A/n: I really have to start putting these things at the end of the chapters, lol. My disclaimer is as stands: I don't own Dark Angel, no profit (though I sure could use it, hehe) is being made, and all you reviewers are awesome! Oh, okay, yes, I also took one line from the movie The Island. I don't own that either.

FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION

"Homework, if you have any!"

"Aye, sir!" Dante sassed as he leapt out of the van, pack slung over one shoulder, a grin to match Wes' on his face as he took off for the apartment. He was going so fast he dodged right through the gaps in the steadily misting rain, or so it seemed.

The silence of the van apparently hadn't affected his ever-present optimism any or so it seemed.

"That boy," Wes grumbled good-naturedly.

"Do a bunch of forms count?" I groused, sliding across the van seat. The door on my side wouldn't open; it must be broken or have a bad connection.

We genetically engineered supersoldiers were in the back, as Wes, Amanda, and the van wouldn't have been able to survive an all out transgenic war for 'shotgun'.

"I meant homework for you, not me," he chuckled.

"Why? It's fun and exciting," Nessie sniggered, looking at me meaningfully, from the safety of Petra's arm. She gave a shake of her head as her blonde locks weighted down with the sprinkle of water, succeeding only in making some of it stick to her cheek.

"Say that again in that voice and I will have no alternative but to skin you, grind your bones into dust for a poultice, send your canned flesh to starving orphans in a third world country, and use your tendons and ligaments for rope to hang our 'beloved' teacher with."

"Surprising," Wes arched an eyebrow, following the three of us kids in Dante's wake. We hurried to get out of this freezing drizzle.

That hyperactive free spirit was at the apartment door by now, dancing on his heels impatiently, wanting inside and having to wait for us.

"A little overdone," Petra agreed, one arm still harboring Nessie, the other hefting both of their packs.

"Watch your proximity, you two," Wes warned, giving the two a look they were well to follow.

"I aim to please," I gave a mock-bow from the waist, ascending the stairwell to join the still-dancing Dante.

"C'mon you slowpokes, I want to get my homework done," he teased, rolling his eyes.

"At least someone enjoyed school," I gave him a glare I was only half kidding.

"Gotta go, son? Doing the pee dance?" Wes laughed as he took his time finding the card key. I rolled my eyes; it was right there in his wallet plain to see.

"Huh?"

"He means do you have to use the head to relieve yourself so-silly." I gave his hair a quick ruffle, hoping no one would notice my slip of the tongue. I almost said soldier.

"Oh. No, sir, I do not have to liquidly relieve myself, I just want to get in," Dante gave a charming grin that would have had more success on Neela. Wes just let us all in.

We converged into the kitchen/dining room area, spreading out our various packs and paperwork. Wes just gave the stacks of processed wood material a mournful look, muttering something about hating paperwork on his way to grab an after school snack I was sure was more for his benefit than ours.

"Look at all those papers! It's like buying a new car or closing on a house all these forms," he shook his head. But he had snagged a pen from somewhere, and took a seat at the table with us.

"Yes, we're just so expensive," I quipped dryly; ignoring the cough of mirth from the others, looking at my own paperwork while Wes flicked my ear.

"Yes, yes, you are and don't forget it."

"Where's Amanda?" Petra inquired, sorting through his stack.

"Seattle facility. One of us is required to report, and this facility is the closest, so we report to the local director."

"Like the Colonel?" I asked, stacking my own papers.

"If he's the head of your facility than yes, she is, only this facilities director is a piece of work. Fake hair job that looks nasty but cost almost as much as one of you, horrible make-up, a personality that would make Hitler look like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, and one universal sized ego. I'm glad Amanda's doing the reporting, not me."

"But you have to do our paperwork," Dante pointed out, stacking his own papers in neat little piles according to what he deemed were the more important ones.

"She has to do more than this and deal with Renfro. I got lucky."

Renfro. Director Renfro. This was the second time I'd heard that name. I filed that information away in the back of my mind, finishing finally with all the forms and waited with the rest of my detail for Wes to complete them. He started counter-clockwise, taking Dante's on first, then Petra's, Nessie's, and finally mine.

"You don't have to stare at the walls or be so quiet," Wes commented, not looking up from some papers he was signing.

"Well, what would you have us to do sir?"

"Do some laundry, clean the house, exercise, start dinner, watch some TV…. anything's better than shutting down like robots."

