Of Wolves and Devils: A Dark Angel Fanfiction Story
Episode 11:
Over the Canadian border, more than a few weeks ago…
The sky was clear and bright.
People were spiraling down the highways on the way to work at varying times.
Plenty of escorts in mostly black cars and corporate taxis were out and about: All running on petroleum infused in coolant. All with guys with corporate black and white rifles with silencers.
Most of the pollutants get caught in the underlying coolant. But, if one of these taxis shook hard enough while running…it'll be the last thing it ever does.
Smooth roads have become mandatory 24/7, and even neglecting to send out robots to smooth them out overnight instantly leads to jail time.
A white and yellow striped corporate taxi arrived at a coal black parking garage.
It's been one of many: At the bases of the very expensive skyscrapers, with rings of metal reinforced city blocks. All heavily guarded by modern SERT guards in mostly dark red military special forces attire and passive red body scanners.
A man in a brown business suit with a black mohawk got out with his bodyguards.
As they went through the scanners… A computer voice chimed, "welcome to The Mac Towers, Tomas Kine." He muttered annoyedly to it, "yeah, yeah."
As he walked through the automatic door… It turned out the lobby…was really two. Every floor was really two.
One side was more like a American airport: With little shops, fancy restaurants with Americanized everything, and the floor done up like a giant American flag.
The other was more like a English palace with ten mostly black and red cushioned seated lounges to wait in. Each lounge was with a grey TV set that advertises the same thing 24/7. But, with a button for optional American Sign Language.
Against mostly blue screens in black letters… The announcer was going, "from the Shatner Resorts and the Fairchild Fashion Line to the Disneyland province and the OMNI TV Land conglomerate including themes parks…"
In 32-bit… Caitlin Fairchild's face and the face of a very iconic guy with the first name of William scroll by: Along with logos of Disney and OMNI TV.
And, the announcer said, "we are Canada: Redefining what united means long before the United States could possibly deserve their own name again. We are sorry for any heated disagreements within our borders that this advertisement may lead to. But, maybe you were just not united with us enough to truly understand when to take a joke."
All of this was passing by the TV screens: With the Canadian flag on both sides of each, and the fifty United States broken up like colorful puzzle pieces just zipping out.
Two young women in T-shirts were sitting across from one. They both had fairly long dark brown hair. Both had glass beer bottles.
One wore a black T-shirt with a green highway sign with Edmonton written on it.
She chuckled at the TV. And, she drank down the last of her beer.
She then faintly sighed, "that is never getting old."
The other young woman wore a black Watchman movie poster themed T-shirt, with Rorschach walking away in the rain in his dark brown overcoat.
She faintly chuckled, "yeah. Want some more beer?"
The first young woman faintly smiled, "yeah. Sure. Let's go get some."
They both got to their feet, heading for the nearest elevator.
Off to the side of this lounge though…was a silently teary eyed old lady with a coat button on her black jacket that she was tapping.
A surge of electricity shot through the lobby: Taking out the power.
From floor to floor, screams were shooting out. Everyone was running.
A second surge followed from the burnt old lady's pale corpse.
Fire spread from the lobby like it was the wrath of God.
The screams pierced the sky…as the entire parking lot was swept into flames.
Glass windows burst apart in a flaming column of death.
Cars that were just passing by were swept into a storm of unrelenting flaming glass. Escorts shielded their eyes…even as glass exploded into their burning arms.
The sky was no longer clear. The morning light was choked on death.
Presently, in the year 2021…
Down in California, the morning light shines bright over the mostly melted snow.
The sky is bright blue. That is, except for the trails of thin smog trailing on.
Past several dome like complexes… Past the Seymo_r's Eat More sign in neon…
There's a certain dome like complex.
And, up top… There's Sydney's apartment: Right across from Samantha's.
It's mostly done up in white marble like paint.
A big clock face with silvery numbers before a dark blue backdrop is in back. Two built in TV screens are on either side of it: With two black comfy chairs before each one.
A wheeled medical bed with mostly white monitoring equipment is to the side: Not far off from a dimly lit bedroom with two mostly dark green sheeted beds. Sydney's and Samantha's suitcase computers are resting on top of one of the green bed sheets.
