and moved his head from side to side in hopes of relieving some of the tension that just seemed to keep building in him.
He wondered if Max knew just how much she meant to him and Joshua. Of course, both men were capable of surviving on the outside without her – no matter how she chose to treat the dog-man. But, what kind of existence would that be? Alec had become so used to having both Joshua and Max in his life that he could barely imagine. They were the first transgenics Alec could remember feeling so close to. In Max, he had an X5 with whom he shared more than just an assigned mission. He wasn't sure exactly what the definition of their relationship was, but the label didn't really matter. What mattered was that with Max and Joshua he had a real sense of home that he'd never had before. And those feelings had only strengthened over the last week.
He was biting his thumbnail again. He wondered how he could still have any nervous ticks after going through Psy-Ops more than once. His lip curled in a wry grimace. Just another personality detail that Manticore let slip through their clutches. He moved his bike forward as another person ahead of him in the line was waved through the checkpoint.
All this thinking about relationships and home were just a way to distract himself from thinking about the trouble Max was probably getting herself – and the rest of them, for that matter – into while he went off in search of the Manticore doctor who'd cooked up the cure. Though he was really concerned over what physiological effects the cure might be having on Max and how her new behavior was posing a threat to their cover, he had to admit there was a part of him that was enjoying the new Maxie. She seemed freer, more at ease in her own transgenic skin, more sure of her power. And more prepared to use that power. The fact that her new attitude was sexy as hell was not a bad thing either, though Alec tried not to dwell too hard on that fact.
"…wild, long hair, unbelievable mouth. I'm telling you man, this chick was amazing. You really missed something." Alec tuned in to the conversation that the guards at the opposite direction of the checkpoint were having. What were they, psychic? "She had on this little mini that barely covered these killer legs. And, dude, I thought I was gonna die watching the way her thighs hugged that purring motor…"
Max.
Suddenly in that moment, Alec knew with a certainty that she needed his help more than she ever would need that of the scientist. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Insight and intuition and some sixth sense came together in a flash that none other than the genetically engineered could hope to achieve. Something was about to go very, very wrong. He felt it in his gut.
Release. Max. Hunger. Logan. Hunt.
Alec wheeled his bike around just as the floodlights at the checkpoint shut down along with every other light along the streets and in the buildings. But the sudden darkness of the brownout did not affect Alec in the least. The few stars that shone through the blanket of overhead clouds and the rapidly rising moon were casting more than enough light for his heightened sight. He switched off his bike's headlight to avoid police detection as he sped off into the night, back to Foggle Towers.
Candlelight danced upon the metal of the knife that was imbedded in the board beside her. It was reflected in the amber of her right eye and swallowed by the black of her left eye. There was a slight stain of red beneath her fingernails and blending into the color of her lips. Max savored the taste of rare meat on her tongue.
It was a pretty damn good sandwich. It would have been better if the meat had been warm, but she really didn't have time for all that. The leftovers of a roast in Logan's fridge would have to do. Finished her snack, she stood with a sigh. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand as she walked into the living room.
The frame of the coffee table was still as sturdy as ever, but the glass lay in shards large and small on the floor. There were small splashes of blood amidst the splinters. Her boots crunched in the jigsaw puzzle of glass scattered about. A thin trail of blood was drying in a tacky, crimson-black line of handprints on the hardwood floor. Max followed it through the penthouse. She walked into the unlit hallway, but had no trouble still seeing the stain clearly.
Her lips were pulled back in a feral grin as she whispered, "Logan, come out, come out, wherever you are." She continued on into his large master bedroom. The moon shone brightly through the skylight, tinting the space with an eerie, cold blue light. Max's smile grew. The scent of Logan's sweat and fear was thickest at the door to the bathroom. She ran her fingernails lightly over the cherry wood. Her superior hearing picked up the sound of Logan's startled jump. She giggled.
"What? Did you think I was gone?" He didn't answer, but she could hear his breathing quicken and his heart rate pick up. "You woke up faster than I thought you would."
Max tried the doorknob. It was, of course, locked. Logan wasn't a complete idiot. "You know Logan, it really is pretty rude of you to make a girl fend for herself in the food department after you've invited her over for dinner." She drove her fist through three inches of wood to the other side of the door.
Logan finally found his voice. "You don't want to do this Max." His words were strangled and panicked. "You love me. This is wrong."
"Poor, poor Logan. Such a broken little man," she mocked him as she continued to hammer through the door. "Always so focused on the injustices of the world."
"Max, please."
"So concerned about how the G-man is stepping on the little people. Gotta get the message out. Why is that, exactly?" With a final tug, Max ripped the ruined door off the hinges.
