Choices

by Mystic25

UPDATE CHAPTER 28 SUMMARY: Jessie finally asks Max about her past

27. Lack of Control

Choices 27 – "Lack of Control"

Author: Mystic25

Summary: A mysterious illness sets its sights on Max and her siblings.

RATING: PG for language, violence and sexuality.

A/N: Here it is guys, what you've been waiting for. And as promised it's got M/L, nice ample amounts of it too. I have been focusing a lot on Asha and Zack recently, but in my defense they both weren't really used that much in the show and have no real history like Max that I can feed off of. So I had to establish a few things. Max is still the main character but she isn't the only character.

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CHEYENNE, WYOMING

2:56 AM

A lone man sat at a computer workstation, the glow from the monitor was his only source of light in the darkened room. His colleges had abandoned him an hour ago because of hunger, not that he really blamed them. They had been working 14 hours straight without food or sleep.

His stomach gave a low growl, like an angry dog craving to be fed. But as hungry and exhausted as he was the Director had called him personally and told him not to move until he had completed his work, all of it.

The man stretched arms high above his head, taking a sweeping look over the room of empty cubicles, the computers in them abandoned by their owners in favor of the vending machines in their tiny designated "break room." His final stretch ended on a loud grunt and he lowered his arms. Resting his elbows on his worktable he rubbed at his eyes with both hands in large circles, feeling them water slightly from the stimulation. Finally, he gave up his stalling techniques and focused his weary eyes back on the screen.

The image on the monitor had been his companion for the last 14 hours, showing a virtual a DNA double helix. The software running the image was a highly advanced system. He could zoom out to see the entire set of chromosomes or pull in close enough to see the individual pieces that made up the matrix of a single double helix strand of DNA

The particular strand he was looking at was part of the matrix that made up white blood cells – the immune system. More specifically the immune system of a single person. It was because of the complexity of the DNA of this individual that the man had been sitting at his computer for so long, trying to complete the single task he had been assigned too.

The double helix on screen rotated slowly on a 90-degree vertical plane, allowing all sides of its form to be viewable to the man. To the side of the virtual image was a long list of structures that the man had found inside the sample, and it was a list made up of unusual, almost bizarre contents. One of the uncanniest things about this DNA was a layer protein coating around the helix itself. DNA was made up of amino acids, proteins, but no ordinary human DNA had an outside coating on the double helix. Due to the nature of the human immune system a surrounding protein coating would be viewed as a foreign substance and would cause the white blood cells to start attacking themselves. But this coated DNA was left alone by the white blood cells; in fact the coating seemed to provide a high caliber form of protection against foreign bodies.

The technician had experimented earlier by infecting the live blood sample with a strain of Meningitis. As he observed the sample through the electron microscope he was shocked to see that the protein coated DNA had revved up the white blood cell, allowing it to actually destroying the virus almost instantaneously. Whatever remained of the virus afterwards was almost dead, not posing any major threat. This meant that although this person was certainly not immune from contracting viruses and could still carry it to other people, his body attacked it in such a way that he would never develop any symptoms or they would be extremely muted from what they were supposed to be.

It was because of this fact that the man and his colleagues had been working without food or sleep for hours on end. Superiors on the very top of the organization demanded a solution for what the worker deemed unsolvable. But unsolvable wasn't a mindset they were allowed to have. The Director wanted the problem eradicated; there was no other alternative.

The tech's mind was so desperate for sleep that his thoughts started drifting to his high school biology days to find a solution. He stayed on that thought train for only a few seconds because anything learned in a tenth grade bio lecture wouldn't even come close to giving him answers on the complexity of DNA modification he was assigned to complete now. But as his sleep deprived mind drifted to the memory of the short skirt the girl who use to sit beside him always wore, he recalled something about the lecture that occurred the same day he had been busy ogling the girl's thighs.

Though he had only been half paying attention to that lecture when he was 16 he still recalled the important aspects his teacher delivered in a grave sounding monotone voice. His mind snapped awake and his hands began a flurry of activity across the keys, cursing himself mentally for having do dig into his high school past to find this solution. He typed so fast that if had been in a cartoon character, smoke would be emitting form the keyboard. He paused for only half a second to grab the phone next to his computer, punching the third speed dial number. His hand instantly going back to typing the minute the phone was successfully cradled between his ear and his shoulder.

A low electronic whirr sounded over the line, a tracing unit springing into action. Movie producers had it completely wrong when their cop protagonists tried to keep their subject babbling forever in order to get a phone number traced. A trace on a phone line was instantaneous. As soon as the tracing unit detected an incoming call it's multi-system processor had the number in less than three seconds, no one on the receiving end of the trace even had to be talking.

Tracing was standard procedure in the organization, even though the tight security made it virtually impossible for anyone on the outside to call them. It was rather a way to keep tabs on all the association's employees.

The whirring sound of the tracing gear was blotted out when a deep voice came over the line.

"What is it?"

"I think I may have solved the problem," the tech still was typing furiously at his computer while he spoke. As he continued to work he became more confident that the idea he had would be successful. "Yes, I'm sure of it."

The person on the other end of the line was happy that there had been a solution, but his voice only portrayed irritation, a sharp tone that, mixed with his already deep voice, was very dangerous sounding. "About damn time." His accent was heightened in his anger, an African enunciation mixed with French, since most of the population of West Africa –where he was from- spoke French. "Did you fax the profile?"

"A few minutes ago," the tech answered. "The modifications are fairly simple-"

"Simple to a undergraduate geneticist," the tech's phone partner cut in, insulting the other man's knowledge of his work.

"There are only two tags to add to the product to get it's biology working," the tech felt the blow the African had dealt him, but he didn't allow it to show in his voice. "The Director expects it to be in the hands of the distributor tomorrow night."

"You expect me to have a genetic agent that's never been created before, fully functional and returned back to the United States by TOMORROW night?"

"Eight PM, Pacific US Standard Time." The technician returned.

"What you're asking is impossible!"

"No it's not, because you're going to do it or risk loosing the amnesty we've granted you for all the dirty deeds you've been doing recently."

The technician's words had struck a blow with his caller; the man was caught because of a deal his organization had made over a decade ago. A deal that paid off his government to turn a blind eye to what was nothing short of war crimes. But if the technician held every piece of dirty laundry he had, then the same was true for him. "Amnesty goes both way my friend. What do you think would happen if word ever reached your government officials about YOUR dirty deeds? Crimes against humanity are dealt with the same way in every country, even in your current political environment."

"Just get the stuff working and at the drop off point on time and maybe your neck will be spared from the noose a little while longer." The technician ended the call there, knowing the hot-temper the African possessed that would have erupted had he stayed on the line. He switched his computer to a lock-down – a mode that only allowed a one shot chance at a password that only he knew. If the wrong password were typed in just once, the system would shut down entirely.

He stood up and stretched, checking his watch again. It was either very early, or very late, but he still knew of a few dives in the city that hadn't closed yet, and would provide the booze that he wanted. He grabbed his black wool jacket from off the back of the computer chair and draped it over his arm before switching off the task lamp that had been lighting his monitor.

He slid out of the cubicle and walked down the narrow space in-between the workstations heading towards the only door out of the large room. He reached the frosted set of glass doors, pushed them open and left down a non-descript white hallway.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

GHANA, WEST AFRICA

U.S. CUSTOMS OFFICE

12: 21 PM

The crowds of people who were standing in the inspection lines were chaotic. Children ran amongst the piles of belongings that had to be cleared by the Customs Agents, while adults grouped themselves against the walls of the office, or chose to sit on the boxes and bags they had brought with them.

The air inside the complex was stifling, even with the whir of the ten industrial sized window fans that had been erected around the building's perimeter. People fanned themselves with newspapers, wiping sweat off their brow with free hands. The air outside was a bit cooler, but no one moved, because doing so would mean that they would loose their place in line.

The throngs of people were all behind a long velvet rope that snaked in front of them, attached to copper colored polls. There were two openings in the rope that allowed access to the Customs Personnel.

At one opening stood a tall woman wearing a light orange-yellow wrap dress; her hair neatly pulled up under a dark brown scarf. Beside her stood her daughter, a girl of six, with pink barrettes and a white square neck school dress. The child was holding her mother's right hand, trying her best to look well behaved in such an official place. But she couldn't keep her eyes on one place for very long, and let them wander throughout the crowd. She eventually settled her gaze on the man who stood at the head of the second opening in the line. He was wearing jeans and a black singlet with a red baseball cap on his head, nothing really noteworthy about him. What had drawn the girl's attention was rather the smile he was flashing her, a very trustworthy warming smile that would make any child smile in return.

This is what the girl was doing when a gruff looking official motioned her mother across the velvet rope. The child waved at the man she had just met, and he waved in return. The smile lingered on his face until a female Customs Agent called him up, and then it disappeared once the child could no longer see him.

"Bonjiour, How are you today?" The custom agent greeted the man in both French and English, allowing the man to choose to speak in whatever language he was more comfortable in. English was the native language of Ghana, but the Customs Office often received clients from the neighboring country of Burkina Faso, where 90 percent of the population spoke French.

"I am fine," the man answered the woman in English, successfully cementing the language that would be used for the rest of their transaction.

The Customs Agent – a woman in her mid thirties with bleached blonde hair – flashed him a closed lipped smile before getting down to her business. The man had placed a brown paper covered box on the counter in front of her, and she slid it towards her to scrutinize. "Is there anything organic inside this package?"

"No," the man answered her with directness, nothing more.

The Customs Agent made a note on a pad of paper in front of her. "Any biohazard or other medical material?"

"No," the man again answered, watching the customs agent mark something else down on her pad. A computer sat in front of her, but recent power surges in the area had fried the mainframe so now everything had to be done by hand.

"Please state the item you are declaring for International Mail for official records Sir."

"A set of pens." The man responded.

"Pens?" the Agent asked, making sure that she heard right. She picked up a box cutter beside her and sliced through the tape that held the top flap of the box closed. Customs Agents were not allowed to take everyone at their word. All packages were x-rayed and bomb searched at the front door as well as being hand searched before being considered for mailing. The Agent poised her hand over the box, one step short of opening it. "Before I search the contents of this parcel do you still claim this item to be only what you have declared here today, and nothing more, under penalty of Interpol Law 102.546, should you be giving false information?"

"Yes," the man replied coolly, watching the agent lift open the box flaps and remove its contents, laying it out on the table in front of her.

"Pens," the man reiterated again, gesturing towards the set of gold plated fountain pens that had be pulled from the package. "A present for my father."

The woman eyeballed each pen; unscrewing them to make sure nothing was inside but ink tubes.

Nothing was off about the fountain pens; there were three, all with dark blue ink canisters. A swab of the pens and the box itself revealed no traces of explosives. Satisfied with her inspection the agent handed the box back and directed the man to a line at the very corner of the building where officials would rewrap his package and get it mailed out.

The person that the man handed his package off too, was a tall, ominous looking man dressed in a charcoal gray suit. He looked like a high-class version of Mailman. He accepted the package, not even bothering to ask where it was going. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you," the other man responded, satisfied with the Custom Agents very simple remark. He walked away without another word.

The Customs Agent took the box to a cube-shaped back room and locked the door. He laid the box on a table that stood in the center of the room, and lifted the fountain pens out of their decorative collector's box. He unscrewed one of them, removing its ink canister. He then pulled a small plastic vial –filled with an almost translucent liquid – out of his coat pocket, and placed it inside the empty fountain pen. He quickly rewrapped and addressed the parcel before walking out of the room and down a long hallway that led to a huge mailroom.

One corner of the room contained high steel shelves that were loaded with parcels that had failed inspection and would find their way to the incinerator by nightfall. The Agent passed these doomed items on the way to the processing counter in the back. Three employees sat behind the gray granite counter, handwriting records on a white form for all the packages that came in.

"This one needs to go out tonight on the Concord," the Agent laid the parcel in on the counter. The worker nearest to it didn't even bother to look up as he took the box and laid it behind him beside the other packages.

The Agent placed a U.S. 50 dollar bill on the counter in front of the worker, but he kept his hand over the money until he had the full attention of the man behind the counter. "Make sure it gets there on time."

The worker retracted the money from under the Agent's fingers. "Yes Sir." He pocketed the cash as the Agent turned and left the counter.

XXXXXXXX

SEATTLE

THE NEXT NIGHT

8:30 PM

The rumble of a Ninja's 1200 cc engine echoed around the alleyway that served as a parking area for the patrons of Crash. The jet-black bike slowed to a stop behind a chrome colored Yamaha motorcycle with orange detailing.

The rider of the Ninja lowered the kickstand and removed a black-visored biker's helmet from his head. Bits of his blond hair were stuck to his forehead but he paid no notice of it, and dismounted the bike, laying the helmet on the black saddle seat.

Zack cast brown eyes into the darkness of the alleyway. Several people passed through patches of steam that rose from puddles of warm bodily liquid that had pooled on the crack road. Two women dressed in slinky, striptease dresses passed directly by him; the heels of there stilettos tapped rhythmically on the road. They gazed at him veraciously, but paid them no attention, checking the glowing dials of the blue-faced Marine on his wrist.

Two other bikes pulled to a stop behind his Ninja. Their riders were late aged teens dressed in bright baggy colored track jackets and torn jeans. Their motorcycles were cheap Chinese made Kawasaki knock-offs painted in colors as loud as their clothes. As the duo passed by Zack's much sleeker Ninja, hungry their eyes traveled over its metal body like wolves.

Zack glanced up from his watch and glared at them so forcefully that their wandering looks skittered away, and they pretended that they had been staring at something else the entire time.

