Chapter 2

"The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of the aftermath." (Led Zeppelin)

Things fell apart so quickly, it was hard to get his head around it. Manticore was gone, Renfro was gone and he was out and, for the moment, he was free. Free, but not stupid. He was not out of danger by a long chalk. He was grateful for all he had learnt, was fully aware that he stood a far greater chance of survival than most of his Manticore counterparts who had gotten zero experience on the outside, but that he was also well aware that he still had a lot left to learn.

It was not a freedom that any human would recognize. He was on the run; no money, no job, no clue as to where to go or how to stay below the radar. The one thing he did have now was a name . . . Alec. The irony of it being the name 452 gave him wasn't lost but it was a low key enough name that he was happy to stick with it and somehow it felt like his own.

He was in hiding and alone again, so given the circumstances, it was a not-unusual occurrence for his thoughts to travel to The Losers, to wish that they were alive. There was a part of him that always clung to the belief that they would have helped him if he could escape. He was never quite sure why he had held onto that so much. In a more cynical moment, he had put it down to naiveté. It might well be another sad reflection on his own life that the nearest he remembered to ever having someone care about him was the time he spent with them. Not him as a military asset, there had been plenty of that, just him as a . . . person. It was the one clear memory he had of anything like it. He shuddered at the thought of something like it, but not the same, further back in his memory, a girl, but the memory was confused and overlaid with pain, and he didn't poke at it for fear of what else it might unleash.

He needed to stay below the radar as much as he could, that much was for sure.

Jensen sat in the motel room he shared with Cougar alone, flicking through TV channels while he surfed what was left of the internet. There was still plenty out there if you knew what to look for, the problem was the majority of it was no longer based in the US. The Pulse had seen to that. While the US was still struggling to re-establish itself and become the power house it had once been, Jensen used whatever he could.

The same newsreel had been playing on the news for the last couple of days as people picked away at the tragedy it described. Jensen watched the online newsreel with more than a mild dose of scepticism. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was precisely wrong about it. An explosion at an army vets' hospital not far from Seattle . . . all vets dead, and only one or two of the senior staff escaping and able to give comments to the media. He chewed at the inside of his cheek as he pondered the information. There was also a distinct lack of families coming forward to lay claim to lost family members, no one shouting for compensation.

The Losers weren't doing anything particular at the moment, laying low as they hunted for a new lead on Max, so it wasn't like Clay would be unduly bothered by him 'amusing' himself looking into the information. Clay would probably agree with him that it was suspicious, and seriously, army vets . . . it was close enough to home to hurt.

He had enough time on his hands to hack a few satellites and download their data for the period they would have passed over the explosion site. He traced it back to a few days before the explosion and got the highest resolution downloads he could. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he saw what was happening in the grounds of complex – it was anything but a vets' hospital.

He wondered what exactly he'd stumbled on.

It was a relief when Cougar and Pooch both seemed equally perturbed by his findings and so it was that he began to dig a little deeper, trying to find something more substantial, something that would give them more of a clue as to what had really been going on. It was definitely a military training camp, although not one listed on the usual official books. That alone wasn't that unheard of, particularly in these post-Pulse times, but he still had that feeling that there was something more that he was missing.

He downloaded yet another hack, even earlier and this one was an even better resolution : camera surveillance of the actual site that had been uploaded into a central computer base. He couldn't help but feel pretty smug about that. He could make out individuals, see almost enough detail to try and identify them, almost enough to run facial recognition. He wondered whether it was worth it, was there enough clarity to try?

He leaned back and stretched, trying to work out the kinks in his back and neck, feeling the cracks and pops that would have told any sensible person that they'd been working in one position too long. He watched the video play, mind already wandering to where else he could look for more information. He closed his eyes, pinching his nose to relieve a little of the tension that had built there, along with the eye-strain that came from too long staring at the same footage over and over.

He sighed when he felt warm hands on his shoulders, the gentle squeeze of fingers into taut muscles and let out a breath of relief. "Cougs," he murmured.

