3.03.02

[virtualda]

episode: Virtual Dark Angel episode 3.03

season: Virtual Dark Angel season 3

author:





ACT II



The Atrium, Terminal City

Logan stood in a crumbling inner courtyard that probably had served as an outdoor lunch spot on rare sunny Seattle days before the spill. He breathed in the fresh air, taking respite from the darkness of Terminal City. He sighed rather heavily and began rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. His eyes had started to cross from staring at computers too long and he had taken a walk to stretch his legs and renew his spirits.

Ironically, it had been one of those rare sunny Seattle days, but no sooner had Logan stepped into the courtyard than the sun vanished behind a thick wall of dark and dank clouds. Once again, it was a normal day weather-wise in Seattle. He smiled as the fresh--though toxin-filled--air filled his lungs.

Suddenly, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pants pocket. He reached in, switched on the mini-scrambler he kept attached to his cell, and answered.

"Hello?"

There was a brief silence before he heard a familiar voice say tentatively, "Logan?"

He sighed, having been dreading this phone call. "Hi, Asha." His tone was heavy.

"Look, Logan," she said. "I know I screwed up. You'd think that after all this time with the S1W, I'd know better."

"You'd think," Logan retorted before he could stop himself. He winced at his callousness.

Asha sighed. "I deserved that."

Logan tried to explain himself. "Asha, I told you not to come here. The toxicity levels are dangerous enough, never mind White, his goons, and their spies."

"I should have been more careful," Asha agreed somewhat patronizingly.

"You should have done as you were asked," Logan told her sharply. "You could have gotten us all killed, or worse. Look, Asha, I know that you're sorry, and we appreciate the ammunition and guns you got us. It's going to be a great help when…"

He paused.

"But," he continued, "given everything that's going on, I think that it'd be better if you didn't try to contact me for a while."

"Logan!" Asha began.

"Asha, I've got to go," Logan said quickly. His tone was firm, although it was laced with just a bit of contrition. She was, after all, still a friend. "Keep your head low," he said quietly.

"Stay safe," she advised him, sounding sad and resigned to the fact.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Wait!" she said quickly. "Logan?"

"Yeah?"

She sighed deeply. "Tell…tell Alec and Max that…I'm sorry." Her voice was heavy with sadness and regret. "For everything. I never meant for anyone to get hurt."

He paused. "Okay." Pursing his lips, he said, "Bye, Asha. Take care of yourself."

"Bye."

He returned his phone to his pocket and began walking back into the building. He needed to get back to work.

Outdoors, Terminal City

"Man, I am so glad to be getting out of here. This place is really giving me the creeps." Sketchy, ever the diplomat, was talking to Original Cindy. They were standing next to the sewer entrance they would be using to exit Terminal City. All around was a wasteland of empty streets and garbage. There were no signs of life anywhere. It was an eerie feeling; even the returned sun couldn't brighten the scene.

"Sketchy, if you didn't keep poking your head where it don't belong, maybe they wouldn't be after your ass. But no, you gotta keep takin' pictures, trying to get an interview. Man, they ain't into that…" Original Cindy stopped as she saw Max and Mole approaching.

"Hey, boo, you come to say goodbye? You know I'm coming back and bringing a ton of supplies with me. There's a severe lack of fingernail polish here, and you know this girl has got to look good," Cindy babbled nervously.

Max walked over to Original Cindy and hugged her tightly. She hugged Sketchy goodbye as well. Standing back from her friends, she said, "Be careful, peeps. Mole, I expect you to take care of them for me. No screw-ups. Okay?"

Mole looked disdainfully in Sketchy's direction. Removing the ever-present cigar from his mouth, he said, "The only way that won't happen is if I stuff him into a sack and drag him out. He's pretty useless even for an ordinary." Alarmed, Sketchy backed away a step or two.

Max looked at Mole, her eyes narrowing. Mole shrugged his shoulders. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Okay, people, let's move out. Have to get you home before dinner." With that, Mole opened the manhole cover and waved Original Cindy and Sketchy inside.

"Man, I already don't like this," Sketchy was whining.

"Hush up, Sketchy! You know Max ain't gonna let nothing happen to us, so just chill, aiight? Original Cindy ain't none too happy 'bout this neither, but we're doing it to help Max and her family." Cindy turned to Mole and said, "Let's get going!" Mole looked at them both, snorted, and without another word turned on his heel and led the way into the sewers.

