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CHAPTER 9

Somewhere near Keslow, Colorado

2125 Hours, August 20** th ***, 2052*

Warren shook his head groggily as he awoke sprawled out on a floor. His head was pounding and every fibre of his being ached. He couldn't feel his tail, feet, or ears, the nerve endings overloaded and still attempting to recover. He shuddered uncontrollably, and not because it was cold. Warren's eyes had trouble focusing as he tried to get a sense of his surroundings from his spot on the ground.

He was in a basement or a cellar, not the one he had been knocked out in, and was shackled by a long chain bound to a set of cuffs about his wrists. The chain led to a metal support column that rose from the floor in the centre of the open room from the cement floor and terminated at a wide wooden support beam overhead. A pulley system was rigged up so that the chain could be shortened by a small mechanical winch. It was only about a meter long currently if it were pulled taught. The room itself was not decorated or furnished in any way save for a bucket at what looked to be the end of his securing chain's reach and a small drain to one side of the room where a washer and dryer had been torn out, the wires and dust squares still present. The walls were whitewashed and completely barren and a set of framework stairs were tucked off to one corner below a trapdoor that lead upwards. A small bulb flickered from just above him and provided the only light for the room, which was far from enough to illuminate the entire area. Shadows gathered around the edges and met in the distant corners to create deep holes in Warren's perception.

Warren noted the fact that he was now mostly naked, the armour and the majority of his clothing stripped off. Only an undershirt and his boxers remained on his body. If it weren't for his fur, he figured that he would have been cold.

His arms were fastened behind his back and it was a struggle to sit upright. He managed it by rocking slightly until he had enough momentum to tip forwards and spread himself out into a stable position. His vision swam as he sat up, and he took a moment to let it settle. As Warren clenched his eyes shut, he took notice of how swollen his tongue was. He spun it around in his mouth to see what had happened and winced as it brushed up against his teeth. From the pain he deduced that he had bitten through it in pain and the taste and smell of blood could easily confirm his hypothesis.

The right side of his lower jaw was crusty with the dried crimson and he rubbed it up against his chest absently. The blood flaked off in small flakes as he thought about his situation. He was weak, almost naked, devoid of any arms, bound, and had no idea where he was or what time it was. In short, he was helpless. It was the first time in a long time that Warren had felt that way and he hated it.

"WHAT, YOU COULDN'T FINISH ME OFF, YOU FUCKER!?!" he roared in anger. With his swollen tongue it sounded more like "Wa, oo coouldn fffinishhh ay ophh, 'ou ucker?"

He tried pulling at the chain but he was too weak to even cause any serious vibration through the metal post. Warren roared out again, this time in an unintelligible ramble of frustration. His anger left him suddenly and he breathed heavily and retreated to sit against the post. He tried to curl his tail out from under him but but it was unresponsive, leading to him sitting on it before rolling over to alleviate the sudden pain. He grimaced and shook his rear end to sway it out manually as he sat up again. It came to a rest at an odd angle away from him, mocking him with his complete lack of control.

"Fuck..." he sighed as he drew up his knees and settled his brow on them. "phuck..."

He sat there for what seemed like an eternity before he heard the trapdoor's hinges squeal as it was opened. The sound was muffled, his ears having likewise lost responsiveness and failing to swivel towards the origin of the high-pitched noise. His eyes had better luck and he watched as the hatch was opened outwardly and a gust of cold air ran through the cellar. Two figures descended the steps, one the older man from earlier. He still had his 'cane' with him and his small, hooded eyes staring at him with unhidden scrutiny. The other was a man that Warren never thought that he would see again. Warren struggled to his feet in defiance, his anger managing to fuel his movements.

Lucius Auburn strode purposefully down the steps and stopped just outside of Warren's range. His baleful brown eyes found Warren's and he smiled slightly, his thin face contorting a bit. "Hello again, Warren. Been a while, hasn't it?" Warren's words were a mangled mess but they were discernible.

"Lucias, you bastard! Let me out of here!"

"Hah! So you can kill me?" laughed Lucius, "I think not. No, you are going to answer some questions. Then we'll see about letting you free."

"Questions?!?" spat Warren, fresh blood pattering to the floor from his tongue wound opening up and a feral grin set across his muzzle. Some of it hit Lucius' face. "What the hell do you want to know?!? How the sex with your mother was?!?!"