There's a white name tag over the monitoring equipment. It says John King. But, it's really for Jackson Boothe: Someone very close to Sydney's heart. And, on the small tray over it, there's painkillers in a dish and some fresh plastic sheaths of the sexual kind.
The kitchen has a bunch of sketch styled solid colored paintings hanging over the metal counter. They're on wooden clips, as though they all just came out of a darkroom.
One is of a reddish whirlpool, with a cryogenic chamber like coffin spiraling down with a glowing dark blue mind with a suit of wiring. Another is of a silvery computer with white wings flying into the sunset.
Max is sitting in one of the comfy chairs. She's in her ripped dark blue sleeveless top with the motorcycle light like yellow strips.
In the seat beside her is a faintly smiling Sydney, in a long sleeved dark blue shirt.
And, further to her right… There's a faintly teary Samantha: In a rosy red T-shirt and a black vest. She holds a silvery remote, with a classic James Bond DVD menu playing on the screen before her.
Max faintly reflects, "damn. And I thought my adolescence as a teenage gene spliced Frankenstein was miserable."
She's teary eyed. But, she's trying not to show it. Because she now knows their story. And, even if Samantha wasn't in the same room…she doesn't want to show it.
Sydney solemnly reasons, "getting through it was tough. What you went through was cruel beyond belief. But, you and the others pulled out of it. And, so did we."
Max faintly smiles back, "also kicked their asses too."
Sounding in better spirits already… Sydney adds, "yep."
Samantha faintly smiles to herself: Even while she has her eyes on the movie.
Max starts asking, "come to think of it…" Sydney wonders, "what?"
Max figures, "how is Mollie?"
Sydney answers, "she's actually doing ok." Max says with relief, "good."
Sydney reveals, "yeah. She called up a demolition team to destroy the place inside out. Treyarch went out of business soon after: After she tipped off Sector Police. All the guys in Treyarch just got arrested." Max says, "nice."
Sydney solemnly says, "with all things considered, I'd say so. She got enough to travel across California and then some. But, she gave the rest away to the military."
Max comments, "a mixed blessing if I ever heard one."
Uncomfortably, Sydney figures, "yeah. Mind if we talk about something else?"
Max faintly assures, "not really." Sydney concludes, "sounds good."
Max then catches sight of the paintings in the kitchen.
She goes over to the kitchen to look more closely: Just because.
She realizes, "did you do these?"
Sydney faintly smiles, "yeah. It started as a way to get my mind off of VR: After the Pulse. Now I just like to." Max says, "nice."
Sydney uneasily asks, "are you just trying to be polite?"
Looking at her very stuck up like… Max remarks, "me? Never."
With some relief, Sydney says, "slight chuckle. You sure are a interesting woman, Max." With a smirk, Max comments, "mostly right on that. Too bad I'm not a lady."
With some amusement… And, without even looking back from the screen… Samantha interjects, "it's ok. Just makes the sex even better."
Sydney and Max get a chuckle out of that.
Max points out though, "still… Thought you wanted time to yourself."
Samantha slightly turns to her. She reasons, "I still kind of do."
A little confused, Max figures, "okay."
Her cellular phone then starts beeping.
As she's picking it up, Max realizes, "well…sounds like his Holiness is in."
Sydney says, "sounds like. See you later." Max goes, "later."
Max starts heading out.
But, as she does… Samantha kind of calls, "Max."
Max pauses at the door. She turns back to her, "yeah?"
Still teary eyed and sounding almost annoyed… Samantha suggests, "I'll call you when I'm more ok. That ok?"
Max reflectively says, "not exactly what I was expecting. But, when I'm not out saving the world? Sure. Whenever." Samantha faintly smiles back, "thanks."
With a faint shrug, Max figures, "just looking out for my neurally revved up peeps. Later, Sam." Samantha adds, "bye."
Max heads out the door.
Not long after… Max is walking past the neon sign: Cellular phone in hand.
Over the phone, she says, "go."
From the other end, in a brown long sleeved shirt… Logan informs her, "hey. Sorry if I'm pulling you away from something. But, we got a lead on what's going on in Canada. Thought you would be interested in going to check it out firsthand."
Like it's so obvious, Max inquires brightly, "when do I leave?"
