Of Wolves and Devils: A Dark Angel Fanfiction Story
Episode 20:
Up in Sketchy's apartment...
Syl and Sketchy are up here: Making out "very closely" over the bed in the dim light of the rising dawn. Most of their clothes are off on the floor.
Soon though, they hear her stopwatch beeping on the dark gray kitchen counter.
Realizing what that means... They reluctantly pull away.
Sketchy slightly groans in annoyance as Syl walks over to stop the stopwatch.
Sketchy mumbles uneasily, "is it morning already?"
As she stands by the kitchen counter... Syl assures lightly, "it's Sunday, Sketchy. We're good."
Sketchy faintly nods, "oh. Sounds great."
With a faint smile, Syl lightly reasons, "thanks. You want breakfast first? I got some muffins from a bakery if you..."
She then hears a small thud.
Sounding kind of worried, Syl checks, "Sketch?"
She takes some deep breaths.
She mutters to herself, "not real. Not real."
She walks over.
She then just awkwardly chuckles to herself with a faint grin.
Sketchy has just fallen back asleep, and bumped his shoulder on the wall like he often does.
Syl sets the stopwatch for three hours. Then, she goes to the table to grab a muffin and start eating for herself not wearing much.
Several hours later...
The sky is cloudy. But, rain isn't expected today.
In Sector 4 of Seattle... There's scatterings of warehouses, and back roads and hard turning highways end to end. Three mostly dark blue lit hydroelectric dams are along the shoreline, with cobblestone paths the size of highways with metal fence between them and the waters.
Plenty of security guards with black uniforms are around the dams. After the Pulse, no power plant has been left without guard patrols.
Well, except on lunch break. But, they're far out from home. And, with not much Sector Police captains or military around, no one really objects.
For that matter, not much people come out here.
It's colder and windier than most of the other Sectors. And for years, metal scrap houses have crumpled all too easily against the storms.
Even gangs thought it would be too much trouble to hide out here. Because of this, crime activity has been astoundingly low in the past five years.
A wave of calmer weather might have come with the new wave of technology. But, even now, most people are just coming out for business or for uneasily starting to consider building more offices.
Up against the back of a warehouse are two familiar looking bikes.
And, around the corner... There's Syl and Sketchy: Standing against the wall.
Syl looks a little chilly. But, she doesn't really seem to mind.
She is in a very light red sleeveless dress with a dark yellow undershirt under it. Sketchy is in his mostly light yellow and dark green lined sweatshirt.
Sketchy starts to say, "you know, while I have a good head for the bedroom..."
Syl slightly rolls her eyes. She assumes with a faint smile, "so you don't always get things right. But, don't worry: You try to be. And, you're good when you do."
Sketchy faintly smiles, "thanks. But...that wasn't what I was about to say."
Syl sighs annoyedly.
She comments, "Sketchy... Is this another horror story from a guy you know?"
Sketchy awkwardly admits, "well...I don't exactly see them as horror stories. But, I'm starting to get how you would think so."
Syl goes, "well..." Sketchy uneasily wonders, "yeah?"
With a bit of mixed feelings... Syl figures, "faint sigh. At least you're trying to not straight up gross me out. I love you, Sketchy. But, how about finding more guys into more normal things? Then you'd have more stories to say that don't have breathing straw stunts and torn out appendixes in them."
Sketchy reasons, "yeah. Sounds good. The only problem with it is I don't know where to find more normal guys. Most everyone I personally know either was at Jam Pony, or were arrested for protesting something."
Looking a little red in the face... Syl solemnly mumbles, "I'm sorry. I didn't know our histories were that alike."
She hugs him close, looking teary eyed.
With a faint smile, Sketchy insists, "no, Syl. It's ok: Because, now we both know."
Syl looks up at him. They awkwardly chuckle over that.
Sketchy hugs her back.
After a bit...they pull away. But, Syl gives him a quick kiss on the lips before they do.
Sketchy wonders, "so...you think you can help me find "more normal" guys?"
A little amused sounding, Syl figures, "not right now. Max and Original Cindy should be coming any minute. But, I'm sure we can go scout the sectors and find some."
Sketchy adds, "thanks."