A car pulled into the narrow alley, the headlights flooding the area with light. The rumbling engine of the Jeep Cherokee cut-off, shutting the headlights off at the same moment. A figure stepped out of the driver's seat, their footsteps sounding off on the pavement.

Zack watched all this from his vantage point, allowing his attention to be focused on the tall, curvy, dark haired woman who continued to walk his way.

"I still don't know why you changed your look."

"Change is good sometimes Zack," Asha returned. Her once blonde hair was now dyed a jet black and cut into short feathery layers, making her pale skin stand out more; but the color and style of the cut also added a rich beauty to her face.

"You're late," Zack stated, not offering any comments on his wife's new choice of hairstyle.

"Yeah well, it took me twenty-minutes to get out of the bathroom." Asha told him matter-of-fact. "You should've thought about time management before you got me pregnant." It had been a month since she found out about her pregnancy. She had forgone paying a ridiculous amount for a home pregnancy test, and instead had gone to a women's clinic in Sector Five. The doctor there had confirmed what she had already suspected, that she was pregnant, seven weeks along. And with her first trimester came a wave of morning sickness. Though Asha wasn't sure why it was called Morning Sickness when it assaulted her at any given moment of the day.

A cool wind blew past them and Asha pulled her leather jacket around her to keep it out. "Can we move this conversation inside? The baby may be half super soldier, but mommy is freezing."

"Hey mommy!" A lazy, but loud catcall echoed in the alleyway, and it was directed at Asha. Across the alleyway a group of men were leaning against a streetlight. It had been a man in a dark red leather jacket and black jeans that had called out. He ran his eyes up and down Asha's body, as scrutinizing as he could get without getting her to strip right there in front of him. "If you're cold I got a way to get you hot."

Asha rolled her eyes at the line, but didn't comment. Guys like this just waited for comebacks from the women they hit on; it was their form of masturbation. So she was in favor of biting her tongue instead of giving them a hard-on.

But Zack didn't tap into Asha's philosophy. He let nothing slide by when it was directed at someone he cared about. "Go jack-off in the dumpster with the rest of the degradation." His words were hard, brutal, a cut down from a Manticore soldier.

The man laughed in his palm, a shrill, mocking laugh. "Ooo, ouch. Don't get so feral man, I was trying to get the lady in that state of mind." His buddies laughed at his joke.

Asha could sense Zack was three seconds away from jumping the guy, not that she would've minded terribly, but she was too cold to stand there and watch any defending of her honor taking place. "Baby, my feet are going numb."

Zack glanced down at Asha after she had spoken, and then back up to the group of losers that were leering at them. In the end he followed Asha as she headed towards the entrance of Crash.

"Don't go away so soon Romeo," the guy taunted to Zack's retreating figure.

Zack left the remark on the ground where it had fallen, not bothering to waste good breath for a retort.

"Apparently knights in shining armor wear leather now," Asha said once she and Zack were through the entrance of Crash.

"You're welcome," Zack returned, walking down the single flight of wooden steps that led to the main floor of the bar. Already it was packed full of partygoers looking for booze, women, or both.

"Don't get too cocky Zack," Asha stated. "Chivalry died out for a reason."

Max emerged from among the throng of people, dressed in her usual casual – but well fitted – attire: a white tank top, jeans and her leather jacket. She stopped in front of Zack. "You're late."

"You know how I like to make an entrance," Zack informed.

"Yeah, too bad it you don't do that very well," Max returned. She held up an empty beer pitcher in front of him. "I'm going for a refill and I need an extra pair of hands, so I'm borrowing your wife." She grabbed Asha's hand and pulled her away walking away from Zack, leaning over his right ear to say her next remark: "Go make yourself useful and mingle."

Zack pushed his way through the crowd of people that were standing around drinking because they were no more free tables left to sit at. Beer had been spilt all over the floor and he stepped through wet patches, working his way to three tables sitting against a wooden railing that overlooked the lower level of the bar.

"Glad you finally decided to show," Tinga said. She was sitting with her chair pushed back from the table she was at because her stomach was now too large to fit comfortably under it. Charlie sat beside her, a half empty glass of draft beer in front of him on the table.

"I'm not the only one," Zack said, taking the empty across from her.

Tinga's lips pulled back into a smile, resting one hand on the roundness under her red sweater. The gathering at Crash was a sort of a "coming out" for her and the baby. Logan and Jondy were seated at the table across from Tinga, an empty seat beside Logan being claimed to Max.

And on Jondy's other side sat Alec, resting his elbows on the circular table. He was currently shooting Zack his infamous look that was somewhere between an inquiry and a joke. "You bring the Missus with you Zackie Boy? It's too pretty of a night to leave her home knitting."

"Knit your mouth shut Alec," Jondy ordered. "That's my sister-in-law you're talking about."

As if on cue Asha and Max walked over to the tables. Max set down the now full pitcher of beer in the center of Tinga's table.

"Miss me?" Asha said, while handing Zack one of two empty glasses she was holding.

"You were gone for three minutes," Zack insisted.

"You're a hopeless romantic Zack ya know that?" Asha shot back, sliding into the empty seat next to him. "But at least I didn't expect that when I married you."

"Not everyone can't be a sentimental lush like Logan," Alec quipped, hissing a second later when Max 'accidentally' stepped on his foot before reclaiming her seat next to her husband.

"Now that everyone's here what's say we get this shindig started?" Max suggested.

"Which basically means she wants us to get hammered guys," Alec clarified. "I mean with the exception of the Breeding Woman." He raised his glass to Tinga.

"Being pregnant doesn't mean I can't kick your ass Alec," Tinga threatened. "So knock off the medieval vocabulary okay?"

"The pregnancy hormones are surging huh?" Alec stated. "No wonder Max became so moody."

"Let's change topics shall we?" Jondy suggested. "Before I have to take Alec down."

"Which I highly doubt you'll mind doing," Alec said, shooting Jondy a very suggestive look.

"Guys get a room," Tinga said. "I'm not getting a 'welcoming baby' vibe listening to your verbal foreplay." She drank the last bits of the Club Soda from the glass in front of her. "I need a refill."

"I'll get it," Charlie volunteered, moving to take Tinga's glass, but Tinga placed her hand on his wrist to stop him.

"I can do it baby," Tinga insisted, pushing herself up from her seat. "My legs aren't broken."

"Honey just let the man do it," Max said to her sister. "There aren't many legitimate excuses we have that allows us to be catered too."

Tinga stood for a few seconds more in silent debate before finally giving in. She carefully lowered herself back down into the chair and let Charlie go refill her drink. "How much pampering did you let Logan give you when you were pregnant Maxie?"

"Well there were those three months when she was on complete bed rest," Logan joked lightly, feeling Max glare at him. He rubbed her thigh under the table to quell her anger. He felt her hand slide on top of his a second later, a silent sign that she liked his hand to remain where it was. "There's nothing wrong with someone you love wanting to be there for you."

"Except for the giving birth part," Tinga stated matter-of-fact. "That's where men draw a definitive line."

"You got that right," Max agreed, drawing on the memories of giving birth to each of her three children. "Pain that intense has to be taken like a woman."

"I'll drink to that," Tinga said, seeing Charlie come back with her drink. She accepted the glass from him. "Thank you baby."

"No problem," Charlie answered with a smile. He kissed the side of her head before sliding back into his seat.

"Easy there Charlie, that's what got you two in that situation in the first place," Alec warned.

"I had no idea," Charlie responded, jokingly. "I just thought it was something in the water."

"Maybe in Max's case," Alec returned, completely out of range for the punch Max wanted to deal his shoulder, but her glare still managed to reach him. "Don't hate Maxie, you're the one who can't keep her hands to herself."

"At least she doesn't have to keep them on herself like you do to find some satisfaction," Asha informed. She could tell her remark had it's desired affect by the way Alec was at a three second loss for words.

"I tell ya, I'm not feeling the love," Alec muttered, taking a drink from his glass.

"Oh but we are hun," Jondy said, slapping Alec on the shoulder. "And that's all that counts."

"I'll start feeling some love if you move your hand lower Jondy," Alec said, suggestively raising his eyebrows at her.

Jondy's eyes traveled down to his crotch briefly, then moved back up to meet his gaze. "Not a big enough handhold."

"Ouch," Alec hissed like Jondy had just physically wounded him. He looked to Zack. "Are you going to let your sister talk to me like that?"

"If you can't handle it you shouldn't be sitting next to her," Zack responded with the hinting of a smile forming on his face. Any chance that he got Alec down a peg he took.

A shadow stood in the doorway of the Crash's storage room. – a huge space crammed with cardboard boxes full of liquor that had yet to be unpacked. The room and the space directly in front of it were both dark, the owner of the bar felt there no reason to keep it well lit because customers weren't allowed back there anyway. The shadow – a tall, pecan skinned man – scanned his gray/green eyes over the rowdy crowd. Manticore had made it's soldiers very perceptive, able to pick up on things so minute that ordinary people wouldn't have even considered them worth noting. The man knew this, so he had chosen this darkly lit place to observing what he knew for a fact to be a group of Manticore soldiers. Even with the obscurity of the location, he only glanced periodically at the table, not wanting to chance one of them looking over and seeing him.

However, their attention seemed to be fully drawn to each other. They had allowed their guard to be lowered because of their public location, and because of the self-accreditation of who they were. There were eight of them total, but he could tell that three of them were regular people, civilians, but it was a detail that really didn't matter. The primary target was there among the group. The woman next to him was beautiful, he could tell even from here. She laughed at some off-color joke one of them would make with the ease of someone who wasn't aware that they were being watched.

He felt a pulsating ache in his crotch as he observed her. She wasn't more beautiful then any of the other women around the table. But she was the closet to his concealed vantage point, and he could see her features more clearly then the others. He had no binoculars, they would be too bulky to hold, and someone might catch a glimmer off their plastic body. The storage room was close enough to be able to see the table without them anyway.

He continued to watch the woman hungrily for several long seconds, wanting so bad to touch the smooth curviness that was concealed under her clothes, but he quickly snapped his mind away from those erotic thoughts. He could ogle women later; he had come here for something else.

He opened the flap of his navy blue down jacket, pulling something out of the right inner pocket. His left hand now held two small metal tube-like structures, each only 5 inches long and 1.2 inches in circumference. The base of one of the pieces contained a coil of metal threads, which he screwed the other piece on. The entire device was now slightly larger then a drinking straw. The metal of the topmost piece curved out in a hollow bell shape, and on the top rested a circular sight. It was into this part that he placed a small clear projectile, a razor tipped dart, which contained a pale yellow tinted liquid.

He slid the dart into the tube, which was simple in design, but still very effective. Inside the tube there was ring of thin rubber that would keep the dart suspended in position until it was forced out, allowing the tube to be loaded like a gun, ready to be fired off at a moment's notice.

He raised the device in the air, gauging the scope of his aim from where he was standing. He had chosen his vantage point extremely well; he had a perfect bead on the side of his target's neck. target wore jeans, too tough of a barrier to try and penetrate to get to the femoral vein in his leg. The exposed Carotid Artery in the neck was his best shot. Everything was in perfect alignment, but he lowered the tube at his side, careful not to dislodge the dart inside it.

He was not worried about being caught. He could fire the dart with the speed of a bullet being ejected from the barrel of a gun, too fast for the naked eye to see if not expected. Nor was he concerned about the dart itself being discovered. It was made of thin plastic-like material that would dissolve in seconds once it penetrated – only long enough for it to empty the contents it was carrying.

The reasoning that kept him from shooting was the setting his target was in. The dart had the feel and sting of an insect bite, one of the things that made it such a covert weapon. Despite the grunginess of the bar there were no wandering insects inside that would make a bug bite something inconspicuous. No, he had to wait until his target went outside. It was a delay, but not a major one. Even though the liquid agent would take two to three hours to reach it's full potency, it would start taking some effect within minutes.

He pulled back into the shadows, keeping watch on his target. The bar had only one exit.

He wouldn't loose him.

XXXXXXXXX

9:45 PM

The door of Crash remained opened for 30 seconds as Max, Logan, Tinga and everyone else in their group left the bar and stepped out into the dimly lit alleyway.

Tinga yawned and arched her back, stretching out the kinks. "Damn, I'm beat." She dug into the pocket of her jeans, searching for her car keys. "Honey, move to your left so mommy can reach her keys," Tinga said to the baby, finding it hard to maneuver around her pregnant stomach.

A hand pushed hers out of her pocket and in a few seconds Zack was dangling her keys in front of her. "That one's going to be difficult."

"Ahh but all things male and Manticore are difficult Zack," Tinga responded, taking her keys back from him. Another yawn overtook her. "If I wasn't so tired, a hot bath would feel so good right about now. But with my luck I'd probably fall asleep and beach myself in there." She smiled at her joke. "But then again I could make Charlie be on ready to help out."

"Nothing like Charlie lugging 20 extra pounds of your weight out of hot lavender scented water to prove he's still hot for you," Zack said to her.

Tinga mentally punched her brother in the shoulder, rather then wasting precious physical energy on the task. "If you ever get that wife of yours pregnant, you'd better keep those opinions to yourself if you want to see daylight ever again."

Zack let nothing slip on his expression that his wife already was pregnant. But he hadn't told anyone yet. Asha was barely into her first trimester; their baby was too small to even be classified as human yet. The only indications of her pregnancy was her constant need to puke her guts out, her body's way of adjusting to its new medical status. There had been no major mood swings as of yet. Her temper with him had been shorter, due to hormonal imbalances. Every woman experienced pregnancy differently and he could already tell that she wasn't going to be one of those women who turned into a blubbering mess when they were pregnant.