Logan had pressed himself as far back into the wall as he could. He was shakily standing there with his uninjured hand raised, an unconscious gesture to both plead with Max and ward her off. "Max, please, please listen to me. This isn't you."
"Oh no! Of course it's not me. I've always just wanted to be like a regular girl…blah, blah, woof, woof." She rolled her eyes. "You know what, Logan? In this little thing that we've got going on," she paused to grab him by the collar and toss him through the splintered door. He sailed across his bedroom to crash hard into his dresser. She followed slowly. "I'm feeling downtrodden, I'm feeling oppressed." She came to stand at his feet, gazing upon his dazed figure with her head cocked to the side and one hand on her hip. "I'm feeling bound and shackled. And not in a good kinky fun kinda way."
Before Logan could blink or whimper, she was on him.
The ding indicating he'd reached Logan's floor sounded unnaturally loud in his ears. He left the elevator and took one step toward the penthouse. The moment he did, his senses were hit with the overwhelming scent of Max and blood. Without hesitation, Alec blurred down the dark hall.
When he entered the penthouse his feline eyesight roved over destruction everywhere – overturned cabinets, smashed vases, broken furniture – he could see it all clearly despite the darkness. He moved toward the living room, Max's scent growing with each step he took. He rounded the corner and was struck by a sight so unreal that it stopped him in his tracks.
Max stood in the middle of the room with a grip of steel around Logan's throat. He was clawing at her fingers with his left hand while his legs twitched futilely a good two feet from the floor. Max's head was cocked to the side as she calmly watched Logan's eyes bug out and a soft blue creep across his lips and cheeks. There was blood dripping from his nose, a livid bruise was growing darker beneath the stubble on his cheek, and his right arm hung at an odd angle.
Alec knew beyond doubt that Max had been aware of his presence from the moment he'd stepped off the elevator. Still, he kept his voice quiet and controlled so as to not startle her.
"Max --"
"Alec." She drew out the sound of his name into sing-song syllables.
"Max, put him down."
There was a small smile curling the edges of her generous mouth. She continued to study the now barely struggling Logan. Her stance was casual as she held a man more that twice her body weight above her with ease.
"You know," she said, "when I left that alley earlier tonight, you were supposed to follow me. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Always chase the girl, Alec. I expected a playa playa like you to know that." She turned her attention to Alec, her freakish eyes raked over him from head to toe and back again. A passed out Logan hung limply from her fist.
Alec added an edge to his voice, but did not raise it. "Now Max."
She shrugged her shoulders. "Whatever." With a careless flick of her wrist, Max cast the grown man aside like an old rag doll. His body flew across the room to hit the wall with a resounding crack before sliding bonelessly to the floor. "He was dead weight anyway."
Alec glanced at the older man. I hope that wasn't his neck, he thought. He didn't have time to check though, because Max was slowly moving closer. She gripped the front of her long coat, opening it wide and letting the soft leather slide gracefully down her bare arms. She eyed Alec speculatively as she tossed the black garment away with the same disregard she'd shown Logan.
"Are you going soft on me, Alec?" She was circling him, a mocking smile upon her full lips, body moving like her feline ancestors. "'Cause you know," she paused, licking her lips, "I'd much prefer a hard Alec." Her sultry laughter held an undertone of purring.
Her tall boots were absolutely silent as she moved across the floor. He turned his body in step with hers so that they were always facing each other. Another man might have tried to talk to Max in soothing tones, the way one talks a jumper back from unmentionable heights. Another man may have tried to convince Max that what she was doing wasn't right.
Alec shrugged out of his leather jacket, leaving him in his black t-shirt and jeans. She pulled the gun from the back waistband of her skirt, clicked on the safety, and threw it to the corner. Watching her, Alec tilted his head to the side to crack his neck and loosen up. They were circling ever closer to each other. Some part of him knew that this face-off had been inevitable from the moment that Max had stepped into Jam Pony. It just felt right that as equals they confronted each other with nowhere to run and no distractions.
Right, that is except for the fact that Max was slightly insane.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "What is it with you and trashing people's homes?" Her only answer was a shrug and a smirk that looked suspiciously familiar to him. She paused in her stalking and Alec could feel the energy in the room curl back in on itself like a serpent preparing to strike.
Max threw the first punch.
Forearm to forearm, foot to shin, fist to cheek, they made quick, superficial contact to test each other's defenses. This was just simple sparring, like being back home in the training yard. An exercise. A warm up. She was faster than he was, more flexible as well. But, he had weight and pound for pound muscle strength on his side, not to mention a full decade more of time spent honing his skills against others of their kind.