"Too late if it's not!" his friend said quietly. "You were lost in your own world, Jensen. It could have been anyone. . ." The reprimand was mild and familiar, and Jensen looked over his shoulder with a guilty grin, that Cougar knew too well. He took his glasses off, closed his eyes and leant back into Cougar's deft fingers. "Have you found anything yet?"

"Not really . . . nothing useful anyway. More of the same," came Jensen's reply, followed by an indignant "Ouch!" as Cougar's hands tightened unexpectedly into the tight muscles. "Seriously, dude, be gentle – I'm fragile, you know."

"Jake! Have you seen . . . Look!" Jensen's eyes snapped open and he reached for his glasses, trying to see what had surprised Cougar. "Back a bit . . . There! Look!"

Jensen stared in shock, "That . . . That looks like that kid, the one with no name! Fuck, that was years ago, but he still looks like a kid. I'm surprised he's still in the military at all after the way that team used to treat him."

"He's not in the military anymore, Jensen. He's dead. That's what the report said; all the vets at the hospital died."

"Does he look like a vet to you? Does he even look fuckin' injured to you? Look at what they're doing! The whole point of me looking at all of this is that nothing adds up : it's supposed to be a vets' hospital, that's not video stream from a vets' hospital! Who's to say he's actually dead? Maybe . . . maybe he's in trouble or maybe we need to find his family and make sure they're okay. He was like one of us, Cougs!" Jensen had turned to look at Cougar intently.

Cougar seemed to think on it for a moment before nodding his agreement. "We should talk to Clay."

Alec knew he had a tail, but he hadn't managed to work out who or why specifically. This so called freedom had come at a high price. He had lost the few friends that he had: Biggs, Cece . . . they were decent people. Not just typical arrogant X5s, but rather realists; they knew their strengths but they knew their limitations as well. He'd never managed to find 823, wondered whether she had made it out at all. He hoped so; he hoped that she'd made it somewhere safe.

Alec scanned the street ahead, looking for a diversion or something . . . Just long enough for him to disappear from sight or snatch a motorbike and he could be out of there. He was like Max in this: too visible, too well-known. In many ordinary minds he was too culpable for the sins of Manticore; all those fervent religious types who didn't have a clue and couldn't see the hypocrisy in their supposed beliefs and practices, and were therefore, more than happy to hunt him down and slaughter him because he was not like them.

Not that he thought that was what it was this time. This tail was better than that. This tail was almost military in its operation; probably Familiars rather than regular Army though, and he really didn't need another run in with White. His arm had barely recovered from the last time, and he still got a phantom pain in his neck from what he was sure was just the memory of the explosive implant. He glanced down a side street and decided it was his best option. If he stayed out in the open, he was done for.

He dodged into the alley and then blurred forward a distance, putting him further ahead, he hoped. Just as he was starting to prepare himself for a jump upwards over the dead end wall or at least high enough to get hold of the fencing on top, someone stepped out of the shadows in front of him.

"I'd stop there, if I were you," the man said. "I don't really want to have him hurt you." When Alec tensed ready to leap over his head, he heard only one more word, "Wade . . ." before he was hit with a pain that made his muscles lock and his brain feel like it was seizing. He couldn't help but fall to the floor, muscles twitching and spasming, but this was no ordinary Taser as the pain went on and on until finally his brain decided it had had enough and completely surrendered plunging him into blessed darkness.

He was caged when he came round; caged and chained with hands cuffed to the bars behind him and a chain looped round his body and hauled back to secure him as well. It was overkill that much was for sure. Or maybe someone was just trying to prove a point, psych him out or something.

His head hurt, his eyes felt dry and sticky but he couldn't rub them clear. He was cold, unusual for an X5, he knew his temperature usually ran warmer than the average ordinary, so this feeling of shivering and chilled damp skin was unusual to say the least. He had experienced it only a few times before in his life – rare bouts of sickness, or when he had been undergoing some of Manticore's more extreme tests as they tried to find out just what the limits of an X5 really were.