Tinga said a quick goodbye to Zack and left to join Charlie who was waiting for her by the driver's side of their car; a pewter Hyundai Sonata with dark tinted windows. Zack could see Logan's tan Aztec parked further down the alleyway and observed his youngest sister and her husband climb into the vehicle, obviously Max had left her motorcycle at home.

Jondy was nowhere to be seen, but the revving of her motorcycle's engine soon disrupted the stillness of the cool night air. People pushed past where Zack still stood in the alleyway, eager to get to the bar before it closed.

Zack watched the Aztec and the Hyundai pull out from the bar. A group of people entered Crash, the sounds of the bar emerging out the front door as it swung closed behind them. The noise was distracting to hear over, but Zack had super human hearing, so he didn't miss the sound of his name coming from a very familiar voice.

Asha was leaning against her Jeep, watching him as he approached. This time he avoided the puddles of spilt body fluid that pooled on the ground. Just because they lived in pooling filth, didn't mean that he wanted to step in it. He was two feet away from Asha when he felt a sharp prick of an insect stinging his neck.

The task had been trickier then the originally had thought. After his target left the bar he had followed him outside, hiding behind a pile of large abandoned metal crates that sat on the opposite side of the alleyway outside the bar. It was dark, pollution from the city kept the stars hidden, but the dim streetlamps gave him enough light to see his target.

He had soon discovered that his vantage point was flawed. First off, a large building jutted out in front of him, giving him only a narrow patch of air that he could shoot from. Secondly, people kept arriving and leaving the bar, and their bodies would constantly block his line of sight, forcing him to wait to get a clear shot. He positioned the shooter completely in front of him, poised a few inches from his mouth. He waited with silent impatience as people moved about his target, and as his target himself kept stepping his form out of his firing range.

Finally the crowd had thinned, he could see his target clearly now, standing in a profile position from his vantage point. He was wearing a leather jacket, but it was unbuttoned, and the flesh of his neck was visible above his sweater. The setup was perfect. His target had turned after that woman had called his name, and her position to him was such that he would have to keep walking at the same profile angle in order to reach her. He positioned the tube at his lips. His heart gave a quickening beat inside his chest as he checked the accuracy of his aim one last time before firing. He didn't have the ability to follow the dart with his sight as it was fired, but he knew it had hit it's mark when he saw his target flinch four seconds later.

Asha saw Zack flinch. "What is it?"

"Just a damn mosquito," Zack rubbed the side of his neck briefly before lowering his arm to his side.

"Nothing a soldier can't handle I'm sure," Asha said; with a light playful smile on her face. The smile slowly disappeared from her face when familiar queasiness started building up in her stomach. She kept it at bay by sheer willpower, determined not to throw up in the same alleyway where dozens of drunks had already been sick. "See you at home," she didn't trust herself to say anything more without spewing more then words out of her mouth. But she still managed to give Zack a long, sensual kiss by his ear. She found herself more easily aroused since she became pregnant. She knew it was due to her raging hormones, but she found Zack even more alluring to her because now he wasn't just her husband, he was the father of her child.

Zack had remained motionless during her kiss but she felt his eyes following her as she got into her car, and she smiled a smile that he couldn't see. This was one man in this alleyway that she didn't have problem with checking her out.

The brightness of Cherokee's headlights flashed across Zack's body, becoming smaller as the Jeep backed out of the alleyway. The tires crunched on pieces of the road's asphalt that had been chipped away with age.

His motorcycle was parked in front of her car, and the alley was too narrow for even a small jeep and a motorcycle to clear it at the same time. So he waited for her to leave.

Zack took his keys out of his jacket pocket and walked over to his Kawasaki. One of the cheap-Ninja knock offs was parked next to it. The other bike's kickstand was barely out, making its body dip precariously towards Zack's more expensive motorcycle. The position of the other bike didn't give Zack any space to back his Ninja out unless he moved it. But that was something he had no problems with doing. He grabbed the handlebars and pushed the bike over causing to crash loudly onto the street, the kick stand on the opposite site not being able to break its fall.

Task completed, Zack slid his key into the ignition slot by his bike's handlebars.

"Why you leavin' Romeo?" The leer echoed in the alleyway. The lamplight lit up the face of the man wearing the red leather jacket, the same guy who had taunted Zack and Asha earlier. "Don't you know it's rude to leave without saying goodbye?" He laughed, revealing a space in his mouth where his front tooth should have been. Behind him, his three friends remained silent, but the smiles on their faces was just as greasy as his was.

Zack removed the key from the ignition and pocketed inside his jacket, turning to face the small posse. He so didn't have time for this. "Is there something you ladies need help with?"

The man in the red leather jacket lost his leering smile, his face now pulled into an angry scowl. He punched a fist into his other hand. "You better watch your mouth Goldie Locks if you want to make it to Grandma's house in one piece."

"That's Little Red Riding Hood jag-off," Zack retorted, meeting the man's glare.

The man's eyes bulged angrily out of his sockets. His hand reached for something inside his jacket pocket – a black handled switchblade – that he released the blade of in front of Zack's face. Behind him, his three friends all pulled out knives, two had switchblades like him, and the other had silver handled bowie knife.

"Enough talk pretty boy," the man with the red leather jacket lunged at Zack with the knife.

Zack expertly dodged the attack and kicked the man's knife out of his hand. He picked it up from the dirt in the street before its owner did, throwing it hard and far onto the roof of a three story building a few yards away. His body was adept for speed so all his actions took under five seconds. But after those five seconds he felt strangely winded, almost dizzy from his exertion.

The man friends threw themselves on Zack before he had a chance to recover from his sudden weakness. The one armed with the bowie knife slashed wildly at Zack, gashing him at the top of his right ear, causing a rivulet of blood to leak down the side of his face. Zack ducked away from the next knife attack, but he was still feeling winded, allowing the first man who had attacked him to knock him down on his back on the road.

Zack's heard the thud as his head hit the hard asphalt. He was already dizzy for some unknown reason, but the knock to the head instantly doubled that feeling.

"You wanna try mouthing off again scut?" the man with the red leather jacket taunted. He was standing above Zack; his hands gripped the edges of Zack's leather jacket. He slammed Zack's head hard against the pavement, and then his friend slapped the bowie knife in his hand

Zack had been trained as a soldier, bred to fight. No matter how hurt or tired he was, there was always a reserve; pain was not an excuse not to give in.

Zack reared his body up off the ground, bucking the man off him with such force that he was flung against a huge stack of metal crates that littered the opposite side of the alleyway. He picked up the abandoned bowie knife and smacked the flat side of the blade across the face of the man's friend who had advanced on him again. The man was thrown off balance and Zack dealt a fierce blow to his stomach, and he crumpled to the ground.

The third man was still armed with his switchblade and he threw it at Zack's chest. Zack caught the knife by the blade and threw it hard enough against the metal crates that the tempered steal broke in half. The third man had been standing right next to the crates when he threw the knife and after the blade had broken the split pieces flew at his face, slashing at his eyelids.

The man screamed, and stumbled backwards half blind by blood pooling into his eyes.

Zack left the three men in their beaten states and half walked/half stumbled to his motorcycle. His head was ringing from the blow and from the dizziness he felt earlier, and blood continued to trickle down his face from the slash in his ear. He wiped it away with one hand. Nausea crept up on him and he spat a small amount of vomit on the road, cranking the engine and raising the kickstand at the same moment.

He maneuvered the bike around the fallen and cowering forms, and onto the main road, pulling the Kawasaki's 1200 cc's into a speed of 95 miles an hour. The visored motorcycle helmet was strapped behind him on the saddle seat. He had left it off, to let the whipping wind cool off the flushing hotness he could feel creeping up on his skin.

XXXXXXX

FOGLE TOWERS

10:02 PM

Max gently opened the wooden door, leaving the hallway light off so as not to wake her kids, relying instead on her night vision and the light from the small nightlight plugged into the bedroom wall.

She quietly stepped into the bedroom picking up a stuffed bear that had been lying in the middle of the floor. She set the toy atop the five-drawer dresser that sat against the west wall.

"Mom?" the word 'mom' sounded almost grown-up, but it was laced with a sleepy innocence.

Max turned at the whispered call to find Jessie sitting up in his bed watching her. "Sorry Jess." She walked over to the edge of the bed. "I didn't mean to wake you up." His hair was disheveled, and sticking out in odd angles, much in the same way Logan's was when he slept. She ran a hand through the unruly strands. "Did you have fun with Nana?" Lucia had been babysitting them while Max and Logan were out at Crash.

"We played Hearts," Jessie responded with a sleep-laden voice. "Me and Nana won three times each, Lexi won once and Lucy tried to eat the cards."

Max laughed quietly. "She's only four-months-old. I think she's a little too young for cards."

"She wasn't playing. Nana had her in her lap and she kept grabbing at the ends of the cards and chewing on them, even though she doesn't have any teeth yet." Jessie yawned at the end of his explanation.

"Sounds like you had a busy day," Max said, ruffling his hair again. "Which means you should probably go back to sleep."

Jessie yawned again, deeper. He had a notorious streak of wanting to stay up past his bedtime. But tonight he was too tired to argue.

Max helped him lay back down and pulled the comforter back over his body. "Goodnight baby."

"Goodnight mom," came his reply behind closed eyelids.

Max smiled again at Jessie calling her 'mom' and kissed him on the forehead. She walked out as silently as she came in and shut the door softly behind her.

She stepped out into the hallway and saw Logan closing the door to Lucy's nursery quietly behind him. He had heard her crying when they came home and volunteered to check on her while Max looked in on the other two. It turned out that Lucy had been hungry, so he sat with her, feeding her a bottle.

"That girl is just plain greedy," Logan said to Max in a low voice so he wouldn't wake any of their children up. He showed her the almost empty baby bottle he was holding. "Thee quarters of the bottle gone in ten minutes." He saw the smile on her full lips, and walked over to her. "What's so amusing?"

"Apparently I've moved up with Jessie. I'm no longer 'mommy'; I'm 'mom'." Max's words had traces of awe in them. "We're now raising a teenager in a seven-year-old's body."

"He still sleeps in camo pjs; I think he's still a ways off from dying his hair and getting his nipples pierced," Logan said.

"I know that baby," Max returned. "Hell I'm still young enough to want to get my nipples pierced." She could see bemusement flicker across Logan's face at her declaration. "I was speaking hypothetically Logan relax."

"Oh," Logan said, drawing out the word like he was letting out a relieved breath. "Actually I thought it sounded hot."

Max shot him a look. "You've got a dirty mind." Her look shifted to dry amusement. "Of course you know if I pierce my nipples you have to pierce your-"

"Hey! Okay, Uncle!" Logan interjected. "Ouch. Don't ever put that kind of thought in my head again Max," his voice was completely disgusted. "I would never take body jewelry to that extreme."

"Wait. You mean you've had body jewelry before?" Max returned, digging into Logan's remark, wanting to see if he was serious or just kidding.

"I had an earring in college," Logan answered, seeing his wife's eyebrows rise as high as they would go at his declaration.

"And this was acceptable dress code at your prestigious East Coast Ivy League establishment?"

"I was a very controversial undergrad," Logan returned.

Max cocked her head at him in amusement. "Really?" A smile pulled her full lips back.

"Really," Logan echoed, smiling because hers was contagious.

"Do you still have your hole?"

"No. I let it close up a year after I got it. It didn't mix with the Armani suits Uncle Jonas bought for me. I looked like a corporate player."

"Can't argue with you there," Max said, "Gold bling and rich liberal white guys don't mix. Besides it would throw off the whole sexy stubbled undergrounder look that you've got going."

Her voice had gone lower, and she ran her thumb through his thin scratchy beard.

Logan was now very glad that he had ditched the earring. Her thumb left hot traces on his skin. "It's late-"

"It's ten o'clock." Max informed, interrupting.

"I could stand going to bed," Logan's response was combined with a seducing look that said he wasn't planning to sleep in bed.

Max instantly caught on to his vibe. She lowered her thumb from his face, seeing a shudder emerge from behind his eyes after it's absence. "The kids are all asleep. And Lucy won't be hungry for another four hours."

A lazy smile crept on Logan's face as he leaned over and caught Max's lips in a deep kiss.

She smiled against Logan's mouth, and pulled back with the smile still on her lips. "So this means you wanna have sex right?"

"Hell yeah." There was longing in Logan's tone that overshadowed the dry humor.

Max's smile grew even larger and she grabbed his hand and led him to their bedroom.

XXXXXXXXXXX

FENTAL AVE

Zack pushed the motorcycle through the front door of the apartment very slowly. His muscles strained against the weight of the bike, despite the fact that he had done this same task with ease a hundred times before.

He popped out the kickstand and rested the bike on it. He didn't let go of the motorcycle's body for several long seconds, gripping it while he caught his breath. He could feel warm blood on the side of his face and neck from the gash on his ear and a dampening sweat coating his body that intermingled with the crimson trail.

He removed his keys from his jacket pocket and threw them on top of a pile of mail resting on the small two-seater dining table. He could see light streaming out from under the bedroom door as he pushed it open with his shoulder.

"I thought lately you've been turning in early." Zack remarked to Asha, who was sitting cross-legged on one side of the bed in a pink camisole and dark gray drawstring boxers, an open book in her lap.

"My stomach had other ideas," Asha said looking up from her book. "So I decided to read a while until this kid gave me a break. Only an inch long and he's already starting to act like his daddy."