Lucius wiped the blood and spittle from his face calmly and kicked out at Warren's right knee. His heavy boot cracked into Warren's kneecap with a sickening crunch and he grunted and groaned as he hit the floor, the chain almost making his arms become disjointed as he had fallen forwards. "We can do this two ways, Warren. It would be easier for all of us if you cooperate." Lucius smiled evilly as Warren glared up at him. "After all, we don't want you in too bad of shape by the end of all of this. Do you know why?"

Warren remained mute.

"Because," said Lucius, " after you answer our questions I intend to sell you, like the animal you are, to the highest bidder."

This made Warren's rage surge forth again. "I swear upon my very existence that you will pay for this with your life."

He received a sharp kick in the chest for his words that drove the wind from his lungs. "Now now, Warren," said Lucius as he leaned over Warren's gasping form, "I don't think that you are in any position to make threats. If I'm not mistaken, you recognize Walter here?" He gestured to the elderly man.

Warren nodded as he coughed.

"Good. Then I'll spare the introductions. And I'm rather sure that you know what he did?"

Another spite-filled nod.

"Very good." Lucius turned to the man and bowed his head a bit. "I will leave you to it then, doctor."

The ex-Pheonocian left, treading back up the stairs and disappearing out into darkness, leaving the old man and Warren alone. The man cleared his throat and his speech emerged with a rasping tone.

"Warren."

"Doctor." said Warren, his words dripping in disgust.

"You have been away for a long time 19. After you went dark, I feared that you were dead." said the man with a sort of clinical detachment.

"At the moment, I wish I was." replied the fur with e vehement glare.

The man gave a small chuckle as he reached into a side pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small syringe. "That is not a happy thought." He shook the syringe and flicked it. A small spurt of liquid hit the floor and he looked at Warren again. "Do you know what this is, number 19?"

Warren shook his head, a dread fear encircling his heart.

"This is a derivative of SP-117, a truth serum, in layman terms. It was made by the Russians many years ago during the cold war and has proven very effective." The old man nodded. "The best part of it is that after all of this, you will think that you had only fallen asleep and told us nothing."

Warren's heart skipped a beat. What would he ask? Why did he want to know? Could he fight the drug? He wasn't feeling too confident.

"Now," said the man, looming closer towards Warren's crumpled form and brandishing the syringe as if it were one of his self-rolled cigarettes, "Good night, number 19."

**

Keslow, Colorado

2320 Hours, August 20** th ***, 2052*

Marcus strode purposefully back to the hotel, his heart heavy. He had just finished a patrol around the entire circumference of the town looking for any trace of either Warren or that mysterious old man. He had come up completely empty, not so much as the smallest lead or hint as to where his squadmate had disappeared to. Marcus slipped the keys for the Escalade into a pocket and sighed mightily.

He stepped up the small veranda that fronted the hotel and stopped to lean on the rail for a while. The porch light behind him only illuminated a small portion of the street, the streetlights themselves offline to conserve power, but that was okay. The robotic eye- he still had trouble calling it 'his' robotic eye- could see well enough in the dark. Small receptors sent the captured image from the lens were sent to his spliced ocular nerve in a series of electrical micro-pulses modelled after the same patterns that a normal eye sent naturally. From there, Marcus's brain interpreted the pulses and it showed up as if it were from his old, now obliterated, eye. As much as he loathed it, Marcus had to admit that it did have its advantages. The night vision setting had proven quite useful, as had the direct neural uplink with his armour. Winking was still a problem, however. And sleeping... Marcus couldn't quite sleep all that well yet. Not because of the pain; any of that he felt was purely through memory. It just didn't feel right. It was almost, but not quite, like sleeping with one eye open. Even though the lens closed, it almost felt as if he were still looking around.

Marcus turned as he heard the front door open.

"Hey," said Sam by way of greeting, "how's it going? Any sign of him?"

Marcus didn't answer verbally, instead shaking his head and turning back to look out on the quiet town.

"That bad, huh?" She sidled up next to him, a little closer than Marcus was used to. "Don't worry," she said, "we'll find him." Marcus remained silent for several seconds, enjoying the sounds of crickets and a lonely owl hooting in the distance, before he answered.

"I've known him for over almost five years. If anyone could ever be considered my friend, it would be him."

"Easy now, Sarge," laughed Sam, "you're making it sound like you have a crush on him."

"What?" laughed Marcus, slipping habitually into the role of the laughing joker, "No, no. I don't bend that way. Besides, I'm taken."

"Oh really?" she asked, "Who's the lucky guy?"

