Of Wolves and Devils: A Dark Angel Fanfiction Story
Episode 17:
One night in the not too distant future, on the edge of Seattle…
Like most any other night, it's raining.
But, past the faint pitter patter of rain... Past the speeding cars... There's a restaurant with a big lit star on top called the Grillway Altair.
It's got kind of a Space Needle look going for it: With wide metal scrap pikes to hold it up with stairs leading up both front and back, and a vent styled roof of dark red with little yellow lights.
Inside, it looks a lot like a planetarium: With big and yellow dim orb lights on dark red stands around glass red screen window like tables against scattered stars over jet black.
And, together at one of the tables is Original Cindy and Tara.
The waiter has recently delivered food on a silver tray. His waiter outfit has a silvery crescent across black.
They both have some buffalo burgers filled to the brim with lettuce and tomato, and sweet potato fries in the middle of the table. Original Cindy is sipping some from her apple martini. Tara ordered a beer.
Original Cindy is in a blue lined mostly black top with faint blue diagonal lines going down it. Tara is in a charred brown looking dress and black high heels.
Original Cindy puts down her glass, looking a little nervous.
She checks, "so...did I come through or what?"
Tara mostly casually says, "long as we're in LGBT friendly territory, I'd sure as hell say so."
Original Cindy comments, "faint chuckle. Look at all the guys and girls getting all loving out here. Original Cindy's got your back."
Even from the dim lighting... She can see bisexual, gay, and lesbian couples at tables: From long silvery haired women to black near shaven haired men and quite a bit in between. Most of them are getting real "handsy down there" and pulling each other close while they got food out.
Tara adds, "thanks."
In the moment... Tara shuffles herself over to Original Cindy around the booth.
She kisses Original Cindy deeply.
Their arms go around each other, pulling each other real close.
Then, after some long minutes, they pull away.
They both smile at each other as Tara goes back to being across from her.
Original Cindy adds, "damn. That was good. Remind me to get you out more often."
Tara slightly chuckles, "you're welcome." Original Cindy adds in kind, "thank you."
Tara adds kind of uneasily, "so, if something blows up..."
Original Cindy mostly assures, "then you got my back. Let's just say though I hope it don't get necessary. You feel me?"
Tara solemnly agrees, "yeah. I do. Let's eat." Original Cindy faintly smiles, "read my mind."
They both faintly chuckle before digging in.
Fifteen or so minutes later...
Their burgers are mostly eaten all the way through...when a thin highly concentrated column of smoke and flying tiny sparking metal pieces goes off through a window across the way.
Original Cindy goes, "what the hell...?"
She starts over to look. But, Tara's words give her pause.
Tara sincerely reasons, "I don't know. But, if Seattle does go to hell, at least I know you going to be up there with Eyes Only: Getting our backs."
Original Cindy turns back, faintly smiling to her.
Assured sounding, she adds, "straight up. Thanks."
With a slight smile, Tara concludes, "you're welcome. Like to sit back down now, or no?"
Original Cindy adds, "sure."
She sits back down with Tara.
They soon both turn back to eating.
But, what they don't know is just how serious the fire is getting.
Around then, several blocks away...
A mob of guys and black and very dark brown trenchcoats are walking up to a military facility: Mostly with black and green caps obscuring their faces in the dark of night.
They're shouting out, "we don't need a implant! We don't bow to ZFA! We don't need a implant! Die, ZFA bastards!"
Some armed military guards stand guard at a metal fence, before some large silvery old fashioned satellite relays.
One of them calls out, "stop right there! Stop, or we will be forced to...!"
The leader of the mob though fires a flare gun right into the guy: Burning him from the inside out, along with a scorching hole forming in the metal fence.
The scream sounds off a alert of its own...as several scrap metal made tanks start to converge from the other side of the fence.
The other guard cries out, "no! ! !"
He shoots down the leader.
He drops the flare gun. But, it only makes the mob madder.
They start wailing on the other guy by numbers alone, making him cough violently. Several shot dead and wounded bodies are lying around.
The military tanks fire cannons at them, decimating most all of them in one shot.
Several members of the mob run like hell.
But, in the military tanks... The teary eyed officers at the controls look just as terrified as them.