Zack didn't comment on her remark. He shed his leather jacket, draping it on the end of the bed and walked into the small bathroom that was connected onto the bedroom. His grimy reflection greeted him. Clumps of dirt were stuck to his face with sweat and no doubt some of the filthy liquid that had been all over the road. His ear continued to leak blood, and a reddish flush was evident on his cheekbones. But more then he felt any of these things, he felt a strange off kilter buzz going through his head that made him dizzy and nauseous at the same time.

A hand on his back caused him to instinctively jerk and whirl around.

"Sorry," Asha held her hands up, surprised at such a started response from Zack. She saw the blood on his ear. She put one hand on his neck to wipe some of the blood away, feeling heat under her fingertips. She removed her hand from his neck and placed the flat of it against Zack's forehead. "You're burning up." Her eyebrows lowered in concern. "What happened?"

Zack took her wrist and pulled her hand off him. "Nothing." He pushed past her, walking out of the small bathroom.

Asha followed him, watching him sit on one side of the bed. She watched him run his fingers through his hair and then lower his head in his hands. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like hell."

He snapped his head up to look at her, and she could see a fine sheen of sweat coating his face and neck. "Can you not do this now?" He stretched out across the bed, lying on his side, facing her. His actions were slow, with a painful looking undertone that Asha didn't miss.

"Do what?" Asha snapped. "Forgive me for being concerned, I'm only you're wife." She didn't hear a response, something unexpected from him. She looked down where he was lying. "Zack?" His eyes were closed; he had fallen asleep. She again placed the back of her hand on his forehead, feeling how hot his skin was beneath her hand.

What the hell is going on? Zack never gets sick. His skin was unnaturally flushed. She went to the bathroom and wet a hand towel and used it to wipe the sweat off Zack's face; He didn't wake up at all during her actions. When she finished she placed the rag on the night table beside him, walked to the other side of the bed and lied down beside him.

She spooned herself against his back, lying her head sideways in the space between his neck and shoulder. His breathing was very deep and slow, exhausted.

She watched him sleep in the semi-darkness for a while, her mind whirring on a thousand concerned questions. She wanted to stay awake to keep an eye on him. Despite what he said something was wrong. Testament to that fact was that she had never seen Zack surrender to sleep so quickly. But eventually listening to the rhythm of his breathing was too much for her, and, despite her internal protests, she felt her eyes close.

XXXXXXX

The electronic whirr of the tracing gear hummed over the line before a human voice broke over its monotone noise. "Is it done?"

"To the letter," the man with the gray/green eyes responded. He looked briefly behind him from the payphone he was calling from. The noise he had heard was a trio of prostitutes excitedly talking about their latest John's high payment to have all three of them at the same time.

He took a second to scope out the women in their revealing dresses before turning back to the dimly lit booth. "I've wiped down the shooter and mailed it back to you."

"You're sure you hit your target?" The voice on the other end was doubtful, and would remain so until he was satisfied of the success.

"I made my mark," the man responded tersely, not happy about his skills being questioned.

"When will its effect kick in?"

"It's already starting, full effect will occur in a few hours."

"Deadly I hope."

"That's what it was designed for." The man let out an annoyed breath. He was tired of being question by a deep gruffy voice thousands of miles away. " The technology is the latest in bioengineering. It took some time to work out a synthesis error, but I can guarantee you it will perform."

Silence hung over the line, as his superior absorbed his words, deciding whether or not he could believe him. There was too much at stake for this plan not to work.

"Make sure it does," the call cut off after those words.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

FOGLE TOWERS

7:15 AM

THE NEXT MORNING

"Mom, why are you smiling so much?" Jessie walked into the kitchen dressed for school in a pair of jeans and a dark blue pullover, his feet clad in white and blue toned sneakers.

"It's not a crime to smile kiddo," Max informed her son, stirring the scrambled eggs in the pan on the stove. She did know how to cook some things; she just wasn't into making huge gourmet meals like Logan.

"But you don't smile this much in the morning," Jessie insisted, watching her scoop some of the eggs onto a plate. "Why are you so happy?"

"Something daddy gave me last night," Max said, scooping the rest of the eggs onto the plates spread out in front of her on the kitchen counter.

"What was it?" Jessie asked, not realizing it was a seriously loaded question.

Only years of Manticore perfected restraint kept the blush from rising to her face. She spotted Logan entering the living room, and smiled again. "Something I really enjoyed."

"Hey," Logan said to Max, entering the kitchen. "You're up early."

"Thought I'd get a jump on things and feed the troops," Max responded, turning off the stove and placing the frying pan in the sink to soak. She picked up two plates and held one out to Logan and the other to Jess. "Here you go boys."

Logan eyed the eggs he was holding "You made this?" Max rarely cooked. He didn't know if she was bad at it, or that she just not to.

"You'd be surprised at what I can do," Max said.

She was wearing a baby blue long-sleeved top, and low-rise jeans; and Logan admired the curves she had underneath them. "Not really." There was a secretive tone behind his casual words, reminding her of what they were doing last night.

Max's smile grew wider; remembering what he looked like what he wasn't wearing the green sweater and black slacks he had on. "Likewise."

"Mom, you're doing it again," Jessie complained taking his plate to the table and pulling out a chair.

"Sorry baby; you're just gonna have to deal with it," Max poured herself a glass of orange juice.

"Especially if mom keeps putting out like she did last night," Logan said standing right behind Max. His voice was low, his breath tickling her ear.

Max turned and punched him lightly in the arm, the smile never leaving her face as she walked to the table with her glass.

Lexi had come to the table as well and was currently trying to climb into her plastic booster seat, but try as she might, she couldn't get up into it. She looked to Max when she heard her approaching, her voice pleading. "Mommy-"

"I'll do it," Jessie said, getting out of his chair.

"You're bein' an awesome big brother Jess, but I'll handle this one. Lexi weighs almost as much as you." Max said. She picked up her daughter placing her into the red booster seat.

"I don't weigh that much!" Lexi complained once she was settled in her chair.

"Mommy just means you're growing sweetie," Logan said to Lexi, placing a plate of eggs in front of her. "You're getting bigger everyday."

"I am?" Lexi looked up at Logan in excitement.

"Oh yeah, and prettier too." He smiled at her and kissed her by her ear, handing her a fork. "Now eat or you're going to be late for school."

Lexi grinned at being called pretty and began to eat her eggs. "This is good daddy," she said around a mouthful.

"Actually mommy cooked this princess, so you should thank her." Logan responded, taking the empty seat next to his daughter.

Lexi turned to Max, looking as surprised as Logan when Max had informed him that she had cooked breakfast.

"Enough with the looks guys," Max said. "I never said I couldn't cook, I just said I didn't like too. There's a difference."

"It's good mom," Jessie informed from his chair. He took a bite of his eggs to show her that he meant what he said. "Almost as good as dad's."

Max smiled at Jessie calling Logan "dad" as well as his remark on her culinary skills. "I'll take as a compliment." A high-pitched cry sounded off on the baby monitor sitting on the coffee table. "There's someone else who enjoys my food." She stood up and headed towards the hallway.

Lucy's crying reached its peak when she pushed open the nursery door. "Guess you don't want the eggs." She picked up the screaming baby and took her to the rocking chair in the corner to nurse.

"This kitchen set up is completely one sided kiddo," Max said, watching Lucy greedily drink her fill of breast milk.

Max rocked her in the chair, listening to her soft swallowing. Her eyes drifted across the nursery, at the pile of toys in the corner. Ever since Lucy had been born everyone she and Logan knew had given the baby stuffed animals, so now she had a very built up collection. There were several teddy bears, ponies, unicorns and the plush soldier that only Zane could manage to track down. He came in full camo gear with a grenade at his side.

Beside him, next to his black stuffed combat boot was something that Max didn't recognize; it was small gray stuffed penguin. As many toys as Lucy had Max knew what all of them were. She hadn't seen this one before. She stood up with Lucy and walked in front of the toy pile, staring at the penguin. Carefully Max shifted Lucy so that she was entirely supported by her right arm, and bent down to retrieve the toy. It had fuzzy white and gray fur, orange flat feet that it could stand on and black glass eyes that gave off a slight twinkle at their corners.

Max didn't know why she was getting a weird feeling about the penguin, it was just a toy. But still –

"Logan?"

"Yeah?" Logan answered back. He was still at the dining room table, drinking a cup of coffee. Max's eggs were surprisingly good. All these years together and she never told him she could cook. He had to let her cook more often and give himself a break. He turned when he heard her approaching footsteps on the hardwood floor. "What's up?"

Max walked over to Logan's chair, stopping about five inches in front of it. "Where did this come from?" She showed him the stuffed penguin she had brought out. "I found it in the nursery."

"Lucy has lots of toys sweetheart," Logan clarified. "Our families and friends did get a little crazy with the gifts when she was born."

"I remember all the stuff she got, and I don't remember anyone giving her one of these." Max said.

Lucy had started to cry because it was hard for Max to feed her standing up. Max set the toy on the table and reclaimed her seat, shifting Lucy's weight back to both her arms. The baby stopped crying, now that she could better reach her food.

Logan picked up the toy and examined it. "Lucia probably gave it to her one time when she was baby-sitting and forgot to mention it."

"Yeah you're probably right," Max agreed, stroking Lucy's hair with one hand. "I know it sounds crazy, but for some reason I get a bad vibe off that thing."

"You're getting a bad vibe off a toy?" Logan said skeptically, setting the penguin back down. "No offense Max, but that sound a little like paranoia."

"See, that "no offense" line doesn't work after you've already insulted me." Max informed matter-of-fact. "You're supposed to be a gentleman remember?"

"Yeah, and you're supposed to be a normal girl," Logan teased, leaning over to kiss her before she could get mad, and then kissed Lucy on top of her head.

"What about me daddy?" Lexi piped up from her chair. "Don't I get a kiss too?"

"Where are my manners?" Logan lifted Lexi out of her chair, sitting her in his lap, his elbow bumped the penguin and it fell onto the floor. He gave her a long wet kiss that made her giggle.

Kaja pounced on the toy as soon as it hit the floor. She bit the penguin's face and shook it hard. A very faint noise came from inside the toy after her actions. A sound so quiet that only the dog's acute hearing was able to pick it up. Had Max not been distracted by nursing Lucy and watching Logan with Lexi her super sensitive hearing would have picked the noise as well. It was a very low click followed by a series of two-second interval beeps.

Kaja shook the penguin harder, growling playfully. She sank her teeth in it deeper and padded with it out of the room.

XXXXXXXX

FENTAL AVE

8:15 AM

There was a very gritty feeling behind Zack's eyelids when he woke up. It took him several rounds of blinks to clear the feeling away. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, wishing after he completed his actions that he hadn't moved at all. His nausea hadn't abated from last night, and seemed to be worse and there was a painful soreness in his back and shoulders, the last two aftershock of the fight he had been in last night. He stopped moving, waiting for the uncomfortable feeling to abate. But when it still remained a minute later he decided that moving or staying still wouldn't make much difference, so he opted for moving.

He touched the top of his ear. The blood had been cleaned off and he felt a sticky coating of salve across it. He was lying on his back; dressed only in a pair of loose black boxers and a white singlet. His jeans and sweater were at the top of a pile of clothes in the hamper that sat near the closet.

He climbed out of the bed; Asha's side was already vacant. The back of his shirt clung damply to his back with sweat and he could feel the same dampness in his hair. Walking out of the bedroom wasn't as easy of a task as it normally was because dizziness hung around him. But Zack didn't stop to give into it and instead simply walked slower out of the bedroom. He could here Asha moving around, and he picked up the smell of the jasmine perfume she was wearing before he ever came into the kitchen where she was.

"Did I miss something fun?" Zack's voice made Asha turn. She had been pouring hot water into a mug with a single Earl Gray teabag resting in it.

Asha couldn't help checking him out. The singlet and boxers he was wearing did wonders for his sculpted body. But her scoping barely lasted two seconds because he looked terrible. His skin and hair were soaked in sweat and he had red rings under his eyes.

"Don't let your imagination run away with you baby, I was just trying to make sure you were comfortable." Asha had woken up at four am with pregnancy-induced nausea and after she had gotten out of the bathroom she checked on Zack, surprised that he was still asleep when he normally averaged only four or five hours a night. His fever had felt much higher then it had before and he was sweating profusely; and Asha was sure that his jeans and sweater were trapping in the heat his body desperately wanted to get rid off. He hadn't woken up at all when she removed his clothes. He had muttered something that sounded like "Max", probably a dream about Manticore, but he never woke up fully. She had wiped his skin down with a wet rag, but it barely made a dent in his temperature. She had tried to go back to sleep but watching Zack's restless sleep kept her awake at after an hour she got up and watched a barrage of infomercials on early morning TV.

"You could have just asked," Zack pointed out.

"You had a fever last night Zack, it kept you under. I couldn't have woken you up if I wanted too."

Zack didn't challenge her after that remark. He arched his shoulders, stretching out the soreness in his muscles.

Zack didn't come out and say that he was in pain, but Asha could tell by watching his movements. She wanted to rub his shoulders to alleviate the soreness she knew he was experiencing, but Zack had a thing against coddling, even when he was sick. And she cared about him enough to not do anything that would make him uncomfortable. But resisting the urge was damn hard; she couldn't stand to see him like this.

"I made some tea," Asha told him. "It's the only thing I could keep down. But I know how X5 genetics are turned off to anything herbal and decaffeinated so there's coffee in the pot."

Zack turned to the coffee pot, where three cups of the black steaming liquid sat inside the molded plastic. "I'm passing on ingesting anything." The smell off the coffee was making him feel queasy.

Asha eyed Zack critically after he said that, he usually drank coffee like water. "Damn, you sicker then I thought if you're turning down caffeine."