"You're hilarious." sighed Marcus. "Her name's Cindy."

"Oh, you're serious." Marcus thought he detected a hint of disappointment.

"Yeah, I am." he shrugged.

"Well," pressed Sam, "what's she like?"

"She's everything I'm not." he shrugged.

"So, good looking, smart, funny..." Marcus rolled with the blow.

"Yeah. She is."

Sam smiled. "How come I've never heard of her before?" Marcus sighed, slumping lower to the rail and shaking his head.

"I try to keep her separate from my life, from this." He thudded his prosthetic arm on his chestplate to indicate what he meant. "She deserves better."

"It sounds like she's pretty lucky to me." she smiled weakly. Somewhere an animal knocked over a trashcan and the echo rattled around for a few moments.

"You know," said Marcus, "I haven't heard from her since the first riots." Sam gasped.

"Marcus.... That's two years ago! Wha- how- why not?"

Marcus was silent again, he himself not entirely sure why.

"Did you even try and contact her?" she asked, reaching for his shoulder in an effort to comfort him.

"Yeah," he caught her significantly smaller hand in his larger prosthetic gently and pushed it slowly aside, "I did. Whenever we weren't out trying to cause trouble or save somebody, I tried. I tried a lot." Sam could tell that he was getting close to clamming up. This was something he had been thinking about for a while, it seemed.

"I never received a reply. All of that time trying everything to talk to her, to make sure she was okay, and I don't even get a reply." He didn't sound sad, instead taking more of a neutral tone.

Sam didn't know what to say. Marcus continued with his disheartening retelling of events.

"And now she's gone. Owen's gone. Lily, Sasha, both of them. And now Warren. They're all gone. And I can't help but feel as if it's partially my fault."

"Marcus..." she said softly, knowing the path that such thinking could take him on, "it's not your fault."

Marcus just turned his lupine head to stare blankly at her. "I try to tell myself that. I do. God knows, I do. But every time I try, only a single word comes to mind: liar."

The smaller-by-comparison woman just watched him for a moment, trying not to let her gaze drift to his prosthetic eye that glowed with a faint red light. "Marcus..."

"No," he sighed, cutting any further attempts of reassurance, "don't try and make me feel better. I just need some time alone. I need to think." Sam sighed and turned on her heel back towards the door.

"Sam," said Marcus as she reached for the door, "Thanks for trying." She stopped and answered without looking back.

"No problem." Then she opened the wooden door and left his company.

Marcus stood up and decided to get some rest for the next day's work. He reached for the door with his right hand and he winced as a memory of immeasurable pain surged up into his brain. He clenched his fist, the fingers clicking as they closed. Life hurts. Sometimes it hurts a lot.

As he entered the motel after her, he found himself thinking about his seemingly lost girlfriend and the last moment they had spent together.

**

Pearson International Airport, Toronto, Ontario, Canada

1400 Hours, November 12** th ***, 2049*

"And you promise that you will call?" murred Cindy, Marcus's girlfriend, as she reached up to put her arms behind his neck in a loving embrace. The rust-red fur of her arms brushed against his coarse grey neck fur and he leaned downwards to hug her. The considerably smaller fur moulded into his larger frame and she gave a low purr of affection. The top of her head barely reached his neck. That included her attentive ears that were focused completely on him.

"Of course," he breathed as he closed his eyes briefly for a hug, "Every day."

"Almost done?" interrupted Owen from the gate entrance ahead of the couple. The smile on his face said that he knew damn well that Marcus would still be a while. Warren waited more patiently for him to be done, his kitbag slung over one shoulder and a tablet in the other.

It had been two days since Owen and Marcus had came personally to Marcus's house to inform him of their next mission in Colorado. They were about to fly out on a chartered plane from Toronto and Cindy had come to see him of. The red fox fur was the same one that he had met several years before on the night that the legislation that made him a full-fledged citizen had been signed and declared official. Since then, the two had become incredibly close and Marcus had been planning to propose to her next month. As luck would have it, he would have to wait until the Denver mission was completed.

Cindy had come, dressed in an expensive black windbreaker that Marcus had given her a few months ago and a pair of khakis, to see him off. Since the terminal gate was clear of any markings and a ticket had not been necessary, Owen had allowed it. He had known that she wouldn't tell anybody, but he was strictly about protocol when it came to flights and transport arrangements. Her blue eyes twinkled in the sunlight that streamed through a large wall of glass to her right. She knew Owen personally due to her closeness to his second in command, Marcus, and could tell when he was joking.