Mole signaled, and two more transgenics appeared out of thin air. He spoke into a comm. "Command, which tunnel is least guarded? We need the shortest route out."

Luke's voice came back, "Scouts report that the left tunnel about half a klick ahead will take you straight to Sector 3. It's the least guarded, probably because the tunnel narrows and the ordinaries don't want to get their feet dirty. From there you can send Original Cindy and Sketchy above ground and they should be able to get back to Jam Pony on their own."

"Listen up, people, we're going to be moving fast. You need to keep up and pay attention." Mole glared at Sketchy. "Got it?"

"I've got it, man, don't worry." Sketchy looked up and saw the party was already twenty meters ahead of him. "Hey, guys, wait up." He started running to catch up and stepped into something soft and squishy. "Oh, man. Gross! I don't even want to know what that is." Sketchy kept running, squishing as he went.

He caught up to the group at the turnoff to Sector 3. "Man, what's that smell? Sketchy! What did you get into?" Original Cindy waved her hand in front of her face to get away from the smell.

"Man, there is all kinds of stuff you don't want to get into down here." Sketchy was trying to rub his shoe off. "It's only on my shoe; it could be worse."

Mole looked disgustedly at Sketchy. "You are a moron. Newsflash, this is a sewer. Keep moving and stay downwind of us." Mole waved to the scouts ahead and the group began moving forward.

Bringing up the rear, Sketchy looked at Mole's back and muttered, "You sound just like my boss."

The small group moved at a fast clip. They came to a junction in the tunnel system and Mole asked quietly, "Luke, can you hear me?" The only answer he received was static. "Damn, must be some interference." Mole hand-signaled the other two transgenics to scout the tunnels ahead. When they returned, Mole signaled for everyone to move out.

Sketchy had been daydreaming about his headline story, and when he looked around again, the group was gone. "Guys," he hissed. "Guys…guys?" He looked in a panic at the three tunnels in front of him.

"Left, I'm sure they said left." Muttering to himself, he took off hurriedly down the left tunnel. As he pelted down the corridor, the stench grew stronger. He hit a slick spot and tripped, falling face-first into the muck. "Oh crap, this completely sucks." He dragged himself upright and turned to find himself face-to-face with Mole. He was so startled that he squeaked and jumped back three feet, falling back into the muck.

Mole grabbed Sketchy and pulled him to his feet. "You moron. If it weren't for your friend, I'd leave your sorry ass here. Now move. We have another two klicks to cover before I can get rid of your smelly ass." Mole unceremoniously pushed Sketchy into a quick trot, and then looked at his hand where he had touched Sketchy. "Crap," he said, trotting after him. They caught up to the others and traveled in silence until Mole signaled the group to halt.

Original Cindy looked up at the manhole above her. "We goin' out here?" she asked. "That gonna be safe?"

"As safe as anywhere. There are a few guards, but we've got a distraction planned. You first, then him." Mole pointed at Sketchy.

Above them, a young man in jeans ran up to the police officer standing guard over the manhole. "Officer! Officer! There's one of those things trying to get into the sewer down the street! Hurry!" The young man ran down the street and the officer followed, talking into his comm as he went.

"It's a go! Move, people, move!" Mole snapped out.

Original Cindy climbed quickly out of the sewer, followed closely by Sketchy. She immediately lost herself in the crowd and started moving toward Jam Pony. Sketchy followed her, a miasma of stench accompanying him down the street.

Command Center, Terminal City

Aveta approached Max, who had found something of a quiet spot in a corner of Terminal City's Command Center to take a quick rest. Returning from his break, Logan had brought her a cup of the substandard horse piss they were calling coffee, which she was drinking with gusto.

With some cotton balls in her ears serving as earplugs to protect against the inevitable noise of the Command Center, Aveta said to Max, "I've got some bad news."

Max's head snapped up in alarm, her respite interrupted.

Aveta sighed. "Original Cindy and Sketchy both came to me today complaining of mysterious rashes. I don't think they're reactions to some bad food rations. I think the toxicity levels are starting to affect them."

"What about Logan?" Max asked grimly.

"The only thing I've been told he complains about is a lack of adequate cooking supplies," Aveta said with a wry smile before quickly sobering. "They need to leave before the effects are irreversible."

"They are leaving," Max agreed, standing. "Original Cindy and Sketchy are leaving to act as convoys for some of the fam in hiding that want to join our little community."

"What about Logan?" the medic queried softly.

