Now

Max made her way through the dimly lit halls to the outside training area, blending into the shadows in what she'd once called her 'Ninja Outfit,' black pants and a black sweater that zipped up in back. Sometimes, she just needed some fresh air and the freedom of nighttime, uninterrupted by authority types and fellow soldiers. Manticore didn't have strict rules about its campus, per se, so only a few of her comrades wandered at night, kept up by the shark in their DNA or the pressing need to shake off the pressures of compartmentalizing some of the traumatic things they'd seen or done, or things that had been done to them.

The cobalt blue nighttime sky, brushed with soft clouds – some white as snow, some soft and pink like cotton candy – calmed the blood in her veins, slowed down the rush of angry thoughts and onslaught of anxiety, and allowed her to breathe. Most nights, things were still. Even when it rained, things were still. It was as if her surroundings existed outside of time, and for a short while, she could exist outside of time, too.

Yes, she had shark in her cocktail, but if she'd been honest with herself, she was awake, sneaking around Manticore's campus alone, seeking to assuage the feeling that Alec was out there on his 'Nova mission somewhere, probably expertly banging the information right out of some unsuspecting mark. Jealously ran rampant through her body, forking at each joint, trying to beat an efficient path to thoroughly consume her.

She could almost see it. The way his dick pushed into some no-name woman unrelentingly like the Seattle rain, punishingly, like the harder he went at her, the sooner she'd give up the information he needed. The way he'd grip her wrists, painfully and vicelike, intimating exactly what she probably didn't even know she needed, pressing those beautiful lips against some other woman's, some woman who wouldn't know how to appreciate them.

Get a grip on yourself, Max, she thought. He's your handler.

6 Years Ago

Mess bustled with the noise of two hundred teens, finishing up what they could of their meals before half of them would head to the class where they'd learn the results from the Manticore Armed Services Vocational Aptitude and Battery (MASVAB). These results would determine which course each soldier would take in creating and building their service career and reaching their full potential. Some would train to become Romeos (aka 'Novas), some would train for corporate espionage, some as assassins; some would become a hyped-up Manticore version of a desk jockey, sifting through files and determining threats, creating reports, while others would excel in coercion, get pulled into Psy-Ops, recruit into profiling and case working. The classifications were plenty.

452 dumped her trash and looked back to her unit mates. A few of them took the MASVAB last year and were already a full year into their training. 599 was already setting up for a high ranking officer. 543 started training for her journalism cover. 811 began his studies and strategizing for entering into the political climate.

Excitement filled the air around her. She felt the gravity of being on this precipice. Like the old saying, today was about to become the first day of the rest of her life. She smiled to her friends and made her way to the classroom.

As the instructor spoke about what the placements would mean for the lecture hall full of teens, Max felt a surge of energy, imagining the types of adventures she might go on, and how she would help ensure the safety of her country. She was true blue, and she felt ready for the next step.

She accepted her letter and took a deep breath. She opened her letter, signed by the Director himself, and studied the verbiage. A small smile spread on her face, and she looked around the room to her peers, each letting the moment wash over them. She recognized the dark-skinned X5-843 as he high-fived a sandy-blonde haired teen sitting next to him, jazzed to start his training for the Romeo program. She admired 843 – he had a decent build, she'd heard him spin arguments in class that charmed people into agreement, and he had the sweetest dimples on a sculpted jaw, and the softest deep brown eyes. Manticore would have him weightlifting and cross training to turn him from sculpted jaw into sculpted everything. She felt the creeping blush heat up her cheeks, but couldn't look away.

"I think you've got your first mission right there," the blonde said to 843, slapping his shoulder and pointing directly at 452.

843 cast those chocolatey eyes right on her, and gave her a smile. He kept his eyes on hers, but said to his friend, knowing full well she could hear him, "In a couple years."