"Give me a second here!" shouted Marcus, "Unlike you, I have somebody to say goodbye to!" The jab worked, apparently, as Owen shut up quickly and a strange expression crossed his face. Warren looked up from the tablet for a second and the faint ghost of smile played at the edge of his mouth.

"And Marcus," grinned Cindy, her honeyed voice taking on the slightest tone of mischief, "I've got a present for you for on your latest trip to save the world."

"Oh," smiled Marcus, looking down at her lovingly and pressing his broad nose against hers, "And what would that be?"

"Nothing much," she demurred, "just a little bit of something that I know you love as much as me."

"Hmm..." chuckled Marcus, "that doesn't leave much for me to guess at."

Cindy took on an air of presentation as she reached inside of her jacket and withdrew a hand-sized bottle of something. Marcus tried to sneak a peak at it before she hid it behind her back, bushy tail swaying, but failed. "Ah ah ah!" she said, "No peaking! Now, close your eyes."

Marcus closed his eyes but opened one slightly to try and see his present early. He received a light smack on the muzzle for his trouble. "I said eyes closed, Alpha. Sometimes I find it hard to see you as a soldier..."

It was only a few seconds before she let out a small yelp of excitement and told him that it was okay to open his eyes. When his eyelids flicked open, he was greeted by an enormous grin and a slightly lolling tongue. Underneath that, in her hands, was a rounded bottle filled with an amber liquid. He didn't even need to look at the label to know what it was.

"Crown Royal?" asked Marcus.

Crown Royal was Marcus's favourite alcohol. A brand of whisky, it was notoriously hard to come by anywhere outside of Canada and America in any decent quantities. Since she had no idea where he was going due to the need for secrecy, she had thought it a thoughtful gift. It was, and Marcus deeply regretted what he had said.

Cindy looked absolutely devastated, her arms dropping limply to her sides. "You don't like it?" she asked.

Marcus smiled, suddenly aware of how he might have sounded, "Nonono! I love it!" She didn't look all that convinced. "What I'm disappointed in is that you think I love it as much as you."

"Nice cover, big guy." she frowned, the black, triangular markings on her muzzle warping slightly.

"No, honestly!" he said, knowing he had screwed up royally without trying to, "You know I like it. Even those other two idiots know that." He took the bottle from her saddened hands and tucked it into his bag that lay at his feet. After zipping up his bag, he turned back to her and wrapped her reluctant form into another hug. "Plus," he purred, "I also know that that was what you had in your glass when we first met."

"Marcus," she laughed, "I can't even remember that!"

"I do." he said. He gave her a small lick-kiss on the top of her muzzle. Mollified, Cindy broke the hug and gave him a shrug with her slight shoulders.

"You'd better go. Your CO is waiting." she sighed as she crossed her arms across her generous bust.

"Yeah." he sighed, "I'll see you again in a few weeks, okay?"

She nodded warmly. "I'll be here. And do me a favour, Marcus?"

"Anything." he replied as he hefted his kit bag up onto his shoulder and subconsciously ran through a mental checklist of things that he needed.

"Stay safe." she said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

"Always."

"Then I will see you in a while."

**

Keslow, Colorado

2336 Hours, August 20** th ***, 2052*

Marcus collapsed into his bed without so much as a word to any of the others. He had stripped out of his armour and managed to find a clean pair of boxers in his kit bag. The plates and undersuit of his power armour were now scattered about the other bed in the small room, Sam and Paul having decided to leave him be for a while.

He stared up at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, laying atop the bedsheets, eventually turning his attention to a moth that fluttered about the room erratically from one light source to another in a mad dash to orientate itself.

He had fallen into bed the moment that he was ready to and neglected to go to each light and turn it off individually. The horridly annoying task so typical to hotels around the globe had seemed like something that would only piss him off more.

Eventually it wound its way to the small light on the nightstand next to where Marcus lay. It flicked up under the cream lampshade. He moth cast a shadow on the inside so that all Marcus saw of the little furry insect was a black mass that danced and frolicked across the shade.

Slight smacking sounds could be heard from inside as the moth clattered lightly off of the bulb in its vain search for the moon. Finally, it settled on the inside of the shade and upside down, bringing the originally indistinct shadow of the moth into crisp focus and allowing Marcus to get a good 'look' at it.

