Dark Angel 1. Renewal & Rebirth

Title: Future of the Future  
Author: Nimitz4  
Rating: R

Show: DA  
Genre: Romance / Drama  
Pairing: Ben / Other  
Type: WiP

Summary: The story takes place at the beginning of FN – on the night Max burns down the Manticore facility she's being held in, releasing a number of transgenics / nomalies - to scatter into the night.  All this time Max has lived with the guilt of believing that her disturbed brother died at her hands…but did he really?  Since when did Manticore allow mainstream medical science to dictate what it could and couldn't do?  So - what if another troubled soul was set free that night as well…   

Author Note:  Special thanks to my wonderful Beta – Adrolien.  Without her thoughtful, thorough and supportive feedback this one wouldn't have made it outta my notebook J  
Disclaimer: I don't own DA – the lucky Mr's Cameron & Eglee do…the only thing I own is the drool over the DVD jackets.

**FUTURE OF THE FUTURE.**

**Layer: 001 – Renewal & Rebirth**

He'd been dreaming.

Elements of his dream still whispered through his mind, taunting him…brown eyes, cool hands and a soft voice.  He blinked and made a conscious effort to block them out.

Alert now he rolled onto his back in the dark room.  Eyes wide, peering into the night, focusing his hearing as he tried to detect whatever it was that had disturbed his sleep.

Distant sounds – running feet on the concrete floor, the echo of raised voices, a hushed panic…unnatural disturbances in a place of order and structure.  He felt the short hairs on the back of his neck prickle in response to an intuitive sense of danger.

In a fluid graceful motion he rolled off the cool metal bunk onto his bare feet on the floor.  Despite the lack of any light in the room he moved with precision, born of long internment in the small space, to the door of the cell.  Standing directly before the reinforced steel he paused, whilst he extended his senses again, doing what he had been trained to do since infancy – gather information, assess the situation…plan his approach.

*There…

He detected a series of faint tremors through his feet on the concrete floor – almost imperceptible, like the ground had shivered.  The signs would have been unnoticeable to anyone without his special skills…but he not only felt it, he understood the silent message it conveyed.

He knew that there could be only one cause for it within the installation – an explosion of some sort…obviously minor at this stage, however there was always the possibility that that there might be other, larger explosions.  Despite his fear of the consequences for disturbing his 'keepers', his healthy sense of self-preservation spurred him on to act.   Raising one lean muscular arm he banged his fist on the metal door.

"Hey!" he paused…listening…and then made another attempt.  "Hey!  What's going on out there?"

Silence….

He was a patient man, by nature and by training, but as the time extended without a response he found his normal calm eroding slightly.  Suddenly he felt the flooring shift minutely under him again, this time with a stronger force.

*Great…unlikely as it is, for all I know this place could be going down around me, and I'm stuck in a metal 'coffin'.  He raised both arms and began pounding on the metal with a growing frustration.

"I said HEY!!! DAMMIT!!! What the HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE?"

This time the metal grate on the door slid open and the craggy face of a guard peered in.

"Settle down in there!  There's nothing to worry about…just a problem in one of the labs is all."  The guard reached up to close the grate again – but he was prevented from doing so by the other man's hand through the bars.  He blinked…no matter how much he tried he still couldn't reconcile with the strength of some of these kids.  He saw cool hazel eyes studying his face.

"What happened?  I felt the explosion…"

Edgy and nervous the guard averted his eyes and licked his bottom lip before answering.

"Nothing…just one of those guys in the white coats probably forgetting that they shouldn't mix potion A with potion B."  The guard attempted a derisive snort but it fell short of being realistic.  Obviously keen to return to whatever had been occupying him before the ruckus from the cell, he tried to end the conversation.  "I'd try to get back to sleep if I were you."

Just then a burst of static came through the guards' voice com, quickly followed by the garbled shouts of other soldiers in obvious distress.

_Fire…sector 3…compromised…sweet Jesus what the Hell WAS that!?  Report in…I repeat…_

Other voices clamoured for airtime…breaking across each other creating a cacophony of panic and fear.

_They're dead…all dead!!  Don't…it's going to blow…!_

_Get back…!  Christ almighty…stay back!!!!!  Aarrghhh!_

The sound was abruptly cut off but not before the sound of a snuffling heavy panting, like that of a large animal, came over the airwaves, and a distinctive ripping, snapping sound.

His brown eye's widening with an embryo of fear, the guard reached up to cup his microphone as he prepared to call in.  The dispassionate hazel eyes of the man in the cell watched his every action.

"Base…this is sector 18 calling in.  I repeat sector 18.  All is clear here.  Please advise."

He clicked the button off, and his nervous eyes skittered across the corridor as he waited for a response, only to be rewarded by another burst of static and then silence.  As the seconds extended a bead of sweat began to slowly form on his forehead and run down the side of his face.

