Of Wolves and Devils: A Dark Angel Fanfiction Story
Episode 2:
Previously…
Max tried to punch the mystery figure. But, she bent 120 degrees backwards: Impossible by human standards of anatomy. Mechanical whirls sounded off. In seconds…she kicked Max with both legs without even pushing off the ground. She crashed into the wall…falling into a red bricked bathroom through shards of a sink.
The back of her head and back were covered in deep dark red cuts. Max shook and groaned violently…her vision starting to blur like never before. Max muttered, "that the…violent cough…best you got?"
The mystery attacker just walked over the shards like they're plastic, letting them break under her rubber feet. She grabbed Max by the wrist as she tried to punch at her. And…she swung Max straight through a white bathroom stall.
Max felt painful seizures running through her pulsing sobbing body: Unable to resist the powerful instinct to crouch against her shaking knees, and feeling the worst kind of helplessness creeping up on her. And, the mystery figure stood over her…ready to finish it.
Presently…
At the last possible second…Max forces her pulsing body to make a move.
She high jump flips back, kicking up into her attacker's head with both legs. A trail of dark red liquid and motor oil flies up from her neck.
The cold cryogenic run water rising out from the plumbing left over the shards of sink is already several inches over the bathroom floor.
Max falls back in mid-kick…as her body gives out to passing out. But, her attacker falls into the water.
She finds herself coughing motor oil and dark red liquid on reflex, as the water around her gets redder and redder. She closes her eyes…just as sparks of fried circuitry courses through her nervous system.
The water runs under the bathroom door…as footsteps seem to echo on and on forever in Max's head in those seconds of consciousness.
Back in Seattle…
Logan is back in his apartment, and back on his computer. He says, "good thing you called."
Sydney is standing there, against a wooden framed Chinese screen doorframe. She uneasily cuts to the point, "yeah. So, what did you dig up?"
Logan is looking through satellite feed off of the Caribbean islands, reconfigured temporarily to oversee and triangulate movements of everyone in South Louisiana. He narrows the search down for anyone carrying two dark red rifles. And…he zooms in on the only sighting of such a description: At a cryogenic hospital in bright green paint, with cryogenically slowed waterways coming in and out of it like a subway map.
A little more than slightly nervous, Logan puts together, "looks like a woman…matching Max's description was found brutally beaten twenty three minutes ago. Recently picked up by our "charming" Mister Foivann."
Worried, Sydney starts to question, "is she…?" Logan answers, "she's been placed in Cryogenic Hospital number 17, southeast side of Slimelock. Take it they never cared much to give them names. But, from what I'm gathering from hospital records…her vital signs are promising."
Now standing over his shoulder, Sydney slightly chuckles in partial relief, "guess that makes it more easy for us then."
Logan slightly sighs, "still leaves one unsolved mystery though. If Max got this close to stopping the killer…why would he try to help her back on her feet if he was responsible?"
Sydney shrugs, "stress can do numbers on your mind. Maybe that's all there is to it." Logan figures, "yeah. Possibly. Except…your intelligence found no sign of mental instability from him. So, that can't be it."
Sydney realizes, "which means he's working with someone."
Logan adds, "exactly. The only question is…who is?" Sydney points out, "I'd like to know the answer to that question myself. But, whoever it is… They're bound to show up and try again. And, we're running out of time."
Logan firmly says, "not if I can help it." He walks over to his jet black home phone, and starts to dial a number.
Sydney wonders curiously, "who are you calling?" Logan cryptically says, "someone that doesn't mind working late hours."
In a cryogenic hospital room…
The concrete bluish walls have almost all their paint worn off. Medics are down to their rags, due to lack of clothes. But, they're well treated otherwise.
Down the halls are the guards. They work for several crime bosses, as a eerie check and balance of sorts. Some wear green sweaty tops and black gloves, with black market red fragmentation grenade bombs. Some wear jet black undershirts under matching military grade padded armor.
Max's unconscious body lies in a open cryogenic Jacuzzi like chamber, still in the dark red catsuit. And, with suction cupped wires coming from twentieth century monitoring equipment.
But, her regenerative Manticore blood is doing all the healing. The deep cuts are mostly gone. But, two big purplish bruises and three deep cuts are still across her side and in her back.
The medic with medium messy black hair watching over her is just watching: More than content to just have something resembling a lunch break for his work. He's in a wooden fold out chair, looking through a early 2000's car magazine with half naked women and dark blue and silver cars.