He had never functioned well in the cold; his genetic make up didn't lend itself well to either of the extremes in temperature! He knew he'd been classified as more suited to work in temperate climates than in desert landscapes or arctic conditions and only 'viable' for short periods in those extremes. His rare forays into high temperature environments had always seen him lingering lower in the chain of command of a unit than those in temperate climates. It was a horrible feeling as over time he'd feel like his brain functions were closing down, his thoughts were becoming muddy and reactions slower. He'd be tired when he knew he shouldn't have reached the limit of his body's fitness.

It didn't bode well for his time here. He sighed, feeling as a violent shiver wracked his whole body and banged his head forcefully against the bars. He squinted a little to refocus himself, then tried to start thinking of a way out. He didn't hold out much hope of escape, but tried to think while he still could.

For a moment, there was a passing thought that perhaps his captor knew about his problem with the cold. He didn't dwell on that either, after all, it was not going to help him any.

Clay listened as Jensen detailed everything he had found out. They had been at this too long for him to be surprised by how good Jensen was any longer, but he was impressed nonetheless . Impressed, but not happy. He remembered the kid like it was yesterday, had never lost the feeling of guilt that he couldn't do more for him to get his unit changed, get him transferred to somewhere Clay could keep a proper eye on him.

There was no question now, Jensen had got more than enough information to have Clay determined to find out exactly what happened to X5-494 and to make sure he was as well as anyone could be in these post-Pulse times. The Losers looked after their own, more than ever now that they were no longer in the Army and they were still hunting Max.

He gave the go-ahead for Jensen to focus on that. In the short term, Max could wait. He had little doubt that until they got a lead from Aisha or Max did something obvious to bring himself back into view that this was a better use of Jensen's time. Now that Roque was gone, another addition to their group wouldn't be a bad thing although maybe the kid, if he was still alive, wouldn't want that. Clay reminded himself that it had been years since they last saw 494, there was nothing to say he would feel the same way towards them that Clay knew they all felt for their memories of the kid.

Over the next couple of months, Jensen immersed himself into trying to find out more about the centre that had gone up in flames. He had finally tracked down information that detailed exactly what was on the site – an operation entitled Manticore. He was still researching exactly what went on there, it was hard to be sure with the personnel they were employing ; a mix of military personnel of varying degrees, doctors and medical staff, along with genetic scientists. No archaeologists though, so he was not expecting to find a secret Stargate program or anything like that. Pooch clipped him round the ear at that suggestion and told him to grow up, but the rest of the team had been saying it for years and Jensen figured they were used to him as he was, so he had no real intention of changing any more than life had changed him already.

It took a long time to attach names to the sealed files of personnel and there was an inordinate number of them single with no families, no one to ask if they have even been seen since the explosions. For the most part, it was another series of dead ends. Not that Jensen was giving up any time soon, not now that he had the bit between his teeth. His interest had been kick started and he would stick with it.

The next time he woke it was to the splash of ice cold water hitting him in the face. It was brutal but not entirely unexpected. He didn't know who these people were and he was beginning to wonder how long he had been out of it. Hunger gnawed at his insides, and he knew his muscles were tight and cramped from the unnatural position he had been leant in.

More lights flicked on, beating down on him and making the pain in his head renew with a far more active rhythm. He snapped his eyes shut, trying to reduce the pain. It didn't last long when his new companion made himself known. "Closing your eyes won't change anything." The words were sardonic. "You'll still be chained up, wet in a refrigeration unit and I believe you're not one of the 'adapted to extreme weather condition' types!"

Alec opened his eyes, struggling to focus on the suited man in front of him. He was not sure why he was having so much difficulty seeing; it was more than just having woken from sleep, because it hadn't cleared yet. He blinked a few more times in the hope of things improving.

"Oh, not seeing straight yet?" the other man was leaning arrogantly against the far side of the cage. "That might be the new improved Taser that Wade's enjoyed playing with . . . or it might be the fact that he bumped your head a few times as he bundled you into the transport for the journey from there to here, and then he had to get you out at this end. Oh, I don't know and to be frank, I don't really care. You're here and that's enough for me."

