Disclaimer: I still can't claim ownership to Dark Angel. But I'm working on it, haha!
Story: 452 has arrived in sunny Seattle, life outside of Manticore. Enter other familiar faces...
A/N: I know, I know, I said the updates would be quicker, but that was before marching band started up again. (If any of you have ever done this before, you know what I mean! It's a ton of hard work and physical labor in the sun, and it takes up a lot of my time. But I'm still crazy enough to do it, and even have fun with it since I get to see my friends there all summer. Plus there's my job... But now I'll stop rambling and making excuses for myself.) So I apologize. Again. Thanks so much to all of those who read what I have here so far and reviewed! It encourages me to keep writing. So now that the incredibly long author's note is ending, enjoy!
452 left the sparkling granite building with the words "Town Welcome Centre" gleaming gold on its front wall. She anxiously examined the map of Seattle she had gone inside to get. She needed to find her target quickly to assess the situation, and all 452 knew was that he was somewhere here in this broken, vast city.
But how to find him? I can't exactly look up 'Eyes Only' in the phone book.
She had already tried to look up 'Logan Cale', but it seemed that 'Cale' was a big name here, and Logan wasn't listed. Go figure. Must be a pretty private guy.
Well, if the Cales were the playboys of the city, maybe the common folk would know where to find him. They might even be able to provide helpful, juicy tidbits on the private lives of the Cales by way of the 'gossip mill'. Celebrity gossip was a favorite subject among normal people according to her training on Human Interaction.
Manticore made sure to give all of their soldiers that kind of training just before sending them out into the world to complete their missions. 452 thought that having to train on how to talk to normal people was a bit extreme, and the sessions were always pointless. She had excelled in those sessions without thought. There wasn't really much to it. 452 felt it was only common sense. She had even already been familiar with most of the pop culture references. But now it was time to put those skills to good use.
452 lowered her dark sunglasses and scanned the bright city street, trying to pinpoint a possible informant. She saw a female just shy of her middle years walking, holding the hands of two small children who were skipping a bit, all three laughing as they went.
Farther off was a group of punkish-looking teenaged males, all dressed in dark clothes with chains, nodding in time to a loud rock beat and some even attempting to dance on skateboards. They would point and snigger whenever one of their numbers almost fell off or wobbled dangerously on a skateboard. As 452 turned to look elsewhere, she heard laughter explode from the group. Obviously, one of them had slipped and fallen on his butt.
452 noticed a young male and a slightly younger female, the male's arm around the waist of the female. The couple walked slowly down the street, leaning into each other and smiling contentedly. The female giggled a little as the male bent his head towards her ear and whispered something low. She started blushing and held her gaze towards the ground as her companion grinned at her impishly. 452 scrunched up her nose in disgust at the display. Ugh! Make me yak!
Quickly moving on, 452 watched as a group of four young boys raced down the street on their bikes. The one in front turned around to taunt his friends. He narrowly missed hitting a parked car as he held one hand on his forehead in the shape of the letter 'L', sticking out his tongue all the while. The boy's pudgy face whipped around in shock at the accident that almost happened, and he didn't try to taunt his friends after that while 452 was looking. She cocked an eyebrow and her lips quirked in amusement.
She could only marvel at the bustling life and happiness of the people of Seattle. This was just an average day for them, but it was an amazing sight for 452 as she wistfully watched normal life move on and leave her behind. She didn't have any friends to laugh with, or children to hold, or a lover to lean into. All she had was a name and a haunting pair of blue eyes to hunt.
452 rubbed the back of her neck, her hand brushing against her barcode gingerly. The small wound was almost completely gone, thanks to her transgenic healing abilities. It was still tender to the touch, but that was better than the throbbing pain she had experienced earlier, when she had come to in her cell, head heavy with the after-effects of whatever they had drugged her with. 452 let her hand fall to her side and shook out her long, glossy hair.
There.
Finally, someone was walking alone. A young male closer to 452's age with short dark hair in a plain hooded sweatshirt and jeans casually strolled along the street, hands stuffed into his pockets. 452 saw his eyes widen as he noticed her approaching him. He swallowed nervously and stopped walking.