The following morning...
Max is in a dark blue formal sports styled shirt with kind of long sleeves and light yellow pockets over white. She's sitting in her chair in the corner, feet up against the windowsill.
She's reading a beaten up tech magazine from 1997 she just found off of the market for four bucks for the hell of it. The cover is of a camera flashing with two robot arms coming out of it. And, it's called Flybot Weekly in faded yellow letters.
Then...there's a knock on the door.
A faintly smiling Max puts aside the magazine on the chair before going to the door.
As she opens the door... She answers, "yeah?"
On the other side is a bike messenger with a darkish green rain jacket, a dark blue cap on, and some hints of light brown hair from under the cap. He asks, "package for Miss Guevera?"
Max's expression quickly changes to unease. For, she hears ticking from the square brown soaked package he's handing to her.
Max quickly concludes, "ok. Here."
She takes the package with one hand to lower it towards the floor. With her other, she quickly signs the form with little mistakes.
In astonishment, the bike messenger says, "wow. I didn't even get to ask."
Max slightly shrugs, "let's just say I used to bike around with packages."
While he's got his attention elsewhere... She stabs the bomb's wires through the package with her knife behind her back.
The ticking instantly stops.
The bike messenger faintly nods, "nice. See you around?"
Max figures coolly, "not likely. But, nice try."
A little uneasily and thankful all at once... The bike messenger adds, "thanks." Max faintly smiles to him, "sure."
She closes the door.
Max annoyedly sighs, as she tosses the stabbed through package against a already cracked window in the back of the apartment: Where another stabbed in bent in package with a metal box and red and blue wires model for a bomb inside of it is.
Both came with little white red lined cards, written out in motor oil and hints of dark red liquid.
One says, "we know where you live. - ZFA". The other says, "silent night, deadly nights... Even you can't huà jiě all our zhà dàn. - ZFA".
A few hours later, into the mid-morning...
Syl is biking through a couple of mostly gray metal fortified alleys, with a kind of large package marked fragile cable fastened to the back of her bike.
She is in her dark blue army jacket, over a top with a thunderstorm rolling in upon some running bright red silhouettes stumbling over themselves. Best thing about it is it's custom made and paid for.
She passes some pickpockets with knives that she's too fast for.
She passes a few guys taking out trash bags for the sector junkyard and some little kids running off to play with a baseball and a bat.
Syl awkwardly smiles in the kids's direction. She keeps going though.
But, when stopping at a red light, she pulls over to a wall and goes to a payphone.
Some eager cars rush around the intersection, honking at each other. Sector Police on black motorcycles pass by them, finding it just as hard to get past as the cars.
From his desk at work... Sketchy's dark yellow cellular phone rings.
He's in a mostly dark brown long sleeved shirt with a big gray blue 10 on it.
He answers, "yeah? Sketchy here. For you and for all your shipping..."
Syl faintly chuckles in amusement, "I'm not ordering, Sketch. But, you better be saving the bedroom for me...and some head."
She whispers on the last part in case someone else is around on his end.
With a faint smile, Sketchy assures her, "always."
Syl adds awkwardly, 'thanks. But, is this a bad time?"
Sketchy insists openly, "for you? Never. I'm quick at the computer anyway. So, I can always make time for you."
Syl comments, "amused chuckle. At least you said what you meant first."
Kind of unsure, Sketchy figures, "okay. I don't exactly get it. But..." Syl mostly assures him, "I wouldn't worry about it. I'll explain it to you when we're both back. How does that sound?"
Sketchy concludes, "sounds good. I love you Syl."
Syl's face is a little red. But, she's also smiling.
Syl says, "ohh. I love you so much, Sketchy. I just called in the middle of a run to see how work is going for you."
Sketchy figures, "good. It's good. But, how is it going with you?"
Syl concludes, "mostly good. Still... With that whole deal with rats and the trigger... Heavy sigh. Normal wants me to keep a police form in case, his number, a car route all picked out... It's really starting to get on my nerves."
Sketchy solemnly voices, "yeah. I understand how that would. But, as much as it is, you know he means well. Right?"
Syl faintly smiles, "sure. I just want him to back off a little. You think you can do that for me?"