"What do you want?"

"Hi, I'm Max, nice to meet you. I believe you're X5-494, otherwise going by the name Alec."

"I don't care," Alec spat the words out angrily. "It makes no difference who you are. What do you want?"

"You!" He laughed, "Oh, don't look at me like that. You're an X5; they can be handy to have around, to control."

"Fuck you!"

"Nah," Max sounded almost bored. "In the meantime, I've got a few tests that we're going to carry out on you though. Need to make sure I've got my information right, before I add to my collection."

Alec shrugged, trying for his own version of boredom. There had been scientists and doctors at Manticore, sadistic bastards who played this kind of game, taunts and threats to get you on edge before they even started. Over the years, Alec had learnt to hide the majority of his feelings behind a mask, it didn't stop the fear, it didn't stop the dread, but at least this way gave him the pleasure of not letting them see it.

Pooch was sprawled in front of the TV watching yet another newsreel of propaganda and fanaticism in the anti-Transgenic war currently being waged right there on U.S. soil. It was sickening to watch. Jensen had put enough of the pieces together that they all knew that X5-494 would have been or possibly still was one of these Transgenics that were 'on the loose', escaped from a military installation. Bad press was the least of their problems. The military had left them to hang, fed them to the wolves with tales of all their 'unnaturalness', without talking of the service they had all put in for their country, the freedom they've ensured for the rest of the God-fearing American public. The Losers knew how that felt.

From what they all remembered of that mission alongside the Transgenics, the majority of them were arrogant bastards, admittedly efficient and effective in the field, but not exactly house-broken. Now Pooch would ask the question whose fault was that. He was inclined not to believe it was the Transgenics at fault, but the politicians, scientists, medics and military advisors that thought it was okay to concoct humans in test tubes, mix a little animal DNA in with each and then bring them all up in a military compound as soldiers from when they were able to walk, brainwash them and not let them learn about society. Truth be told, away from the military confines of their upbringing, he imagined more of them would be like 494, which led him on to wondering how 494 managed it anyway. He was not inclined to think these Transgenics would all automatically be evil, but he wasn't naïve enough to think that they were all gonna be good guys either.

Pooch wondered what Jensen was up to now. Jensen had been looking pretty tired again lately, it was common enough, any time he got sucked into researching something, he was pretty determined not to stop until he had gotten all the answers he could. It was one of the reasons they never let him have a room on his own. Cougs would always put his foot down at some point, and insist that Jensen stop working and get some sleep. Cougar didn't mind the sharing, actually seemed to like Jensen's company most of the time despite the complete contrast in their personalities, and he also took seriously the whole looking after his younger team mate. It was a good thing. It meant that when Clay was off with Aisha or Pooch had gone home to Jolene, there was still someone to make sure that Jensen didn't forget to eat, sleep, or wash, or anything like that and in return whenever Jensen headed home to his sister, he always took Cougar with him. Pooch had paused to wonder once or twice whether Jensen harbored some secret plan for his sister and Cougar to get together, but nothing had ever come of it, beyond Cougar becoming the equivalent of another Jensen sibling, although much quieter than the original versions.

Cougar chose that moment to make his entrance. He looked round the room, frowning as he took in the closed bedroom door and the quiet in the rest of the downstairs, which he was no doubt assuming meant Jensen was on the other side still working. His attention was caught by some new abusive tirade from the TV and the frown deepened as he let out a half-growl of disapproval.

Pooch reached for the remote and flicked the TV off, pushing himself up and across to help Cougar with the shopping he was carrying. "Jensen has been in there all afternoon. I took him in a sandwich and something to drink a couple of hours ago, but he barely looked up at me."

"He's determined to find 494," Cougar said quietly.

"I know. You want me to make something to eat, and you can take him out and walk him?"

"Ha! You make it sound like he's a dog, in need of walking and feeding!"

Pooch just tilted his head and said, "If the shoe fits, man! Just don't get kinky with a leash!" Cougar snorted a laugh before grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge and heading for their shared room.