452 smirked. She knew that she was more than a little attractive to normal humans, so she decided to strut her stuff to make the male willing to divulge any information she required. Her walk was a seductive sway, and a heated intensity filled her dark eyes.She kept her sunglasses lowered to let the male see that he held her gaze. The male seemed rooted to the pavement as 452 got closer.
"Excuse me, sir," she started in a low purr. "I was wondering if you could help me with something...," she trailed off. Let him put whatever meaning to that he wanted.
The young male's mouth hung open a bit, just enough to let out a slightly strangled sound before he could summon any words. "Uh, sure. Whatcha need?" He looked almost fearful. 452 would've laughed if it wouldn't have blown her cover straight through the roof. No experience with girls, huh?
"I'm looking for someone." The male's face was an interesting mixture of disappointment and relief. "Ever heard the name 'Logan Cale'?"
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Heard it? Sure I have. 'Cale', anyways. Dunno about a 'Logan', specifically. Why are you looking for the Cale's? Do you know them?" he added hopefully.
452 fought the urge to purse her lips and smack the fellow. He wouldn't be able to tell her anything! She managed to keep her annoyance from creeping into her expression. She opened her mouth to reply just as another voice caught her attention.
"Do not attempt to adjust your set. This is a Streaming Freedom Video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly 60 seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in this city."
Where was that voice coming from? 452 spun around to look for the source. Finally, she spotted a television monitor, typically tuned to a Seattle news channel, hanging from the roof of the Welcome Centre. Those eyes shown on the screen right then chased away any comment she was going to make to the young male. She stared up at the screen, watching intently, her lips slightly parted.
"...but the citizens of Terminal City are not to be blamed for the crimes committed daily by those who would choose to live in violence rather than let a semblance of peace settle on our city..."
452 turned back to the male youth. "What's that guy goin' on about?"
The male looked down at her quickly. He, too, had been watching the screen transfixedly. "Uh, that's Eyes Only. Man, that guy is so cool! I dunno why he has this thing for transgenics, though."
452 suppressed a sudden surge of alarm. This ordinary youth of Seattle knew about transgenics? The common people of Seattle knew about them? Nice of them to tell me about this development before deploying me!
"What's the dealio about this Terminal City? Where is it?" she inquired casually.
The male stared. "You're new here, aren't you? Well, you've got that map there; open it." 452 opened up the map and spread it out for the fellow to see clearly. He poked an average-sized sector on the map with a slim finger. "That is Terminal City. It's all over the news, every day." His eyes grew wider with excitement as he continued. "They've got a whole bunch of transgenics holed up there, creatures with animal faces and worse, and those scary 'X-series' types that look just like us," he added in a dramatic whisper. "They actually wanted to stay in that broken down place! Oh well. S'long as they keep away from the rest of us, I don't really care. But Eyes Only..." The male trailed off and turned back to watching the screen as the broadcast was finishing.
"...day will hopefully arrive when we don't see on the news these hate-crimes that only serve to reveal a deeper view of the ugliness that can be found buried in the hearts of mankind. Violence is not the answer. This has been a Streaming Freedom Video bulletin. Peace. Out."
For a moment, 452 couldn't move. Then the sound of a bike whizzing by and a clicking noise behind her brought her back to the land of the living. She spun around to see what that clicking was, but all she saw was a solitary bike riding down the street, short locks of bleached hair whipping the back of the skinny male's neck. He had to swerve to avoid the same parked car as the kid earlier. Idiot!
452 turned back to the male she had been talking to. "So how do I reach this Eyes Only?"
The male had the nerve to laugh at her! "Are you serious? You won't be able to find him, hon!"
'Hon'! "Really. So, what, does he just sit around and watch the news all day long? You tellin' me that's how he gets his scoops?" 452 said sarcastically.
The male stopped laughing and frowned. "Who knows? Look, why you so anxious to meet this guy? And the Cale's? Who are you anyway?"
"A friend from out of town," she answered as she turned to leave. Crap! I pushed it too hard. Now he's suspicious!