Out the room's only dusty window…the day is giving rise to early dawn. Rain pours over the overflowing waterways. Red cone roadblocks with very dark brown and very dark green tarps over them block the flooding areas, letting the water fall back into the cryogenic contaminated waters like many times before. Only bizarre sea life of the deep, alligators, and crocs are left alive: When they're not being hunted for food and tarp.
Max faintly opens her eyes…slowly taking in all the details she can see. She immediately gets the faint impression that a hour and a half has passed: At the very least. And then…the rest of her body catches up to her.
She coughs violently. But, it feels less worse than before. And, that's enough for Max at the moment. She mutters under her breath, "damn, I'm cold!"
The medic looks over his magazine: A little startled. But, it quickly fades. In Cajun French, he comments, "not much we can do for that, I'm afraid."
Max slightly sighs. In a cold manner, she says, "right. Now that you're not engrossed in your little peep show… Care to tell me where I am?" With her parallel processing and cat like eyes…she pieces together the dialect on the fly.
A little surprised, the medic uneasily adds, "yeah. Sure. You won't tell them or nothing. Right?" Max can't help but roll her eyes at this. But, she says, "sure. Whatever. Just tell this bitch what's up."
A little more relaxed now, the medic explains, "you're in Cryogenic Hospital number 17. Mister Foivann had his people bring you here. But, looks like we needed no operations or nothing. Faint chuckle. I don't know how you do it. But, you've got some miracle body there." Max slightly smiles, "yeah. Doctors love to charge me for it all the same though."
The medic points out, "no worries there. Mister Foivann paid for everything already. All we need to know is when you're ready to go back." With a hand behind her head, Max adds, "sounds good. Can I get some food?"
The medic figures, "yeah. I'll get a maid over." He starts dialing some numbers on a white home phone.
Meanwhile, over in Slimelock…
Mister Foivann is in his sky plastered apartment: In his imported in dark red grated steambath with his two ladies. All topless. The steam is going…when his cellular phone rings.
He turns down the flower like red handle for the steam pumps, letting the steam start to fade. Mister Foivann looks to them, "looks like you got some time to yourselves. But, behave." They both nervously nod.
Mister Foivann grabs a sky blue towel, wrapping it around himself. He goes over to his matching bed, where his honey swirl styled cellular phone is. And, he picks it up. Less smooth sounding, Mister Foivann says, "yeah?"
Over the phone, a mechanical sounding voice mutters, "our deal has gone off on the radar." Glaring out to the sky beyond, Mister Foivann asks, "whose?"
The mechanical sounding voice interposes, "the sector police. Turns out Kylie is a undercover police woman. Killed one of our own people too."
Mister Foivann mutters, "from North Louisiana, no doubt."
The mechanical sounding voice voices, "now you're catching on. Fortunately, she's the only yī that knows. All we have to do is kill her, drop the body on their doorstep…and let those zhòu mà police come to us."
Slightly laughing, Mister Foivann figures chillingly, "I'll send one of my best guys right over." He hangs up.
Not long after…
Max is eating reheated smothered steak from a plastic tray plate lunch of rice and gravy. She sits up in the Jacuzzi like cryogenic chamber as she does, not wanting to look sexually inviting or weak to anyone.
Max comments, "it's all right. Could use some more muscle though."
The medic slightly sighs, "you just can't go a minute without going on hating on something. Can you?" Max remarks, "this bitch got opinions. Don't like? Don't engage. Don't let the door hit you on the way out." The medic rolls his eyes, turning back over to his magazine.
Coming down the hall…is Mister Foivann's hitman: Codename Archangel. He just walks in: No receptionist required. He's a guy in a jet black sweaty top, a silvery radiation suit issue gas mask, and jet black shoulder pads: With a ton of fragmentation grenades on a great big sash over a lot of muscle, like he's just asking to start a fight.
In a very husky voice, Archangel calls out, "Kylie! Come out, come out. I got a message for you."
Max sees and hears exactly who's there, seconds before he gets to the room.
But, just as she's about to bolt… A dark red striped package smashes through the window. Smoke bursts out, smothering the room in bluish smoke. The medic runs out the back doorway in a panic.
Max turns around for a second. And, down below…is Sketchy: With her rebuilt motorcycle, shiny like it was the night before the fall of Manticore and the explosion never happened. He calls out, "hey, Max! I got us our ticket out."