It was a small moth, no larger than Marcus's thumbclaw. It had large bristled feelers about the length of its body protruding from a small beady head. Its wings were folded back into a rest position and gave the body a tapered look. To Marcus, it looked almost depressed.

Normally, Marcus would have taken pity on the small bug, but he had too much to think about right now. "Get used to it," muttered Marcus, "you are probably gonna live the rest of your life here in this room."

The moth didn't respond, of course. Marcus hadn't expected it to, but he continued anyways. "Nothing but false light is in there, you know. The real thing is outside."

The moth startled him as it took off once more and flew about his head, the faint beating of its wings whispering about his ears. Marcus's prosthetic eye clicked, the sound almost as quiet as the moth, and it flew off to land on the wall above him. It once more landed upside down, giving him the impression that it was watching him. Now that he could see it without anything in the way and at rest, he saw that it was brown and the wings had a botched, almost cow-like, appearance.

"You'll get no help from me." said Marcus solemnly. For a second, it looked almost as if the moth had quivered by way of reply. "Find your own way out."

The moth took flight once more and this time made it to the far window. It flew against it for a few seconds, fluttering about madly, the only thing blocking it from the air outside a thin pane of glass. It took a while, but it finally admitted defeat and landed on the sill at the base of the window. Almost as if wistful, it placed a single thin forelimb on the cool glass. Outside, the moon beckoned loudly for its small zealot.

Finally, Marcus's good side surged to the fore. "Fine," he hissed as he sat upright and pulled himself somewhat unsteadily to his feet. He slowly walked over to the window, almost tripping on a boot, before settling down next to the moth.

He watched it for a while as it sat there, looking out at its one dream. He sighed heavily. "Here you go." He lifted the small latch in the centre of the sill and slid the pane upwards, letting in the scents and sounds of the night.

As it turned out, the glass wasn't the only barrier for the insect, as it smacked head-first into a thin screen. It seemed dazed and clung to the mesh in what appeared to be confusion.

Now Marcus was determined to see the success of the moth's mission. He thought for a moment before remembering his knife that lay in the middle of the bed behind him. He turned around and reached out, grasping the knife's sheath and tugging it towards him. Without ceremony, he pulled the blade out of the mesh and gripped it loosely in his augmetic hand.

"There we go, little guy." he said as he made a small hole in the screen with the tip of his knife. He looked to where the moth had been, but the bug was gone. There was no way that it had gotten out that quick; he would have seen it beyond a doubt. He cast his gaze about the hotel room, looking for any sign of the winged insect.

Even with his enhanced vision, he saw no sign of the intrepid moth.

**

Somewhere near Keslow, Colorado

0054 Hours, August 21** st ***, 2052*

Warren came to on the frigid cement floor and threw up what little there was in his stomach. The vomit ran slowly towards the drain, several chunks lodging on the floor and sticking fast. The smell was awful, and the taste was even worse. It was very acidic and tasted nothing like what he had eaten previously. He moaned. And he remembered.

How was not really in the forefront of his mind, but it could easily have been any number of things. It could have been a tainted batch, the drug may not have been administered properly, the amount needed could have been misjudged, any of these options could have been possible. But Warren didn't care.

Somehow, he remembered what had happened. He couldn't stop himself at the time, nor had he even been aware of what was happening at the time, but now he remembered that he had answered every question that the old waste of life had posed. Everything.

He had given away troop details. Serial keys. Security clearances. The last known location of his squadmates. The precarious situation in Denver. What he had done in the last few years. Who he felt for. The last one surprised him more than a little bit. At first, he couldn't believe it, even trying to dismiss it as a frighteningly realistic dream. Then the pure clarity of the memories had broken through and the feeble illusion was blown away in the face of the blaring truth.

Warren shuddered at what he had done, drawing up into a ball on the cruelly frigid floor, the chain clinking and clattering as he moved. It opened up the new cross-hatching of cuts that brandished his right shoulder where he had pulled away from the needle and they began to weep crimson tears. He had betrayed them all. He became numb to everything. The cold, growing hunger, aching thirst, nothing drew his attention. He became what he felt he was; worthless. A coward. Disloyal. Nothing.

This comatose state slipped over him for several hours before his eyes picked something up; something he hadn't noticed before. To anyone else, it was a simple nail lying a few scant feet away from him that somebody had failed to sweep up. To Warren, it was salvation. It was freedom. It was a way to make things right. It was death.