I think he was joking, but I didn't wait around to find out. With a few quick hand signals we split off from the table, each to an assigned task. Between the four of us, by the time Wes had reached my stack of papers, the house was sparkling, what little dishes there had been were finished, laundry was put in the wash, dried, folded, and put away, the floor were swept, the carpets and rugs vacuumed, the furniture and knick knacks dusted and polished, and Dante and Nessie were investigating the cupboards, wondering how to make dinner while Petra came up to throw his dirty polish rag in the garbage.

"So, how was your day?" Nessie began conversationally, asking neither of the boys in particular.

"It was okay, kinda boring," Dante shrugged, but his smirk said something had happened.

"What did you do?" Petra groaned as he joined Nessie in looking through the fridge.

"I didn't do anything," Dante said all too innocently, grabbing some cookware.

"Yeah, right," I quipped, entering the kitchen. "What are you all making?"

"We have no idea," Nessie informed me, grinning from around Petra's lean build.

"It's all Wes' fault, he gave us vague directions, saying only 'cook dinner'," Dante sniggered.

I grabbed a slim booklet of Campbell's Soup Easy To Make Recipes and tossed it at the smirking boy.

"Cook dinner," I grinned nastily at him, laughing at those wondrous lavender eyes that pouted back at me with matching sulky lips.

"What are you going to do?" he asked as I leaned my rear end against one of the counters.

"Observe and oversee like a good commanding officer," I laughed.

"Then that should be my job, move over," Petra gripped my shoulders and relocated me so our positions were reversed, me in front of him while he leaned nonchalantly against the counter, mimicking my laid back stance.

"Oh, no you don't chico, vamonos!"

"Chico?" Nessie repeated, giggling. "Isn't it supposed to be chica?"

"Only if he were a girl and I wouldn't insult the feminine gender that way."

"Ouch!" Dante laughed, adding a mixer to his growing pile of cooking paraphernalia.

"I wouldn't say much if I were you pixie boots," I warned, my voice taking on a growling edge with our playfulness.

"Pixie boots!"

"You can't call Dante a pixie!" Nessie spoke up, gathering some of the ingredients for Chili Chicken Pasta Topper, from the Campbell's recipe book.

"Thank you, Nessie."

"Pixie's don't have lilac eyes. He must be a faery."

"Fairy!" Dante exploded, indignant.

"Not fairy, faery. There's a difference dear, Dante," Nessie sweetly informed him, reading and memorizing the recipe. "Do we have any chicken?"

"Only if you count Dante."

"What's with targeting me?" he demanded, spatula in one hand as he put his hands on his hips in an all-too-familiar gesture.

Petra laughed, throwing his sun zapped hair back, chest rumbling with the action. It was amazing what a week out from under the normal trainers and routine had done for us, for our personalities.

"I wouldn't be laughing, you cat-eyed Tiger boy," he grumbled, alternately glaring at us three gathered in the small kitchen.

"Better a mysterious cat-eyed tiger boy than a lilac faery," Petra laughed, putting an emphasis on the fae in faery.

"It's not my fault!"

"It snot?" I asked, and Nessie crowed in laughter.

"Not. It's. Not." Dante punctuated this by clanging his pot of water down on the stove burner.

"Sounds like there's way too much fun going on in this kitchen," Wes commented, getting up from the dinette room chair and looking back at us behind him.

He groaned in relief as he stood and stretched, finally complete with our first day school forms.

"There is…at my expense," Dante huffed, sending Nessie into another fit of giggles. Wes gave a soft smile, and then flicked his eyes over to Petra and I.

"Nessie and Dante can handle the kitchen and dinner, why don't you two find something else to do until dinner?"

"Sure," I stood up, Petra right behind me, missing Nessie glance over to follow his progress out.

"What do we do now?" Petra asked in a low tone that Wes wouldn't be able to overhear.

"We could always watch TV," I suggested, grinning.

I lead the way to the small living room area and flopped down on the couch, not caring if it wasn't proper manners or etiquette. I even curled my feet up underneath me on the couch, though I did make sure my shoes were off beforehand.

Petra spilled over onto the other side of the long couch. I say spilled because Petra never did anything as mundane or common as slump. He poised, or lounged, or arranged himself, but he never, ever slumped.

His legs were coltish right now, a foreshadowing of the height he would achieve upon maturation, which would be considerable given their current length and Manticore's predisposition toward hiring men no less than six feet, the Colonel seeming an exception.