With some cheekiness...Syl wonders, "sure. Would it also help to be in the bedroom sooner?"
Sketchy slyly smiles, "straight to a good time. Outstanding."
Syl's stopwatch is beeping. But, she quickly stops it so as not to interrupt him.
Syl adds, "you're welcome."
Max and Original Cindy are speeding over on their bikes. They're recently finished a early lunch, while Syl and Sketchy finished a big breakfast with some time to spare.
They both grind to a halt.
Max is in her thin dark gray jacket, over a black T-shirt with the raised darkish red fist from the 1995 movie Panther at center. Original Cindy is in her open dark tan sweatshirt over very dark orange, and with her hair all up in a bun.
Max wonders snarkily, "so...you guys gonna get all playful? Or, are all of us going to race?"
With slight amusement, Original Cindy just rolls her eyes.
Syl and Sketchy faintly awkwardly chuckle. They get back on their bikes.
With her lighter bones and more compact muscles though, Syl can kind of easily bunch up the underside of a fancy dress under her legs without it looking all bunched up.
Syl figures, "more like playing to win."
Sketchy kind of nervously wonders, "wait a minute. Are we doing this two to two?"
Syl remarks, "I love you, Sketchy. But, you got to really go at it to try to pass me."
She and Max are already starting to take off on their bikes down along a few warehouses. But, Max and Original Cindy can't help but chuckle to themselves over the whole thing.
Half sarcastic, Sketchy mutters lowly, "damn! I was hoping for something easier."
Original Cindy and Sketchy are speeding behind them: Hard turning past a few honking heavy duty looking garbage trucks.
Original Cindy comments back to him, "it's called having a girlfriend, Sketch. You walk or run to keep up: Long as you ain't tripping over your own male ego."
Sketchy adds, "thank you for the advice. But, I think I'm good."
He suddenly hard turns around for one of the backroads, speeding off of it with his wheel up.
He speeds down off of a garbage truck's garbage down below some stories.
He stumbles over his feet.
But, with some fallen garbage bags kind of cushioning his fall, he gets back up again with a slight groan. He's speeding down for one of the cobblestone paths going by the dams.
Max and Syl are just coming down some backroads for the cobblestone path he's going down.
Sounding impressed, Original Cindy thinks to herself, "damn."
She speeds for the backroads to try to catch up to Max and Syl: Even though she already knows she's not winning this one.
Twelve or so minutes later...
Max comes around the power plant, angling her wheel up and launching herself over the fence.
She makes it first. But, only by a minute.
A awkwardly grinning Syl and a out of breath Sketchy come cycling in second. And, Original Cindy, taking it slower now to breathe easier, makes it third.
Sketchy goes to catch his breath, sitting against the metal fence and clutching his aching butt.
Max and Syl get off their bikes, going over to Sketchy. Original Cindy is just getting off hers.
Max is quick to ask, "you ok?"
Sketchy insists assuringly, "yeah. I'm okay. Just my ass that's a little not."
Syl moves closer to him, sitting next to him with a comforting hand over his. Sketchy faintly smiles as his heart begins to beat more steadily between hard breaths.
Kind of sarcastically, Max remarks, "isn't it always something?"
Syl gives Max a slight glare. Max asks kind of uneasily, "what?"
Original Cindy faintly reflects, "slight chuckle. True that. But, he aiight for real."
Syl's glare fades. And, her face is looking a little red.
She says awkwardly, "thanks." Original Cindy figures assuringly, "no problem."
They bump fists together.
Max faintly chuckles to herself.
Syl figures, "and, it sure sounds like you're all right. Besides...you were straight up clocking it."
Sketchy concludes, "really?"
Sounding impressed, Syl faintly nods, "yeah. You were great." Sketchy adds, "thanks."
Turning back up to Max... Syl brings up, "sure. Oh. And you never fell on yours, sis?"
Max comments snarkily, "yeah. I don't think so."
With a faint roll of her eyes, Syl gets up to face her straight on.
She goes, "sure. And, you never wanting to admit you're wrong got nothing to do with that?"
Sketchy looks amused.
Original Cindy interjects, "Original Cindy thinks you don't got to answer to that."
