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Artwork courtesy of Valjean & JensenAcklesFans.com

One of His Own
By Valjean

*****

The street outside the bar was empty, the sidewalk stark white and bare in the moonlight. However, something -- call it an inborn sense -- told Dean that the girl was still nearby. Finding her, however, might not be easy. After all, she’d been trained to hide.

Not in the mood for games, Dean pretended to walk nonchalantly down the street, at the same time taking his own wallet out of his pocket and casually thumbing through a stack of bills. If she was watching him ... and if she was as desperate as he thought she was ... the bait just might work.

She attacked in a blur, moving so quickly an Ordinary would never have been able to stop her. The intent of her move was to shove her victim to the ground and snatch the wallet. However, Dean’s reflexes were even keener than hers. Leaping like a cat out of the way, he grabbed her wrist as she moved by.

“Hey!” she shrieked, eyes as green as Dean’s blazing in the dark with fury. He blocked the blow to his head with a forearm letting her own momentum take her by, swept a foot behind hers, and brought a hand up beneath her chin, tilting her backwards. From there, it was simply a matter of leverage to take his attacker to the ground. Martial Arts 101 ... basic training ...

She was on her feet again in a split second, furious and with murder in her eyes. “So,” she spat, “You think you’re the Karate Kid. Well, guess what, human. You’re still gonna lose ‘cause I’m better.”

Dean’s lips quirked up in a small smile at the words ... words he’d often said or thought himself when fighting cocky Ordinaries. But he honestly didn’t want to hurt her. “Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “You don’t wanna fight me, sweetheart. You’re makin’ a bad--”

She attacked again, and this time her blow landed hard on Dean’s jaw followed by a vicious side kick that caught him right where his ribs still ached from that half-healed bullet wound. Grunting with pain, the X5 doubled over, the amused look in his eyes replaced now by something very primitive. “Cut that out!” he snarled. “I’m not the enemy!”

“Yes, you are,” she hissed. “But all I want is the cash. Hand it over and I’ll let you live.”

Straightening slowly, holding his hand to his aching side but never taking his eyes off of her, Dean decided he’d had enough. “Okay,” he said, his voice holding a dangerous edge. “Playtime’s over.” His attack was clean, efficient, and vicious -- a move that nothing short of a bullet could have stopped. Coiling like the animal/weapon he part was, the X5 whirled with inhuman speed, letting loose with a spinning hook kick that caught the girl hard on the side of the head, knocking her instantly to the ground. Stunned, she looked up as her supposed victim then leaped with preternatural grace to land in a crouch above her. “Engagement rule number four, sweetheart,” Dean said softly as his lips peeled back in a nasty smile. “Never underestimate the enemy.”

Emerald eyes widened. “You’re an X5,” she breathed. “I thought maybe you were one of them ... but you’re not. You’re Manticore.”

“Them?” Dean said, eyebrows drawing down in puzzlement, even as he watched her like a hawk. Although defeated and lying flat on her back, this bitch could still be a danger to him. But suddenly understanding dawned. “No,” he said. “I’m not one of those Snake Cult bastards, although I’ve killed my share of ‘em.”

“So have I,” she said. Then, for the first time, she smiled too -- genuinely -- her freckled face lighting up like a little girl’s. “Damn ... I thought all of your kind were dead ... the X5s I mean. My designation’s X6-472 by the way. But you can call me ‘Hunter’.”

Standing cautiously, Dean held out a hand to her. “X5-494,” he returned. “Dean.”

Her eyes narrowed again in puzzlement as she accepted his help and got to her feet. “494?” she said. “You were one of the hotshots in Terminal City awhile back. But I thought your name was--”

“Sometimes I go by ‘Alec’,” Dean said. “But not today.” She knew by the tone of his voice to lose the questions. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like my brother’s wallet back.”

“Your brother?” Hunter said, her eyes going to the door of the tavern back down the street. “You, I can peg as transgenic -- bein’ so pretty and all -- but that guy you were with was no Freak.”

“It’s a long story,” Dean said. “But he’s still my brother, and I want his wallet back.”

“Hey, a girl needs to make a living,” she replied coyly.

Dean held out his hand. “That’s an order, soldier,” he said, his voice polite but his eyes hardening.

“Yes, sir,” she said with surprising alacrity, immediately reaching into the inner pocket of her black leather jacket and handing over Sam’s billfold. Dean did a quick check of its contents and -- satisfied it was all there -- nodded. Then he peeled off two twenty dollar bills and handed them to her. “A girl’s gotta make a livin’,” he repeated back to her with a wry smile. “See ya around, Hunter.” He started to go.

“Wait!” Hunter said. “Let me earn that money.”

At first, Dean didn’t understand. But then he saw a familiar look in her eyes ... a look ladies often gave him.

“I know I’m only an X6,” she said quickly. “And that you probably don’t want me but-- I’ve always want to ... you know ... I mean, you X5s were legend back at Manticore ... the best of the best ... and the males are so handsome ... you’re so handsome.”

Flattery never got anyone anywhere with X5-494. After all, he’d known all his life that he was extremely good looking -- a fact he also knew full well how to exploit. But not this time. She was just a kid.

“Go get something to eat,” he said levelly. “Then go home. And next time be careful who’s pocket you pick. I’m not the only rogue X5 out in the real world, and there are still plenty of Familiars roaming around as well. They’d kill you in a heartbeat if they ever found out what you were, just like they’d kill me.”

“Because we were created to fight them,” she said.

Dean was surprised that she knew about Sandeman’s plan for his transgenic “kids” to defend humanity against his Snake Cult family when the plague-that-never-happened supposedly swept the earth.