The male shook his head with a slight frown and trudged along the street, away from 452, whose attention was commanded once again by the television monitor.
The screen had returned to a news reporter, and the story shown was that of a riot outside some grimy, rusty gates. Clouds of smog blocked out the sunrays, casting a dark gloom on the screen, rather fitting for the report. A mass of people were throwing bottles stuffed with flaming dirty rags over the fence, and the occasional rock or can from those in the crowd who weren't armed with bottles. They looked like a pack of wild animals, pushing and jostling each other, jumping and shouting and yelling wordlessly. In all of the chaos, a feeling of mindless rage was emanating from the mob, almost palpable through the screen. Some held signs of protest, painted with big ugly phrases like, "Death to the freaks," "Transgenics are NOT human," and, "Protect our children from mutants."
A dazed 452 looked on. That must be Terminal City. She felt a rush of emotions pass through her in quick succession at the scene before her. Anger, contempt, disgust, regret, guilt, sorrow, helplessness, weariness. The feelings all blended into one sombre attitude that made up 452 at that moment, and all she could do was stare numbly.
She felt frozen inside. Eyes Only, her target, her sole purpose of being out of Manticore, the man she was sent to kill, was defending transgenics, 452's own kind. He was scolding the people shown on the news who were raging against something they did not understand. Did Eyes Only understand? Hell, do I understand?
What were those transgenics doing outside of Manticore? Surely they had to be from Manticore. What other top secret government agency existed that specialized in mass-producing revved-up DNA? So if there really were X-series like herself and nomalies living in this Terminal City place, why weren't they training or completing missions or... or something? Anything? Why wasn't Manticore swooping in and claiming their own? Certainly, they must be planning to save their creations from the predicament they were in?
Or maybe those transgenics in Terminal City were rogues, soldiers gone AWOL. That's it. That has to be it. Manticore wouldn't let them expose themselves and compromise the rest of us if they were still loyal. Psh, let them save themselves, 452 thought with contempt.
But still, she felt a kinship with the transgenics, even if they were rebels. The thought softened her firm resolve a little. She couldn't help it. They were just like her, alone in the world with no place to fit in, except with each other. And at Manticore, but Manticore didn't really promote bonding outside of your unit, and the units were always segregated. X5's stayed with X5's, X6's with X6's, and so on. But they were all essentially the same, with the same origins.
And Eyes Only was protecting them.
Could she do it? Could she kill that man? ...Of course I can do it! It's my mission! I can prove myself to them. I can do what I was made to do! 452 kept her emotions on a short leash and steeled herself for what was coming.
"Hey, Sketch! You get yo' ass over here!"
Crash was really bouncing that night, and the Jam Pony crew was hanging out after a rough day at work. It was the place they all went to every night to celebrate or relax. It was also a place frequented by those who wanted to forget how hard life sucked in a broken world on minimum wage. Loud dancing music and alcoholic beverages usually did the trick.
"Cindy," Sketchy said casually, smiling and nodding to the dark-skinned woman at a small table near the bar. He eased himself into the seat across from his friend.
"Whatcha got there, fool?" she said as she pointed to a small, thick envelope.
"My latest masterpieces. Just got the film developed." Sketchy grinned wider. "Wanna see?"
"Any shots of Original Cindy? Those she would love to see."
"Well, let's look through 'em, and see what kinda mad skills I got with this baby," he said, hefting his camera and patting it paternally.
Original Cindy rolled her eyes, but grabbed the packet of photos.
"Hey, be gentle with those!" Sketchy yelped when she yanked the pictures out. Cindy gave him a level look before continuing with what she was doing.
Sketchy gave a blow-by-blow description of each snapshot: what they were of, where and when they were taken, and a personal opinion. Original Cindy only half-listened as Sketchy droned on. He really seems to be takin' this new job seriously...
After glancing lazily at each photo for about a half hour, Cindy was grateful to see that they were at the end of the stack. Something in the very last picture made her snap back to attention, though, and she cut off Sketchy's rambling abruptly.
"Hey, what is that?"