Max comments, "no. I think I should. She's gonna kick my ass later if I don't."
With a faint grin, Syl just says, "maybe."
Kind of sarcastic, Original Cindy figures, "aiight. I'm just standing all back here just to be sure I don't go through a world of hurt between you two."
She steps back on the other side of the vacant lot of cars behind them.
Max faintly chuckles. Syl awkwardly faintly chuckles.
Syl concludes, "I don't want to go that far." Max adds, "same."
After a awkward pause... She goes on to reason, "I kick ass. Falling really isn't my stilo."
Slightly amused looking, Syl concludes, "ok, Max. If that's how you want to play. But, if you fall in enemy territory, I'm going to call you out later."
Max slightly scoffs, "whatever, Syl."
Original Cindy just stands in the middle of the lot: Faintly smirking over it all. So is Sketchy.
Not long after...
Having left Original Cindy and Sketchy for the day... Max is by herself in a alley between brick walls. Her cellular phone is in hand.
On the other end, in a black vest over a gray long sleeved shirt... Logan answers, "hey."
Max adds brightly, "hey yourself. So what's the mission?"
Logan figures solemnly, "faint uneasy chuckle. Well... Sorry to take you away from your good mood. But, it's important. It's a red alert: For more than one kind of reason."
Kind of nervously, Max is quick to inquire, "it's okay. ZFA?"
Logan kind of cryptically explains, "that...and a tip from somebody close to you. This is too important to tell you over phone. I'm not sure if the ZFA has a tap on us again, and we can't risk it: Especially not now."
Max thinks back to a line from one of Logan's poems from the book of poems he gave her:
A watchtower of justice with no searchlight, still bright and just as Heaven's tower.
It kind of comforts her.
Max solemnly nods, "I understand. So, bottom line: How do I get to go on this mission?"
Logan instructs simply, "get to the Eyes Only private plane. Sydney will fill you in on the way."
With a faint smile, Max figures, "okay. I'll call you: After I save the world and kick some ZFA cybernetic asses."
Logan faintly smiles.
Max hangs up.
She's already walking to her Ninja: At a bike rack across the street with her bike chain over it.
Ninety minutes or so later...
The Eyes Only plane is beginning to fly over South America.
It's already passed the rocky beaches of the Caribbean Islands. Now, it's passing over the edge of the smoking charcoal like wasteland that has become Central America.
Between gang wars, a flood of immigrants after the Pulse hit the United States and Mexico in 2009, very low tourism, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, drug lords from Mexico and the Caribbean, and extremist militia along the Darien Gap...all that's left is a super thick cloud cover of lingering smog and ash, volcanoes, lava flows, and jagged rock faces.
On another note... Thanks to advanced warning from Mexican immigrants to the United Kingdom and South American immigrants...the Caribbean was temporarily evacuated post haste along with their technology before the ZFA could have a chance to send a Pulse after them next.
Only several years later did the survivors return back with crudely made satellite technology. That is, the ones that didn't want to go to the United Kingdom and ally with them against the ZFA.
But, South America is anything but wasteland or space junk.
Clay block styled half burnt city blocks from yellow and chalk white to scarlet and deep sky blue go for miles. Hydroelectric dams line the city borders, with mostly yellow gearwork like water gates studded in emerald shards over large waterfalls.
Rural crop fields mountainous, brown, and green are scattered among the cities, in a giant quilt of constantly endangered praxis of good natured people of yesteryears against the Post-Pulse crime ridden cities. Even the Falkland Islands, abandoned by their own people and all the wildlife they could bring to go join forces with the United Kingdom against the ZFA, is reminiscent of the crime ridden.
As the plane starts its spiraling descent for the smog swirled storm clouds rolling by Brazil... Max is tempted to look out at it all.
But, in the plane, she's in a armchair: Looking through some manila folders full of classified satellite feed, and physical copies of Eyes Only questioning with some South American immigrants down by the west coast of Post-Pulse America.
Sydney's open briefcase computer is on Max's lap. Sitting across from her is Sydney.
Her hair is tied back and braided. And, she's in a ripply pond water styled T-shirt with electricity emitting ripples around two geometric CGI like orbs: With one dark red and one light blue.