I picked up the remote, as it was right by my hand, and flicked on the television. I flipped through several channels, boring college sports channels, finally settling on the TV Guide channel to see what was on.

"There's a movie," Petra commented, pointing. "Predator, with an Arnold Swartzennagger, circa 1987."

"Sounds good. It's just starting too."

I flipped to the station, and settled deeper in the plush couch, making myself comfortable. This seemed like it was going to be a good movie.


"You are one ugly, mother------"

"Bleep!" Wes audibly censored the movie, tossing down a handful of air-popped popcorn, drenched with melted butter, and seasoned with an ocean's weight in salt.

"You know, with our super hearing, we could still…"

"Shut up, Dante!" I ordered, grabbing some more popcorn, never taking my eyes from off the screen.

The five of us were gathered around the TV, riveted. The cinematics of the late eighties may not have been on par with today's technology, but the movie and plot line were well written and kept us glued to our seats.

"Picky, picky, picky."

"Hush," Petra 'nudged' him with the foot that Nessie wasn't leaning against. She was in between the two of us in the center of the couch, holding the huge bowl of popcorn in her lap. Dante and Wes were on the floor in front of us, Wes saying he hadn't sat on a floor for a movie in 'too long'.

I licked the butter and salt from my lips, stuffing my mouth again with light, fluffy popcorn goodness. Hmmm…cheesecake and popcorn have definitely become some favorites.

Arnie was being pummeled around by the hulking alien Predator, who I had to admit, was ugly. But no more so than some of the anomalies, and I immediately felt bad for having thought the Predator was ugly because he didn't look human.

Just because you don't have a tail or scales or fur doesn't make you any less a Chimera then they, I admonished myself silently.

But he was still ugly.

We watched in silence the duel between the greatest hunters this side of the cinema.

"That couldn't happen!" Nessie objected around a mouthful of popcorn.

We were now at the part where the Predator, in true ego bruised fashion, had just self-destructed his big, bad bomb.

"No way he could have survived! That was a thermonuclear blast! The radiation would kill him," she insisted. "If the debris or sonic wave didn't get him first."

"Actually, that was more of a pulse bomb, not a thermonuclear one, so the risk of fallout wouldn't be there," Wes shrugged as he lifted himself off the floor to the sound of the credits.

We gathered our dishes, popcorn bowls and dinner plates, cups and utensils. I started some dishwater, getting it all soapy with Palmolive Aromatherapy dish soap, letting the nearly blistering water take away some of the chill that had penetrated the coziness of the apartment.

I looked out the window, hands still buried in the sink beneath the water, looking at the sky now dark as night that should have been a few hours away, listening as the raining deluge beat a syncopated rhythm.

"Makes you almost wish for snow instead of being so chilly and damp," Petra commented.

By unspoken agreement, we cleaned up the dinner mess, since the other two had made dinner.

"Yeah. Least in Wyoming you knew the rain and cold would turn into something. Here it's just damp and dreary, no white to look forward to give a new outlook on shapes and images taken for granted."

"That was almost poetic. Why the introspection, madam commanding officer?"

I gave him a sideways glance and wry smile, flicking suds and water in his general direction, chuckling. I turned off the faucet, and then started putting all the utensils in the water.

Nessie and Dante had been considerate and washed the dishes creating dinner as they went along, so I didn't have to worry about sticky pans or a bunch of mixing utilities.

"I guess it's because, I'm bored and it's giving me time to think," I smiled again, hurriedly but efficiently removing the accumulated dinner mess off the utensils, rinsing them off, and setting them in the drainer so Petra could dry and put away.

"You think when you're bored?" Petra laughed, and I rammed him with my hip.

"Laugh it up, fuzzy. Some people actually chose to use what Manticore gave them."

"Ah, let me know who they are so I can give them a medal and congratulate them."

I used the little detachable nozzle to spray Petra, only to get rat-tailed and yip as Petra snapped the damp dishcloth at my exposed flank. My glare promised the gloating former commanding officer retribution, and the next few minutes were spent warily eyeballing each other as we finished up the dishes.

"What are you doing?" I questioned him, grinning, as I walked around him seeing he kept his eyes on me, and his rear protected by the cupboards.

"Staying away from you."

"In a kitchen this size? Good luck."

But I let him pass, if only because I was too lazy to think of an appropriate punishment, wanting to get back to the thoughts that had bothered me today. Chief of which, who, had bothered me.