"Include yourself in that remark too Asha," Zack said. "Besides recently, I've never seen you touch herbal teas."

"My excuse for changing my morning beverage is called being pregnant. Now unless Manticore modified you more then I thought, you not wanting coffee is a cause for concern."

Zack lowered his head and raked a hand through his blonde hair, sighing behind a closed mouth. "How can you be so analytical this early in the morning?"

"Your traits start to rub off after a while." Asha responded, watching him pull his head back up to face her. She could see something behind his eyes, an aching tiredness that she didn't like. "You still don't look too hot. Why don't you go lie down for a while?"

Zack glared at her, through fever-reddened eyes. "Are you my mother or my wife?"

"Zack you never knew your mother. And as the latter of your two choices I'm worried about you."

"Well don't," Zack snapped. "I'm fine."

"No," Asha objected. "You're sick, a blind man could tell that."

Zack glowered at her. Being sick was a weakness he didn't want to associate himself with; it was that fact he was angry with, not her. He turned slowly and left the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Asha asked, following him out.

Zack turned back around to face her when he talked "Much as this look is turning you on I'd liked to dressed."

"Don't flatter yourself," Asha said, injecting a bit of teasing into her words because she could see how tense he was, like newly caged wild animal. "I never said I was turned on."

"You don't have too say anything," Zack told her, walking the few steps over to where she was and standing in front of her. He laid his hand on the flat of her stomach. "This is proof enough."

Asha looked down at his hand on her then up to his eyes; this was the first time he had verbally acknowledged their kid. She knew he knew it was in there, but to hear him say it was on a whole different plane.

His contact lasted for only a few seconds before he removed his hand. She had a mental image of him holding their baby. With the same hands that he snapped necks and cracked skulls with, he would love his child with those same hands. She watched him enter the bedroom and close the door, a sign that he didn't want her to follow him.

Asha rested her hand on her stomach where Zack's had been, caressing it with her thumb. She smiled quietly to herself and went to retrieve her tea from the kitchen.

Zack pulled out a pair of clean jeans and a dark maroon sweater from the dresser that sat in a corner of the bedroom. He put on the clothes, but after he pulled on the sweater violent surge of dizziness crept up him. He braced one arm against the wall, placing the other hand on his head where a throbbing pain was pounding behind his temples.

His vision blurred and pulsated with the throbbing in his skull. He blinked and the image of the bedroom evaporated into a long gray hall with steel doors. Lydecker stood in the center of the passageway – in the charcoal black suit he wore when Zack was a kid – his hands deep in his pants pockets, his legs, in a stance of parade rest.

"Zack," Lydecker's voice was pissed, echoing off the corridor "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Zack was still lucid enough to know that he was hallucinating. But the image of Lydecker was so real that he felt compelled to answer him. "What?" His voice echoed like Lydecker's. He could feel his knees buckling, but he tightened his grip on the doorway to keep from falling.

"I never gave you authorization to come here soldier," Lydecker's words were a growl. "You're disobeying a direct order."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Zack screamed. The pounding in his head grew much more intense, making him grab at his head.

"There will be hell to pay if this situation is not rectified immediately!" Lydecker shouted.

The pounding exploded into a flash of hot white pain. Zack cried out, letting go of the side of the bathroom door in the apartment. His consciousness disappeared at the flash's climax and there was nothing to break his fall as he hit the floor.

Asha almost dropped the mug in her hand when she heard the echoless bang come from the bedroom. She set the mug down on the counter, burning herself on the hot tea in her haste, and ran over to the bedroom door.

She bypassed knocking and pushed the door open. She was going to ask Zack what happened, but that thought fled her when she spotted him lying motionless on the floor. She ran to him, kneeling next to his head.

"Zack?" He was lying on his side partially in bathroom doorway. She called his name, but it didn't arouse him, neither did shaking his shoulder. His face bright red with fever and the sweater he had just put on was already becoming soaked with sweat. She checked the pulse in his neck and found that it was racing.

His head was resting haphazardly against the edge of the doorframe, and there was a gash near his hairline, no doubt from where he had struck the doorframe when he fell. Asha braced his neck in her hands and carefully lowered his head to the ground. When she pulled her hand back a streak of blood was on one of her hands; the gash in his ear had started bleeding again. She wasn't a doctor, but she knew that both the wound on his ear and the laceration on his head were just superficial. He had passed out from the fever; his body wasn't strong enough to keep him conscious; and that was the real danger.

Asha was freaking out. She had no idea what had made Zack so violently sick, so she didn't know what the hell to do. She couldn't take him to a hospital; it would be too much exposure. But she also couldn't do anything for him here.

She grabbed the cordless phone off the nightstand that sat against the wall that paralleled the bathroom. She pulled Zack's head into her lap as she frantically dialed a familiar number.

XXXXXXX

JAM PONY

8: 25 AM

"Let's go people, undelivered packages are burning holes in your salary!" Normal didn't know why he bothered threatening his employees; they never listened to him. He seriously considered firing them all and purchasing some sort of automated delivery system robots.

"Wanting to lower our slave wages isn't a threat Normal," Alec informed, flipping through a magazine titled: Jugs and Camo, while leaning up against a concrete support beam next to Normal's dispatch desk. "You should really consider cattle prods. They might make your tirade more effective."

Normal glowered at Alec from behind his thick, black-framed glasses. "And you should consider looking for another line of employment if you don't quit wasting company time!"

Alec didn't even look up from his magazine at Normal's latest outburst.

Max wheeled her bike up next to Alec, scanning the cover of the magazine in his hands. "Jugs and Camo? " She grabbed the magazine from him, disgust on her face. "You can't be serious."

"This is art," Alec let her know. "I'm just taking in a viewing."

"A silicon enhanced Double D breasted women straddling a Bazooka in a camo g-string isn't art Alec."

"There are no limitations Maxie," Alec informed. "Art is in the hands of its creator."

"So's male masturbation, unless you honestly believe that she's actually a real soldier."

"She would be if I were her C.O," Alec returned, wagging his eyebrows.

"You always seem to have more balls then brains Alec," Max pitched the magazine at his chest.

"It's called being male boo," Cindy informed, walking up to Max and Alec, with her gray messenger bag slung across her shoulder. "That's why strip clubs roll in so much business, they understand the facts."

"See this is why men dominate industry," Alec stated, ducking when Cindy reached out to smack him upside the head.

"Speaking of males, I mean ones less second brain minded," Cindy shifted her eyes to Max. "Congrats on Zack's commitment to his girl. Love is a high art when a man has the guts to make it permanent."

"Or it's just a way to show that Asha finally roped Zachary in," Alec commented. "It was bound to happen to him sooner or later. The weak ones always hit the water first."

Max rolled her eyes at him "You're an idiot, and you wonder why you're still single."

"Too many people after the merchandise," Alec let her know. "It wouldn't be right to deny all but one woman the pleasure." He ran his eyes over Max's body. "Unless of course you wanted to go exclusive Maxie."

"Alec, take your eyes off me before I hand them to you," there was only slight annoyance in Max's voice. Alec was an oversexed idiot at times, but he was still a friend. Her cell phone rang from where it was clipped to her waist. She checked the caller ID – which revealed the number to be Asha and Zack's home line – on the outside display.

"Speaking of Jugs and Camo," Alec quipped, after he recognized the number.

Max ignored him and answered the call. "Hey."

"Max!" Asha was practically screaming over the other line.

"Asha? What 's wrong?" Max could hear the raw, edgy panic in her voice.

"It's Zack. He collapsed and I can't wake him up."

"Is he hurt?" Max asked; she didn't mean from passing out, she meant did he have an injury that made him collapse. Her mind was racing for more information. Asha's panic had become her own.

"He's been sick since last night, bad. I don't know what the hell's wrong, and I can't just call EMS."

"I'm on my way," Max flipped the phone closed, ending the call.

"What's up boo?" Cindy had picked up on Max's side of the conversation and saw the concern flashing across her friend's face.

"I don't know," Max answered honestly, sliding the phone back inside her bag. "But I gotta go, now." She dropped her bike, where it thumped loudly on the concrete floor. She ignored the loud noise it made started for the doorless exit.

"Hey!" Normal came out from behind his desk and headed over to Max just as she was walking up the bike ramp that led out onto the street. He grabbed a hold of her right shoulder. "The time clock's still rolling, where do you think you're going?"

"Family emergency," Max shot back, shaking his hand off her and running the rest of the way outside.

"That excuse is wearing very thin girly!" Normal called out.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

SOUTH MARKET

The man from Crash – the one who had targeted Zack – hung outside a fruit stall, fondling a bruised peach like it was a woman's breast. He caught site of the stall's owner – a small round-bodied Chinese woman in dressed in a old plaid house coat – and she was eyeing him suspiciously for what he was doing to her merchandise.

The man brought the peach to his nose, sniffing it. He really needed to sleep with a woman soon; he was reduced to getting hard-on's with produce. The peach's scent was overpoweringly sweet, on the verge of rotting. But the man smiled, like it was good, and paid the woman the dollar she asked for it. He felt her eyes follow him as he left her stall, no doubt she thought he was a perverted freak, but he didn't give a damn about a fruit carter's opinion of him.

He threw the peach onto a heap of filthy rags pilled up on the side of the market street. To his surprise the pile moved, and he realized that the rags were really the tattered clothing of a man and a woman who were sleeping huddled together. The woman's dirty, weather cracked hand snatched the peach from where it landed, and split it in half with her fingers, giving one piece to the man who was still lying down, looking like a heap of garbage.

The cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He ducked behind an abandoned stall with a pink Sector Cop seizure notice tacked to it. He didn't check the caller ID; there was only one person who knew the number. He flipped the phone open. "Hello?"

"Status report?"

"It's been over four hours; the full effect should be taking place," he responded, knowing that his boss was already getting angry. Words meant nothing to him; he needed physical proof that the plan was working.

"This agent was created without the luxury of a live laboratory test subject; can you guarantee its effectiveness?"

"The DNA samples that were tested produced sufficient results of its lethalness," he was quick to reassure his boss. He couldn't allow anyone to doubt the work he had just completed. "Trust me, the product will perform." In truth he knew very little of what the compound actually did to its subjects. He knew it was deadly, and a little about it's production, but the geneticists kept him in the dark on everything else as a security measure. In the event of the deal going sideways he wouldn't have enough evidence to blackmail them with.

"What will be your proof of that?" The boss's voice was impatient; trust was something he didn't just give out.

"I said trust me, this product leaves a very evident kind of proof." the man said, checking the time on his watch. "I'll be in touch." He ended the call.

XXXXXXXX

FENTAL AVE

8:45 AM

"Asha!" Max called out her name as she ran into the apartment, slamming the door shut.

"In here!" Asha's voice called out from the half open door of the bedroom.

Max hurried to the bedroom and flung the door all the way open. Her heart beat tripled when she saw Zack lying on the floor next to Asha.

"What happened?" Max knelt down next to Zack, placing a hand on his neck to check his pulse.

"I don't know," Asha responded, panicked.

Zack's pulse was way too rapid under Max's fingers. She felt his forehead with the back of her hand. "God, he's on fire. Feels like his temperature's past a hundred."

"What do we do?" Asha asked; she wanted Max to think up something she hadn't already.

"We can't take him to a hospital-" Max cut off her own words, and thought for a frantic second. "I'll call Sam – we'll take him back to my place; Sector Cops play around too much in this Sector It will take too long for Sam to get here." She tore her eyes away from her unconscious brother to look up at Asha. "Where's your Jeep?"

"It's down in the second level of the garage," Asha responded.

"Go bring it around, I'll meet you there."

"Max there's no way you can carry Zack down there by yourself!" Asha insisted, now way past panicked.

"We don't have any time to waste!" Max retorted, her voice shifting into full commanding mode. "I've got Manticore genetics and adrenaline coursing through me, I can manage; go!" Max could see that Asha was reluctant to leave her husband lying there, but she also knew how critical the situation was. Asha removed Zack's head from her lap and jumped up from the floor. She snatched her keys from an end table by the couch and ran out the front door.

Asha slammed the Cherokee to a stop in front of the elevator doors that connected the parking garage to the apartment complex.

The doors to the elevator slid open and Max came out with Zack. Asha was shocked to see that Max was carrying Zack in front of her body, one arm on his shoulder the other hooked under his legs. Zack was 6'1" and outweighed Max by at least forty pounds; even with her superhuman strength his weight had to be almost crushing her.

Asha jumped out of the Jeep and ran around to help Max get Zack in the car.

"Do you need some help?" A young brown haired man came out from behind a gray Saturn and ran up to the Jeep. He watched Max and Asha carrying Zack between them to Asha's car.

"We're fine," Max threw over her shoulder. "My brother just got carried away at the party. We're taking him home to sleep it off." She opened the Cherokee's back door and together she and Asha laid Zack in the back seat.

The man looked over at Zack's pale face, which he could see through he open door. "Are you sure? He doesn't look that good."

"We got it covered," Asha shut the door, and turned back to look at the man staring at them, opening the door to the driver's side at the same time. "Get the hell away from my car so I can back out." She meant it in every way as a threat. She was glad when – after a moment of him looking baffled at her – the guy walked away. Asha was high strung with tension right now so that had he stayed she would have most likely run him over.

She jumped in the driver's seat, hearing Max shut the passenger side door beside her. The Cherokee's tires squealed on the concrete as Asha backed out of her space and speed out of the garage.

XXXXXXX

JAM PONY

Normal left his dispatch desk and walked over to Cindy, who was drinking a soda at the break room tables on the small second level of the building. "Did Max say anything to you about when she would bother coming back to work?"