Sketchy shrugged sheepishly. "Oh, that. Yeah, I know, it kinda sucks, but I was on my bike, and I saw the TV screen on Eyes Only, and, ya know, I wanted to develop my film quickly, so I just took it, and - "
Original Cindy gave him an impatient look and waved away his second round of rambling. "No, no, not the TV screen. What is that? Who is that?" she asked, pointing to a girl with her back turned, facing the TV. Long dark hair hung to the middle of her back. It looked like she was walking with some other guy.
"Looks like some chick. Kinda hot chick, lookin' at those jeans, but I dunno. You lookin' ta score, OC?" he asked with an excited grin.
Original Cindy slapped him upside the head and shot him a sharp glare. "Keep that tongue tucked in, Romeo. What I'm sayin' is, don't that look familiar? Don'tcha think that looks an awful lot like Max?"
Sketchy paused thoughfully and examined his picture again. "Huh. Y'know, now that you mention it, it does look like her. A lot," he said. Then his eyes grew sad. "But Cindy, you know as well as I do that it can't be her. I mean, c'mon, if she was back, wouldn't she come to us right away? It's not like we're hard to find, especially for Max. No, that just can't be her." He paused and pursed his lips regretfully before going on. "We're gonna hafta face the facts. Max is gone, and she's not coming back. If she's alive at all."
Original Cindy slapped Sketchy across the face, harder than before. "How can you say that? 'If she's alive.' Of course she's alive! You should know my girl enough to know that she's a fighter, and she ain't gonna let nothin' stop her from comin' back where she belongs! Not even Manticore," she finished quietly and stole a look around the bar to see if anyone had heard her.
Sketchy looked a little ashamed, and a sombre, uncomfortable silence fell on the table. He cleared his throat. "OK, so you think it's Max?"
Original Cindy shrugged. "Maybe."
"Well... what do you think we should do?"
Original Cindy paused for a moment. "I wanna know why my girl would come back and not hit a sista up," she said sadly. "But first we gotta find her. Where did you say you took this picture?"
"Um, it's right outside the new Welcome Centre, see? Before you hit State."
"Uh huh," Original Cindy said absently. She frowned at the photograph and finally nodded with a twist to her lips. "We have to show Logan."
Sketchy looked confusedly at her. "But, what good would that do? I mean, what could he possibly do to find her? The man's great, I mean he helped save our butts at Jam Pony, but seriously, why give him some false hope that Max is in town? It would kill him to lose her all over again. You saw him the first time, right?"
Original Cindy glared at him again. "Of course I saw him, fool! And what makes you so damn sure that it's gonna be false hope, huh? You think we'd be setting him on a wild goose chase? That man would die for Max without even thinkin' 'bout it. He has a right to know she's back!"
"But we don't even know if that chick in the pic really is Max! What if it's just some hot new girl in town, or some really ugly chick with long black hair? C'mon, Cin, I didn't get her face in the shot, just her back! We have no clue whether it's her! And I'd personally feel like shit if I told Logan it was Max for sure and then found out it wasn't."
Original Cindy continued to stare him down. Then she sighed heavily, feeling defeated. Sketchy was a stoner and an irresponsible idiot, so she hated it when he was right. It didn't happen all that often, but she had to admit that he was making more sense than she was at the moment. "Aiight, boo. No wild goose chases, no false hopes. I won't tell Logan, but we should keep an eye out for her, see if anything turns up, aiight?"
Sketchy smiled and nodded. "Yup. I'll do my best, with my journalist instincts and resources."
Original Cindy smiled and rolled her eyes again. "One more thing, Sketch. I don't wanna hear you talkin' morbid shit 'bout my girl, ya hear?" She stood up to leave and turned back to face him. "She's strong, she's alive, and she's still out there somewhere. I know it."
Sketchy watched her leave and glanced down at the table, where he saw that Cindy hadn't paid for her drink. He stood up quickly."Cindy! Hey, Cindy, you forgot - Aw, man!"
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter and the direction I'm taking. I'm kinda playing it by ear... Reviews are always welcome! I love to read what you guys think! OK, now I'm off to plan out the next installment... Wish me luck!