Kind of uneasily, Max comments, "damn. And I thought Trevor Reznik had the worst insomnia."
Kind of casually, Sydney asks, "why? You think I shouldn't have gotten you to watch The Machinist?"
Max thinks out loud, "no. Depressing? Maybe. It was right up my alley. But, it was all right."
Sydney reasons, "oh. Well, if you liked the Machinist... We can watch The Call next time you come over. It should also be right up your alley." With a faint smile, Max figures, "sounds good."
With a faint chuckle, Sydney figures, "sure." She then adds, "but...are you ok?"
Nervous sounding, Max admits, "not exactly. I just saw the email you left up."
On the screen... There's a short email: Under a disposable cell that is no longer reachable.
It says:
I don't have much time.
I'm in Paraguay.
I heard of Eyes Only. But, please...find Max. A X5.
We believe we found a ZFA stronghold. Please tell her to hurry.
Thanks,
Seth
With some unease, Sydney figures, "yeah. I get it. But, if you and Syl came back from VR.9..."
Max concludes bittersweetly, "thanks. But, no reconnaissance agent has come back alive from South America. And, all these feeds are years old."
Sydney solemnly says, "three years old. Still...I think you'll be ok."
Max inquires, "how?"
Sydney highlights, "well... Going in without much to go on... Trying to help someone hurting in the jungle with your brother Seth... I don't know about you. But, it sure sounds familiar to me."
Max faintly laughs in reflection. She says, "yeah. I feel you. Thanks."
With a faint smile, Sydney concludes, "you're welcome."
A few hours later, as afternoon is swiftly pushed aside for nightfall...
Gray stone arches and thick cobblestone like arches hold up the city blocks of Paraguay. Lofts stacked in clay block styled apartment sized towers from very light green to solid yellow and dark brown go from block to block. Half pipe waterways with car wash styled water filters and glass casing run across the cities overhead, with yellow and gray striped stone carved poles holding them up.
Most of the people are dressed in traditional solid color dresses and rags, from white and striped orange to red and grayish light blue. But, they all look to be on edge one way or another. Not even the Paraguayian harps and tertiary-binary mixed polkas playing around the night clubs seem to really help.
Across the thousands of groves of trees and river bank like canyons... Cell phone towers and internet cafes are plenty.
Further up... The step pyramid sculpted hotels of Brazil and Venezuela are lit up like night clubs before washing over pale blue tidal waves. From the other side, gunshots and sparks from going off EMP guns are heard.
Past some bank riots from guys in Mesopotamian tribal costumes firing off crumpled marble like handheld tranquilizer guns at the employees... Past some sneaky scuba divers in dark red and purple swimming down a waterway to grab some emeralds that have somehow sunk to the bottom... A shaken looking Max is walking down the dirt road in her signature catsuit.
Down by some city blocks up ahead... Some military looking guys in black are brutally beating on some screaming thieves in rags, with dark red liquid dripping from whirling motorized waterwheel styled blades from their black gloved hands.
Max is getting curious looks from most of the teenage girls and boys. Others are too nervous around the military looking guys to say anything above a worried whisper in Spanish.
And all the while, she is thinking to herself:
This night just plain sucks.
I'm in commerce territory. No police. No cybernetic asses.
Looks as though the ZFA didn't even send a Pulse. All they did is take over things the old fashioned way: With all the guns and gangs they can get in good with.
People are getting kicked out here out on their asses, living with pathetic lives that they sure as hell don't deserve. And, to get the ZFA to go down hard...I got to lay low for this mission.
Heavy sigh.
Some lay low down on fruit farms, chilling and crap with their holy Catholic text away from the capitals. Others are just out for C.R.E.A.M. and to chill.
Well, out here in Paraguay anyway.
South America: Where most cities are run by gangs and fences in good with ZFA, and the rest is run with elders out with crops and their families just looking to survive.
After going into Belarus, it wasn't that hard for Sydney and Logan to put two and two together. Kai and Cai have come to Brazil a lot...and trying to get Bane out alive started to open that whole lead straight up.
Sniffle!