In memory flashes, of a call in the not too distant past…
Sydney wonders curiously, "who are you calling?" Logan cryptically says, "someone that doesn't mind working late hours." He picks up the receiver.
Sydney adds, "I'll be in the other room, keeping a eye on things." Logan nods, "sure." Sydney goes over to his computer.
Logan turns back to the receiver in hand, "yeah? Sketchy?"
Over the phone, Sketchy adds, "yeah?" He's in the dark, in the unseen bed in his white blocky concrete apartment. And, he sounds like he's half asleep. But, he doesn't look too tired.
Logan explains, "I need you to do a late night delivery for me." Sketchy wonders offhandedly, "ok. How much are we talking?"
Logan gets to the point, "it's Eyes Only business. Max is in trouble." Sketchy suddenly realizes, "ohh. Right. Sure. No problem. And…what am I bringing exactly?"
Logan figures, "most of that is up to you. I appreciate anything you can do."
A little uneasily, Sketchy concludes, "sure. I'll figure out something. What's the catch?"
Logan says, "I need you to deliver Max's motorcycle to her. Won't be long before a kingpin tries to pull out the welcome mat from under her feet, along with whatever ride she got. You know?"
Sketchy starts to reason, "I hear you…" Logan adds, "but?"
Sketchy reasons, "but… Moderate sigh. You know, she'd kill me if I even so much as touched her bike. And, I like the wishful thinking of my feet and the rest of me not landing in a great big pile of shit for once. You know?"
With a slight chuckle, Logan mostly assures him, "well, just tell her it was me that put you up to it. Let me worry about how I land. All right?"
Sketchy figures, "all right. You think you can do better? Go right ahead."
Logan comments sarcastically, "thanks Sketch."
Sketchy remarks, "hope you've got a will all planned out for when Eyes Only needs another man behind it." He nervously adds, "it wouldn't be asking too much to add one more name to it. Would it?"
Logan mutters lowly, "good night, Sketch." He hangs up.
Presently…
Max's relief almost completely dissipates, when she notices her motorcycle and motorcycle helmet with him. She is tempted to glare back. But, she has a more immediate concern: Surviving.
Two fragmentation grenades go off…splintering the entire room to concrete shards and debris. The Jacuzzi like cryogenic chamber bursts out into rubble. Max grabs the nearest ragged window curtain and swings straight through the cryogenic mess, kicking Archangel fast and hard. All the while, Max slightly chuckles, "not even trying to hide your pathetic "manliness". How's that looking for you, with metal razors up your butt?"
Archangel grabs her in midair, bringing her down the hall with his violently crashing body. But, Max pretty much wanted to get him angry enough to do it. Sketchy calls out nervously, "Max! You all right up there?!"
Max tumbles off of Archangel, getting back to her feet. With some violent coughs, Archangel laughs, "haven't got none. But, you could use some: Courtesy of Mister Foivann."
Max calls back, "I'll be right down!"
She takes out a snatched fragmentation grenade, and runs like hell. Max fake sighs, "aww. Guess I'll have to take it back: It's not my color."
She jump run flips off of the wall…as she hurls the grenade right into Archangel's chest. All just when the guys in military grade padded armor start shooting with rifles blazing. A trail of dark red liquid flies up from the slain Archangel…as the falling debris falls upon him.
The fragmentation brings down a good chunk of the hall on the guards as well: Giving Max a running start out the nearest window.
She lands on the ground with ease. Lights go off like firecrackers on the second floor, as Max rushes over towards Sketchy.
Sketchy comments, "you know, you seem in pretty good shape for a woman who needs saving." Max starts hunching over, trip tumbling over her lingering exhaustion catching up to her. She pulls herself over her motorcycle, while warningly glaring at him.
Max mutters lowly, "just shut up, and let this bitch drive her Ninja."
Gunshots go off from the pursuing guards, getting closer and closer. Sketchy concedes, "all right! All right." He gets in the back as Max takes off.
The gunshots graze off the motorcycle's back edge. But, Max cuts around two piles of greenish brown filth. And, by the time the guards force their way through…Max is already gone. One of them mutters, "shit!"
Several minutes after…
Sketchy asks, "ok. Now what?" Max is speeding down one of many small winding dock styled bridges, towards a little island with three trees. Two islands of water towers stand to either side of two more dock styled bridges: Lazily cobbled together in a compacted mess of hanging over dark green tarps, with countless waterways coming down from under.
Max figures, "now…we knock." Sketchy tries to point out, "you're going back to where you got your ass handed to you? Are you crazy?!"