*Too damn long…  Unnerved, he reached up to try to report again – and was caught by surprise by the sudden noise bursting out of the communicator.

Sector 18 - remain where you are.  The problem is being contained.  I repeat – remain where you are.  The emergency will be resolved shortly.

Feeling very nonplussed the guard looked up to find the knowing eyes of the cellmate still perusing him.  Trying to make the best out of a 'bad situation' he spread his hands wide and attempted to paste a jovial smile on his face.

"See…it's all under control.  Time for you to get some shut…"

But his next words were stolen as a massive explosion shook the ground, throwing him against the cell door.  *What the FUCK!?*

Dazed by the impact he shook his head in bewilderment, uncertain how he'd managed to somehow stay on his feet.  It was then he realised that an unfamiliar hand had a very firm and very solid grasp on the collar of his uniform – supporting his weight.  He found a pair of cold eyes staring keenly into his own, and his mouth was suddenly dry as he realised that this man wouldn't hesitate to kill him if it suited his purpose to do so.

"Seems to me like you're on the 'need to know' basis, Officer  - same as me…and somebody has just decided that you don't need to know."

The guard opened his mouth to respond but the words wouldn't come out.  In an automatic panic reaction he attempted to pull back, away from the man's reach.  The action only served to annoy the inmate, who responded by jerking the guard forward, slamming his unprotected face against the metal bars.  The guard shouted out in pain as he felt his nose break from the impact.  He felt the warm flood of his own blood run down his face.

His eyes blurring from the tears caused from the pain of his damaged face, he looked up to find the man continuing to watch him with apparent analytical objectivity.  The guard felt a coldness extend through the pit of his stomach…he knew the man was openly studying him, anticipating every possible reaction he might make.  It felt like his mind was being bisected, assessed and found 'wanting'.

"Tsk-tsk…now look what you've done?  You've gone and hurt yourself…and there wasn't any real need for that at all."  The inmate produced a smile that in ordinary circumstances would have been considered charming – but in the present situation only proved to be chilling.  "Let's start again shall we, what's your name?"

The guard felt a terrible heaviness in his limbs as his fear started to overwhelm him.  Gasping in pain, he answered.

"Derek…my name is Derek.  Please…please don't kill me…."

The hazel eyes glittered with sympathetic humour and the man smiled back at him.

"Derek, I'm not going to kill you." This time the smile extended across his face – but it never succeeded in warming the cold hazel eyes. "I think of us as friends – a friendship born out of necessity. You see I want 'out' of this cell…and you're the man to do it for me."

Derek's eyes appeared to widen even further, if that were at all possible.  He shook his head in disbelieving horror.

"I can't – if I let you out I'll be a dead man…they'll…they'll kill me"

This time the man stared at him with open disappointment, and looked as though he was about to speak again.  Just then their negotiations were momentarily interrupted as another explosion shook the building.  Now the faint, but indisputable scent of smoke could be detected on the air.

Despite the shuddering ground the inmate hadn't lost his firm grip – if anything it was tighter to the point where Derek was almost standing on his toes in an attempt to maintain his connection with the ground.  The man moved his face closer to the bars – glancing sideways as if they were two buddies exchanging a conspiratorial chat during normal work hours.

"Well now Derek – you **do** have a dilemma.  You see if you don't help me **I will** kill you…" Derek winced at the casual threat, "…but apparently if you **do** help me…**'they'** will try to kill you."  The man pursed his full lips in evident consideration of the problem at hand.  Meanwhile Derek stared at him with disbelieving dread.

The inmate suddenly grinned as if seizing upon a possible solution to the puzzle.  "My suggestion is this - clearly this organization appears to be undergoing some kind of 'restructuring' as we speak", the truth to his words were highlighted as a series of rumbling quakes rolled beneath their feet.  "Now, it's unknown at this point whether 'they' will be around to get you after this event…the only certainty you do know…right here, right now…is **my** hand…on **your** throat." He shot the blood-covered man an encouraging wink. "So, what do you say…will you be a good buddy and open the door?"

He could plainly see the indecision in Derek's eyes, evaluating all the known and unknown threats presented to him in such an eloquent albeit brutal way.  Sensing an unresolved mental struggle, the inmate gently squeezed the guard's neck to reinforce that he was waiting for him to come to a conclusion.  Derek stared back at the cellmate and stuttered out his response…and his fears.

"If…if I do open the door…you could just…kill me anyway."

"Derek.  Your distrust pains me…but you do have a point.  So – I give you my word…that once I'm out of this cell we'll go our separate ways."  The strange man held up his spare hand in the universal gesture for a formal pact.  "I promise I won't try to hurt you."

Derek looked at him with combined relief and suspicion…hesitation still marking his expression.  He chewed his bottom lip as he considered the promise just extended to him – and then came to a decision.