No reconnaissance agent has come back to really know for sure what the hell the ZFA is doing down here.
Still... Sydney says this is like VR.9, and that we'll save the world and Beka and Seth will be okay. So, why the hell am I still kicking myself over all of this?
Seems Peru is in good with Mexico more than just of late: Even with the armed revolution going on down there lately of guys who have had enough with the bastards on their media towers. Even Venezuela seems to have their own hydroelectric dams.
Least in the Middle East, there's no one really to watch out for. Just tents and homes on mobile and a hell of a lot of oases.
Still... After the Pulse hit Europe... Just about anyone getting their shoot on for Muslims shot them down, along with the more "PC" terrorists.
Whole place went up in smoke till there wasn't much left. Some crappy shot for commerce and getting to chill.
Suriname had it just as worse. Even flying over was long enough to know.
Faint laugh. How pathetic is that?
I wanna be a revved up girl, kicking ass with my inner bitch. But, deep down...I'm still a lemon: Kind of wanting to feel sorry for all the rich people who wanted to spend obscene amounts of money for cabins in the woods just so they can cheat on their wives and chill with strippers.
After the Pulse, most of them had gone from rich to poor in a whole day. And, now they're with diseases or worse for real: Down there with the downtrodden they had all depressed 100 percent.
Rich guys and bastards though keep coming. And, for months, here I thought it was best to not grip on to hope in one big dealio that is a broken world.
More and more though...I can't help thinking that maybe there is some large hope for the broken world: Like a lost page found for a bedtime story, and it turns out it's a happily ever after. And, his name is Logan Cale.
One way or another... If he's always been a kind of pathetic rich guy with Sydney getting his back, and he's my Messiah... What does that make me?
Just "this bitch" going on about how much better I am than the world and setting myself up to kill myself for real over it? Or...am I still the bitch Logan knows and loves, and I'm just kicking myself over the world still being broken when he's so close to his liberal wet dream?
Faint sigh.
I can't keep kicking myself over this. Or, I am gonna get killed.
But, after all of this crap with the ZFA is over with... I'm sure as hell gonna think on it: When it won't start giving me a headache.
As night gives way to dawn...
After hours of searching, Max finds someone.
The figure is sitting by one of Paraguay's hydroelectric dams: With a pale green lined mostly gray and dark brown barred aqueduct like set of four medium sized water gates over a waterfall, and metal crafted paths around it. The paths have metal fencing, and glass casing over them decorated in plenty of dim yellow lit security sensor lights.
But, he's not on a metal path. He's down on top of one of the water gates below: Looking down and looking asleep, while his grayish metallic tinted skin glistens in the water droplets coming off of the water gate.
As soon as he hears footsteps though... He dives off into the water.
The grayish metallic bone like fins on his legs splash down with great ease.
Max faintly grins to herself. For, she knows who he is.
She walks down to the thick grass covered riverbank. The figure with medium dark brown hair and a mostly full body black swimsuit on is swimming up to shore in mere minutes.
He's quickly drying himself off with two very light blue waterproof chargeable portable dryer mini-fans from his belt. Max is just standing there all the while.
After a bit of this... Seth puts the mini-fans away.
He then looks up. And, he beams at her.
He realizes, "Max." Max concludes, "Seth."
Seth thankfully voices, "I'm so glad to see a familiar face."
They hug each other tight.
After a bit, they pull apart. But, more for Seth's sake than hers.
Max figures lightly, "faint laugh. You always were so touchy feely. Still...looks like you've been working out. Maybe it works out for you."
Seth uncomfortably murmurs, "except in what should be."
Max's expression goes straight to concerned. She wonders, "you ok?"
Finding it hard now to look up... Seth answers, "no."
Max suddenly realizes, "sorry. I didn't know."
Seth insists, "it's ok. You're right: I always was emotional. Even for our class in Manticore."
Max reflects, "damn straight you were. But, you killed yourself on those obstacle courses. The only ones in our family that would give you a hard time were Ben and Zack. But, no more so than me."
Seth comments, "Ben was hard on everyone. You know that isn't saying much."
A little uncomfortably, Max reasons, "yeah. Well, still... This isn't just another mission to you. Is it?"