Logan answers simply, "now. If you're ready."
Max snarkily says, "aren't I always?"
They both faintly chuckle.
Max adds, "so, are we on for tonight?"
Logan voices, "tempting. I'm busy tonight. But, I'll see what I can do for you next time. Office work as a Messiah. You know how it is."
Max says, "yeah. I do. Thanks though."
With a faint smile, Logan adds, "you're welcome."
Max concludes, "later."
Logan figures, "take care." Max figures, "I will."
She hangs up. But, she still has a faint smile on her face as she does.
A few hours later, in the center of Ontario, Canada…
Rain clouds pass over the cold damp streets.
Tens of millions are taking shelter in the city Towers. American, Canadian, European… Even Indian and Middle Eastern runaways have found home here: With help from very concise background checks and invitations from corporate executives.
All the construction robots have been called in. This is in the dire hope of cutting off a damaged section with soldiering arms just as quickly as a guy can set off a bomb.
Some were successful. Some weren't.
The Canadian military are on patrol in bluish metal tanks: With sets of four thick mostly brown robotic arms equipped with laser sights.
Max tumbles off from under one of the robotic arms, ducking into a alley.
She stealthily walks on past some vacant metal houses, in her jet black catsuit.
She stops behind the back of one. She takes out her cellular phone.
And, as soon as the laser sights from the next patrol passes, she calls up someone within Eyes Only. Someone fairly new in the field commander field.
Max bluntly figures, "go."
On the other end, there's a Canadian man with brownish black short hair and a black mustache in a light brown business suit. His name is Andrew Terellik.
In a mostly calm and yet slightly rough voice, Andrew Terellik says, "hello."
Max brings up, "hey. Did you get Caitlin Fairchild through unofficial channels?"
Andrew Terellik informs, "sorry. No such luck." Disappointedly, Max says, "really? Cause there better be a good save the world excuse for not showing up."
Andrew Terellik explains, "there is. Demons with resurrected Brass virus infected refugees. She also said she's sorry she couldn't help. But, that you'd understand."
A little uneasily, Max admits, "yeah. Actually, I do understand."
Andrew Terellik thinks out loud, "I'm sure I don't. But, you're welcome."
Max insists, "it's ok. So…just what is next for gym class today?" Andrew Terellik points out, "actually…it's not so much gym as it is close to theater."
Max figures, "doubtful. Communications have been at a minimal around here for weeks. You really think these suicide bombers are welcoming in more recruits?"
Andrew Terellik answers, "not in the black market. Nothing is minimal there."
Max can't help but ask, "and just how do you know this?"
Andrew Terellik cryptically just says, "I have many friends."
Max highlights, "so you're in Canada's Internal PR, making cash from the power all around while giving us all the party favors. You sure you're not just in it for cash?"
Andrew Terellik reasons, "no. It's so I can sleep better after a good movie."
More sympathetic sounding, Max says, "oh. Sure. No problem."
Awkwardly, Andrew Terellik leaves it at that, "ok then."
Max gets around to asking, "so…about this mission thing?"
A hour or so after…
Max comes to a metal house.
Behind the house is a small looking mostly red plane with a white Ultimate M brand across it: On a privately owned metal landing pad, towering some levels over.
Then again… This really isn't out of the ordinary for a Post-Pulse Canada.
Air couriers are still around. But, because weather planes are so often paid out to give British Columbia and most of Canada sunny skies, the big corporations realized it would be a lot more practical to have air courier planes be a lot smaller.
They're almost as big as biplanes: Largely to avoid crashing into the weather planes. But, they still got expensive nano-transistor run motors and wings.
However… With so many smaller faster planes developed by the same companies that can easily be mistaken for weather plane signals… This has also given a sharp rise to criminal activities along the borders of Canada.
But, Max knows full well that this is the place to come.
For, Andrew Terellik put the word out on the street that she's a wanted fugitive: For only criminals to hear. And, with Krit's help in "correcting a mishandled military report", the CSIS and the military under their authority won't think twice.
So, now she is here: Waiting for the door to open, as she was told to do.
And, as the rain starts to fall hard over the metal house… The door finally opens.
She glares straight ahead, "about damn time. You know how bent the weather is?!"
With a voice bordering on icy, a woman at the door answers, "try living with it."