Max came at him with a right hook. He blocked and moved into her body with a gut punch. She hopped back to avoid the full force of his strength behind the blow. She latched onto his wrist when his fist connected with her middle and used the solid tension in his forearm to leverage herself in a flip over his head. Before her feet could hit the ground, she lashed her leg out behind her, kicking him in his kidney. Alec went to his knee, but swept a leg out to knock her on her ass before rolling out of her reach.
They both rose to their feet and began circling again. The adrenaline was just starting to flow. The feeling was a heady drug pumping hot blood through hearts with newly accelerating beats. It was intoxicating and pulled them back together with a magnetic force.
They exchanged a series of punches wherein neither was able to make good contact. Finally, Alec saw an opening in her defenses. He slammed his fist into her cheek, whipping her head to the side. Before she could recover, he immediately grabbed her shoulders and pulled her downward just as he lifted his leg. His knee made contact with her solar plexus and the air came whooshing from her lungs. He was about to follow up with an elbow to her back, but she managed to block with a swiftly raised wrist. She jerked her head up, smashing the back of her skull into his chin and backing him up a step.
Max's leg swept up and around in an artful crescent kick. Alec had a split second to notice that she was wearing red panties before her foot connected with the side of his head. He stumbled back another step, recovered, and charged in again. They exchanged another set of blows. Max shook the curls out of her face after another vicious head butt and smiled at her partner.
"I fought your twin like this once," she said in a conversational tone. "He lost." Alec ducked her right fist only to meet a savage left upper cut with his face. His head snapped back, but he kept his footing and awareness. Max bent her knee in preparation for her next attack.
"Newsflash Maxie." He caught the foot that she attempted to break his leg with and threw it up. She flew through the air, crashing through the plexi-glass barrier that separated Logan's study from the living room to land hard on the ground amidst the harmless debris. Alec spat blood out onto the floor. "I'm not my brother."
Max stood and wiped the back of one hand across her bloodied nose. She glanced down at the red smear across her wrist and knuckles then met his eyes with a feral grin. "I always knew you'd like it rough."
A smirk tugged up one side of his full lips. "C'mon Maxie. You wanna play don't you?"
They raced toward each other in a blur their kind were known for and didn't slow down again. That was the turning point, the moment when the fight became something else altogether. It became more dance, more ritual than contest of strength and ability. The human eye would have been incapable of following their movements. The world faded away until it was just the two of them and their deadly dance. It no longer mattered why they were fighting, only that they were finally in their element. This is where instinct and training melded. No thought in between, it was almost as if they reached some sort of meditative state. It was something that their makers never could have imagined.
And the scent of fresh blood just spurred them on.
They blurred from one kata, one sequence, one movement to the next. Neither's style was easily classifiable. Each utilized something from every martial art they'd ever been taught and every street trick they'd ever picked up, and molded those moves into styles entirely personal. Most opponents would find it hard to get the upper hand on either of them. Yet, after a year of fighting back to back in a variety of situations, they'd both learned each other's fighting rhythms. For every attack one of them made, the other had an answer of equal force and finesse.
Max's leg shot up high, catching him well beneath his chin and snapping his head back. There was so much power in the kick that it forced him into a back flip. Looking back to spot his landing, Alec realized that he would be on the other side of the window before his body finished its full rotation. He crashed through the new pane of glass feet first. In a feat of true feline agility, Alec gripped the window ledge, piked his legs down and thrust them through his arms. With all his transgenic strength, Alec pushed off the ledge, catapulting himself at full speed toward Max. His boots hit her square in the chest and sent her flying across the living room.
He was blurring over to her before the sound of her impacting the wall even carried. Her body hit the plaster with such force that it left a sizeable dent in its wake. She fell to the ground on all fours and immediately sprang into him just as he reached her. Her momentum carried them both back down. Alec landed on his back with a thud and a grunt. Max straddled him with a growl and her hands reached for his neck. He punched out before she could get a choking hold and flipped them over.
While they struggled on the floor like two wild animals, Alec realized that some thing was very, very wrong with Max. Something in addition to her already high level of freakiness for the day. Her scent was changing again. And not just that. Alec was sensing a shift in her that raised his hackles. He looked down into her face and saw that her eyes had now both bled to black, there was no longer the trace of feline in her gaze. In his shock, he lifted some of his weight from Max. She took advantage of the moment to roll them over again.