Seth concludes somberly, "yes. You know about the latest murders going around across South America?"
Max answers upfront, "only what little Eyes Only knows of enemy territory here. What is the big dealio on this, and what does the ZFA got on it?"
A teary eyed Seth sits down on the riverbank. Max sits by him.
No one else seems to be here this early in the morning. They're alone.
Despite looking shaky... Seth starts to go through it all, "it started with the ZFA. For years... Sniffle. Me and Beka have suspected they're behind the Pulse."
Max admits uncomfortably, "been there, done that. Go on."
Seth nervously gulps. He takes a deep breath.
He then continues, "ok. On top of that, we have suspected their central stronghold is here: In Brazil. They do serious business here and everywhere else in cities across South America with the gangs. Sniffle. Most of their liquid metal and motor oil comes from them. But, they're guarded by cybernetically enhanced soldiers out of black market terrorists. Every time, we kept being driven off: Until a month ago. And, it's my fault."
Looking incredulous, Max turns to him, "how? You never wanted to hurt anyone unless there was no other way."
Seth starts to voice, "it's not what I did, Max. It's what I didn't do. Sniffle!"
Tears fall from his face. But, he doesn't wipe them away.
Still not looking up... He reveals, "three months ago, we got into a argument. She began thinking I was too weak to be a soldier. And, we went our separate ways. Then like a month ago..."
Max solemnly puts two and two together, "...she thought she could infiltrate their stronghold on her own girl power. And, you blame yourself."
Seth lowly mutters, "how can I not?! Deep breath. Sniffle!"
Max just sits there uneasy in silence, waiting.
After a bit, Seth continues, "she...she killed a ZFA member. I couldn't find Beka. But, there was a second big trail of blood. I got a sample before authorities got there. And, I believe it's Beka's."
A chill goes down Max's spine.
She reasons uneasily, "so she's not dead. Her mind's back in Manticore."
Seth admits openly, "I've thought of that. Except that's what gets me: The murders don't have much rhyme or reason, and all of them brutal. All my fault. We got to stop her before it gets worse."
On the last part, Max is thinking back to Syl's trigger episode: Even though she's trying hard not to.
Bordering on creepy... A teary eyed Max concludes, "oh god. Kind of late for that. It is worse. Her mind's in the jungle, and she's on the move. Probably from taking a head injury."
Seth concludes shakily, "yeah."
He then turns to her, still teary eyed.
He asks, "you think we can get her out of that jungle?"
Max faintly smiles. She firmly says, "yeah. We're getting her out."
After a deep breath... Seth says, "then maybe it isn't too late. Come on. Let's go."
Max firmly nods, "sounds good."
He starts to get up. So does Max.
Soon enough, they're both on the move.
A few hours later, over in Brazil...
With these recent murders around Brazil one way or another, Seth and Max are starting their search there.
But, with a lot of ground to cover, Seth gave her his backup red lined gray disposable cordless phone before they split up. He has a dark brown lined cordless gray disposable phone of his own: From before Beka left to try to go off on her own.
Across most cities, the sun is coming up.
Pink ice cream cone graffiti to jagged graffiti of distorted red and yellow images of a guy in a grayish shirt resisting arrest from ZFA guys cover most every bluish green and dark blue neon lined city block. Businessmen and businesswomen in mostly black and dark blue shorts with zip on and zip off matching leggings and gray to dark green sweater like attire, prostitutes in silvery lined bikinis, and gang leaders in black with silvery laser tipped and spiked up cybernetic hands walk down the streets.
There's a natural casualness and friendliness to them. But, with most everyone with a pistol in hand as they walk nervously by each other, it's become just for appearance's sake in the public eye.
Silver and yellow lined billboards with Brazil's flag over them have become like informal concerts in a Post-Pulse Brazil. Live streams of soap operas and old fashioned cartoons from A Carnival of the Spirits and Days at Techno High to The Senhors of a Thousand Swords and Dotour of the Space Saltar play all day before open stadiums of jet black metal chairs.
It's free. But, the water bottle dispensers charge five bucks a bottle there. And, the monthly edition of the Billboard Guide costs ten bucks every month.
