Authors Note:
A long time in the making, this story is written in three sections. It focuses on Dark Angel twelve months beyond the episode of Freak Nation. It primarily concerns the characters Jondy and Zane and their efforts behind the scenes in this AU drama following FN.
This story contains graphic violence, emotional abuse and themes concerning rape and torture. If you find these themes offensive or traumatizing I suggest you cease reading- otherwise you have been warned.
Girl's Not Grey
prologue.
"You'll be under White's nose the whole time baby-sister, you're sure?"
"I'm the best fit Max... I just want to be free, y'know? To be a normal girl- after all."
– Minutes, 'Operation Sandman'.
Falcon ran ahead, pushing past the undergrowth and Zane, feeling the stinging backlash of vines and reeds slap him in the face, paused for a split second to wipe sweat from his forehead. If they had not been in a dead zone, he would have given the upstart a piece of his mind.
He wondered if his kind had been made immune to jungle fever because the heat of this place was driving him insane. Squinting against the sun, he saw the camouflaged shadow of Falcon dart ahead into the shadows and knew their destination was not far away.
Zane followed with purposeful steps, removing any thought of reprimand or abstract preoccupations from his mind and concentrated only on the mission.
He was doing this for her.
"Where is she?!"
The shout intensified as it reverberated off of the walls and she flinched.
She felt his hands first; they were snake-like and cold. They made her skin crawl. It was always the same: it was her fear that paralyzed her, a constant weakness- and her only close friend.
Her heart thudded loudly in her ears causing the drip of the drainpipe to dissipate faintly.
A groan of protest escaped her lips when his icy fingertips moved swiftly up the back of her soft thigh, before biting into the flesh of her hip. She should have known it would be futile.
He slammed her roughly onto her back… behind closed eyes she pictured the glow of sunsets over beaches, felt the heady rush of gin and tonic and let denial seep within, silently encouraging it to flower. Her backbone and shoulder blades stung from the impact of his maneuvering and she told herself she almost couldn't feel it. When he grunted above her, struggling to restrain himself, and leered, his grey eyes possessing a duality of lust and malice, the defenseless animal in her wanted nothing more than to tear and scratch out those fortune-telling orbs … but she caged it.
She hated her exhaustion, her weakness, her tactics for self preservation- she wished she could have been bolder, braver, but she was neither of these things... she was just holding on. When his hot acrid breath brushed her cold clammy cheek, the parody of a lovers caress, it was in that hovering complicit moment that she found her resolve.
Her eyes open, she cleared her mind and focused on making her last minutes count.
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