Jensen had taken the evening off. In truth it was purely because Cougar and Pooch were refusing to allow him back into his room or to bring his laptop out. He was dozing in the corner of the couch, as the two of them watched an old Die Hard movie repeat. They'd played cards for a while earlier in the evening, but none of them were really in the mood so after a few hands they'd given up.

As the film finished, there was another news broadcast, supposedly updated information, but as they'd come to realize most of the broadcasts over the last few days were just replays and rehashes of things they'd already seen. Pooch turned the volume down and started to get up to head into the kitchen for another beer. Jensen's eyes flicked in his direction and he drew a breath in as if about to speak, before shifting position and closing his mouth. Pooch squeezed his shoulder on the way past, "You want me to get something for you, bro?" Jensen shook his head and closed his eyes, letting his head drop against the back of the couch listlessly.

They didn't often see Jensen like this; there had been a time after the chopper came down, another after Roque's betrayal, but it was always unnerving while it lasted. So with another squeeze, Pooch left him be, and fetched himself and Cougar beer.

He'd just opened the fridge door when he heard a "Fuck!" from the other room and the sound of sudden movement. He slammed the door shut and hurried back to see Cougar trying to turn up the volume on the TV and there in front of them, close up was X5-494.

"He's alive . . . he's fucking alive!" Jensen's voice was shocked before falling silent again to listen to the commentary on the broadcast.

" . . . two transgenics who are claiming to be leaders of this new Transgenic Nation." The picture flicked to that of a girl, long black hair hanging loose down her back. "Max Guevara or more correctly, X5-452, states that the transgenics are not asking for anything to which they are not already entitled. The right to jobs, homes and medical care. Father O'Hara of the West St. Church has this to say on the subject . . . "

The picture changed as that of an irate somewhat plump priest came on the screen. "Rights! These creatures have no rights! They are abominations, not creations of God. They should be exterminated . . . like vermin before they damage the essence of our communities and the civilization we have worked so hard to create!"

"Bastard!" Jensen muttered angrily.

"Next we have a comment from the military . . ."

"This should be interesting," Pooch sneered.

"Yes, it is correct to say that at times, some transgenics have been mobilized within other serving forces overseas. They do have certain skill sets which make them an asset when deployed alongside human units, with senior officers able to ensure they are utilized in an appropriate manner. Having said that, they are not humans and it would not at this point be appropriate to allow them free rein to disperse among the ordinary civilian population of the United States. Rather citizens should be assisting the military by reporting any known transgenics or people they suspect of being transgenics to the military so that these few rebels can be rounded up and dealt with appropriately by the proper authorities."

"Oh yeah, 'cause we all know how trustworthy that process is!"

The picture returned to that of the news reporter. "The military authorities have declined at this point to specify any of the actual overseas campaigns in which transgenics have been deployed or to give any indication of the military records of any specific transgenics, even the two 'leaders'. Ms Guevara claims not to have served at all, but rather to have lived outside the confines of the military for the last ten years and to have had a job and an apartment since reaching approximately the age of majority. When questioned on this 'approximation', she informed us that she has not been able to gain access to her actual records and so cannot be certain of her birthdate. Alec McDowell, her second in command, or as the Army refers to him, X5-494, was a serving soldier until the recent uprising, although he remains adamant that he played no part in the downfall of the base in question. He is unwilling to comment on the specifics of any particular deployment, but confirmed that he has served in a number of Eastern European, African and South American conflicts. He refused to comment on whether he had ever taken action here on U.S. soil, stating only that all service was under direct orders of his superiors until they decided it was more prudent to eliminate his kind, regardless of their loyal service."

The broadcast had barely finished before Pooch's phone rang. It was Clay telling him to make sure the team were all there, he was on his way back, he had information. Pooch told him they'd seen the newscast. Clay hung up with instructions to start thinking. Like they hadn't been doing that already!

Clay walked through the door to find Jensen sitting with his laptop, trying to find as much information as he could about Seattle and more specifically the area known as Terminal City. His nose was wrinkled in apparent disgust as he read successive web pages.