She has fairly long red hair with bright highlights. She wears three layers of mostly black coats in ribbons and a pair of worn blue jeans. And, she's got two silvery black cybernetic arms: With waterproof plating and all.
She goes by the name of Jean Stim.
Max impatiently mutters, "sorry. But, I don't think I'll be sticking around that much. Now, are you gonna let me in or what?"
With a chilling look, Jean Stim says, "might as well. Make yourself comfortable."
Max sharply mutters back, "yeah. Thanks."
She follows her in, who closes the door from behind.
Under the chandeliers of red electronic emergency lights, everything is dimly lit.
Vines with thorns cover the snow white walls.
The floor is made up of metal. And, so are the stairs up: Where Jean Stim's black cat is quietly looking down at everything else.
Jean Stim says upfront, "not just yet. Give over your personal belongings and clothes. Unless you would rather one of us strip search you for wires."
Max goes, "I don't know. Sounds to me like you're this close to pissing me off."
Kind of sarcastic, Jean Stim explains, "we'll give you new clothes. I'm afraid we're not, as Americans would say, "politically correct"."
Max reluctantly gives her crossbow, cable, knife, and cellular phone over to her.
Jean Stim figures, "that's better."
She places the items over on a little metal table in the hall.
Max remarks, "personally, I never cared a hell of a lot for rich people that get bent on making the lives of others miserable just cause they can."
Jean Stim faintly smirks, "same. Just don't get in my way, and we'll be sure to get along just fine." Max adds snarkily, "glad we understand each other then."
And, without another word, she heads up to change: With a fairly short black haired young woman in a brown trench coat named Natalie escorting her to a bathroom.
A guy with a old fashioned cigar in the dark looks up guiltily at them. He has medium blond frontless hair and three layers of mostly black coats in ribbons.
Jean Stim sharply glares back, "don't even think about it, Ray."
All high and stuff, Ray mumbles, "think what, Stimulator Hotness?"
Jean Stim just punches him down…leaving a very nasty purple bruise.
And, as he's coughing violently over himself… She mutters, "you're lucky you're the suicide bomber of the day. How you ever got out of town just hurts the mind."
Over in the next room, several figures in the dark just laugh at him: Even as Jean Stim walks in. And, all her cat is doing is licking his paw: Not at all fazed by any of it.
Meanwhile, down in Seattle…
It's raining hard.
Down a street corner is a bulky gray office building with apartments.
In a apartment is a Star of David styled glass table: Surrounded by dark green walls. And lying invitingly in a nearby rope hammock…is a long dark red haired woman: With a debris colored dress and a pair of red high heels.
There's a knock on the door.
With a surprisingly thick voice, the woman says, "come in."
The door opens. It turns out to be Original Cindy: In her jet black jacket over her mostly dark blue XY chromosomes themed T-shirt.
Original Cindy checks, "hey. You Tara Colka?"
With some amusement, the woman answers, "guilty. I take it you saw my ad?"
She gets to her feet.
Original Cindy outright says, "slight chuckle. Yes. It was the bomb. Name's Original Cindy."
Tara is quick to comment, "interesting name you have."
Original Cindy remarks, "good. Cause there's plenty of interest to go around. Now, are we gonna keep dwelling on us? Or, are we gonna kick it explicit?"
With a faint smile, Tara suggestively says, "I got enough rope for both of us."
Original Cindy smiles back.
A half hour or so later…
Max is now in a dark brown trench coat. She's sitting in Jean Stim's room, across from her on the blizzard themed bedsheets on the bed.
The walls are bulky black and red lined, with submarine styled windows.
A crumpled picture hangs from a hook. It's of her with her medium dark brown haired father, her medium light red haired mother, and her young medium red haired son.
Jean Stim delicately pets her cat: Even with the strength of her cybernetic arms. She purrs a little.
Almost icily, Jean Stim offers, "here."
She hands Max some papers. Some papers with official Canadian seals.
Max comments, "what? Not even a big speech to go with it?"
Jean Stim reveals bluntly, "those are military reports of our activities. I've never been much for speeches." Max reasons offhandedly, "then maybe you should've stuck it out in the black market. Let the politicians go to war over the Going Nowhere thing."