"She was in a rush to leave boo," Cindy took a drink from her soda after speaking.

"That I gathered by her rudeness," Normal returned. "I don't know why I didn't fire her right then."

Cindy turned her head up to Normal, a glare evident in her eyes. "She had a family emergency. You wanted to fire her cause she didn't act all calm and collect when one of her boys is in trouble?"

"One of her boys?" Normal raised his eyebrow at that. "Just what is that supposed to imply?"

"She has brothers Normal," Cindy told him. "You have a dirty mind." She was getting irritated at his line of questioning. "I don't eaves drop on people's personal times like you, but it seems like Max's boy is sick, and she's checking up on him."

"A cold is not a reason to leave in the middle of your work. Next time you tell her to give her brother chicken soup after her shift, understand?" Normal leaned over in Cindy's space and glared at her. He backed away a few seconds later muttering: "You can't handle a tiny virus you need to live in a bubble," as he walked down the steps beside the tables.

XXXXXXXX

FOGLE TOWERS

9:38 AM

"How bad is it?" Logan asked this question standing in his living room.

Dr. Sam Carr leaned over the black leather couch holding an otic scan thermometer to Zack's ear; who was lying unconscious across the couch's leather cushions.

Sam pulled the thermometer out of Zack's ear after it beeped, alarmed at the reading. "His temps 103; and from the way he looks it hasn't hit it's highest yet." Sam clicked off the thermometer, and stood up to face the group that was watching him.

Max was standing at the head of the couch, her eyes darting between Sam and Zack's motionless form. Asha stood next to Max, one hand on the couch's arm, gripping the leather nervously. Her face was drawn, and pale.

"How long has he been sick?" Sam didn't ask one-person specifically because he didn't know who to ask.

"Since last night," Asha answered.

Sam turned to her. "Was his fever as high as it is now?"

"I don't know," Asha responded, taking her hand off the couch to rub her arm. She was still wearing the pink camisole she slept in, no jacket, and a pair of wrinkled jeans she had thrown on before ruining out to get her car. "I didn't have thermometer to check, but he was burning up." The back of her wedding band sent a cold sensation up and down her arm as her hand moved her hand across it.

Sam watched Asha's restless movements, noting the ring on her left hand. He still remembered her from the night he had operated on Zack in the church. And the look in her eyes was as pleading as it was then. Sam set the thermometer on the coffee table. "His fever's too high; it's ravaging his body, we need to bring down his core temperature."

"I'll fill the tub with ice," Max said starting to head towards the kitchen but Sam's voice stopped her.

"No. Make ice bags and place them on him atop his clothes. If we cool him down too fast he could go into shock."

Max headed towards the kitchen to get the ice and Logan followed to help her.

Sam looked back to Asha. "Are you his wife?" he asked.

"Yeah," Asha responded quickly, looking at Zack. His skin was pale in places and red in others from the fever; Asha had never seen him look so worn before.

"Did he have any other symptoms last night Mrs.-"

"Asha," Asha cut in. She knew Sam knew about Manticore, but he obviously wasn't aware of the fact that all the X5 escapees had no surnames.

"Asha," Sam corrected. "Did he complain of anything else?"

"Just some offhanded remark about being nauseous this morning. Zack doesn't admit to anything when he's sick."

"Malaise is a common side affect from fever," Sam remarked, then his face took on a much more serious note. "But you and I both know that your husband is not common Asha. From what I know of Manticore genetics, there is no way a simple flu bug could ravage him this much."

"So what is it?" Asha asked, feeling her heart trying to escape her ribcage. She knew that something was terribly wrong about Zack last night. He had never been this sick in all the years she had been with him. His immune system was revved up and could kill any virus almost instantly. For something to attack him so suddenly and with so much force meant that it had to be something very deadly.

"That's what I need to find out." Sam said as Max and Logan came back with the ice in three large plastic bags. Max set two of the bags against the sides of Zack's neck, and Asha took the last ice bag from Logan and laid it on Zack's collarbone, moving her other hand up to caress his hair.

XXXXXXXX

CENTERS FOR DIEASE CONTROL AND PREVENTION

ALANTA, GEORGIA

12:30 PM EST

The laboratories of the CDC were the most advanced in the U.S. Before the Pulse the CDC had been on relations with a small group of government labs in locations such as South Africa and Beth, Israel; sharing their research with top international science moguls. But in 2013, the CDC barred its doors to the international arena; to prevent backlash infiltration due to the devastation of the Pulse. And because of this fact there was bioresearch equipment in the CDC that existed nowhere else in the world. Some of this equipment was enormous, taking up entire rooms, standing alongside highly powered super electron microscopes and the most high tech of genetic analysts equipment.

There was one long hallway of such laboratories on the second level of the compound. Armed military MP's guarded the only entrance to that hall – a steel bulletproof door with an encrypted security card clearance, fingerprint and retinal scanner.

One of the MP's on duty that day raised his head in suspicion as he saw a figure coming towards him and his partner. It was a person he didn't recognize, and that automatically sent a warning through his brain. He unsholdered his black M-20 and pointed it at the approaching person. The first thing he had been taught when he took this post was that some of America's most classified bioresearch went on behind the doors he guarded; which meant that all questions must always be asked from over the barrel of a gun.

"Stop right there please," the MP drew a bead on the person, poising his finger on the trigger. "Show me your photo clearance pass, or I will have to escort you back out of the building." He watched as the person – a man – pull out a Level One Government Clearance ID. It was not a CDC Clearance, but that kind of ID was only issued out to very high-ranking individuals, giving them access to virtually any government agency in the country. Still the MP hesitated; he was told that only Official CDC Lab Security Clearance would allow anyone access past his checkpoint. But the possession of a Level One Government Pass actually canceled out the need for any other kind of identification. Whoever this man was, the MP knew he was a very important Government player, and throwing him out for an uncertainty would be a very bad move.

The MP scanned the ID, which cleared instantly, as well as the man's fingerprint analysis and retinal scanner. The soldier handed the ID back to its owner, reshouldering his weapon.

The man didn't say anything as he pocketed his ID, watching the MP punch a code into the security keypad on the wall next to the steel door; a few seconds later the door opened automatically.

"Security Protocol only allows one admission into this area per day Sir," the MP informed. "So

make sure you've completed everything you need to here before you leave."

The door to the lab barely made a sound as it opened, but it was enough for the lab coat clad man to look up from the eyepiece of the electron microscope. "You're late." He switched off the microscope's light.

The person entering the room – the man who had just been cleared by the MP – clicked the door shut. "The guards at the door insisted on being thorough. Security in the country is really becoming tight-assed," his words were sarcastic, laced with his West African accent.

"Formalities have to be kept up in order for people to believe they're still secure," the lab coat said.

The other man crossed the room over to the long metal examination table where the man in the lab coat was standing. He removed a zip disc from the inner pocket of his single breasted navy blue suit and threw it on the counter. "The modifications made were successful, at least according to the Super Computer analysis. But our man completed his work last night, and can verify that we didn't waste our money."

The lab coat picked up the disc, examining it like he expected it to reveal its information in his hand as well as it would in a hard drive. "Do we have other conformation that the antigen is working as it should?" He didn't want to rely entirely on the word of a street level hit man.

"The bug we planted is painting the same picture. The subject became symptomatic almost instantly. That's the great thing about this retrovirus, the incubation period is so short we don't have to wait forever to get the results we want."

The man set the disc back down on the counter. If the other man was telling the truth, then he didn't have to look at the contents of the zip files to know what was on them. "This doesn't guarantee that our plan will succeed. Yes, we infected the first subject with the virus, but how can we be sure that this doesn't just stop with him?"

"This is the reason we chose Seattle; our men know of three X5's in the city," the Suit returned. "These transgenics value each other as brothers and sisters. Trust me; there will be no question as to whether or not this just affects one."

XXXXXXXX

SEATTLE
FOGLE TOWERS

Sam checked the reading of the thermometer after it beeped. "It looks like his temperature's stabilized, but it's still dangerously high." He turned the device off and laid it down on the coffee table.

Asha was sitting on the edge of the couch, wiping Zack's forehead with a damp towel while Max placed a fresh bag of ice against his neck. Zack hadn't regained consciousness yet, but after the ice touched his skin, his head jerked.

Asha stopped wiping. "Zack?"

His eyes snapped open and shot around the room wildly.

"Zack it's me," Asha said, laying a hand on his forehead.

"Asha?" Zack's eyes settled on her. "What the hell happened?" his voice was weak, but still authoritative.

"You collapsed," Asha told him. "Max and I brought you here."

Zack shifted his gaze, until he found Max standing at the back of the couch watching him.

"Don't worry about it. I got Sam over here, I know how much you hate exposure." Max answered the question looming behind Zack's gaze. His eyes were glazed slightly from his fever, but he remembered the doctor from the church and he cast a quick glance at him.

Sam looked at his patient from where he was standing beside the couch. "How do you feel?"

"How does it look like I feel?" Zack snapped back.

Sam ignored the harsh retort, and placed the end of his stethoscope under Zack's sweater. "Your Heartbeat's still up, but that's because his temperature hasn't dropped yet."

"Don't talk like I'm not laying right here doc," Zack retorted. Even when he was sick, his tone was commanding.

"Sorry," Sam said, removing his stethoscope. "You're still not out of the woods Zack. A temperature of 103 is very dangerous, even for someone with your genetic makeup. But fever is the result of an infection; the real danger is not knowing what that infection is so I can treat it."

"So what are you going to do?" Asha asked, looking up to Sam.

"Right now getting his fever down is the main priority," Sam returned.

"Guess this means the second priority is out," Zack said.

Asha turned to him. "And what's that?"

"Getting the hell off my ass." Zack wasn't someone who enjoyed being sick. He saw no advantage laying around and having people have to wash your hands for you.

Asha gave him a small smile, caressing the side of his face with her hand. "I'm kind of enjoying my Florence Nightingale moment thank you."

He rolled his eyes at her. "If you start crooning love songs I'm throwing myself out the window."

Sam let the couple have their playful spat before speaking. "Since you're awake Zack, I'm going to try some anti-inflammatory medication to try and bring your temperature down." He turned to the coffee table where he had placed his black doctor's bag and pulled out a packet of generic acetomophine. "These are only 500 mg each, but you're metabolism is high, so I'll start you off with one, and add more if it's not affective."

Zack eyed the packet of medication. "That sure as hell better be an oral drug."

Sam laughed dryly. "Trust me, if it wasn't I wouldn't be giving it too you."

"I'll get some water," Max announced heading towards the kitchen. She came back a few seconds later with a glass half filled with tap water. Halfway back into the living room she stopped, "I just remembered; the kids have only half a day of school. Tinga offered to pick them up today. I need to call her and tell her to take them to her place."

"I'll do it," Logan said. He didn't think it was the best situation for their children to be shut up in their rooms while everyone's attention was focused on Zack. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Tinga's cell number. After a short call he hung up. "Charlie said she was in a hurry and left her phone there. I'll have to tell her when she gets here." A check of his watch told him it was nearly one, Tinga would be there in a few minutes.

"Sorry we're out of the good stuff, " Max kidded to Zack, handing him the half glass of water.

"You're not a very good host Max," Zack swallowed the water and the pills Sam had given him.

"Well you did kinda come here unexpectedly," Max returned. "So I'm virtually blameless."

"Virtually doesn't mean no," Zack said, his voice still weak sounding.

"Baby are you cold?" Asha had started to take the glass from him. "You're hands are shaking." She touched his right hand, feeling it vibrate under hers. She heard his breath catch in his throat. "Zack?" This time the hitch in his breath became a gasp and the glass shattered on the floor. "Zack!"

Sam pushed Asha to the side, when the shaking in Zack's had escalated to the rest of his body. "He's seizing, is he allergic to acetaminophen?"

"No," Asha answered quickly. "I don't think he's allergic to anything."

Zack's heartbeat was wild under Sam's stethoscope. "Does he have an epileptic disorder?"

"He had seizures when he was a kid," Max answered. "We all did. He keeps tryptophane pills like me just in case, but I've never seen him have a seizure as an adult."

Zack had gone unconscious from the violent force of the seizures. Sam quickly removed his stethoscope and hung it across his neck. "The fever's doing a number on his system, it's made his seritonin levels go haywire and triggered a seizure."

"Oh god," Asha gasped. She never believed in God, but it was a cry you said when you were scared out of your mind.

Sam turned to Max. "Do you still have the liquid Tryptophane Dr. Janston prescribed for your last pregnancy?" He spoke quickly because he could see Asha was starting to freak out, and he needed to have her grounded because he needed everyone's help in order to treat Zack.

"In the bathroom," Max answered.

"How many?" Sam asked.

"A full vial and half of another one."

"Bring both and a clean syringe."

Max ran down the hallway that led towards the master bedroom and bathroom to get the medicine.

Sam turned to Asha. "Keep as many bags of ice as you can against his neck and head, it will constrict the blood vessels in his brain and keep them from rupturing."

Asha was so dazed that it took her several seconds to hear what Sam was telling her. She seized two bags of half melted ice from where they had been thrown to the floor when Zack started seizing. She placed one of the bags against the front of his neck and pressed the other too his forehead, holding his head still as best she could. She could feel each tremor from his body coarse up her arm; and she bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep herself from crying, because it wouldn't help anything; she could break down later.

Logan watched Zack seizing on his couch; feeling completely inadequate because he wasn't helping in anyway. He and Zack were never really close; but he was his brother-in-law and over the years he had grown to care about him as family. Max still hadn't returned with the Tryptophane and Logan decided to go help her find it when he heard the sound of the front door opening.