Like it's no big deal, Sketchy just says, "done."
With some relief in her voice, Syl adds, "thanks, Sketchy." Sketchy insists, "no problem."
Syl pauses a bit to look at her silvery stopwatch.
Syl concludes lightly, "you're great. But, I got to get back on my run."
Sketchy adds, "thanks."
With a awkward smile, Syl admits, "I always feel that with you. I'll miss you."
Sketchy suggests, "miss you more."
Syl faintly chuckles, "sure: If that's how you want to play. I'll see you later."
She hangs up.
She goes back for the bike, continuing on her hot run.
Back around the block, there's a smoking burned out car.
It's crashed into a storefront, where a run over corpse of a cash register worker lies on the floor.
Several others are running out, coughing violently against the smoke from within.
Light red and silver trucks with hoses as compact fire trucks are coming around the corner.
The medium messy black haired driver in the very dark red jacket is creepily laughing that he's done it, as several Sector cops drag him away in a Sector Police car.
Many onlookers are standing on the sidewalk, sobbing at the disturbing sight.
Some look ready to go up and kill the driver with their own bare hands, when the Sector police are blocking their way and trying to assure them it's over.
In the smashed in windshield is a dented in protest sign in red paint.
It says, "Pro Neurom-Cam = Spy Meatbags; Death to all ZFA!"
At noon, on local channels and computer boxes across the country...
A clip comes up of a banner: With a raised military fist punching through the tearing up Eyes Only logo like it's out of paper, while the US flag just floats up above it all with little fireworks and all.
The banner gives way to a medium gray haired military general in army green.
He says solemnly, "we've waited...sent troops on missions like we should...and watched them get beaten on their asses by a reckless super strong girl and some cyborgs from Hell."
Some stock footage of the attack on Pearl Harbor, a attack on a mostly black chalkboard like and red lined hardware store called Glassel-O-Gog in Paris, floods in Europe, and a Post-Pulse attack on the World Trade Center go by: Only mostly with viciously photo-shopped faces of already dead ZFA members killing soldiers, and Max kicking both sides on their asses.
The general goes on, "now we're fighting back on our own power...and our justly done justice."
The screen cuts back to the raised military fist...which pulls back on itself to show a younger soldier with the same glove. He's wearing a mostly plastic thinly made military cap of grid faint green over faint sky blue: With a lot of little blinking yellow lights coming off of little electrical impulse sensors, and a working neurally connected camera lens built in in the front.
With a creepily happy smile, he calls out, "if you want to really give them hell... Sign in and get your Neurom-Cam17 today."
The clip then cuts to the mostly plastic thinly made military cap on a little white stand, with plenty of surgical cupped wires hanging from it and Neurom-Cam17 in big black letters on it.
From the Eyes Only Rec Room... Original Cindy in her cleavage showing dark red top is shaking her head over it all.
She's at one of the computers, using a blue lined mostly black Eyes Only program to scope out and remove the photo-shopping that looks like a music studio backroom with soundwaves and all.
And, with faintly teary eyes... She's thinking to herself, "damn. If I wasn't seeing right through this bitch for Eyes Only and the world to get them to open their eyes to the real... I'd put the smackdown on the reporters that let this one go out."
Meanwhile... The clip changes over to news stations: Who are currently reporting on it.
Some are downright offended this recruitment program even exists. Some seem ready to go up to the generals behind it and shower them with gifts. That is, if they could afford to go all out like that.
In a newsroom done up in cornstalks wallpaper, there's a curly golden brown haired woman in a black Sector Police like uniform before a dark brown desk. Down below is a logo: The SKM Report in spiky golden letters.
Kind of nervously, she reports, "ever since the Neurom-Cam17 came up, riots and homicides over suspicions of the ZFA starting it up have filled the air."
The scene briefly shows several Sector Police squadrons on tank fortified police cars, driving down streets of scrap metal built huts large and smalls for houses and barns. They're shooting down waves of screaming rioter farmers and businessmen alike, holding up signs that say in red and blue "Neurom-Cams = Devil's Tools!" and "17 Neurom-Cams; 17 world leaders spinning in their graves!".