"Not good enough. I don't know whether your 'word' is any good or not. I've heard about you – you're a sociopath…a freak…a murderer…"

The words were abruptly silenced as the man closed his fingers around his neck in a sudden fury.   The hazel eyes flashed with violent promise and Derek felt the heat of the man's breath on his face as he lunged at the grate, hissing with rage.

"SHUT UP!!!!  That's all behind me!" The eyes glowed with hatred…and another emotion that Derek would ordinarily have considered to be 'fear'…but he quickly discounted it as soon as he thought it.  "Shut your mouth!!!"  Seeing a faint blue tinge blushing Derek's lips he softened his grip on the other man's neck.  Panting slightly from his exertions, he tried to take a deep breath to calm himself.  Noting the fear in the other man's eyes he tried a different tack.

"Derek…you should know from working here - this place changes you."  The inmate looked away and his voice dropped to a plaintive whisper.  "If you lived the life I've lived…you'd be slower to judge."

Derek gasped in a breath – coughing slightly from the effort…still reeling from the sudden and vicious attack.  He thought the man behind the bars looked suddenly vulnerable…like a lost boy…making it difficult to reconcile the two aspects of his personality.

*Boy…man?  Killer…or innocent warped by this shit hole?  Which is it…?

"Whatever you say…it's like I said – I don't trust your word."

He looked down in resignation, knowing the stalemate would result in his death for sure.  Suddenly a faint hope appeared in his eyes, and he looked back at the inmate. "If the rumours are true about you, then I've also heard that you do believe in something…or someone.  Would you swear on that?"

Hazel eyes glowed with a growing understanding – and a small smile started to form on his lips.  The smile, when it broke, transformed his face, and Derek was momentarily stunned at the difference it made.  *A hardened killer with the face of a boy….

"I'll swear on the Lady…she who protects us all…that I won't hurt you if you open this door and set me free."

Derek watched the beatific, rapturous expression on the man's face as he made his solemn vow, and he knew with an instinctive certainty that he would uphold his promise.  Reaching down he keyed in the code on the door panel, and they both felt and heard the locking mechanism on the cell door release.  For the first time in their long exchange the hazel eyes smiled warmly back at him through the bars, and for some unknown reason Derek felt compelled to smile back.

"Congratulations 493…you're a free man…"


	2. Wicked Beauty

Title: Future of the Future  
Author: Nimitz4  
Rating: R  
Show: DA  
Genre: Romance / Drama  
Pairing: Ben / Other  
Type: WiP

Summary: The story takes place at the beginning of FN – on the night Max burns down the Manticore facility she's being held in, releasing a number of transgenics / nomalies - to scatter into the night.  All this time Max has lived with the guilt of believing that her disturbed brother died at her hands…but did he really?  Since when did Manticore allow mainstream medical science to dictate what it could and couldn't do?  So - what if another troubled soul was set free that night as well…   

Author Note: Special thanks again to Adrolien – who not only commits her own time to review my scribbles, but does so with great patience and thoroughness J  
Disclaimer: I don't own DA – the lucky Mr's Cameron & Eglee do…the only thing I own is the drool over the DVD jackets.

**Future of the Future**

**Layer: 002 – Wicked Beauty**

The Bar come Pool Hall was dim, noisy and smoky, which only made it all the more appealing as far as Ben was concerned.  In addition to these 'outstanding' features it was run-down and frequented by a less than reputable clientele…the kind of customers who displayed an obvious distaste for 'questions' in general.  All of which suited Ben's purpose.

The 'colourful' reputations of the seedy regulars provided enough camouflage for him to hide in plain sight…and also supplied him with the right contacts for the kind of work that required somebody with his special talents and skills.  The perfect symbiotic relationship – a kind of 'you scratch out a problem for me, and I'll scratch out a problem for you' simplicity... 

Ben hunched over his drink at the bar counter – quietly and unobtrusively surveying the room.  He'd already checked the closest entry and exist points to the room, planned primary and secondary escape routes in the event of any trouble, and scanned each of the current room occupants for a threat and risk assessment…and he'd only been there long enough to order one drink.

*You can take the soldier out of Manticore…but you can't take Manticore out of the soldier…

Satisfied that there was no current threat, he allowed himself to relax a little and enjoy his drink.  Ben swirled the amber liquid in the glass, watching the dim light refract in the fluid, casting different patterns of light across its surface.  The changing golden, tawny shades stirring up memories of another night.

It had been three months since he had stood on the rocky outcrop watching the Manticore facility burn in the cool night.  That night he'd fled the flames and the chaos with nothing, only the drawstring pants he'd been sleeping in…but he'd been lucky to escape at all. Even from his vantage point he'd been able to hear the screams of those that hadn't made it out.

Still more terrifying had been the inhuman calls, growls and sibilant cries of other 'things' that had somehow survived, and now ran through the black night…unleashed and unseen.  A cold chill ran up his back and he shivered involuntarily as he recalled the feeling of being alone in the pitch black knowing that the 'Nomalies' were nearby.