"Amanda's home," I called out absently, going to sit back on the couch with Nessie. Petra came in, sat on Nessie's other side, and Dante sat at the other end with me.

Call it instinct, but somehow, we knew that things were about to get more serious now that 'mommy' was home.

"All right, sit…oh, you are eh? Stop doing that," Wes shook a finger in our direction as Amanda walked in.

"What did you do?" she asked, looking pointedly at Wes as she shut the door, locking it.

"Me? I didn't do anything," Wes protested, hands spread out in a 'who, me?' gesture.

"Right," she arched one delicately plucked and shaped eyebrow, looking at us.

Her snapping emerald eyes seemed just a little tired, the skin at the edges of her mouth and eyes looking as if they'd been tight, like she'd been holding back emotion or having a really bad day. The peaches and cream with just a smattering of freckles seemed more creamed and wan, and the vibrant hair seemed to lack…it's aliveness, being all wet from the rain outside. All in all, she looked tired and more exhausted than when we left her this morning.

"You doing okay?" Wes asked, his strange greenish-gray eyes concerned.

There was a marked difference between the two, both clothing and color wise. Whereas Amanda looked like a professional Irish fae, with her smooth alabaster skin and fiery hair all accented by the business skirt suit, Wes looked like the cool kid from the block. He wore a gray 'hoodie' with the Raiders insignia emblazoned on the chest, a pair of worn looking jeans, some dark Nikes with a navy swoosh, and looking utterly comfortable. The colors highlighted the dark of his skin, and his hair had dried from the light sprinkle earlier into tight curls.

We all watched from our places on the couch, utterly silent and still, slowly slipping into alert soldier mode, waiting. I felt, maybe if we're quiet, they won't hold anything back and get distracted.

"Just the usual hazards of spending an extended amount of time in the presence of that bia-, uh, witch," she hastily corrected herself before saying something else.

Wes gave a sympathetic smile, assisting her as she took off her coat and set the briefcase by a chair facing our couch.

"I see y'all got started without me," she smacked Wes upside the head as she passed him, ignoring his look to take the comfortable chair to leave Wes grabbing a chair from the table.

"You're welcome," he grumped, but Amanda didn't pay him any mind, she was busy looking at each of us, holding our gazes for several long seconds, quietly gathering her thoughts.

"Wes, do you have the video?"

"Yes, ma'am," he exaggerated in a drawl remarkably similar to Amanda's.

That earned him another smack and a curt 'shut-up'. I was fascinated at this interaction between the adults, but at the same time I dreaded, hearing that word 'video'. Nothing good ever came from videos on a mission when a handler used that tone of voice.

It brought to mind one of my first missions, a group effort that had paired Jondy, Krit, Ben, Zane, Jace, and I with one of then Staff Sergeant Vaughn's Special Forces members.


"Show them the video, Haskell," Sergeant Pierce ordered, stern eyes never leaving our expressionless faces. He looked for, but didn't recognize, the barest flicker of our curiosity.

The subordinate, Haskell, 'yes, sir'ed' and left the room.

"The video, sir?" Zane, as acting Commanding Officer –much to Jace's dismay- inquired.

"That's right Two Zero Five. Now hush."

Haskell came back with a videocassette, unmarked, just a plain, everyday videocassette you might find at any convenience or grocery store.

"Watch and observe," we were commanded, and obediently, we focused in on the screen as the junior officer put the video in the VCR and pressed 'play'.

A series of shots showing mangled bodies filled the screen, panning out to see they were part of a mass grave, in every sense of the word. The gaping hole spread out for what the astonished narrator commented on was nearly an eighth of a mile in circumference.

The camera zoomed in on a few of the pitiful bodies, now bloated and discolored from a combination of lime, dirt, debris, and scavengers. Many of the bodies were of the elderly, or children, young children no older than me and Kavi and my siblings, or those handicapped or injured.

I don't know how any of us held it together. We'd of course seen photos similar in our history classes, but this was the first time it ever went into such…detail. I heard Jace, stalwart by-the-numbers Jace, take several rapid breaths and it made me feel better in some vicious way.

"This is the objective: take down the bastards responsible for this genocide. Any objections?"


"Ma'am, Amanda, the video?" Nessie ventured. I wasn't the only one relieved when Amanda only smiled instead of snapped.

"Yes. There's some interesting footage you'll be interested in."