Tearing up... The reporter continues, "but... Sniffle! I think I speak for the good old South when I say this is all scapegoating for what they're really afraid of: Sector Police stopping crime for good. You know what? Please stop. You're not getting away with murder around these parts any time..."
Then...there's several shots. The reporter stands there, frozen like hell.
She cries out with her hands up, "oh god. Oh god, please! Please don't shoot me! ! !"
In seconds...the Sector Kings and Martinet Report itself goes out.
On KPJK, a certain woman reporter is reporting on site of the wreckage of the storefront from earlier: Microphone in hand.
She says, "since the Neurom-Cam 17 Initiative, this is already turning out to be a sad week for America. Sniffle. National fear is on the rise. Veterans from all over the country are welcoming this change with open arms. Not much comment from the government offices has been given. But, it is clear that Eyes Only and others like them are not happy with...and I quote from mister Eyes Only himself... "A initiative that is only driven by pro-arms military thugs against reason just looking for any excuse to go after the ZFA, and us along with it." It is clear that even if Eyes Only is on to something, the country is going to take a much longer time to recover."
The scene then cuts over to a medium light brown military captain in army green, standing before the same reporter earlier that day on the city streets.
The captain declared, "our children live in fear of cyborg terrorists. This won't go unpunished!"
The reporter was quick to put to question, "Captain Alex Axlor... No one is questioning this. But, might I respectfully ask you something? The captain answered very confidently, "sure. Fire."
The reporter faintly nodded, "ok. What about all the allegations of corruption and...?"
The captain went on a rant, "corruption? Corruption?! Have you seen your own news? The ZFA can look like anyone. And let me tell you something. With all the bullshit they've pulled with our boys... Why aren't you questioning Eyes Only too? Some of their best agents can kill people with a single punch. If you ask me, there's a cyborg among them just waiting to shut us down."
The reporter was just staring at him wide eyed: Not sure what to say next.
Presently... The Wonderful Collective of Companies Reporting network has a short black haired reporter in a light brown business suit before a polished black desk. He has a light mustache and a light beard. Tan window shades are behind him. And, a WCCR logo in a blocky TV set is on screen below.
He concludes solemnly, "this marks a rather tumultuous day for America. Enemies to the left of us, enemies to the right of us. All we can say for our friends on the East Coast is keep your friends close and your enemies as target practice. But, did you know that there's even stranger things going on? Well... I don't think you do. So, let me show you just what is going on."
The scene cuts over to several live screens, where convention cults from The Matrix and Star Trek to Ghost in the Shell, the 1970's The Six Million Dollar Man, and the 1970's The Bionic Woman are gathered around open garbage cans of fire for warmth for their not-so-secret-anymore meetings.
Under their white and black jackets, there's plenty of anime styled costumes, solid colored yellow and red uniforms, prosthetic robot arms covered in rubber in aching swelled up places with dried up dark red liquid, and cheap imitations of implants. Their leaders are reading from worn and weary episode guides and showcasing episodes from their computer boxes like they're messages from God.
The reporter goes uneasily, "yeah: That's no joke. What you have just saw is happening. But, can we really blame them? They look to implants as living proof of their fiction, and they're desperate for a way out of the Pulse like it never happened."
Suddenly bizarrely calm, he finishes his bit, "do I know if they're enemy or friend? Hell no. But, it's just something to think about as we step back and wonder... How far is too far for this battle of the fans? Or, is it just going to fade away like the hippie revolution of the 60's? You make the call, friends. You make the call. And, now for the local weather."
A few hours later, on ground level of the Eyes Only headquarters in Washington...
Max is coming in through the side door, looking to sit back and chill downstairs. But then...she sees Original Cindy by one of the several wooden doors. And, she knows right away something is up.
Max wonders, "ok. What's getting you down?"
Original Cindy contemplates, "along with the rest of the world, Original Cindy has been given a lot of trouble to think on. But, you know... Deep sigh. I think I should leave that up to Logan. He can sure explain it better than Miss Autumn Leaves in there."
Max looks uneasy, "that's how it's going down?"
Original Cindy adds, "afraid so. But, it's not you."
Max figures, "ok. Thanks though." Original Cindy adds, "sure, Boo."