Max slightly rolls her eyes, "no, Sketch: Back to the room and board."
Over communications, Logan comments, "still… That is crazy, Max: Even for you! You'll be walking in with a target on your back. And, in your present condition, that's saying something right there." He's back at his computer.
Max highlights, "and that's exactly why they won't see it coming. The whack job that attacked me had military intelligence to a science. And, there's probably more where that came from."
Logan sighs, "and, you really sure I can't talk you out of this?"
Max comments, "not unless you're flying in a Monolith. What's the safest way back?" Logan adds, "sorry. Afraid we're fresh out of space rocks."
Max smirks, "cute."
Sketchy butts in, "if you two "super geniuses" are done…don't we have some unfinished business before we blaze?"
Logan brings himself back to the present, "umm… Yeah. Give me a second." He opens his satellite feed backdoor on the bluish computer screen, along with a smaller window for a wall of numbers and records.
Logan concludes, "there we are. Make a wide turn past the water tower to your right. Then, keep going straight for three more islands. According to our intelligence gathered from the past two weeks…the guards for the gates of Slimelock are on a two hour rotation. The next rotation is seven o'clock. You got a four minute window if you make it by then."
Max adds, "thanks."
Logan figures, "no problem. Just be careful." Max slightly smiles, "I will." She turns tight around for the water tower on the right.
Sketchy remarks, "for real, Max? Because, I just risked life and limb to come here. And, I got limits as a "genetically inferior" guy. You know?"
Max voices, "for real. But, after we get back to Seattle…I'm taking it out on your ass for taking my motorcycle."
Sketchy brings up his point, "hey! Don't go blaming me. All right? Logan is the one who put me up to it anyway."
Max makes her wide turn around the water tower. She thinks out loud, "well… I'll let it slide just this once. But, you're paying for my back wheel getting all shot up. Got it?"
Knowing better than to argue, Sketchy nods, "done." Max figures, "glad we understand each other then."
Not very long after…they get to the metal gates. The time is about 0800. Max takes out a grenade from her waterlogged belt, and hurls it into them. They explode off the hinges. Max speeds on through, with a minute to spare.
Back at Daisy's apartment…
The candles look to be gone. The lights are out. And across the floor are a lot of plastic bags: Packed with clothes and food and everything else.
Past the cleared out closet… A familiar like figure with medium hair is sitting on the floor, praying with his back to the balcony in front of a single candle.
Seconds later… Two guys in jet black undershirts under matching military grade padded armor come in from the balcony. They let their jet black backpack parachutes automatically retract. One of them mutters, "don't worry. You'll be in Heaven before you know it." He has a sniper gun.
To his surprise though…he realizes it's not their target. Max slightly sighs, "didn't you take Reconnaissance 101? Cause this isn't Heaven: This is Hell."
She tumble jump side kicks back the guy with the sniper gun, sending him crashing into the glass door behind. He passes out in seconds, with dark red cuts all over. Reaching for his gun, the second guy calls out, "who the hell are you?!"
Max cuts to the chase, "your boss thought you could grease Galarin for being onto the "wannabe" Daisy from start to finish, while a escort ushers out the rest of Daisy's friends over to join her all expense vacation to keep quiet. But, this is how it's all going to go down." All the while, she's beating the surprised guy up like it's nothing. The gun falls away.
She holds him up by the throat, with many bruises on his scared little face. In German, the guy nervously says, "I don't want to die! Violent cough! I just came in…violent cough…looking for a paycheck to feed my kids! Please. Please. I'm begging you! Please."
Max slightly chuckles creepily, "first time for everything. All right. I'll make it real easy for you then. We pay you off for ratting out your boss. And you and your kids get to fly out to any country far away from here."
She lets him go, letting him back on his feet.
Confused and relieved all at once, he asks her, "ok. Who's "we"?" Max smiles bittersweetly.
Late in the afternoon…
Past the flywheel hybrid systems of industrial and hydraulic to the North…
Down the super polished city streets and wildlife preserve gates of a squeaky clean looking past…
There's a mostly marble white Congress styled police station with pale red brick walls. And on the foot of the marble steps...is Mister Foivann: Tied up, and with a brown sickly smelling sack over his head.
He's brought in by the Louisiana State Police, in their light yellow lined dark blue uniforms and sheriff like hats. One of them comments, "if only all mob bosses were this easy." Some of them faintly chuckle.