Capoeira dance clubs in Brazil have become a prime target for gangs: Both ZFA loyal and not. They never stay in one place for long. And, they have many names and underground allies on both sides.
Diner cart like mobile fast food joints and restaurants with international dishes for two are plenty. But, most of the owners are in the pockets of gangs: Whether forced to take protection money just to stay alive or not. Even getting pizza to go can be lethal if the box isn't double checked for a time bomb on arrival.
Across the countryside though... There's miles of farmland with many a gold course styled path through the cropfields and the thin grass covered fields.
Techno to MPB plays across the gray and light blue CD players on the doorsteps of yesteryears.
But, in spite of no internet and minimal necessities and electricity from living off the grid... Everyone in these loft styled wooden like houses look happy in their mostly black and dark blue shorts with zip on and zip off matching leggings and gray to dark green sweater like attire. They greet each other in Brazilian Portuguese and Spanish and often dance in kind of good cheer: Almost like the Pulse never came to North America.
Metal dark green walls covered in grass surround the farms and livestock: Equipped with tear gas smokescreens and retractable spikes to ward off the gangs that occasionally try to come and take the livestock for themselves to try to sell overseas for some quick cash.
Seth swims along the rivers, looking for any sign of Beka or going off EMPs by the farmland.
Max is run jumping from flat roof to flat roof of the storefronts and blocky houses, hoping to get the jump first on Beka or the ZFA.
But, as she's about to jump to another... The sound of helicopters leaves her at a pause.
Two hundred rustic red lined brown helicopters with Chinese and Russian written across their side doors are taking off like hell for the North Atlantic. But, not before some go out of their way to fire heavy duty gray tinted black lined rustic brown missiles at her.
Max mutters to herself, "damn."
She tumble runs on the roof.
She's about ready to jump for it. But, the missiles go off early: Exploding in the air.
It was some kind of final warning. And, Max knew it.
She was only able to catch a little with her cat like eyes. But, in both languages...it says "Z For A".
Over cordless phone... Seth checks worriedly, "Max? You ok? Max?!"
Max heavily sighs, "I'm ok, Seth. I'm not hurt. But, I think it's a little late to check on the stronghold now. The ZFA just left."
Seth is drying himself off with his mini-fans by a tree.
He suddenly realizes, "were those the helicopters...?"
Max solemnly adds, "yeah. I'm sure they are: Which means they're doing something large sooner than later, and they didn't want to chance us finding out. Could just be because of what happened with Beka though."
Seth figures grimly, "looks like. I'm looking. But, I don't see anyone after...me."
Max checks nervously, "Seth?"
Through static... Seth says, "B...ek...a!"
Max calls out, "Seth? Seth?! Damn!"
She hangs up.
She jumps fast over some guys on motorcycles going by. And, she runs for the nearest riverbank.
Twenty minutes later, by a certain riverbank...
Max finds the tree Seth was standing near. She soon finds him on the ground unconscious.
He's heavily bruised on his head with dark red liquid around his mouth.
Max faintly smiles to herself in sharp relief as she notices his blowhole with her cat like eyes. The blowhole in his back is breathing heavily for him.
She sees a figure all too familiar to her up ahead, holding a rusty brown rifle.
Her expression goes back to serious as she runs after her.
Max calls out warningly, "Beka!"
Beka stops before a house. A family's having a barbecue out back: Completely unaware of who's coming.
A improvised cast of pale brown cow skin is around her head. But, dark red liquid is dripping along it like crazy: Even after all this time. Even with Manticore blood and well done self done stitching, the wound is healing and coming apart again and again from all the strenuous running around.
Max stares very uneasily at Beka's now Frankenstein like face, turning to face her.
She tries hard not to. But, she can't help it.
She has fairly long very pale horn like red hair over her shoulder, laced in dried dark red liquid. The cow skin comes just barely over one of her agitated eyes. The contact lenses she had on since Manticore are barely holding as it is. Bone is sticking out of her gray tinted hide like skin like tiny horns.
Putting on anything bigger than a black military vest for a top has always been a nightmare for her to put on. Even her light green jeans are unintentionally riddled with holes.