Max turns to go downstairs and leave her to her thoughts. But, she pauses.
She turns back to her, "I'll leave you in your headspace. But, I got to ask: What's her dealio?"
Original Cindy faintly concludes, "oh. She's just beating herself up over something she can't get her head around. Remind you of someone you know?"
Max faintly smiles, "yeah. Now that you bring it up...it kind of does. Later."
Original Cindy faintly smiles back, "right. See you later, Boo."
And then, Max heads to the workbench to go down the tile elevator.
Not far off, behind one of the wooden doors...
Sydney is in a light gray unzipped sweater over a black shirt with a movie poster of Rear Window on it. She's sitting in a mostly wooden dark green cushioned chair. Logan is in a light blue long sleeved shirt, sitting at his wooden desk in his official Eyes Only business office.
Some open files of autopsies are on the desk. And, neither of them look happy.
A teary eyed Sydney somberly admits, "sorry. I still don't know."
Logan looks incredulous, "what's left to know? It's a open and shut case!"
Sydney is trying to gather up her thoughts, "Logan... Heavy sigh. Please don't make this harder on me than it already is. I hate these guys as much as you do. But...maybe they're onto something."
With a mixed sense of unease, Logan says, "sorry. I just don't understand why."
Sydney comments, "well... Least that's something anyway."
Logan just faintly nods, "ok. So... Would it be too much to ask why?"
With a faint smile, Sydney admits, "no. I guess not: Not with you. We're like family."
Logan solemnly says, "sure. I'm here."
Sydney adds, "thank you."
She goes on, "on June 1st, 2009...there was a Pulse. And not even Max, her brothers and sisters, or either of us could stop it. You were lucky to be on a boat when it all happened. Most of us still walk around in fear of another Pulse... Not the least of who include me, my sister, and Duncan. That was even before we found out who set it. Sniffle. Riots were everywhere for months. Without even a computer to get by... I felt empty. I couldn't sleep much. Sometimes, I still have nightmares of bloodied people running. Sniffle! One day, I was just washing up, trying to wash off tears. Then, before I even knew what I was really doing subconsciously... I was suffocating in the sink."
Logan goes wide eyed, "oh god."
Sydney bends over in the chair, letting some tears fall.
After a few long minutes... She looks up.
She concludes nervously, "yeah. That's sure how I felt. But, at least Duncan was there to make sure I was breathing again. Thanks to him and Samantha... I learned the hard way I could move on."
Logan sympathetically concludes, "I can imagine so: Knowing you. It must have been hard."
Sydney solemnly reflects, "yeah. It was. Then, years later... We storm in on Belarus. We're lucky most of us got out alive. Do you really think our chances are going to be any better than before: Without some kind of implant helping us?"
With a faint smile, Logan tries to assure, "oh, I don't think we really need to cross that line. We got a lot more intelligence on the ZFA now. We still have Max and several members of her family on our side. It should be enough. It has to be."
Sydney nervously reasons, "fair point. I just hope you know what you're doing: Because I'm trusting you with keeping the whole country from going to hell again."
Logan concludes just as nervously, "I hope so too."
They offer a sympathetic hand to each other over the desk.
They stay there for quite a bit before Sydney leaves him be. But, she's looking a little better now.
Twenty or so minutes after, in the Eyes Only Rec room...
Max and Logan are sitting by each other, on the ring of couches with the open files before them.
After some long minutes... Max looks to him: Faintly teary eyed over what's been going down, and yet kind of hesitant looking at the same time.
They both say awkwardly, "so..."
Logan faintly smiles: Much to Max's added confusion.
More solemnly, Logan figures, "well... We can't just stop these guys for having the right to bare arms. But..." Max uneasily asks, "yeah?"
Logan reveals, "we've been doing some overnight digging on the Neurom-Cam17 Initiative. Looks as though they've been dying overseas every day in the wake of the latest ZFA attack in Europe."
Max comments nervously, "and yet you're not looking bummed and drunk out of your ass."
Logan faintly chuckles, "I should hope not. There's more to it than you might think."
Max reasons awkwardly, "okay. So...what is it exactly?"
Logan picks up one of the autopsy reports.