It had taken considerable mental strength to keep control over the feelings of panic that had flooded through him.  Even with his night vision, it had been terrifying…catching glimpses of these creatures, neither human nor animal, but a horrifying mix in-between.  The experience awakened old memories he'd forgotten…he'd remembered all those times his brothers and sisters had sat up late at night, listening to him recount his stories about the 'Nomalies'…telling tales about what the creatures would do to them if they were ever given the opportunity.  Now running through the night, it was like one of his childhood nightmares had come true.

For that reason he had avoided the 'others' that he heard moving in the undergrowth – unsure whether they would be another 'friendly' transgenic, or some unnamed creature, until he was close enough to see them with his night vision.  Instead he'd remained independent, relying on his own resourcefulness to survive.  Eventually he'd made his way into a built up area – lying low for two days he managed to secure a vehicle and the barest of necessities to travel as far away from the area as possible.

Since then he'd moved from city to city, doing the odd 'job' along the way to earn some cash.  He'd waited to see what Manticores' reaction would be to the destruction of the facility, what approach they'd take to 'round up' the escapees.  With a little luck they might presume that he had died in the fire – and he'd get his life back…again.

He smiled to himself as he recalled the feeling when he'd broken out into the fresh cold night air – away from the climate controlled building, with its cement floors and sterile recycled air.  In a strange way it had felt almost as if he was being born again.  

Practically naked, the chill in the night air had needled his bare skin…the cacophony of sound caused by the explosions, transgenics and humans shouting and screaming, blaring alarms, and the confusion of the flashing lights, had stunned him momentarily. He had found it bewildering in its stark contrast to the controlled, antiseptic calm of his daily existence.

*My second birth…my dual life…

Ben raised the glass to his lips in a silent salute, and took a slow drink.  Holding the liquid in his mouth, he tasted its warm bitterness as it spread across his tongue and down the back of his throat as he swallowed.  Lowering the glass once more to the bar top, he balanced its weight between his hands.  

A slight frown appeared on his forehead as he returned to an all too familiar train of thought.  In the three months since his escape he'd had plenty of time to consider 'what' it all meant – his new life…his second chance.

Ben had retained some memories of his 'first' life, but they tended to be a cluttered jumble of vague images, snippets of recalled events and blurred emotions.  He remembered killing, but he couldn't remember what had motivated him to do so.  The understanding he held was a confusing mix of pleasure and guilt.  His superiors at Manticore had told him that what he had done was wrong, and although part of him felt shame at his actions, a soft whisper in his mind questioned how killing could be 'wrong' when he had been trained to do so since birth?  How could one find fault with it, when he did it with such…grace?

Of all his recollections from his previous existence he had had an overwhelming sense that he had failed the Blue Lady in some way.  It was this belief that had caused him the most pain…even now.

He knew that he had been punished for his failure, that he had in fact died because of it.  Even the specialists from Psy-Ops had confirmed his death, bragging about their scientific wizardry, their ability to repair and regenerate even the most damaged.  Initially he had felt some element of pain at this, knowing that even in death there was no escaping Manticore, that they could pursue you through the calm darkness of eternity if they chose to do so…if they had a purpose for you.

Despite trying he was unable to recall the manner of his death, but he knew the knowledge of it was locked somewhere deep inside.  Sometimes he had awakened during the night in his cold cement cell, his face wet with the tears he had been crying, from a dream that hinted at it, before fading quickly beyond the reach of his conscious mind.

Not knowing how or when he'd died, he had had no sense of how long he'd been back in the facility.  Sometimes he had felt weighed down with a weary sense of 'immortality' – dateless, ageless, and suffering a timeless existence.  Regardless, he had endured his sentence within his institutional 'prison' - the pain of the Psy-Ops 'treatments', the bitterness of his isolation, the endless re-education sessions and other physical punishments.

Oddly enough the source of his fortitude had been the confirmation of his death.  Despite Manticores assertion that it alone had created him 'anew' deep down Ben believed that it had only been able to do so through Her intervention.  Knowing that he had died, and had then been resurrected, stirred the beginnings of a now unshakeable conviction that the Blue Lady had given him a second chance for a reason…she had a purpose for him.  

He had dutifully guarded his faith in that cold antiseptic environment, intuitively knowing that he was never to mention it to his 'protectors'.  So the days had progressed from one to another, and he had patiently waited.  Waited for the Lady to send him a sign of what she wished of him.  Eventually his faith had been rewarded by her provision of an opportunity for his escape.

Ben knew he had been wrong the last time he had gone forth into the world…his faith obviously hadn't been strong enough.  This time he intended to prove himself worthy and deserving of her faith in him…this time he would be alert to the 'signs' she would show him and follow the path laid out for him.