In a unexpectedly dry deep like voice... Beka says, "Max. You come to see retribution?"
Max looks at her kind of funny. Max brings up, "retribution? You're not just killing ZFA. You almost killed Seth. And, you're about to kill a lot of innocent guys on the other side of the wall just cause you think they're looking for a hit on you. But, they're not."
Beka takes a few minutes to take some deep breaths and cough violently some.
Max rolls her eyes annoyedly, waiting there.
Beka then looks up again.
She glares back, "innocent? Innocent?! I scoped the stronghold out myself! Violent cough! It's all a big stronghold! Only monsters and soldiers here. Which are you?"
A teary eyed Max grabs her arm. Beka reactively grabs hers.
As delicately as she knows how, Max breaks it down, "we're not just soldiers, Beka: We're family. Don't make this all about going after ZFA. You're not well. All me and Seth are really here for is to come to help you."
Bordering on angry, Beka mutters harshly, "then let go: Now!"
Max sniffles hard: Even though she hasn't let go.
Sounding just as shaken...she concludes, "I'm sorry. I can't. I can't let you kill innocent people."
Beka tumbles down to the ground in seconds, hurling Max off into the tree.
Beka mutters creepily, "big mistake."
Max falls down dazed, instinctively clutching her now heavily bruised arm. All from one throw.
Her head is pulsing like crazy. Her vision is starting to blur.
Beka gets back up easy, walking toward her.
Max mutters under her breath, "damnit! Violent cough!"
She starts to get to her feet. But, Beka violently rams her bone horn covered elbow into her.
Max doubles back against the ground, now clutching her dark red liquid dripping side.
Her vision's getting worse. But, so is Beka's.
Beka stumbles over, struggling to lift herself up while she's coughing up dark red liquid. Max can barely pull herself back up from the tree as she's coughing up dark red liquid.
In spite of all of the strain... Beka suddenly gets back up again.
She pauses to pull a entire empada slice out of one of her jean pockets: Which she eats through quick and easy like a elephant drinking water at a watering hole.
Max knows she's only got one shot.
With a violent groan...Max with closed eyes reaches for her crossbow.
She readies it quick: Despite the painful snaps from her heavily bruised arm and sides.
She loads it with the cordless phone and fires.
It violently hits Beka in her side, not far from the stomach. No horns or thick skin there.
She groans violently. She goes down hard.
She just lies on her side, gasping for air.
Even with all the injuries she's got... Max walks very slowly to her.
Deep breath after deep breath, one violent cough after another... She opens her eyes very slowly.
Everything's so blurry.
She thinks back to when she had to walk with metal planks to keep going. And somehow, this only feels close to feeling that much worse.
Max faintly chuckles. She hears she's still breathing.
She falls down by Beka: Already feeling herself falling unconscious.
Still lying there...Beka feels her pulsing head.
She surprisingly looks teary eyed and red in the face.
She slowly starts to get up on her second wind.
Beka sniffles. She realizes sadly, "I'm not dead. You not a monster. I'm sorry."
Max comments, "yeah. Thanks. Faint chuckle. You always...violent cough...were hard headed."
She falls unconscious.
Beka mutters angrily at herself, "I know."
She sighs heavily with mixed relief.
She's still barely breathing. But, after a few minutes... She gets up again.
Beka checks Max's person for anything of help. She finds the Eyes Only ID badge in her pocket.
She faintly smiles to herself: Knowing what to do now.
With her strength, she carries Max's body out of there.
People go to check where they heard the sounds. But, they're already gone by then.
Several hours later...
Max barely comes to a little: In a hospital room with light green sheets and curtains.
Everything's still blurry. But, she sees Seth in a hospital bed: Before the drapes go over it.
Some tubes are in Seth's arm and in Max's arm: Pumping anesthesia in them.
A bunch of unconscious hospital guys line the floor.
With some self injected needles sticking out of her arms though... Beka is standing by Max: With a lowered rifle in one hand, while she's dialing the last number left on Max's more official cellular phone in the other hand. Logan's number.
Max just faintly smiles as she falls unconscious again.
She and Seth may have just become patients along with her. But, with a reawakened Beka, they're in fairly good hands: All things considered.