It has a clipped on picture of a mid-thirties dark red medium haired guy in a pile of ash in Eastern Germany. He's clutching his head: With hints of seeping out dark red liquid all around under a surgical cut where his mostly buried scalp is.
Logan breaks it down, "we've been having agents in Europe checking out graves. Looks like it's all one big cover up for failed military hopefuls in preliminary testing."
He puts back down the autopsy report.
With some mixed feelings, Max says, "ouch. Don't know if I should feel sorry for them or not. Although... That does make it all the easier for me to go out there and kick them out on their asses."
With a faint smile, Logan pinpoints, "yeah. Figured you'd think so. We even got most of the military stationed at the key bases for the Neurom-Cam17. A military convoy is out at their main base of operations, ready for your orders to storm the place as soon as you get there."
Max faintly beams, "nice. Thanks."
She briefly kisses him. Then, she starts her way back up.
With a faint smile back, Logan adds, "you're welcome."
Max keeps faintly beaming: Blowing a kiss to him as she goes up the tile elevator.
A few hours later, down by the east coast...
The streets are lined with warehouse styled stores, farmer's markets, and simple colored red to yellow flat roofed houses. Faint breezes roll on...over the sight of corporate security in green and red bulletproof helmets taking punched out angry rioters into custody.
Further up, there's a Post-Pulse New York City: Like there was a new Los Angeles and a new San Francisco, constructed on what was left of the reefs of southern California.
It's decked out with billboard covered skyscrapers, with fiberglass laced in wiring and more than seventy floors of room and board.
Some have billboards for Superflex Cool-Aid soda drinks. Some have billboards for ChicksALot: A fast food place with castles out of fried chicken and little red flags.
Max and a team of military officers are scaling up one of the skyscrapers on cables: With her in her signature catsuit and them in black ops uniforms.
It's the headquarters for Neurom Industries: The corporate backers of the Neurom-Cam17. Their slogan is, "Neurom: Where morally questionable neural interfaces are as easy to put in as a CD-ROM."
The military captain is James Cabot, who has mostly brown grayish medium hair.
They're using the billboard emitter panels as cover from security cameras on their way up.
It doesn't take long for them to reach the third to highest floor: Where the floors really start to thin out to a silvery top.
Max signals to one of the more transparent windows.
She lets the military team continue up for a little bit...before swing kicking into the window.
Max tumbles to her feet, back of the mostly black floppy disk styled corridor.
She speed runs around the automatically firing lasers from solid bright green security cameras.
A automatic metal door slides down.
She tumbles under the opening, just before the automatic door slams shut.
Max comes down the next corridor, with fiberglass looking out to the smog tainted white clouds.
Corporate security is closing in: With bright orange bulletproof helmets with bulletproof glass visors, matching bulletproof vests, and specialized shotgun slug armed very dark red targeting rifles.
But, Max is soon decking security guards left and right before they can fire.
Meanwhile, the military officers have set up magnetic charges on the next floor before slightly lowering themselves back down.
The charges soon go off.
Captain James Cabot calls out, "now!"
They swing charge in through the shattering in fiberglass, violently kicking in several incoming backup corporate guards against the walls.
They fall over stunned and bruised in their backs...before becoming easy targets for the military team to just go and punch out.
Then... There's thuds. There's footsteps.
Neurom-Cam17 military caps are on the heads of several middle aged veterans. Surgical wires running down their heads are crudely held in by bolted in wiry blue metal planks. Hints of dried dark red liquid splatters are around their swelled up steroid filled arms and legs, where more wiry metal planks and surgical wires are. Their feet thud on and on: Rifles in both hands. And, their eyes are pulsing red.
Max looks teary eyed. For, a smiling light brown medium haired fat kind of young businessman in the back is holding a jet black remote. And, she knows all too well now what's going down.
Max calls out, "you son of a bitch: Turning military guys into walking toy soldiers at your call just to keep your payday!"
In his cape like white business suit... The businessman just faintly laughs, "Max, Max, Max..."
Max coldly realizes, "you know who I am?"
The businessman pauses the Neurom-Cam17 enhanced veterans with the press of a button.
He figures, "you have yourself quite a reputation, X-5. Even if they're mostly just rumors... It didn't take much. Alina knew. Allan knew. And, so do I."