**

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

1004 Hours, August 21** st ***, 2052*

"Hey, John! Wait up!" came a coarse shout from behind John as he set out from the house towards the resort town. Owen jogged to catch up to him as he strode down the shallow slope towards the town for another search for a radio. He drew up to him, John still walking at a leisurely pace.

"Going for a walk?" asked his adopted commanding officer.

"Yeah," he said, "I was thinking of checking for some transport somewhere. All this damned walking is getting old."

"Good idea." agreed Owen as he unzipped his hoodie. John cringed at the motion, finding the weather a bit cold for his liking up here.

Several moments of awkward silence followed as they strode purposefully towards the main resort grounds. John was watching a bird as it flew past and perched upon a branch two thirds up a pine tree to their right when Owen spoke up.

"John," he asked, "do you think that what Sasha and I have could ever work? You know, do you think we could ever really have something normal?" John was caught off-guard. He hadn't expected any question of that calibre. He found himself thinking that the rumours about Phoenix Squad that perpetrated the ranks of the Humanist forces before his sudden departure from their ranks were far from the truth.

When he had been a part of the Humanist forces, Phoenix Squad were the single most cutthroat band of highly-qualified soldiers that the gene forces had at their disposal. Crazy tales of their discipline, ferocity in combat, and martial prowess had circulated among the soldiers on the other side (with the gift of hindsight, John now believed that they had probably been started by the squad itself to gain an edge) and instilled a sense of nervousness in the ranks of common soldiery. It hadn't helped that the vast majority of the Humanist forces were comprised mostly of common, untrained personnel whose morale was horrendously low to begin with.

All the stories reported that they could not be killed, a trait common to the tales of a superior fighting force. They told of single individuals of the squad taking on entire squads of Humanist troopers to emerge unscathed and surrounded by bodies because of their powered armour. They said that the armour was impervious to most forms of attack and gave them a set of seemingly incredible and awesome abilities. Though he was now counted amongst their number, he had to admit that though the power armour was rather incredible, many of the tall tales were just that, especially the one where a member of the squad was said to have ripped the barrel off of a LAV with his bare hands. It was still armour, and he had witnessed it fail enough to know that it was far from indestructible despite its many beneficial traits.

Some of the rumours alluded to the fact that they had once been an Expeditor detachment, a name that, at the time, hadn't set any bells ringing in his head. Now, not only had that title been explained and expanded upon for him, giving him an idea of what they were trained to do, but it had been proved correct. He imagined that this wasn't something that the Phoenicians had wanted spread, rather something that the common troops had correctly surmised of their own accord.

But the ones that he found himself freshly balking at were the ones that claimed that they felt no emotion.

"What?" asked John, confusion tainting his voice and making it come out almost broken. "Why would you want my opinion? Besides, I thought we covered this the... ah... other night."

"Honestly, Ferris," sighed Owen, blinking sagely, "I have no clue why I'm asking. I guess I'm a little surprised is all. I had thought about it before, sure, but I never really expected it. Especially not now, at any rate."

John nodded as he recalled how surprised Owen, who he had referred to as Smith at the time, had been when Sasha had kissed him before they had left in the QTR to Invesco and subsequently declared her love for him. "You know, I don't think I could answer. Normal is probably out of the question, but I haven't known either of you long enough to know what you have. And.. uhh... she didn't give me the best first impression; neither of you did. Between the two of you I was captured and beaten." Owen smiled.

"I suppose not. Sorry about that... I hope you've come to see us differently, though."

John certainly did. They were far from the mark of the purpose-bred killers that the Humanists saw them as. They were more mortal now.

"But I do know that you certainly seem to be hitting it off pretty well." said John as he kicked a pebble and it went clattering ahead of them on the road.

Owen nodded to himself. "Have you ever fallen in love?" he asked.

John frowned. "No. Well, not seriously, at any rate. There was a girl a couple of years back, but that's long over."

"Huh," smiled Owen, "Not for lack of trying, I hope?"

"Nah," shrugged John, "I just never met the right woman for me."

"Fair enough." replied Owen.

**

Several minutes later, the two soldiers had reached the small suburban area and again noticed that there was not a single vehicle of any sort anywhere. John thought that it was odd for there to be several streets lined with houses without any cars or trucks around, but he speculated that it was normal for a resort town in the off season. There were, however, several vehicles in the staff lot marked quite plainly with the resort's logo which they were now looking into with a glimmer of hope, but they had hit another metaphorical brick wall there. As it turned out, hot wiring a car wasn't on Owen's list of skills and John had never had a reason to learn anything of the sort.