********************

Ben's reverie was broken by the noise of a vicious but short-lived scuffle at one of the nearby pool tables.  He quietly studied the situation, which apparently was a pool game gone 'wrong'.  Two rough and extremely large bikers had been playing against another set of unsavoury characters, and the stakes of the game had gone significantly high, with a large pot of money sitting on the corner of the table.

The bikers seemed to be taking offence at the fact that they had lost the game.  Ben resisted a smirk.  With a practiced eye he could understand 'why' they might be less than pleased with the outcome of the game.  It had been a clear 'set-up' – their slimy counterparts were obvious 'pool sharks'.

* They should have known better *

"You fuckin' cheated…and me and my bro' won't be paying to be treated like fools!"  The largest, most muscle bound opponent reached out a hand to retrieve his money from the stash, but his hand paused in the air above the cash, as the loud click of a loaded weapon broke through the noise of those nearest to the table.

"You play – you pay, man…or we take our payment out of you by some other means."  The threat from the other man was obvious, and his smile had a cold confidence that supported his words.

The tattooed brothers studied the two mean looking guys before them, but they quickly realised that neither of them were holding the gun.  The gunman had to be a third person concealed in the nearby crowd – and the bikies realised that this meant that at least one of them would be hit before they had a chance to take out the tricky bastards.

The men cast contemplative looks at each other, but it was clear that they had no option but to pay for the indignity of being 'played'.  They both looked pissed, but there was little they could do about it.  Their faces livid with anger they threw their pool cues onto the table and turned, pushing their way back out through the crowd.

An insolent snigger from the shortest pool player followed their retreat.  "Nice doing business with you…please come again." He grinned at his tall, thin greasy-looking partner with obvious satisfaction at the outcome of their operations. 

In half jest he raised his voice to those nearest to the table.  "So…no other takers I'm guessing?"  His buddy snorted at the implied joke, and he extended his hand to collect their winnings from the end of the table.

A honeyed voice carried across the noise of the bar halting the progress of his hand above the rather large pile of money.

"I'll play you…"

The owner of the voice rose from her discrete position at a small table well concealed in the darkness, behind some booths, and by the press of bodies standing just in front.  She moved with a lithe grace towards the pool table into the light.

Ben felt a chill pass through his body.  Either he was getting sloppy (and he doubted that) or she was just **very** good at being inconspicuous, because he couldn't recall seeing her when he had conducted his initial surveillance…and she was **not** the kind of woman that anyone forgot easily.

Ben figured she was almost as tall as he was, and that was fairly tall for a woman.  The potential masculinity of her broad shoulders and lean frame was countered by a remarkable range of obvious female curves, emphasised to perfection by her choice of outfit.  A plunging brown leather vest hugged, rather than covered, her torso and an admirable amount of her cleavage struggled to remain encased within its embrace.  A leather waist brace almost like a Japanese obi bound her, whilst the leather braiding up the sides of her black leather pants seemed to suggest she'd been sewn into them, which judging from their snug fit probably wasn't far from the truth.  Added to her "Biker Girl Barbie" ensemble was a pair of brown leather gauntlets adorning both her arms, displaying an intricate range of bindings and clasps, running from her wrist to her elbow.

The beauty of her face was startling, like some divine being had reached down and cast life into a china doll.  Her face was heart shaped, her skin a pale pure alabaster, contrasting starkly with the darkness of her mahogany jaw length hair.  A wide mouth, with large full lips beneath high cheekbones, and the most amazing pale jade green eyes.

These features alone would have left any man with even half a pulse panting, but this wasn't what drew Ben's attention.  As she stalked gracefully across to the other men, he felt an eerie resonance pass through him.  He could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck in a hypersensitive response. 

Ben couldn't take his eyes from her, and he felt an unmistakable feeling that he knew her, but he couldn't quite place it. There was a strange familiarity in the way she moved.

She carried herself with an elegant assuredness - every action, each simple step, displaying a measured economy of movement. It was pure Manticore - and at the same time it was more than that.

During his time back in the facility he'd realised that Manticore technique had changed over the years, and he now recognised that the way this woman moved hinted at a much earlier era. That's when it hit him - it was the same physical signature that he and his other siblings had learnt all those years ago as children. 

There was only one explanation for why this woman moved the way she did…and it stemmed from a single night many years before. A night when a small group of children, who thought of themselves as brothers and sisters, had fled across a frozen landscape after breaching one of the toughest military installations in the country, to then scatter into the night. He'd been one of those kids…and judging by the way she carried herself, so had this woman.

Ben placed his glass on the wooden bar top and settled back into the stool he was on.