"Logan-" Tinga's voice carried into the living room, as the kids, Jessie and Lexi, and Case behind them, walked ahead of Tinga through the door.

Logan had completely forgotten that Tinga was almost to the penthouse. As soon as he caught sight of them he was going to tell Tinga to take the kids back to her apartment, but he couldn't get the words out because Lexi had gotten of the group and came into the living room.

"Daddy, why is Uncle Zack sleeping here?" She stared at the scene in front of her with the innocent curiosity of a child, holding the shoulder straps of her pink backpack.

Tinga saw what was going on a few seconds after Lexi did. "What the hell?" Tinga hurried into the living room, careful not to knock over her niece in her hurry. She watched in shock at Zack still seizing on the leather couch. Like Max, she hadn't seen Zack have a seizure since they were all kids. "Logan what happened?"

"I don't know," Logan answered. "Asha said that-" the last few words never came out of his mouth because he heard a crash from down the hallway, originating from the master bathroom.

"Max," Logan said in alarm, taking off down the hallway. When he reached the bathroom, the door was wide open, and a gasp sprang from his throat at what he saw next: Max had collapsed on the floor, and she was in the middle of a seizure.

"Max!" Logan's shoe crunched on fragments of glass when he came into the bathroom. Max had dropped one of the vials of Tryptophane on the ground when she started seizing. "Max?" Logan pulled her upper body against him. Unlike Zack, Max had seizures as an adult, but over the last few years they had all been around her pregnancies, not randomly like now.

"Logan?" She was still conscious, but barely and her eyes were glazed. "What's happening?" She gasped in pain as her seizures increased in intensity, her head dropping against his chest.

"Max!" Logan couldn't tell anymore if she was awake, but she didn't respond to him anymore. Her face was flushed and he could feel sweat seeping out from under her clothes.

"Sam!" Logan shouted as loud as his voice would carry, lifting Max into his arms.

"Logan?" Tinga started down the hallway when Logan had screamed Sam's name. "Oh god, Max!" she cried out when she saw Logan coming down the hall, carrying Max out back to the living room.

Sam immediately jumped up from where he was kneeling beside Zack and came over to Logan. "What happened?"

Asha kept her hands on the ice packs, but her gaze shot over to where Logan was holding Max, and her heart stopped beating.

"I don't know," Logan answered Sam, as the doctor placed his stethoscope under Max's clothes. "I found her seizing in the bathroom."

Tinga placed a hand on Max's forehead. "She's burning up."

"Mom?" Jessie came forward towards Max, but stopped a few feet short of where she and Logan were, out of fear.

"Her heartbeat's erratic," Sam said listening to her chest through his stethoscope. "Her symptoms are the same as Zack's," Sam hung the stethoscope over his neck. "What the hell is going on here?" He went silent, a doctor racing through diagnosis in his head in a critical situation. "It's viral, it has to be. It's already transmitted to two people," Sam went quiet again, thinking. He had to act fast. "I want her packed in as much ice as there's left, and I need those vials of Trypotophane."

"Daddy, what's happening?" Lexi's voice cracked.

Lexi's words echoed Max's when Logan found her and he had to take a minute to compose himself before answering his daughter. "Mommy and Uncle Zack are sick, they need to be taken care of."

"Someone take the kids out of here," Sam ordered, not harshly, but urgently. "I don't know how this virus transmits, so everyone here is under full quarantine, but I want the kids as far away as they can be."

"Logan, take care of Max," Tinga said. "I'll handle the rest of the stuff."

Sam turned to Tinga, remembering her from the night of the raid. "No, you're pregnant. You need to stay in one of the rooms with the kids."

"Like shit I am," Tinga snapped, in a full Manticore domineering voice. "There's no way in hell you can handle everything on your own Doc. Max and Zack are my siblings, I'm not just going to sit here and do nothing."

Sam was going to argue with her more, but he realized that it wasn't going to do any good. "Fine, but you do only as much as necessary."

While Sam and Tinga were talking Logan had laid Max down carefully on the other couch in the living room, She was still seizing and he could feel the tremors against his arms when he touched her.

"Jessie," Logan turned to his son, who was still standing in the same place he had been since he came home. "Mommy is very sick, I'm going to take care of her, but I need your help. I want you to grab the blanket and pillows off my bed and bring them out here, okay?"

Jessie hurried out of the room and came back in a few minutes, with the comforter and two of the four pillows off Max and Logan's bed. "Is this enough dad?"

"That's fine," Logan said, laying the pillow under Max's head. The blanket he placed at the end of the couch by Max's feet. Her fever was so high that he knew covering her up wouldn't prevent her body from getting rid of the excess heat. Logan cupped Max's forehead and turned back to his son. "Jess, take your cousin and sister into your room."

Jessie stared wide-eyed at his mother and Zack lying so still on the couches, looking very ill. "But Uncle Zack, Mom- Dad what's wrong with them?"

Logan was afraid to answer because he knew his son was old enough to be told the truth. "I don't know Jess. I just need you to do what I asked okay?"

Jessie locked eyes with his father, but turned two seconds later to do what Logan asked. He took Lexi's hand and started leading her to the hallway. But the girl was defiant, and kept pulling, crying to be let go.

"Mom?" this was Case, standing by the front door. He was eight-years-old, the oldest of all the kids; but he didn't feel like it, he felt terrified. "Will they be okay?"

"We'll make sure of it baby," Tinga told him, hearing her reassurance sounded weak even to her. "Just listen to Uncle Logan."

Case didn't need to be told twice; he crossed the living room and joined his cousins. He turned back to Tinga a second later. "What about Lucy? Aunt Max can't feed her if she's sick." Since learning he was going to be a big brother Case had read a lot about babies and their needs; wanting to be ready to help his parents out with his new sibling.

"There's bottles in the fridge Case," Logan reassured his nephew, stroking Max's forehead at the same time. "Lucy will be okay."

Case accepted the answer silently. He could feel Logan's eyes on him; and could tell that he really needed the kids to leave the living room. Case didn't know exactly why, but he had his mother's sense of perception and knew it was something very important. He took Lexi's other hand and between him and Jessie they managed to lead the girl down the bedroom, even though she fought with them all the way.

Sam measured out 15cc's of the Tryptophane into the syringe. Thankfully the vial that had shattered in the bathroom was the one that was only half full. He knelt in front of Zack with the needle. The fastest way for the Tryptophane to be absorbed into Zack's bloodstream would be the large Jugular vein in his neck. But the surgery to Zack's neck had built up a thin layer of scar tissue over the vein; and Sam knew it would make it hard for the needle to penetrate. So with Asha's help, Sam maneuvered the needle around to inject the Tryptophane into the Femoral artery in his left leg.

"Here," Sam handed the syringe to Tinga. "There's 15cc's left in the tube; and take this too,"
Sam held out a round paper mask. "This thing could be airborne, I don't want you breathing it in."

Tinga took the syringe from Sam, as well as the mask, but she didn't put it on. She had already been in close vicinity with Max and Zack, if this virus was airborne, a mask wouldn't do any good now.

Tinga walked over to the couch and sat on the edge, touching the side of Max's face with the back of her hand; and looked up to Logan. "She's still consciouness Logan, hold her so she doesn't jerk from this."

Tinga waited until Logan had a firm grasp of Max's shoulders and then pierced Max's jugular with the needle. Her sister's reaction was more muted then she expected; but Max did jump like she's been electrocuted when the needle made contact with her body. In Manticore they had been routinely knocked out in their barracks only to awaken in a lab for medical testing; most involving painful needle piercing; inoculations, spinal taps. So Tinga knew what Max's reaction would be like when she was semi-conscious and felt a needle prick.

The Tryptophane started to take effect almost instantly, but Max and Zack's seizures tapered off slowly.

Logan had retrieved the last of the ice from the freezer and laid it across Max's chest, wiping her forehead with a rag he had wet in the sink. She was awake, but barely, her eyes opened to only half slits. "Logan?"

"I'm right here baby," Logan reassured, wiping down her neck with the rag. "You're going to be okay."

Sam felt the pulse in Zack's neck. The Tryptophane had stopped the seizures, but his pulse was still abnormally high. Sam's fingers brushed against something on Zack's skin. At first he thought was the scar tissue from Zack's emergency surgery. But the skin didn't feel rough like scar tissue. He pulled his hand back and saw a tiny circular inflammation right over Zack's jugular. "What is this?"

"What?" Asha was still beside Zack on the couch and she turned to see what Sam was looking at.

"This," Sam brushed his thumb against the mark on Zack's neck.

"A mosquito bite?" Asha took a guess. "Zack got bit by one outside of Crash last night."

Sam turned to the coffee table and started digging through his doctor's bag, and pulled out a magnifying glass. He held it up to Zack's neck, looking more closely at the mark. "It's a round inflammatory ring with a pinpoint mark in its center. There's no way that this could be a mosquito, they're suckers are too tiny to leave visible marks on the skin." Sam experienced a moment of clarity, facts starting to fall into place. "This is a needle mark, he's been injected with something."

"But I was with him when he said he got stung," Asha said. "I would've noticed if someone injected him with something."

"The injection site's on the scar tissue on his neck," Sam stated. "It's too thick for an insect stinger to penetrate. What ever it was it had to have been manmade."

"It could've been a dart. I've heard of a design that disintegrates after it comes into contact with the skin. And it's designed to feel like an insect bite." Tinga said, remembering hearing about these darts when she was still back at Manticore; but she had never used them because Lydecker insisted that they were there own greatest weapon. "Militants use them in covert biowarfare attacks." Tinga was realizing the possibility that Zack's illness wasn't just something that was in the air. "But that still doesn't explain how Max got sick too."

"It's some kind of virus," Sam said. "Zack transmitted it to Max. But I still don't know how; it can't be airborne or more people would've gotten sick by now." Sam set the magnifying glass down and turned his gaze up to Asha. "Did Max show any symptoms when you were bringing your husband here?"

"She was fine," Asha's voice was almost a shrill cry, but she kept it under control. Losing it wasn't an option right now. "I think, I don't know. I was concentrating on getting here; I could feel how hot Zack was and I wasn't even touching him."

"This doesn't make any sense!" Sam said frustrated. "I've got two people infected with the same virus. There has to be some connection between-" Sam broke off. He swiped his thumb across Zack's forehead, feeling the sweat that came up with his movement. He stared at it for half a second; realization almost knocked the wind out of him. "God-"

"What is it?" Asha cut in; scared at the doctor's panicked outburst.

"Sweat; Zack had it all over his body when Max carried him out to the car. The virus is spread by dermal contact."

"But I've touched Zack too," Asha said. "Since last night, that's longer then Max has. How come I haven't gotten sick?"

"I don't know," Sam's answer was honest, but laden with confusion. Viruses weren't prejudice with whom they infected. "But that's the only thing that connects Zack and Max in the last twenty four hours; it can't be anything else." Sam ripped open a pack of sterile alcohol wipes and wiped down his stethoscope and then his hands before slipping on a pair of latex gloves. The alcohol would do little to stop the spread of the virus, but it might be able to slow down its incubation.

"There's another connection you over looked Sam," Logan said. He had been thinking on something; something that had been gnawing at him for the past few minutes. But he didn't say it out loud, because voicing it would make real.

"What connection?" Sam asked; turning to Logan, puzzled, trying to think of something he would have over looked.

"Max and Zack are genetically related. Maybe the reason that none of the rest of us have gotten sick is because the virus wasn't mean to infect us. What if it's only meant to infect Manticore DNA?"

Sam Carr had been a doctor for twenty years. In that time he had gone through hundreds of stressful, live threatening moments in saving people's lives. But all those moments quickly paled in comparison to the scenario Logan had just given him. "Damn!" Sam's eyes shot from Max to Zack in a rapid three seconds. "You're right Logan. It's a designer virus engineered specifically to attack X5 genetics."

"Oh my God," Tinga looked down at her hands like they were attacking her body; suddenly realizing what this meant for her, and for the baby. "Logan-"

Tinga's next words never came out of her mouth because Sam jumped up from the couch and walked hurriedly over to her. "Have you had any symptoms since you came in contact with Max? Fever, headaches?" He removed his stethoscope and checked her heartbeat, and then moved it over her stomach to check the baby's; Tinga didn't object to either.

"No, none. Only Tinga's soldier learned restraint on her emotions kept her from screaming her answer.

Sam moved his stethoscope on different parts of Tinga's belly; checking for both fetal heart beats and noises of the baby moving in the amniotic sac. "The baby's heartbeat's still normal."

"But that doesn't mean I'm out of the woods." Tinga didn't ask this, she stated it as cold hard fact.

"I don't know," Sam responded. He replaced the stethoscope around his neck and stood up to meet worried look looming behind her eyes. "This thing has a very fast incubation period to begin with; but it also seems to speed up with each new infection; Max got sick much faster then Zack; but by that kind of viral pathology you should've been symptomatic by now."

"Sam what the hell does all that mean?" Tinga barked out. She was scared; but anger overrode all other emotions at the moment.

"Your husband, he's not Manticore is he?" Sam asked, but it was rhetorical, and he went on speaking a second later. "That means your baby's genetics are only half Manticore; the infection can't spread like it should; and it's keeping the virus in check in your own body. But I don't know how long that will last."

A muffled dog bark cut through the living room. Kaja ran out of the hallway; her teeth deeply embedded in a stuffed toy.

"Kaja!" Jessie's voice trailed after the dog. The German Shepard skittered to a stop in front of the coffee table. Her black eyes settled on Sam; a person that rarely came to the Penthouse. Her animal protective instinct kicked in and she dropped the toy and started to bark angrily.