"What kind of spec-ops agent doesn't know how to hot wire a car?" asked John, disbelief dripping from his words.

"We have tech for that." shrugged Owen as he clambered out of the cab of a white Ford pickup and stretched out his neck, producing an audible pop. "Tech that, though oddly expensive, is rather fragile and prone to breaking under the force of a rather jarring collision. Say, the likes of which we experienced a few nights ago, maybe?"

"Well this is just great. I assume that the others don't have any spare equipment?" said John as he checked the ignition of the next vehicle in line, an SUV laden down with ladders, cables, and other maintenance accessories. No luck there, either.

"Nope." responded Owen. "At least, not that they had thought they needed before we left. Hell, I wouldn't even trust Sasha to drive with any certainty. Lily can, mind you, but in a way I'd attribute as reckless at the best of times."

"Wouldn't the keys be inside the building?" came a cheery voice from the entrance to the small parking lot, "And my driving is not reckless." Lily joined them as they came out around the front of the row of vehicles. She was dressed in a simple blue shirt embossed with the same logo as the vehicles and a white pair of shorts.

"Fine," smiled Owen, "it's suicidal. And we checked the lodge and the outbuildings. No keys. My guess is that management took them with them when they left to make sure nobody stole them. Ignorant bastards."

"Where's Sasha?" asked John.

"Back at the condo watching the mutt." she replied with a half-nod back the way she had came.

"Huh. I guess she likes Romulus a bit more than she let on." said Owen with an air of relief barely perceptible to the others. The thought lightened his mood to an extent that would only be visible to the likes of others not present at the moment.

"Maybe she sees him as a trial run?" offered Lily, with an all too innocent blink that suggested that she was being quite the opposite. John failed to hide a smile completely and looked as if he had just eaten something that had started off amazingly sweet but which had ended in a spectacular bitterness.

Owen simply shrugged, not wanting to pursue that direction of conversation. Truth was, he honestly had no idea what to think about the topic. It was a common thought that a gene project couldn't possibly bear the offspring of a human, but it wasn't quite true.

The pure fact of the matter was that it was a possiblity for a gene project to become pregnant, but it was far from an ordinary occurrence. As far as Owen understood it, it was similar to how some animals that shared the same basic genetic structure with only a few small differences, such as a dog and a wolf or a horse and a donkey, can produce offspring. Since a gene project was essentially just a mutation on the human genetic structure and many gene project classes shared the same number of chromosomes as a human, it was all a matter of chance. It was a relatively simplistic view of it, but Owen was no biologist and simply decided to leave his knowledge of the topic to its current state of blissful vagueness.

"Whatever floats her boat." he said sardonically.

"Any of these things have a CB?" asked Lily in order to lighten up on Owen a bit.

"No." said John, patting the hood of the pickup, "the workers probably relied on personal comms around the camp."

"Crap." she huffed with a flick of an ear. "So we still have nothing that would work to contact the others? How about a comms room?"

"No." replied Owen. "Well, at least not one we've found yet." They stood there for what seemed like a long while, just taking in the sounds of birds calling and the rays of the shining sun that had peeked for a while out from behind the low cloud cover. Despite its presence, the air was still frigid enough to give pause to walking around without a sweater. The mountains were peaceful today. A far cry from elsewhere, thought John.

Owen decided to take another look inside the main resort chalet, that he had cleared of Romulus's deceased family the day before as a sign of respect, thinking that maybe they had missed something earlier. John and Lily watched him go, finding themselves without anything to discuss. It wasn't tension or any other conversational barrier; it was an actual lack of common ground. They both had absolutely nothing in common besides the situation they now found themselves in and their now-shared occupation. Lily broke first.

"We have nothing in common, do we?" she asked, a nervous laugh erupting from her throat. John found himself smiling after a few short moments and joined her in laughter.

"Not a single thing." agreed John.

"It's not like you just bleed conversation." she jabbed.

"Hah! I don't?" scoffed John. "You've got to be worse than me!"

"Maybe," she demurred, "but at least I try."

"What, you think I don't?" sputtered John.

"Well, for example, that little drunken tale the other night was about the only thing that let me know who you are."

"HAH!" he spat in good humour, "How about you trying? I don't recall you sharing! If I remember right, you passed out halfway through my story."

"Well-"

"I'VE GOT IT! I'VE FUCKIN' GOT IT!" Lily was cut off from a smart reply by Owen as he came running towards them, a small printout in his hands. He was shouting in jubilation, as he approached and completely stalled the conversation on the lack of conversation.