*Now this could get interesting…*


	3. Fallen Angel

Title: Future of the Future  
Author: Nimitz4  
Rating: R  
Show: DA  
Genre: Romance / Drama  
Pairing: Ben / Other  
Type: WiP

Summary: The story takes place at the beginning of FN – on the night Max burns down the Manticore facility she's being held in, releasing a number of transgenics / nomalies - to scatter into the night.  All this time Max has lived with the guilt of believing that her disturbed brother died at her hands…but did he really?  Since when did Manticore allow mainstream medical science to dictate what it could and couldn't do?  So - what if another troubled soul was set free that night as well…   

Author Note: I can't take any credit for the song lyrics, they belong to the clever Stealers Wheel - their song "Stuck in the Middle with You", played during the Tarantino film 'Reservoir Dogs", suits Juno to a "T".  Special thanks again to Adrolien – her wonderful feedback keeps me on track J  
Disclaimer: I don't own DA – the lucky Mr's Cameron & Eglee do…the only thing I own is the drool over the DVD jackets.

**Future of the Future**

**Layer: 003 – Fallen Angel**

Obviously sensing that the beauty approaching them was a serious competitor, the shorter man hesitated.  Unwilling to risk losing their prize through a rash decision he alone had made, he cast a querying glance at his buddy.

The tall woman recognised the silent consultation that passed between the two men, and her full lips curved in a mocking half smile.

'What's the matter?" The husky melody of her voice carried across the crowd.  She stuck out her bottom lip and frowned in fake concern.  "Scared of a **real** challenge are we?" 

Snickers and derisive laughter spread across the crowd of onlookers, in appreciation at her taunt.

Ben casually glanced around.  Judging by the increased number of casual observers starting to gather around the table, apparently he wasn't the only one who felt that the situation was about to become interesting.  Turning back to focus on the three people at the centre of interest he waited with a sense of expectation.

Both men reddened slightly, embarrassed by her statement.  The shorter man experienced a rush of peevishness because her challenge had hit the nail on the head.  It was always easier to "play" somebody out of their money if they weren't expecting the professional level of game he and his partner were capable of playing.  The method of operation guaranteed a good return on investment, but the golden rule was to **never** play against anybody who knew the "playbook".  Like a punch line in a joke, or the twist to a good tale - it only worked if the "mark" didn't see it coming.

Which clearly wasn't the case now.  Thanks to the altercation with their last dupes, this woman and practically everyone else in the bar, now knew how they operated, thus rendering any chance of making more cash impossible.  Plus she looked like she could handle a pool cue.  Which was all the more reason to turn her challenge down.  The greasy conman made his decision…a fake smile spread across his thin face, exposing a number of missing teeth.

"Not at all…I just think this game might a little too **rich** for the…_lady_."  His chosen tone clearly indicating his belief that she was anything but one. 

A dangerous stillness seemed to envelope the woman, and her eyes narrowed slightly at the insult.

The corner of Ben's mouth quirked with amusement, as he noted the flash of anger in her eyes, and the slight tautness in her features as she fought to control her reaction.  He glanced across at the hustler.

*Big mistake buddy…big mistake*

The woman just stared silently at the two men on the other side of the pool table.  She noted the triumphant grin on the smaller one's face as he savoured his insult, and the poorly contained hilarity of his taller companion as he leered at her toothily.

Fixing them in her green gaze, her right eyebrow arched upwards as if in silent consideration.  A smile began to slowly spread across her full lips.  The expression transformed her face into a picture of happiness, but it never extended to her cold eyes…and the grins began to fade from the faces of the two men, as they felt the beginnings of a chill uncertainty.

Her smile broadened as she slowly reached up and down the front of her vest.  Every man in the bar gaped, their eyes transfixed by the simple movement, riveted by the journey of her hand.  Ben could have sworn that he heard a collective gulp echo across the room. 

After some delving about between her generous cleavage, she withdrew her hand with the same deliberate movement, clutching a substantial bundle of notes in between her fingers.

She held the curled bundle of money up for everyone to see, and then wiggled it pointedly at the short man in silent challenge, before placing it on the edge of the table, on top of the other money.

"I'd say this **Lady** has it covered…so, are you still too _scared_, or are you ready to play with the grown ups?"

A droplet of sweat appeared on the man's forehead and ran down the side of his face.  The two men exchanged a "look".  His eyes large with excitement, the taller guy nodded his head in encouragement.  The smaller man again stared at the large collection of money - his greed obviously warring with his natural cunning and instincts.  The greed won out in the end.

His eyes slid across to the tall leather clad woman and he slowly bobbed his head in agreement.

"Double or nothing…"

She smiled at his acceptance, and then reached out to pick up the nearest pool cue from the table.  Testing it for straightness and weight, she ran her fingers up the length of the stick.  Staring pointedly at the man she caressed the wood suggestively, and her wide mouth opened in a wild grin.  A low wolf whistle came from one of the appreciative onlookers. 

"Don't worry, I'll try not to hurt you…too much."

The man felt his mouth go dry, as he experienced the distinct feeling of being in "over his head".

***

He stared at the table in disbelief.  *This can't be happening*

The only pool balls remaining on the pool table were his.  Not only had she managed to clear the table in record speed, he was still reeling at some of the "impossible" shots she'd made with casual ease.