Max glanced at Logan and sighed. "He needs to leave. I can't risk putting his life in even more jeopardy." A heaviness hung in the air as Max took one last swig of her coffee, took a deep breath and walked toward Logan, who was good-naturedly trying to explain the computer readouts to Joshua.

"Logan," Max said. "We need to talk."

"Uh oh," Logan said, turning in his chair to face her, grinning with boyish charm. "This sounds serious." His voice was laced with enticement and his eyes twinkled ever so slightly, disarmingly, but the effect was lost on Max, who didn't return his smile.

"It is," Max said. "You and OC and Sketchy need to leave Terminal City. Original Cindy and Sketchy have rashes that could mean the toxins are starting to build up in your systems. You all need to leave before the effects are permanent."

"Original Cindy and Sketchy have left," Logan told her. "After this thing with Normal's transgenics, we won't let those two back in."

"You need to leave too, Logan," Max insisted stubbornly.

"I'm rash-free," he shot back firmly, not missing a beat. "I'm not leaving."

"You could get sick and die!" she hissed angrily. "And I wouldn't even have to touch you for that one!"

"I could get hit by a truck as I cross the street, too," he retorted through gritted teeth. "You need my help and I'm not leaving." He pursed his lips before continuing. "Besides, you know that I can't leave now. Either I die in here, or I die out there for my 'crimes.'" He sighed. "I'm a wanted man. You heard Asha."

"Logan..." Max began, her eyes flashing with the kind of anger only he could elicit.

"Max," he said in response, and pulled on the gloves he always kept handy. "I could die if I forget to do this…" He held up his gloved hands, "…before I do this," he finished, gently brushing some hair from her face with his fingers.

She closed her eyes briefly, seemingly reveling in his touch. "Damn you," she whispered hoarsely, opening her eyes. She looked at him, her expression revealing neither anger nor acceptance. She turned her back to him, throwing her head back a bit as if to relieve tension, and let out a loud sigh. Walking to a nearby support pole, she leaned against it and returned her gaze to his. Her hair fell over one eye so that her expression, which was enigmatic only moments before, now became mysterious and darkly intense.

She took a breath. "All right," she conceded. "You can stay."

A pause.

"For now."

Logan grinned, having won the battle, if not their own personal war. But once again something unspoken seemed to lie between them.

Jam Pony - late morning

Normal paced back and forth, muttering to himself. He had a dozen-plus transgenics on his second floor. Occasionally he glanced furtively at the staircase. "Hot run, 408 Viaduct. Go…get lost… I don't pay you people to lounge…bip bip bi--" Normal's face paled as he saw two people coming down the ramp. "Oh please, God, not more!" he whispered to himself. "Andy, get over here and take this package to 2851 Miller. Now, slacker!"

Andy took the package and left. Normal hissed at the two people now standing at his desk. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

The two people looked askance at each other. "Man, we were just looking for jobs. We heard you had openings," said the older of the two.

"Oh," said a relieved Normal. "I thought you were someone else. Here, fill out these two applications. You can start tomorrow!"

Tinker, the younger of the two, said, "Sir, can we fill out the applications upstairs? If you don't mind."

Normal's face fell. "Take me now, Jesus." He looked skyward as if for help.

Cup a' Joe Coffee Shop, Seattle

Ramon Clemente took a sip of the strong black coffee that a harried waitress had slapped down in front of him and regarded Matt Sung seriously. "Sung, the reason I asked you to come here with me was that I didn't want to have this conversation at headquarters. Too many ears there." He took another sip as Matt waited, sipping his own coffee. "Three weeks ago I assigned you to find more information about Logan Cale. I've been told that you're a damn good detective. Yet in those three weeks you haven't come up with a single new fact about Cale." He stopped and waited.

Matt took a gulp of coffee, buying time. "Sir, I've been trying. Agent White already gave you the same information I've been able to dig up. Nothing new to add yet."

"So you're telling me this man has no friends, no family, no known haunts? Until his apartment was mysteriously trashed by parties unknown, he lived there as a hermit? I find that hard to believe. He had to go out to buy food, he had it delivered, or someone bought it for him. One of the above. Why do I get the feeling that you're stalling me, Detective?"

"I don't know, sir." Matt kept his face impassive. Clemente reached down to his lap and brought out a large envelope.