Max's head reared back in what Alec assumed was the setup for yet another oncoming head butt, but it never came. Instead she grabbed onto the front of his t-shirt and pulled him closer. She had a vice-like grip with her legs around his waist and her mouth was open. Suddenly realizing what she was about to do, he twisted and jerked his head down to protect his jugular just as she struck. Max sunk her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder instead.
Alec clenched his jaw over his scream and pulled her off of him by her hair. She was drooling his blood, rivulets of red dripping down her chin, staining her shirt. Once she'd released her grip on his flesh, he jackknifed his lower body so that she flew over his head, but kept his hands locked on her wrists so that he could control her landing. When her body hit the floor above his head with a crash he rolled back so that he was straddling her.
He backhanded her, putting all his transgenic strength into the blow. It stunned her just long enough for him to turn her over. From above and behind her he squeezed his arm around her neck like a steel trap, locking his grip with his other arm across the back of her neck. She moved wildly beneath him, but he held her down as only a transgenic having considerably more muscle mass than she had could ever do. Eventually her thrashing faded into desperate flailing that faded into nothing. It took a full six minutes, and he still held on for a few extra. He had to be sure she really was unconscious.
Finally, Alec rolled her over onto her back and put his head to her chest. Once he was assured by her steady heartbeat and shallow breaths, he lifted his head and stared into her blood-splattered and bruised face. She looked so peaceful. Almost of their own accord, his fingers lifted to gently, almost reverently, smooth back her sweat-soaked, tangled hair. He could see a bruise forming around her neck where his arm had been just moments before. Unnamed pain & regret stabbed at him at the sight.
"I'm so sorry, Maxie."
The lights in the penthouse flickered on, signaling the end to the brown-out. Alec leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the split corner of her mouth. He had an almost irresistible urge to run his tongue over her wound. The compulsion caught him off guard. The feeling was so strong it reminded him of the way that heat felt. It took every bit of will he had to get himself under control. Before he knew what was happening, his eyes were closed and his forehead rested against hers.
Get your ass in gear, soldier! You don't have time for this!
His eyes snapped open and the look of anguished emotion left his face, pushed aside by the mission at hand. He rolled off Max and took stock of his own injuries. Thanks to transgenic healing the bite on his shoulder was only bleeding sluggishly now. He could feel multiple bruises forming and thought he had at least one fracture, but nothing he couldn't ignore for the time being.
Alec moved quickly over to Logan's side to take stock of the fallen man's injuries. He had multiple cuts on his arms, hands and the back of his neck, but none of them seemed deep enough to cause much concern. One of Logan's eyes was swollen shut and a livid purple. Miraculously, the exo was still in perfect order. Alec was relieved – he'd sold no few favors to score it. He wondered if Logan had even tried kicking out at Max with his exo-enhanced legs before letting her get close enough to put her hand around his neck.
Alec felt for any contusions to Logan's head and encountered glass splinters among the gelled strands. He wiped away blood from a superficial cut to Logan's forehead that was still bleeding profusely, as head wounds were wont to do, and lifted the older man's unswollen eyelid.
"No cracked skull and no discernable concussion – that's something at least." His hands moved deftly over Logan's body. "Right arm broken below the elbow. Two, possibly three ribs broken on the left and another on the right. Dislocated left shoulder. Well, I can fix one of those." In one swift movement Alec jerked Logan's left arm back into it's correct position. Logan grunted but didn't wake up. "Sorry about that, buddy."
Leaving Logan in the corner, Alec walked across the room to grab his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He dialed the pay phone at Crash from memory as he slipped into the jacket. After two rings, Original Cindy picked up.
"Speak."
"OC, it's Alec."
"You find my Boo?"
"Yeah. Can you come over to Logan's right away? You'll need to call an ambulance for him when you get here. " Alec picked up Max's discarded Glock, tucking it into his jeans at the small of his back.
"What the hell happened?"
"Well, long story short, Max whipped Logan's ass…" Cindy interrupted his explanation.
"Max put the smack-down on Logan?" Her voice was shrill and disbelieving.
"You could most definitely say that. Anyway, I ended up having to put Max down for a nap, so now I've got two unconscious bodies on the floor at my feet." He retrieved Max's leather coat from the floor and wrapped her in it. "I can only take care of one of them at a time. Log's injuries aren't life-threatening, so how 'bout it?"
"I'm on my way."
"Good. If the authorities start asking questions, play dumb until Logan wakes up. He's got enough police contacts to smooth the whole thing over. I'll see you at Harbor Lights."
Alec hung up the phone and scooped Max up from the floor. She was lifeless in his arms like so much dead weight. He squeezed her closer to his body, as if more contact would not only protect her, but also bring her back to herself.
TBC