When Amanda's voice smoothed over and lost all trace of that lovely accent that was well and truly hers, I knew this wasn't going to be easy. I think I would have preferred her to yell at Nessie.

Wes was placing a video -another nondescript one- into the VCR, switched the TV to the proper station, and pressed the play button. He stepped back to take his seat, settling in to watch.

There was a few moments of that static bar thingie that always happens at the beginning and end of tapes, but it soon snapped into focus. I wasn't too surprised to recognize the inside of van, taking note that this was filmed this morning.

"Hey, that's us," Dante spoke in surprised, before remembering he shouldn't say anything.

"Is it?" Amanda mused, mouth pressed in a firm line, eyes flicking back to the screen.

"Surveillance video. Wes was bugged," Petra murmured below human level, but we transgenics nodded imperceptibly. I couldn't help feel a twinge of betrayal, even though I knew Wes and Amanda were only doing their jobs.

I watched with one eye the entire conversation in the morning ride to school, the other watching my friend's reactions. Petra looked grim, Nessie stricken, Dante looked as if hell had frozen over, and Wes and Amanda were observing us.

Always watching, always there. How much will they tell? How much do they know?

I was more disturbed with the video, as I saw cuts from three classrooms simultaneously: Dante's, Petra's, and the class I shared with Nessie and the fantastic four. My eyes were drawn to Dante's classroom, on one particular freckled face that I knew as well as my own. Well, at least as well as his twin.

Alec, in all his careless glory, was big guy in the classroom. He seemed to be the center of attention for boys and girls both, drawing them in like moth to flame. Alec, who bore the same hazel eyes which could tell entire stories with one glance; whose smirk was both endearingly familiar and agonizingly unknown.

I felt a gap in my heart, a large, ten-year old with a freckle face and ready story sized gap named Ben. Sixteen other life-sized gaps were adjacent, but his stung the most. Tears found their way to my eyes but I blinked them away so the adults wouldn't see.

The classroom scenes cut to lunch; somewhat fortunately for me, my little eye lock with Alec hadn't been caught on tape, it had been focused in on Dante next to his fourth grade buddies. By the time the camera panned over, Nessie and I were already seated and eating hearty. Looking at us eating made my stomach rumble again though I already had eaten. I could almost taste the velvety cream cheese flavoring on my tongue and I sighed softly.

I wanted more cheesecake.

The camera followed me and Nessie through the halls, not catching any audio, but the message did come across crystal clear on the half of the screen devoted to my class: I was in Mara's face, the others intimidated and backing off.

"A little dominance and submission, Kitty?" Wes asked, but not as if he found it amusing.

"You know it, sir," I quipped to throw him off, receiving a pair of odd looks in return.

Initial information gathering whilst under informal and non-threatening means, my brain recognized and catalogued what was going on.

It was one of the first steps in intelligence tradecraft 101, and a highly effective skill if one were good at it, yielding most of the information gathered by those in espionage without giving away sources or identities.

It also was used in initial interrogation and/or debriefing. Since I doubted we were in any major trouble –yet- I assumed that this was a debriefing. We were being allowed a chance to review the data first, process it, and then endure about an hour or two's worth of lecture on everything you did wrong, with scant bits of praise tossed about.

The video split off into three again, this time I observed Petra in his class, being able to make out what the kids were saying by reading their lips, even if some of the picture was grainy.

"Kr- X5-471!" I caught myself before shouting out Krit's name. I didn't catch the look Wes and Amanda gave each other in my surprise at seeing another familiar face.

"What? Where?" Wes frowned as he played the tape on a slower setting after backtracking.

"There," I pointed to a kid handing Petra's teacher some paperwork. Upon closer examination however, I could see…

"That's not Four Seven One," Amanda began in a surprisingly accurate completion of my thoughts.

"That's his twin Four Seven Two," Wes added. "Alias is Devon Lee Anderson."

'How the hell did she see that?' Amanda wondered, staring from the tape frozen on said transgenics face, and back to the stunned Max.

I was still reeling with the revelation: Two twins in one day?

Krit had a twin, just like Ben has a twin, Alec. Alec and Devon, Ben and Krit. How many more of us are twinned out there? Everyone?

"What's he doing in Petra's class? Four Seven One is only a year and half older than I am, he should be in the third grade at least."

"Um, he's not in Petra's class, he was just delivering some paperwork."

"But he's at this school? Is he assigned to the Seattle facility?"