Max suddenly hits on it.
In black and white... Max was thinking back to facing Alina on a train.
Max commented, "you're good, you know. Had me completely fooled."
Alina tried to wave her off, "you know what? I don't know what you're talking about."
Alina tried to get Max to leave her alone: Even as she asked about how much Lans paid her to give up her father. But, Max just pushed her shoulder to get her to turn around at a certain open door.
Max called out, "hey!"
Alina coldly turned to face her, "you'll never prove anything."
Max coldly asked, "did you hate him that much or was it just the money?"
With satisfaction, Alina muttered lowly, "it was both, all right?! It was both."
Presently...
Max faintly smirks bittersweetly. She adds, "well... I can think of one more guy I sure as hell can live without. You're Dan Lans, aren't you?"
Dan Lans says with some satisfaction, "you're as good as they say. I'm his oldest son. There's irony for you. You and Eyes Only put my father out of business. Now, I'm putting you all out of business for the big boys and bailing him out on a lot of cash."
Then... The military team comes in: Rifles out, even with some of them clutching their sides from shotgun slugs. Corporate security is all taken out back a ways.
Captain James Cabot orders, "drop your weapons: Now!"
Max starts to call out, "wait: They're not...!"
The Neurom-Cam17 enhanced soldiers go to open fire. They're grinning in hate for Eyes Only, even though it's not really them in control of their own bodies.
The military team opens fire first. But, the Neurom-Cam17 enhanced veterans just rip off pieces of ceiling to pull down as cover: Right on top of them.
Dan Lans freezes for a bit.
Then, realizing he's still a bit of ways away from the guns... He runs for it.
Max speed jumps over and off the ripped off piece of ceiling coming down, going after him without a second thought.
Most of the military team is bent over, clutching their dark red liquid dripping sides and coughing violently.
Captain James Cabot and his lieutenant barely tumble away from the incoming shots. The bullets pierce right through the thin metal...and into the rest of the team: Killing them instantly.
Dan Lans runs up some stairs outside to a helicopter pad: The breeze strong out at this level. The jet black helicopter has dark green helicopter blades and the word Neurom across it in bright green.
Max is gaining on him.
But, Dan Lans takes out a specialized targeting rifle of his own.
As soon as the door opens... He fires.
Max doubles over, coughing violently.
With a vicious grin... Dan Lans looks to her.
He keeps pressing buttons: Getting Captain James Cabot and his lieutenant violently punched against the wall.
From his faint view of them from outside, it looks like the Neurom-Cam17 enhanced soldiers are going to finish them.
But then... Max is soon violently punching down Dan Lans in the stomach: Making him vomit and cough violently against the helicopter pad.
The remote gets caught in the breeze. But, Max interestingly quickly catches it before it falls off.
She presses the button for standby mode: Forcing the Neurom-Cam17 enhanced soldiers to go to sleep and stop attacking through their wired in nervous systems.
Dizzily... Dan Lans looks up at her incredulously.
He wheezes, "how...violent cough...the hell did...violent cough...you...?!"
Max faintly grins.
She highlights confidently, "even going in... I figured you were going for accuracy over brain power. Logan kind of talked me into it. But, especially with trying to bite my stilo to kick me on my ass... I thought it was better to carry one this time. Looks like I was right."
She reveals that the vest she's usually got on her catsuit was actually swapped out for a identical looking bulletproof vest: With a shotgun slug lodged in mid-way.
Max adds insult to injury, "and now that I got your controls away from you and your pathetic ass, we're going to see if they're going to lockup or a recovery program for second chances."
Dan Lans has already passed out. But, Max stands there: Grinning down at his passed out body.
That night, up in Logan's apartment...
On the TV, KPJK news is on the air.
There's a squad of ten Sector Police cars, with Sector Police and military teams bringing in struggling rioters and corrupt veterans.
And before it all, the reporter from earlier discloses:
It looks like Eyes Only has done it again. The Neurom-Cam17 Initiative has been closed. More than fifty captains and generals across the country are being brought in for questioning on several charges of falsifying records, wrongfully implicating a Eyes Only operative, and cruel inhumane testing on human soldiers. Hundreds of recently recruited soldiers have been brought in for psychiatric evaluation due to the disturbing results of the implant in question.