"Kaja stop! Be quiet!" Jessie ran to the dog; coming in-between the coffee table and the couch; inches from where Zack was laying.

"No, stop!" Sam yelled. His tone was so forceful that Jessie immediately stopped moving, turning his head towards Sam. "Keep the kids away from here. They're DNA is half Manticore, this virus can infect them too!"

"Manticore?" Jessie repeated the word in confusion; he had heard the word tossed around by his parents before, but had no idea what it meant.

Logan came around to his son and pulled him away from the couch. Logan had never been so physically forceful with one of his kids; but didn't have time to judge his actions right now; he couldn't have another member of his family infected.

"Dad, is Manticore a kind of virus? Is that what mom and Uncle Zack have?"

"No Jess," Logan answered. "Mom and Uncle Zack have something that's catching, we don't want you to get sick."

"Then what's Manticore?" Jess was as persistent as his mother, wanting all his questions answered on his timeframe.

With all the things Jessie had seen in his young life his parents had never told him about Manticore on a real world level. He had been too young to grasp something that complex; but Jessie asking that question meant that he was old enough to know the truth.

"I can't tell you about Manticore right now Jess," Logan said. His son deserved an answer; but it couldn't be now. "Right now you have to listen to me without questions; it's important? Okay?"

Kaja had stopped barking, but she was now whining in the back of her throat and pawing at the toy on the carpet.

Logan came over and picked up the torn up stuffed penguin. It was the same toy that Max had questioned about earlier. Kaja had ripped the belly open and polyester stuffing stuck out of its chest. The stuffing was white, but Logan could see a peaking of black in the center of the mound. He grabbed hold of the black object and pulled it out of the fuzz – it was a flat plastic compact zip disc.

"Where did this come from?" Logan was talking about the penguin, not the disc. The disc had come inside the toy; he wanted to know the origins of the stuffed bird.

"I found it," Jessie spoke up from where he was standing across the living room next to the black leather bar stools. "When Kaja ran out in the hall last night, I found it by the door. I thought it was one of Lexi's or Lucy's that she had run away with, so I put it in the nursery."

"Jess, remember what I said about listening to me without question? I need you to take Kaja and go back in your room. I'll check on you later, but I don't want you to leave from there again, am I clear?" Once again Logan was being forceful with his son, but the boy didn't fight him on it and nodded doing what he said a few seconds later.

"Logan what is it? Tinga asked after Jessie and the dog had left.

"It's a zip file. It was inside one the toys in Lucy's nursery, Max said she'd never seen it before." Logan walked the short distance to his office and grabbed his white IMac laptop, setting it down on the coffee table. He slid the disc inside the zip drive and typed commands to bring up the contents of the disc. "Damn it," he cursed when he received a warning window. "It's got a virus shield." A virus shield on a disc was calibrated to upload to a virus that would infect the computer before the file could be read unless it was cleaned up in the two minutes before the infection took place.

Asha knelt down next to Logan and looked at the commands on the computer screen. "Let me see," she turned the laptop to her without asking permission, but Logan relinquished it willingly. Asha typed in a new set of commands, reading the new results. "It's not a virus shield; it looks like it but it's a cryptex blocker, 25 bit encryption I think I can override it." She never thought her MIT learned computer abilities would be tested like this. She typed a series of numbers – manual override commands that would reset any encryption under 50 bits, turning all the cryptex numbers to zero. "I'm in." She brought up the file contents, scanning them quickly. "We need a computer with speakers; it's a sound file."

"Wait," Logan said. The file they were looking at contained a high level of protected encryption. And if he tried to close the programs and reopen them somewhere else it could very well lock him out all together. He stood back up and walked back over to his office. Beside the rectangular soundboard sat a single black high resonance speaker. He unplugged it from soundboard and brought it over to the coffee table; plugging it in to the media port on the back of his laptop.

A burst of static shot through the speakers, but after Logan adjusted its dials the static stopped. He turned the volume up as high as it would go and Asha opened the wave file.

A man's voice, medium in depth and with a pronounced African accent came through the speakers. "I know that this file has come into the right hands because there are few other people with enough knowledge to break the access code." The sound was very clear, indicating that it was created over a very high tech connection.

"I will not mince words. I am part of an Organization that has synthesized a very advanced designer virus. Its purpose - to infect an elite genetic group of people, known as Manticore Class X5. The virus is highly sophisticated; once symptoms occur, it spreads immediately by dermal contact; attacking primary body immune and nerve functions; resulting in extremely high fever loss of consciousness, and convulsions.

Our organization has one purpose alone for this virus. However we are aware of the personal connections of these Manticore prototypes and are willing to offer a compromise-a kill switch. This file contains the location of a laboratory where we have comprised an antidote serum. It must obtained and brought back to your location by only two individuals; and they must be unarmed and unmonitored. Be advised there is no other cure for this infection; death will occur in 48 hours if no treatment is given. Our rules must be followed to the letter or the deal will terminate, which will mean the termination of lives as well."

The message cut off in a burst of static. Silence filled the room and not one of them moved for almost a full minute as they tried to absorb what they had just heard. The standstill in action was finally broken when Zack started seizing again.

Sam immediately ran to the couch and placed his stethoscope on Zack's chest. "Damnit! His tacicaridic. He's going to rupture an artery if we can't get the seizure under control." Sam filled a syringe with the liquid Tryptophan. There were no more clean needles available so he was forced to use the same one he had earlier. There were numerous infections that could occur with using a dirty needle; but that wasn't the biggest worry on Sam's mind. There were only 20 cc's of Tryptophan left in the vial, not excluding the 5cc's he had just extracted; at this rate the medication would run out before the seizures did.

It took two tries to inject the medication because the seizures jerked Zack's body relentlessly.

But Sam didn't have time to ask for assistance. He held Zack's leg down with his forearm and stabbed the needle hard through his jeans to get it reach the artery in his leg.

"Oh God," Asha wanted to move to the couch, but her legs wouldn't move. She stood frozen in complete fear watching her husband convulse as a deadly disease wrecked havoc on his body. Nausea suddenly gripped her stomach She didn't know if it was fear or her morning sickness that had brought it on, but she didn't have any time to ponder it and ran out of the room to the nearest bathroom.

She ran down the wood walled hallway. Vomit rose into her throat and she almost choked on it as she crashed through the partially open doorway of the kids' bathroom. She retched into the toilet; she had nothing in her system but tea, which came up with clear noxious stomach acid. Another spasm hit her stomach, but her body refused to loose anything else and only a dry heave escaped her mouth.

She flushed away the evidence of her sickness, and started to climb up off her knees. "Asha?" She heard Logan's voice and felt his hands on her arms helping her up.

Asha turned around so that she was facing Logan, making him release his hold on her arms. But then she gripped his right forearm with her left hand and let him help her pull her to her feet, letting his arm go the second she was standing upright.

"Logan I'm fine." Asha answered the question she saw behind Logan's eyes as she pushed past him out of the bathroom. She didn't need anyone to be concerned about her; she wasn't the one who needed to be worried about.

When she came back into the living room Sam was leaning over Zack's body with his stethoscope. Zack had stopped seizing, but his stillness scared the hell out of Asha.

"What happened?" Asha asked her question as she pushed her way between Sam and her husband, sitting on the edge of the couch.

"The Tryptophane wasn't enough, the seizures only stopped because his body is trying desperately to preserve what little energy it has left." Sam's words were very grave, almost panicked.

Asha half listened to what the doctor was saying. She cupped Zack's forehead then moved her hand down the side of his face. His fever was still very high, but she was touching him to comfort him, should any part of his consciousness be able to detect it.

"What about Max?" Asha shifted her gaze over to the other couch where Max was lying as still as her brother.

"She seems okay." Tinga said, speaking with more conviction then she felt. She was sitting in the black leather armchair sat at the head of the coffee table. Her feet were propped up on a matching leather footrest in front of the chair. So far Tinga hadn't presented with any of the symptoms that were wreaking havoc on her siblings; but that didn't mean that she wasn't infected. Sam had her elevate her legs to slow down the virus's progression through her bloodstream. Tinga wasn't happy with this position; she was only compiling with Sam's wishes to protect the baby as much as she could from the infection.

Tinga bit her lip to keep from uttering any curses at Sam; he had to do what was needed to help them. But right now Tinga felt fine, and extremely useless just sitting there. She was a soldier, doing nothing wasn't something that she did. She focused her attention on Max.

Max's cheeks were flushed a scarlet red; and her breathing was deep, but she wasn't asleep. It was like she was trying desperately to rise to a conscious state that her body wouldn't allow.

"She's stable for now," Sam agreed, moving off the couch so Asha could have more room to sit by Zack. "They both are. But I don't know how much longer it will last."

"Sam what are you saying?" Logan asked. He was mimicking Asha's position; sitting on the edge of the couch beside Max. He took her hand in his and stroked it, turning to face Sam. He hadn't asked a question, it was a demand.

"This virus is killing them," Sam said, the detached doctor tone had been taught to use completely absent; in its place was real human emotion. "It was designed too. They're bodies can't take this kind of havoc indefinitely; eventually they will shut down." Sam hated every piece of medical knowledge he knew that forced him to say this.

Asha's heart thudded a long painful beat against her chest, and she knew that same feeling was echoed in Logan and Tinga. "What about the kill switch?" Her mind was too shocked to completely absorb what Sam said; and more importantly she refused to accept it.

"Most likely it's a fake," Sam said, feeling the anger behind Asha's eyes attack him. "These people engineered this virus to kill its subjects; they wouldn't create an antidote to reverse it."

"Then why the hell would they bother advertising it?" Asha's anger transferred from her eyes to her voice. "All they had to was infect they're targets and then sit back and watch them die; not blast out some damn monologue!"

"It has to be a trap," Logan stated. He was three seconds away from screaming in anger like Asha; this was happening to all of them. But anger would cloud his judgment; and he needed a clear head as much at this moment as he needed air to breathe. "These men knew where to find Zack, knew that there were other X5's in the city to spread the infection they gave him. That's too much knowledge to just pick up arbitrarily. They'll know what our response will be, and that means they've planned for it."

"At least someone has fucking planned for it!" Asha yelled, her voice filled with as much venom as Zack's when he was angry. It was as if all the rage that Zack couldn't express at the moment was being channeled through her. "But I don't give a shit if they've planned out their victory party afterwards; I'm not just going to sit here and watch my husband die." Asha leaned way over the coffee table and snatched the laptop off the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" Tinga screwed Sam's orders to remain seated and climbed out of the chair, walking over to where Asha was.

"This disk is formatted with an encrypted IP address." Asha's typing was as furious as her voice. "I'm going to break it, get this guy's location and shoot his dick up his ass."

"Make sure you keep him alive long enough to learn if this antidote is more then just BS," Tinga said.

"I'm not planning to kill him Tinga; he's not getting off that easily." Asha's typed a series of commands into a file execution box and brought up the formatting codes of the zip disc. The longest one of these codes was a 15- bit encryption; that she knew after looking at it she knew the IP address was encrypted into the code. It was a string of numbers, letters as well as random generated symbols; a code meant to look intimidating.

"Even if you crack it's probably a dead address." Logan said. He didn't want to tell Asha what not to believe; but he was realistic. "This shadowy organization engineered a designer virus; I doubt that they were stupid enough to leave a breadcrumb trail."

"Logan, I'm a hacker. Trust me, there's no such thing as a program that doesn't leave a trail; at least not one that people think about." Asha responded, not looking up from her fast paced typing. "This address is a 36-bit encryption; a coding system that only shows up when there's continuous active use of a database. The eight at the end are the IP coordinates of the system that created this file. They get encrypted when the file is transferred outside of the main location." She typed a set of numbers into a command box – a sequence command that she hoped would break through the encryption – and held her breath waiting. Nothing happened for five long minutes, then a new sequence replaced the encrypted address.

Asha's eyes darted over the new code, "Damn it!"

"What's wrong?" Logan asked. "Did you get the location?"

"Yeah, I got it!" Asha's retorted. "It's in Burkina Faso. Which means there has to be a middleman here in the states. But wherever they are; they have no secondary server location. Their systems just echo off the ones in Africa; any trace will just link back to the main system. It gives them total amenity-" Asha slammed the laptop closed and angrily swiped it across the coffee table.

"Asha stop!' Logan managed to catch the laptop before it hit his hardwood floor. She glared up at him, but there was more pain then anger in her eyes. A pain that he could very well relate too. "Let's print out the coordinates of this laboratory the deal's supposed to go down at. Once we have a definitive location I can run a resonance trace-"

"And what makes you think they haven't blocked their systems from interception?" Asha retorted.

"You said it yourself: there's no such thing as a program that doesn't leave a trail." Logan insisted. "We have to try-" he looked over at Max lying on the couch. "I can't live the consequences if we don't. And neither could you."

Logan's words left a heavy feeling in Asha's chest. Like a leaden weight was pressing against her ribcage. She sat once more the edge of the couch, caressing Zack's forehead with her hand. His skin was still unnaturally warm from the fever; and he was coated in what seemed like gallons of sweat. She had never seen him look so vulnerable, so beaten – he was running out of time.

Asha didn't take her eyes off her husband when she spoke her next words. "If you're going to do something Logan, you better hurry the hell up."

XXXXXXXXX

They're might be some inquires about the kids ages, but I screwed it up when I first wrote the fic, Case was about four when Max first met him, technically he should be 11 if Jessie is 7, but I've already established in several chapters that he's only a year older then Max's son so I just kept it that way.

More to come…just check out the next part!