Once the sack is removed… They realize Mister Foivann has already passed out from the very smell of it. With a extra pair of white gloves, a second police officer immediately takes them off: After handling the sack.
He sighs, "Christ! That smells." They're in a very dark interrogation room, with smeared and chipped sewer greenish white tiles and a black table.
A third police officer smirks, "they all smell in Hell, man. They all do."
The first police officer mutters, "yeah. But, I for one am sick of the smell! And, people are really starting to talk. You know?" The third police officer comments, "oh, that? Slight smirk. Everyone blames the Louisiana State Police for their depression. This is no different."
The first police officer mutters back, "oh, it is. Enough southern lowlife disappear, and their friends are coming out with guns to blow our blessed heads off! I say we just dump him and the other bodies over. No more disappearances. No more talk."
The second police officer figures reluctantly, "he's got a point, man." The third police officer concludes chillingly, "all right! But, we're making a example of him. He doesn't deserve to just be forgotten." He's about to shoot Mister Foivann…when a very familiar voice pierces through the room.
Through the only glass window…is a video bulletin on the TV. Eyes Only announces, "Do not attempt to adjust your set. This is a Freedom Streaming Video Bulletin. It cannot be traced. It cannot be stopped. And, it's the only free voice left in Louisiana. Mister Foivann may be out of the playground. But, he is not the only cold blooded murderer in town. That's right. I'm talking about nine disappearances of innocent South Louisiana tourists: All just a cover story for dirty cops. This videotape is more than enough evidence for a conviction."
The third police officer shouts, "oh, go to Hell! We cut the feed, you lying bastard!" The second police officer uneasily realizes, "he's not. Look."
Eyes Only figured they would've cut the security feed. The body of Mister Foivann has been bugged this whole time, with a endoscope acting as a camera. And, as if on cue…the endoscope footage appears on the screen.
The entire conversation replays: In foggy, but clear enough resolution.
The third police officer motions, "come on. Let's go before…!" Police officers start surrounding the room. The glass window shatters from several warning shots. One of them calls out, "drop your weapons! Now!"
Eyes Only continues, "sure. The police department can get real dirty. But, I think your boss won't take too kindly to working with murderers. So, if I were you…I'd stand down so I can at least get some decent meals before my sentence."
The murdering police officers shakily drop their weapons. The last thing they wanted was to kill their own officers. They're left speechless…as they're handcuffed and escorted out of the interrogation room.
Meanwhile…
Lying on Mister Foivann's former bed…are his former ladies in dark red dresses. The bed's sheets are white and purple polka dotted. And, the sky plastered walls are getting all the spray paint scraped off.
In front of the bed is a old fashioned TV. The Eyes Only video bulletin finishes, "now, everyone else can start playing nicely in the playground for a change." It cuts out then, returning to the Canadian TV station YTV.
In Cajun French and a kind of deep voice, the woman in dyed red figures solemnly, "about damn time someone did." In Cajun french and a more drawn out voice, the woman in dyed black says, "I hear that. Wonder what's on now."
On screen, a narration by a certain purplish blue guardian sprite named Bob starts going, "I come from the Net. Systems, people, cities…to this place: Mainframe. My format: Guardian." A collection of cyberspace styled clips and colorful scenes of sprites come and go, before a certain logo spells out ReBoot.
The woman in dyed black figures, "damn nice."
The woman in dyed red comments, "least some things are still classy around this hellhole. I mean, can you imagine if it became a Tron rip-off?" The woman in dyed black shakes her head, "now, that'd be just sad."
Back in Logan's apartment…
Logan is sitting on his couch, looking over to Max.
The seizures only fully started up again after her body returned to normal feeling and temperature: After she came back. But, she's recently taken her meds. She's now looking out the window, out to the smoggy sky.
A little nervously, Logan asks, "how's my revved up girl holding up?"
Not even turning around, Max figures, "more than they will…once I know what whack jobs they even are. Oh yeah. And, you don't get to call me that all the time." She's teary eyed. But, she doesn't want to let the tears fall: Not ever. And, not ever again.
Logan stands up. He realizes, "you're scared, aren't you?"
Max slightly turns to him, "you know this bitch too well to ask, Logan. But, wherever they are…I'm seeing this bitch through: Rubber skin and all." Logan adds confidently, "so am I. Cause, I'm with you all the way: Start to finish."
They turn all the way to face each other. Max hugs him tightly. And, they just stand there: Hugging each other and teary eyed…before the smoggy sky of uncertainty.