Jean Stim figures, "slight laugh. You really are out of touch with Canadian soil, Alexa. You still don't get it?"
As she's looking through reports… A teary eyed Max says, "no. But, I'm beginning to."
In black and white…
Flashes go by of the two surges of electricity that shot through the Mac Towers.
From floor to floor, screams were shooting out. Everyone was running.
But, just before the second surge came… Three Canadian air courier planes were reeling back up their cable lines: With Ray, Jean Stim, and several other fairly fit GN movement members bringing up overfilled bearskin bags from forced open air vents.
In the present, a short while after…
Back down the steps… Under the emergency lights, and in the next room over…
Natalie is on the black couch, putting together a mostly purple beaded dress.
Sitting beside her is a fairly young man with medium dark purple dyed hair admiring her work. His name is Dick Torson. He wears several black coats in ribbons, and has a purple egg necklace.
A man with black medium hair is sitting in a red cushioned chair, listening on his CD player in the dark to a album from Hot Black called More Explosions! More! But really, it's from fans with too much time on their hands. The man's name is Gregory Jameson. He wears several black coats in ribbons.
Ray is sitting on the floor, looking through a black and reddish indie comic called Boob Empire. Everyone else is sitting on the floor, praying to their respective faiths: All in several black coats in ribbons.
Aside from Jean Stim though… They all look veiny, with somewhat watery eyes.
In the kitchen across the way… Medkits stripped white and red and bearskin bags of food are in the white refrigerator. And, plenty more bearskin bags and plenty of bright white coolers with the Canadian maple leaf on each fill the room.
And, Max is on her cellular phone: Upstairs in the black and red lined bathroom.
With very mixed feelings, Max breaks it down, "these aren't your average terrorists, Logan. It's commerce with bombings."
Over the phone… A fairly stunned Logan says, "I can't imagine."
Max reflects, "I know they're not exactly saints. But, they're just out to get food and medical equipment for the smaller guys. Most of them anyway. Seems Jean Stim might be hiding something."
Logan concludes, "you think she's a double agent?" Max concludes, "maybe. Or, maybe she just gets her kicks on million dollar paychecks."
Logan figures, "still… Be careful."
Max faintly smiles, "thanks." Logan adds, "you're welcome."
Kind of reluctant, Max says, "but that isn't the only reason why I'm calling."
Not sure what else to say, Logan goes, "okay."
Max theorizes, "if they really are just trying to survive… What do you say? Give them one more chance to come around?"
With a hopeful smile, Logan answers, "I'm game."
Max smiles brightly.
A few hours later, as the rain pounds on…
From metal house to metal house… A video bulletin comes across the screens.
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 over the Canadian border that is willing and able to hear you out. Yes. I'm speaking to you: The Going Nowhere movement."
The Eyes Only bulletin goes on, "you've been struggling for years to survive: For you and your towns against the highest levels of greed in this country. All just to keep their corporate funders happy like little kids. I know most of you want to live with yourselves, and not just survive. And, you can. I know of cities where you can live out the rest of your lives without having to fight for basic human rights, and not even the CSIS will be able to find you. Call off the bombings, and I'll see what I can do."
It cuts out.
Then…a lot of intense arguing ensues.
Tears fall uncontrollably from most of their faces. But, it's more than that.
Jean Stim isn't the only gun for hire that's been backing up the GN movement's movements: So long as they got shares of their own.
Some shoot down their former allies for wanting to quit paying out. Some escape in air courier planes. And some just didn't care: So long as they were paid for the last bombing and begrudgingly let go for their troubles.
With Jean Stim's unit though… That's difficult to say.
One of them considers, "Eyes Only is fairly well known. We should listen to him."
Natalie considers, "a fairly well known freedom activist. But, yes."
Dick Torson reflects solemnly, "I'm not sure if I can live with myself. But, I'll really be damned if I don't try."
Natalie faintly smiles in his direction.
Jean Stim practically shouts, "are you serious?! We're this close to bringing the government to its godforsaken knees. Now you just want to give up?!"
Back in her catsuit… Max cuts in, "cool it, Jean! The CSIS is full of…idiots."
They all suddenly realize Gregory Jameson has wearable coat button bombs all over his jacket: All ticking and flashing red. All while he has a smug grin on his face.