The military has been left torn by this conspiracy, leaving millions in shock and uncertainty about leaving national security completely in the hands of Eyes Only.
Neurom Industries and other companies in the east coast of course deny all allegations. But, assets of Neurom Industries are expected to be liquidated in a few days.
Riots have mostly died down in celebration of the news. But, there are reports of a dangerous rise of black market Neurom-Cam17 implants falling into the hands of what is being dubbed as "a Battle of the Fans". And, police reports have confirmed most southern cities and at least twenty more cities already falling to convention cults.
Only time will tell what side they're really on: The ZFA or their own.
Logan turns off the TV.
He deeply sighs, as he goes over to the dining room.
Max is at the table, back in her dark blue formal sports styled shirt.
Chicken parmesan with penne and wine glasses are ready on the table. The white wax candles are lit on candle stands. But, Logan doesn't look all that great: Even though he prepared it all tonight.
Max asks anyway, "you ok? Dinner isn't exactly getting hotter over here."
Logan sits down next to her.
He faintly sighs, "honestly, I'm not sure what to think. The jungle is still out there. But, somehow...the world feels like a very different jungle."
As she starts eating... Max uneasily pauses.
She adds, "sounds like me when I found out who set off the Pulse were cyber-freaks all along."
Logan starts to eat. He pauses though.
Sounding more self assured... He concludes, "yeah. That can sure do a number on anyone's view. But...you sure you're ok?"
Max figures, "not always. But, thanks." Logan adds, "you're welcome."
Max faintly smiles, "yeah. But, I'm seeing through it all: One bitch after another."
They both faintly chuckle.
Logan points out, "you know that sounds so wrong."
Blushing a bit... Max says, "sorry. That wasn't what I meant. I mean we've been out this far: Start to finish, one war after another. It shouldn't be all that different. But, every time, a lot is. But, even when missions got between us, we made it out ok."
Logan faintly smiles, "can't really argue with my revved up girl for long."
Max snarkily smirks, "you better not."
They get a faint chuckle out of that before they both turn back to eating.
Max though does add something else, "oh yeah. And, just remember: If you die on me first, I'll kick your ass."
Logan comments lightly, "how can I not if you keep bringing it up?"
Max faintly rolls her eyes. She adds, "maybe not. But, I'm not "too" much of a bitch. Am I?"
Logan mostly assures, "no. Not at all. Only when we fight." Max faintly grins, "good."
Logan faintly smiles back as he drinks some wine. Max drinks some of hers.
The next night...
Max is up on the Space Needle with Syl, looking down at the dark streets with her.
Under her jet black jacket, Max is in her ripped and torn Max 9000 Kicking Hal Ass top. Under her dark blue army jacket, Syl is in her foggy white T-shirt with the halo on it.
Thinking back to the payphone... Syl shakily reflects, "I used to think every bit helps. But, what's to stop more military rats from blowing it all on recruitment plans? What is even the point?! Heavy sigh. Hard sniffle! We keep shooting down rats. But all they do is keep coming. How do you keep going, Max? How can I?"
Max nervously turns to her, "deep sigh. Syl... Unless you're down with what I think of the world... I'm really not good with this kind of thing. I'll only get you feeling down."
Syl lightly reasons, "well...at least you thought about it."
Max faintly smiles, "sure."
Syl openly considers, "still... Maybe the world's got one big silvery lining to it after all."
Max looks kind of surprised by this. She asks curiously, "really?"
With a faint grin... She lays it out for her, "if the ZFA is shot down for good...wouldn't most every rat they're behind one way or another die with them?"
With faintly amusement, Max comments, "now there's a thought."
A kind of confused Syl wonders, "what? You don't think we can kill them all?"
With a faint grin... Max solemnly highlights, "no. Maybe we can. I say thanks for the wishful thinking. But, I invite you to prove it's more than just wishful thinking."
Syl adds lightly, "deal."
They bump fists together to kind of make it official.
And, they sit there for who knows how long: Just taking in all the streetlights they can see and what little calm of the night is left before the coming of the next rainstorm.