He turned his head to stare in shocked mortification at his partner – only to find his buddy staring at the table with the same dumbfounded expression on his face.

He felt a horrible pressure in his chest, as a panicked feeling washed over him.  For a terrible moment he thought he couldn't breathe and then he gulped in a mouthful of air.  He tried to recall how it had come to this.

He and his partner had agreed that he'd be the best opponent against her.  Both he and the woman had called for the "break" toss, naturally thanks to his "lucky" (i.e. rigged) coin he'd won the toss.

With well-practised ease he'd taken the first four shots, and felt like he was settling into his usual pattern, and that's when it had happened.  He'd lost a shot.  A single shot…

It gave her an opportunity to commence play.  Which he hadn't initially been worried about, figuring she'd eventually miss a shot, and he'd get control again.  He'd been wrong…so wrong.

***

She'd smiled at him politely as she held up the coin.

"Do you mind?  I like "mood" music when I play."

He'd rolled his eyes and snorted in disgust, but shrugged his shoulders in agreement.  "Whatever bakes your burger…"

She flashed him a grin, and sauntered over to the nearby jukebox.  She fed the coin into the machine and pressed a button.  Returning to the table the first strains of the song began to play out - the sound of a steel guitar followed by a thumping hypnotic bass.  

_Well I don't know why I came here tonight / _

_I got the feeling that something ain't right… _

The woman picked up her pool cue and started to play, singing along to the music, as she moved around the table.  The tapping click of her first ball striking against another, pushing it into the pocket, followed quickly by another, and then another - almost in time with the beat of the music.

_I'm so scared in case I fall of my chair / _

_And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs…_

She lifted her pool cue, and hips swaying to the beat, edged around to their side of the table.  She lifted the cue up and undulated around it, singing whilst her green eyes fixed on the two speechless hustlers.

_Clowns to the left of me / _

_Jokers to the right / _

_Here I am – stuck in the middle with you…_

She grinned.  Her eyes returned to the table and she lowered the stick - two more balls flew into the pockets.  Finding her next target, she lifted the stick again and started to dance to another corner of the table.

_Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you /_

_And I'm wondering what it is I should do._

_It's so hard to keep this smile from my face…_

Leaning down she lined up the mark in her eye, and then looked up to smile sweetly at the men.  Not even bothering to watch as she took the shot.

_Clowns to the left of me / _

_Jokers to the right / _

_Here I am – stuck in the middle with you…_

The tall greasy guy gawped at her as she winked up at him.  Arching her back, she pushed herself up until she was standing.  Resting one end of the stick on the ground she held it at arms length using it for balance as she slowly swayed her head back and forth, letting her dark red brown hair curtain her face, dancing to the beat.

_…and your family all come crawling /_

_Slap you on the back and say /_

_Ple..ea..eaa..ease.  Ple..ea..eaa..ease._

_Trying to make some sense of it all / _

_But I can see it makes no sense at all._

_Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor? /_

_You know, I don't think I can take anymore._

With a shimmying sliding movement she danced around the end of the table.  Raising the cue over her arms she slid it down her back, balancing it low down, against her hips, she lined up another shot.  The ball ricocheted off one edge of the table only to rebound off another green felt 'wall', and into the pocket.

_Clowns to the left of me / _

_Jokers to the right / _

_Here I am – stuck in the middle with you…_

Lowering the length of the stick until it was resting against the curvaceous swell of her backside she shimmied against it.  She flipped the stick around her, holding it in front of her she began to salsa to the music with her eyes closed.  Crooning to the song, her warm husky voice sending shivers through those listening in.

_…and your family all come crawling /_

_Slap you on the back and say /_

_Ple..ea..eaa..ease.  Ple..ea..eaa..ease._

Her eyes flicked open, staring directly at her opponents.  She pouted her lips and blew a kiss in their direction, before approaching the table yet again.  With a nonchalant yet professional poise she set about clearing the remaining ball off the table in breathtaking speed. 

_And I don't know why I came here tonight / _

_I got the feeling that something ain't right /_

_I'm so scared in case I fall of my chair / _

_And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs. /_

_Clowns to the left of me / _

_Jokers to the right / _

_Here I am – stuck in the middle with you…/_

_Yes – I'm stuck in the middle with you…/_

_Stuck in the middle with you /_

_Here I am – stuck in the middle with you /_

As the final beat from the song extended into silence, the two men could only stare in mute disbelief.  She had won the game in the time it had taken for the song to play out.

***

Ben laughed to himself as he watched their faces.  Their dumbfounded shock was priceless.  He felt like applauding her display, although there had been no surprise at the likely outcome.  No ordinary human could beat the superior skills of an X5 at pool.

*Don't feel so bad guys – you've just been beaten by a genetic freak* 

She stood on the other side of the table, waiting for the realisation to sink in for the two hustlers.  Her chin length rich red-brown hair covered half of her face as she coolly surveyed the table. 