It was a statement that embarrassed the hell out of her. He hadn't outright said 'no,' more like he'd said 'not yet.' But the fact that her thoughts had been so transparent bothered her. And the fact that 843's friend called her out on it irritated her further. She tore her eyes from 843 to glare at the jovial, hazel eyes of his friend.

She'd seen him around. 494. Lanky, mid-teen, close-cropped hair like most of her peers. Her eyes found the depth of that warmth in eyes that shimmered golden and green, the dusting of boyish freckles across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and the bow shape of his lips, and she felt that familiar blush once again. And if she wasn't embarrassed enough already, 494 saw it. He winked at her and smirked. She hated that he was attractive, and hated that he seemed to know it, too.

"And where exactly were you placed?" 452 began, challenging 494. "Torture chamber? Prisoner Interrogation? Annoying the hell out of POWs until they tell you state secrets? 'Cause you're doing a bang-up job training for that."

843 laughed, but 494's honeyed eyes flashed with excitement as he sat forward in his seat. "Let me guess," he said, licking his lips in thought.

She wished he hadn't done that, because she caught the combination of his lip and tongue, and he saw her trace his tongue's movement. His eyes twinkled in recognition and she blushed in embarrassment even further.

He opened his mouth again. "Base Operations. Oh! Counter Intelligence Office, Threat Assessment."

He'd named two classifications for basic office work, not field work. She felt the fiery anger burning up through her veins. How dare he insinuate she couldn't cut it in the field.

"Let me guess," she parroted back to him, standing and taking a step toward the seated duo. "Janitorial. Oh! Mess Hall. Something requiring a hair net."

He laughed out loud and turned his attention to the front of the lecture hall for a moment.

452 had the distinct feeling 494 actually liked sparring verbally, that he'd been impressed with her insult.

"Oh, is that where I'll be?" 494 stood up, stepped into the aisle and towered over her. "Training you?" He smirked, enjoying the way her skin seemed to flush from his words alone. He liked flustering her. He stared into her triumphantly.

Drawing attention to the fact that these two seemed to be in a battle of wills in the middle of their classroom, 843 cleared his throat. "So where were you placed, 452?"

Three transgenic pairs of eyes shot straight to the letter in 452's hand, and before she could make a move, 494 snatched it out of her hand and opened it. 452 tried to grab the paper back, but he held it too far away, his arm span longer than hers. She resigned to her defeat and crossed her arms.

The color drained from 494's face a moment and she saw a twinge of a blush blossom from under his freckles. "Well, seems young 452 here received the max score in Romeo," he informed 843.

The dark-skinned soldier stood up next to his friend. "Max score for a woman?" He grabbed the letter and read it as the blonde continued.

494's mouth moved as if caressing the information proudly, his eyes meeting hers in another standoff. "She aced it. Youngest Romeo ever entered into the program. Max score, ever."

It was at that moment 452 picked her name. It described her.

The longer his stare, the more she felt as if he was impressed by her. Impressed, that is, until he looked down her body, eyes roaming openly over her still-developing breasts and quasi-curvy, petite frame. "Looks like you got some work to do, though."

452, Max, nearly growled. This guy was infuriating. She noticed his letter folded in the side pocket of his cargos and lunged for it, but he was too quick, sliding it out of his pocket and stretching his arm high above his head. "Uh-uh," he teased. "Unless you're a climber, you'll never know what this letter says."

She knew her pupils had dilated. She was only fifteen, but she'd already been through heat several times. And by the way his smile crooked up on one side, she could tell he'd been around another female soldier during her heat, too. It was like he had some secret insight that she found him attractive, and it tickled him immensely. "Are you a climber?" He couldn't resist.

"Such a smart-aleck, huh? Are you even smart enough to place Romeo?"

843 slapped the flat of his palm against 494's chest. "Come on, man," he tried to pull his friend away from this young woman whom seemed to rile him up easily, and whom was just as easily baited to rise to the occasion.

Undeterred, 494 smiled excitedly and said to the dark haired girl, "I guess you'll just have to wait and see."