"Well, I have some more information for you. A search of old hoverdrone files turned these up." Clemente threw four 8 x 10s on the table in front of Sung. One was of two people: a man and a woman, walking side by side down a dark Seattle street. Their faces couldn't be made out, but Matt could see that the man was tall with short, messy hair and the woman had long, dark, wavy hair. The second picture was of the man standing alone. He was looking up at the hoverdrone, face clearly visible in this shot. The final two photos were of the same man, standing on a debris-strewn beach, arms around a woman with long, dark hair. Her face was hidden against his chest, but his could be easily seen as he gazed directly at the hoverdrone.

"These two sets were taken ten months apart, and it appears to be the same woman in each picture. So our friend had a girlfriend, at least for that time period."

"Appears so, sir."

Clemente threw another picture in front of Sung. This one showed Max riding a hoverdrone. Sung waited.

"One last picture. It's the transgenic who turns up rather frequently. Max, I believe her name is," Clemente said conversationally. "What I find very interesting is that her height, build, and hair appear to match that of Cale's girlfriend. A girlfriend who doesn't seem to want her face photographed. What do you have to say to that?"

"Interesting, but hardly conclusive, sir. Could be just a coincidence."

Clemente gave him a sharp look. "I've learned not to believe in coincidences in this business. I believe the woman in these pictures with Cale is Max, the transgenic from the Jam Pony incident--the leader of the group holed up in Terminal City. That puts Cale squarely in their camp. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised to find out that the reason we haven't been able to locate him is that he's still in there with them."

"If what you're saying is true, we aren't going to get our hands on Logan Cale anytime soon," Sung observed.

"Possibly not. But let me leave you with one more thought, Detective Sung. This man made an incredible leap onto the top of a patrol car. He fought alongside the transgenics in the Jam Pony situation. He has been seen and photographed with a known transgenic. Makes me wonder exactly who…or what…he is." Clemente observed somberly.

Sung was clearly startled at the direction of Clemente's thoughts. "But, sir, Cale is a paraplegic. He uses a wheelchair. And his background, his family, it all checks out. The Cales are one of Seattle's leading families."

"Explain how he suddenly shows up fully mobile and performing rather incredible physical feats. Records can be manipulated and planted. You know that as well as I. No, I think there's more to Logan Cale than meets the eye. And I expect you to find out what it is. I want a report, with some answers, on my desk within the month. No more excuses. Is that clear, Detective?" Clemente's voice was hard.

"Yes, sir."

"Finish your coffee. I'll see you back at headquarters." Clemente threw several bills on the table and walked out of the coffee shop, leaving Matt staring at the pictures on the table in front of him.

Jam Pony

It was lunchtime at Jam Pony and, as usual, the messengers were clustered around the big-screen television. Some were sprawled comfortably on the battered sofas, while others sat eating their lunches at the scarred tables that Normal provided.

"BattleBots" was showing, and several of the messengers were betting amongst themselves on the winner of the match. There were loud groans and even a few pieces of food thrown at the screen when it fritzed into the Channel 3 News Flash header, just as one Bot seemed to be winning the match.

"This is Melissa Michelle, live at Terminal City. As Day 31 of the transgenic standoff wears on, police and federal agents maintain their watch. The National Guard is heavily patrolling any and all possible escape routes from Terminal City. Seattle residents, as well as local and national government officials, are all calling for a quick and decisive end to the standoff. But our sources tell us that the police task force, headed by Detective Ramon Clemente, hopes to bring this to a peaceful end by starving the transgenics out and forcing them to surrender and return to military control."

The reporter paused, and Andy called out, "Just let 'em all starve to death in there. Why bother to let 'em out? Freaks."

"We still have no confirmation of previous reports that Terminal City was infiltrated by one or several federal agents. The police department insists that the mobilization of forces we witnessed in week two was in response to reports of a possible transgenic escape. They maintain that upon investigation it was found to be nothing more than several animals scavenging for food."

"Animals is right," Andy commented.

"Shut up, fool. You think Max and Alec are animals?" Sky challenged him. Andy started to reply, but several others glared at him to hush as the reporter continued.

"...which poses the question: how well equipped are the Seattle police to handle such a serious situation?"

"Po-pos are equipped for payola and shakedowns, and that's about it," a female messenger chimed in. Normal walked up just as she spoke and gave her a glare.

"That'll be enough of that, missy-miss." He turned and walked away, muttering to himself, "No respect for authority anymore…"

"As the siege continues on Day 31 at Terminal City, it appears that all parties involved are in it for the long haul. This has been Melissa Michelle for Channel 3 News. Now we take you back to our regularly scheduled programming..."


END OF ACT II

Act III