Well, duh! If he's there at the school helping deliver paperwork he must be enrolled in the school. But if Alec were Seattle raised, did the same apply for Krit's twin, Devon?

"Yes and you are not authorized for that last piece of information," Wes answered. It seemed like Wes and Amanda were alternating who answered the questions.

"I take it Devon, designation Four Seven Two, his twin Four Seven One is one of your original unit mates?" Amanda queried.

"Yes."

We also share enough genetic material to pass as natural brother and sister, don't you see the likeness? I wanted to shout but kept my mouth shut.

"So you'd be more familiar with who he was and recognize him as a transgenic on sight," Wes nodded to himself, answering his own questioning statement.

"Yes, sir."

"He looks enough like Max to be her twin brother," Petra commented, his eyes zooming in on the picture. Nessie nudged him, Dante glared at him, and I froze.

"What?" Wes frowned as he looked from the picture of the transgenic on tape to the transgenic on his couch.

There was a significant resemblance in the light Hispanic features, the forehead was just a little longer and square, but the jaw was similar, and the lips…it was like looking at a masculine version of Max.

"Well, I'll be buggered," he whistled. He'd had to squint to make out some of the details.

"Let me see." Amanda leaned forward and studied the still.

She hummed and leaned back in her seat, thoughtful. I didn't trust it.

"Interesting," was all she murmured. I found myself breathing a little easier for no reason I could decipher.

"Regardless, let's finish this."

With that brisk command, she resumed playback on the recorder. We watched in sick fascination the rest of our school day, our rush to the outdoors, and then one camera took off after Dante and Petra as they met up and were held back in the halls by a group of their peers. The second camera angle took off after Nessie and my little group.

It zoomed in as we waited at our spot, jumping slightly as we could hear over the tiny audio the gunshot popping noise; I gazed upon little me and the group dive for cover. My eyes narrowed and I frowned.

"Stop! Go back, slowly, that's good. Now play in slower speed."

I leaned forward and I saw what had caught my attention and most likely that of the trainers. In slow motion you could see that the reaction time between those I now picked out as transgenics and most Ordinaries was significant.

Even the faster reacting Ordinaries were still slow compared to we transgenics who were already on the ground and moving toward better positions before the Ordinary was even starting to move.

"Do you see it?" I questioned my team.

"We moved faster," Nessie nodded, glaring at the jerky seniors who took off out of sight of the camera. I knew what was going on in her mind for it was going on in my own: retribution.

I know you, I warned the unsuspecting seniors quietly.

"A lot faster," Dante agreed. He too, was frowning, as he realized…

"Y'all blew your cover if one knew where to look," Petra stated the obvious.

"We weren't the only ones," I felt the need to point out, motioning to the tape going at half speed.

"But the mission was to blend in. Hitting the deck and moving into combat formations does not 'blend' in for normal children being startled by a prank. We failed," Petra insisted.

"Not only transgenics ducked. There were quite a number of Ordinaries who ducked, far quicker than others. Notice, most of us who ducked had some sort of athleticism in their cover."

"Petra's right. You failed the mission today."

We were effectively silenced as we turned our attention to Amanda who was reclining gracefully in her chair, elbows on opposite arm rests, hands splayed to steeple in front of her. She looked like a Congresswoman, or a lawyer, or the head honcho of some business firm.

"Normal children do not react as quick as you did."

"No, they shout 'incoming' and set off firecrackers," I retorted, ignoring the sharp looks from my handlers.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I believe we succeeded."

"Explain," she clipped out. I felt my spine stiffen in automatic response.

"Ma'am, the cornerstone of our training is to react to all perceived threats in as rapid and smooth manner as possible. Observe, how the group comprised of Nessie, our transgenic companions, and myself. Having known each other less than twelve hours, at the first hint of danger we fall back into the most effective defense possibly, forming up for the best counter to the hazard. Not only us, but other transgenics as well, moving to positions to protect our Ordinary charges despite age or experience. I'd say, as the soldiers we were created to be, we were a success."

The two adults were quiet and respectful during this little speech, nodding, sharing looks that communicated far more than words. I wondered if they could speak to each other using a mind link like my family and I; nah.

Finally, Amanda spoke.

"Your reasoning is logical and not without it's valid points. However, this exercise was designed with the objective of being able to blend in with we so-called 'ordinaries', regardless of what is taking place around you."