"You've got what, exactly?" asked Lily as she flicked her hair away from her eyes.

"A way to get the hell out of here." said Owen triumphantly, spreading the rolled up piece of paper on the hood of the Ford next to John.

"Oh, really?" smirked John. "Last I heard, paper air planes don't generally work to transport people." Owen cuffed him on the back of the head lightly to show his lack of amusement.

"No, they don't." he said. "But a radio can call in for an extraction. From a real form of transport."

"I thought our radios don't have the range." put in Lily as both she and John clustered around the diagram that was now spread before them.

"Ours don't," said Owen, his voice growing more rapid as a smile slowly emerged and an idea began to formulate, "but the ones at the comms station would definitely cut it. If I guessed right, this little map here could show us where it is."

"You found a map to it?" asked John as he got the gist of what he was looking at.

"Oh, kind of. Yes," replied Owen after reading a brief inscription at the base of the paper, "I think I have. I found this map, well, more like a schematic, in a maintenance room on the wall. I never looked in there before because had assumed it was just a janitorial closet of some sort. Turns out it was a storage room for the blueprints and technical data accumulated over the years. It highlights every little bit of this resort since construction, including the communication control room."

Lily and John exchanged glances as Owen poured over every detail of the schematics with a feverish obsession bordering on the insane. Both grinned, practically from ear to ear, as Owen muttered under his breath about something or other. It went without saying that they would be glad to get out of this place, even if it meant returning to the city and incoming gunfire.

"Aha! Perfect!" exclaimed Owen as he thumped a hand down on the hood in celebration."There it is!"

Lily took a moment to look at the sheet and find out what he had seen, but saw noting more than topographical data and the bare diagrams of several buildings. Numbers, obviously graphical coordinates, were scattered in an organized randomness on the page and she couldn't make neither head nor tail of it. "Uhh... Where?" she asked.

"Up there, of course." said Owen as he extended an arm theatrically so that it was pointing towards the grown-in ski runs stretched out above them in smooth gradients down the side of the valley wall. "Apparently, our radio set is at the chalet located at the top of the Razorback run."

"All the way up there?" asked John with a more than disappointed moan, "That's a long way up."

"We could take the chairlift." suggested Lily.

"Assuming they are in working order after two years without maintenance. I don't want to chance our survival on an old machine now that we are so close." supplied Owen. This drew yet another groan from John and a slight whimper from Lily. "Oh, come on. It's not that far. Only a few kilometres. Plus, the chalet is pretty nice too; not a bad spot to wait for a chopper."

In truth, the comms room was about two and a half miles, or just over four kilometres, up the mountainside perched off to the side of the longest run where the slope plateaued a little bit before continuing. The trek would be made that much harder because of the fact that the run was not really all that shallow.

"How long will that take? The extraction, I mean?" asked John. Even as he said it, he knew that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"No idea." shrugged Owen, "But I guarantee it's going to be faster than walking out."

"Depends on how busy things in Denver are." said Lily, being far more helpful than Owen, "Keep in mind that we are presumed dead and there is more than likely still a war going on. I'd say that a few soldiers up in the mountains in the lap of luxury ranks a bit lower than somebody bleeding out downtown on the evac scale."

"As much as I hate to admit it, she's right. We could be waiting for a while." added Owen as he started to roll up the map. He tucked it into a pocket at his side and patted it absently.

"So we could still be waiting here for another few days is basically what you're saying." John was starting to regret switching sides. At least with the Humanists there was no serious lack of vehicles. Then again, a few more days away from the fighting wouldn't be all that bad. Provided he could get some decent conversation going, that is.

"Got it in one, Ferris." said Owen.

"I'm looking forward to it." he sighed with a small twinge of depression. "Are we going now?"

"Up to you guys," answered Owen, "I'm ready when you are. Not like we have to move much. And it's, what, ten thirty now at the latest. If we get started, we can get up there in a couple of hours at the most, including packing and taking a few breaks along the way."

"What about Romulus?" John was under no illusion that Owen didn't have a plan for that, but he asked anyways hoping to delay the impeding uphill hike. Before the Colonel could answer, though, Lily threw another small tease in to keep him on his toes.

"Let's go ask his adopted mother, I'm sure that she'd find a way to lug her love child up there." she said with a snigger before dodging a small jab to the ribs intended to shut her up.

**