Jean Stim glares straight at him, "what godforsaken game are you playing at?"
Fairly shaken, Ray points out, "no. I don't think he's playing."
Gregory comments, "I'm surprised you can think. And, isn't it obvious? As a double agent of the CSIS, I can say with absolute certainty that we're not all…idiots."
While he's been talking…Max snaps his neck from behind.
He falls down dead: Much to everyone else's stunned relief.
Max snarkily remarks, "consider yourself a…idiot."
With her cat like eyes though… She just realizes ten military tanks are out there, surrounding the place. No doubt directed there by the CSIS just recently.
Max calls out, "go!"
Through the robotic arms's fingers… Lighting pierces through the glass windows.
All gets bright white. Hell itself seems to have frozen solid.
But, in a split second… Max kicks Gregory's bomb rigged body out the window.
Splatters of dark red liquid and exploding microchips decimate a good half of the house…and of the military tanks's scanner readouts.
By the time Max's vision comes back fully… The room is all up in flames.
The air courier plane outside is a flaming wreck.
But, everyone in Jean Stim's unit has escaped out the back.
And, like a swarm of poisonous snakes… A good number of military intelligence soldiers come out of their tanks: In all black and with rifles, like the heart of the CSIS.
One of them calls out threateningly, "don't move, or we'll open fire!"
Over walkie talkie though… Another soldier goes, "what the hell…? Ahhh!"
Not very long ago…
Jean Stim lifts up the back of one of the tanks with her cybernetic arms.
It tumble smashes into several armed tanks…setting them ablaze from within as they double back over their crackling off robotic arms.
Splatters of dark red liquid hit the control rooms…as screams shatter any calm left.
Back with Max…
The first soldier doesn't hesitate. He just orders, "fire!"
Max high jumps into the scorched second floor….as a lot of shots go off.
She runs down the crumpling down level.
Not a shot hits her. But, it sure isn't helping.
Max run jumps through one of the submarine windows from earlier: Shielding her head with her arms as she dive crashes off the exploding metal house.
The rain starts to move out. Debris goes flying.
Max jump kicks off of some…tumble landing hard on a still operational tank.
As she's getting herself back up… She hits on something.
In black and white… Max thinks back to something that was said.
Jean Stim practically shouted, "are you serious?! We're this close to bringing the government to its godforsaken knees. Now you just want to give up?!"
And, a frequent seal on the military reports she gave…was CSIS: Crown and all.
Presently…
Max thinks to herself, "where are you, cyber-bitch?"
Blurs of laser sight lights and lighting shot whiz by, through Max's cat like eyes.
She jumps on a robotic arm and swing kicks down into the nearest one gunning for her. It explodes off into a second tank.
She swings high off into the sky. Blurs of tanks turn to distant blurs of metal lines.
She gets her crossbow out: Aiming for a alley, right above where Jean Stim is running off with her cat. Even with the little blurred dots they seem to be.
As she comes swinging down though… And metal lines become metal walls…
A blur of Jean Stim's fist punching down the same wall comes up ahead.
Seconds after...
Max reactively tumbles back from the debris.
But, by the time she gets back up… Jean Stim is gone.
Max mutters under her breath, "damn."
That night…
Max is up on the Space Needle, looking out to the cold and wet rainy streets.
But, she doesn't care how rainy it is. And, she doesn't care how wet her hair is.
She thinks to herself:
Some big questions…and not much in the way of answers. And, not just with this cyber-bitch calling herself Jean Stim. What kind of bent name is that anyway?
Is it just me…or does Logan sound more concerned than usual?
Guess I'd feel the same if it was the whole X-5 family against cyborgs. But, still.
Still… Deep sigh.
I'm sure she just tried to kill me. Even saw my cable coming.
And, if she isn't part of the ZFA… I should think of running.
As much as I'd kind of hate myself for it… I might not have much choice.
Sniffle. Damn ZFA.
I'm sure as hell not gonna let any more in the family die on me.
My ass hurts a lot already from kicking myself over it. And, I'm not gonna have much ass left if it happens all over again.
But, one way or another… I'm bringing hell with me.
Cause on the wrong side of the wall…it's what I am. A dark angel.