She paused to let that sink in before continuing.

"So in this instance, yes, X5-452, you failed."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut and let out to be used as target practice on the rifle range.


Fail? X5-452 failed? I am part of Unit 2, the elite of Gillette, Wyoming. We never fail…I didn't fail.


I bristled and looked up to meet Amanda's steely gaze with one of my own. I sank into that silent white center where I filled that hollowness with all my feelings and still wasn't filled. All emotion bled out, leaving my eyes as void as the center, and I met her head on.

"How are we to know that the firecrackers were not, in fact, actual gunfire? Should we have just stood there like Ordinaries to be shot like so many targets? Had we, 'blended in' as you put it, we would have been just as dead. And a dead transgenic didn't succeed in their mission to survive now did they? Above all exercise priorities, our mission first and last is to react in an efficient and soldierly manner to neutralize and/or eliminate any danger. We did not fail."

"A bold statement, Four Five Two."

"Truth usually is, Agent Ferrell."

Amanda cocked an eyebrow at the formal title.

"So it is."

Wes decided it was time for him to take over and he jumped in.

"Okay, so you are all aware of what you did and did not perform correctly, right? Right. We will study in depth further on the nuances that we Ordinaries take for granted that you highly and efficiently trained soldiers are not aware. For now, it's time to turn in. Tomorrow we will go over the daily schedule for the duration of this mission. Any questions? Good. Hit the sack."

"Aye, sir!" we chorused softly so as not to be heard, snapping a salute to them both. We filed out single file and semi-marched up the stairway to the loft area where we bunked.

I was silent as I undressed, hearing the others' steady breathing, knowing their thoughts were now as heavy as mine. I knew I might have gotten us all in trouble, at least definitely me, but there was no way I was going to apologize for something that I didn't do wrong!

So maybe we didn't have the whole 'blend in, act like an Ordinary, normal child' thing down pat. We'd only been playacting for today, the other five days we were still expected to act like the spectacular super soldier we were.

How in the name of the Blue Lady above were we supposed to know these things if they don't explain them to us? I scowled, erasing it quickly as I heard the rustling of bedcovers when Nessie crawled into her bunk. We had bunk beds, one bed on the other. I took the top, and Nessie took the bottom, we had the bunk beds since the two rooms of the loft actually used to be one big room before they built a wall to divide it.

"Nessie?" I whispered softly, knowing she could hear me.

"Yes?"

"We didn't fail. You did a good job today soldier. You did a good job."

I could make out her smile in the darkness, and then she rolled over and shut her eyes to sleep. I killed the light switch-lights!- and leapt onto my top rack. A few minutes later, Wes checked in on us, said good night, and then left for the boys. He said the same thing, and I could hear his footsteps go down the loft stairs to the other stairway set opposite ours, leading to another loft divided just like ours.

I listened very closely, waiting long, agonizing moments, wishing I could just turn over and fall asleep like the now dreaming Nessie. But no! My thrice-damned Shark D.N.A. just wouldn't let my restless and weary mind settle.

Listening to Nessie's peaceful breathing even, and hearing similar sounds from the boys in the next room, I never felt so alone. The unfamiliar breathing patterns of friends who weren't my family, I keenly missed the presence of my kin. There was no Jondy to stay up all night with, laughing and giggling and gossiping about the guards, staff, and other units.

A stray beam of light from the streetlight outside illuminated part of the room, extending to touch the wall, and a keening ache lanced through me. Ben was not there to make hand puppets on the wall to help soothe me to sleep in accompaniment to one of his fables. He wasn't there to curl around me until the very last moment before reveille, his warmth as comforting as his voice and presence.

I sat up in bed, staring at the far wall, the strip of artificial light, and a longing for the gray familiarity of Manticore. At least there I could wander without getting caught. I had a feeling there might be some hidden cameras and microphones, perhaps even an alarm system that I wasn't aware of. So sneaking out my window was out…for now.

I lay back down with a grumpy sigh, turning to face the wall my bed was against. My hand reached out to touch the smooth textured plaster, feeling the cool against my fingertips, as a pair of tears marked a path down my face.

My fingers traced invisible familiar words that had become as drilled into me as learning how to fight.


DUTY.


MISSION.


HONOR.


SUCCESS.


Just before I closed my eyes, trying to force myself to drift asleep, my fingers sketched one last set.


FAMILY.


LOVE.


SIBLINGS.


ALONE.