Obviously figuring she'd given it enough time she began to move towards the cash.  "Well now, it's been a treat - thanks guys.  I think I'll be going now…"

The action seemed to break the stunned stupor of her opponent.  He lifted his eyes from the table and his face hardened with resolve.

"Actually I don't believe you will be…going, that is.  You play a nice game, but my partners and I will be the ones who say how it will play out now."

Taking his cue from his partners' words, the taller guy grinned evilly and nodded in agreement.

An uneasy silence pervaded the air as the crowd sensed the impending conflict.  Ben felt his body tense in anticipation, and he shifted slightly in his seat, in readiness to assist his sister if need be.

"Me and my buddy here are going to collect our money, while a friend of ours," at this the click of a gun was noticeable, their hidden companion again fulfilling their role, "ensures that you don't try anything stupid.  It would be a real pity if something **nasty** were to happen to a pretty face like yours…"

The woman appeared unfazed by his words.  She stood quietly opposite, the pool cue held across the front of her thighs, and her jade eyes watching them from across the table.  A curious wisp of a smile flickered across her lips.

Suddenly, with incredible speed she kicked out at the corner of the table, her foot making direct contact with the bottom of the table pouch, sending a pool ball rocketing up into the air.

In a simultaneous fluid motion she swung out with the thick end of the cue like a bat.  The crack of the wood as it impacted with the ceramic ball carried loudly across the room.  The ball ricocheted with a blinding speed directly into the crowd, straight into the face of a bullish thickset guy standing near the bar.  A spray of blood flicked out from his broken face into those standing nearby, and he dropped like a felled tree.  There was a distinct metallic thump of a gun falling from under his coat as he hit the ground.

The two hustlers just stared in horrified shock at their partner.

Without waiting for their reaction she grabbed the edge of the pool table and with a gymnastic grace, swung herself under the structure.  She slid across the floor on her back, coming to rest between the two men.  Swinging her legs up over her head and back, and using her shoulders, she flipped up to a standing position.

With a sinuous grace and speed she threw the stick down in front, at the last moment kicking it up at the taller of the two men.  It impacted him squarely in his solar plexus, winding him, causing him to choke for breath.  The stick rebounded off his chest back into her waiting hand.  Using both hands she spun the cue across her body, before slamming it into the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

Twisting the stick over her wrists like a baton, she spun sideways and turned to face the smaller hustler, who was starting to advance towards her.  She lifted the cue above her head, and then brought it down hard, slamming it into the edge of the table.  It splintered and split width-wise across its centre.  Rending the two halves apart, so that they became two separate weapons, she proceeded to twirl them around her wrists, one in each hand.  Her face was an impassive mask, but her eyes glittered with a hunters' zeal as she moved towards him.

With an awesome display of fighting skills she began to pummel the remaining hustler.  Thumping him across his face with first one, and then the other stick, until he was a senseless wreck.  His face a bloodied mess he uttered a garbled moan before collapsing onto the floor.

***

The room was utterly still, every eye was trained on the woman as she stood above the two fallen men.

Despite obliterating her opponents, she still maintained a fighting stance carefully studying the crowd, waiting to see if any other adversaries came forth to challenge her.  She only relaxed her stance when she'd assessed that there was no immediate threat.

As if by silent agreement the crowd started to disperse.  Although there was a tangible sense of satisfaction from the onlookers – the regulars appreciated a good fight when they saw one - it wasn't the kind of place that was "witness" friendly.  Most of the patrons strictly adhered to the Three Monkey motto – they neither saw, heard nor talked about anything…unless they were offered the right price of course.

Watching the onlookers move away, she tilted her head from side to side an audible snapping pop rang out, as she released the tension in her neck.  She carefully placed the sticky wooden batons on the pool table, before reaching out to collect the pile of money.  With a quick movement she bundled the notes into a roll and stashed them back down the front of her vest.

Glancing quickly about her once more, she seemed satisfied that it was safe to move away from her nearest weapons.  Walking with a confident grace she made her way towards the door, passing by Ben as she did so.

As she moved past him, Ben noticed that there was a slight spattering of tiny blood flecks across the porcelain of her cheek, creating a simulated blush on her skin.  Apart from that she showed no signs of having just taken on three guys single-handedly.  She'd barely broken a sweat.

There was something about her demeanour though that he couldn't quite place at first – and then it hit him.  She looked…*Relieved?  No…more like…_sated_.  I think it was the _fight_ she'd wanted all along – the money was just a bonus.  Interesting…*

He watched as she walked out the door, patiently counting out a period of time in his mind, before casually rising from his chair.  He threw some money down on the counter, and tossed back the remainder of his drink, grimacing slightly as the bitter liquid burned his throat.  Making his way to the bar entrance he felt a strange excitement pass through him.  A tight smile broke across his features.

*Time for a family reunion…*


End file.