"Okay, Losers, tell me what we've got so far . . ."

"Transgenics is a term that covers a whole range of . . . ummmm . . . people? Basically, they started with human eggs and sperm and then mixed in various types of animal DNA. They were trying to make a race of supersoldiers. There were a lot . . . and man, I mean a lot of mistakes made before they got what they classified as 'success'. Some transgenics were created to perform specific tasks, those they were less worried about them looking human and blending in. Apparently there were 'desert models' and 'arctic models'. The goal was to ensure that they could survive in the extreme conditions, so they could survive on almost no water say, or . . . ummm, extra eyelids . . . that kind of thing. We could have served alongside them but they would never have been brought into contact with anyone but their own 'handlers'." Jensen paused, flicked up a few different pictures on the laptop so the rest of the team got an idea of the kind of transgenic he was describing.

"494 was an X5. They were considered to be the pinnacle of the success of the program. Basically they could fairly easily pass as a normal human and so they could be deployed alongside regular army units. The differences were that they had heightened intelligence in terms of the speed with which they could accumulate new knowledge, they could move faster and some were built heavier for power. I'm guessing 494 was more about speed than the power, because judging by some of these pictures he was fairly lightly built. They were then trained to fulfill certain roles, basically from when they could walk. They weren't ever children as we'd know it."

"Even among the X5s, there were different types. Some were intended to be unit leaders, tactical thinkers, universal blood donors – kind of the opposite of a vampire. From what I've been able to find out, the combat X5s were originally brought up in units. The aim being that once they were ready for service they would then serve together, performing at a higher level because their familiarity with each other would make them act kind of intuitively together. I don't think they were actually telepathic, although they did create later Xs who didn't communicate with speech at all, but by data flows through computers with their commanders and sort of sonically with each other – kinda weird! Anyway, they also made clones of each model. If one went wrong, they'd experiment on it . . . him . . . her? " Jensen sighed, "I don't know what to call them . . . They made adjustments to them, they made later models out of the clone parts they'd got in storage. If one died, they froze them and then used parts of them in injured versions of themselves. It was sick, man, really, really sick!"

The other Losers were sat dumbfounded, trying to actually imagine the bizarre scenarios that Jensen was describing. "Sounds like something out of a George Orwell novel or some shit like that!" Clay said.

"So the first real problems hit when one group of these X5s escaped. They were still kids when they went, but they acted as a unit, got out together and then went their separate ways. Manticore only managed to recover a couple of them, some of them they killed in the process. They then changed their operating procedure with the rest."

The Losers were amazed by the sheer volume of information that Jensen had accumulated. "Most of this has been so heavily classified, it's not true. It's not even in the CIA databases! I'd have found it before now, believe me."

"Where's the information from now?"

"Variety of sources, obviously some of it made it out of the supposed explosion with scientists and the like. I tracked a few of their names and then hacked their systems to see if they'd brought out any of their records. Individually, they didn't have much, but cumulatively it adds up. Also the 'renowned' cyber-journalist, what kind of job is that? Yeah, anyway, the cyber-journalist, Eyes Only, knew and worked with the now leader of the Transgenics, Max Guevara, X5-452, so I had a poke round his files as well – he had a lot of good stuff on there, some of it from a Colonel Donald Lydecker."

"Lydecker?" Clay sounded surprised.

"Yeah, Donald Lydecker. You know him?"

"Knew him. Long time ago . . ." Clay rubbed a hand over his face before speaking again, "Was a good soldier . . . then his wife died. There was something funny about it and Lydecker kind of lost it. I was overseas and when I got back there were different rumors circulating – BCD . . . Section Eight. Didn't make much difference, he was out, gone. Not really something I've ever thought about since."

"Well, apparently, he was the one in charge of the whole thing. He was THE Military as far as they were concerned. Until he fell out of favor a few months ago. They sent a replacement and hey ho, big explosion and pretty much all of the transgenics are now on the loose! End of. . ."

"Fuck!"