“I spent some time in TC last year,” Hunter said. “But that place wasn’t for me. Too many rules and regulations, and Max ... she’s brave and beautiful and all, but she’s also a bossy bitch.” Then the girl suddenly seemed to remember something, and those green eyes widened slightly with embarrassment. “Sorry,” she said. “I forgot that she’s your mate. The little boy ...” She looked up at him. “Why aren’t you with them anyway?”

“Another long story,” Dean said. “Curiosity killed the cat, little girl. You ask too many questions.”

Which is when she reached out and took hold of his hand. Dean instinctively drew back, but then her other arm was around his neck, fingers caressing his barcode as lips touched his. “Come with me,” she whispered against his mouth. “Please. You won’t be sorry.”

The phrase “jail bait” ran through Dean’s mind as he glanced back down the street toward the bar where Sam was probably already having a fit at having to wait. However, those small taut breasts rubbing against his chest were having an affect. Reaching down, she touched his crotch, and the X5 took a deep shuddering breath. She really was a pretty little thing. It wasn’t as if it would be incest or taboo, would it?

His body deciding before his conscious mind, Dean opened his lips and returned her kiss, then let himself be led by the hand down a nearby dark alley.

Why the hell not?

*****

She really was ready, willing, and oh so very, very able ...

Later, Dean knew that if he hadn’t been so spun about Max and Logan -- wanting some kind of revenge -- he’d never have been so stupid. But, at the time, all that seemed to matter was the way Hunter’s talented mouth and hands were giving him more pleasure than he’d had in a very long time. Her place hadn’t been far -- a little hole-in-the-wall room with nothing much more than a mattress on the floor. It had taken only seconds to shed their clothes, and now -- stark naked -- the X5 and the X6 were engaged in the time honored ritual of carnal copulation. It really did feel good to be with one of his own kind, Dean thought as cool fingers manipulated his manhood ... someone who could take his passionate rutting without being damaged ... someone who appreciated his body in all its transgenic perfection and who returned his lust in kind.

Her blow job was a thing of beauty, making Dean gasp with pleasure as he thrust wildly into her mouth. And when he mounted and took her primitively, the girl’s own throaty cries, as well as the way she clawed his back, told him that she was appreciating his sexual talents as well. It was a two-way street, their hour of sin -- a mutual sliding together of moist slick bodies for the purpose of pure unadulterated pleasure.

And then -- it was over. Spent ... satiated ... Dean gave the girl one last deep thank-you kiss, rolled off the mattress, stood, and began pulling his jeans back on. “Here,” he said, his voice husky as he fished in his wallet without looking at her.

“You don’t have to,” Hunter said shyly. “If anything, I ought to be paying you. I mean, you’re an X5. For one of your kind to want to be with one of mine ... It’s not like an X6 is in any way your equal. Everyone back at Manticore knew we were the soldiers while you were the officers ... the assassins ... the best. It’s been ... an honor.”

“Take it,” Dean said, handing her four more twenties ... all the money he had. “And next time be more careful who you jump in a bar.”

“Thanks,” Hunter said, again smiling shyly as her nubile nude, just-out-of-adolescence body gleamed palely in the moonlight coming through the high window. “Maybe we’ll hook up later?”

“Maybe,” Dean said, smiling in seeming agreement as he moved to leave, but knowing full well he’d never see the girl again -- and actually glad of it. After all, one-night-stands were supposed to be just that -- quick, uncomplicated, eminently forgettable physical gratification with zero consequences. Closing the door of her place -- already relegating the girl to the back of his mind as just another of his conquests -- the X5 turned his attention toward the street. Sam’s gonna kill me for bein’ gone so long ...

*****

“Where the hell have you been?” Sam shouted at his brother when Dean finally returned to the bar. The younger man was practically shaking with fury. “It’s been over an hour! For all I knew you were lyin’ dead in an alley somewhere!”

“I’m not dead,” Dean said easily as he slid onto the barstool. “Scotch,” he said to the bartender. Then he saw the look in Sam’s eyes. “Make that a coke,” he amended. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out Sam’s wallet. “Here,” he said. “Safe and sound. But it sure would help if Dad didn’t keep leaving us these cryptic little clues. Our lives have become one big scavenger hunt.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam said, somewhat mollified but still pouting. “I gather you caught up with her? What was she anyway?”

“X6,” Dean said, shrugging.

“As in the new and improved version of you X5s?” Sam teased.

“Hey,” Dean shot right back. “You can’t improve on perfection. The X6s were designed to follow orders. X5s were designed to give ‘em.”

“Until you guys rebelled,” Sam said as he took a sip of his own cola. “Then they leashed you but good.”

“What they did was try’n make us automaton assassins,” Dean said soberly. “Now, can we talk about something more pleasant.”

“As in how cute that little redhead was?” Sam said. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you were looking at her. Just what ‘technique’ did you use, bro, to get her to give up my wallet?”

Dean smirked and raised one eyebrow. “Let’s just say the young lady and I spent a pleasant hour negotiating.”

“I bet you did,” Sam chuckled. “You’re bad, Dean.”

“That’s the rumor.” Dean emptied the coke glass with one final swallow, belched softly, and stood to leave. “Let’s go,” he said. “We’ve got three hundred miles to cover.”

“With you,” Sam said, tossing a few bills down on the bar and following his older brother out the door.

*****

“Sir,” the young Marine sergeant said to his superior. “We have a report on X5-494.”

Major Davis Stendahl looked up from the paperwork he’d been perusing on his desk, pale blue eyes sparking with interest.

“Contact has been made, sir, and plan 47B implemented.”

“Excellent,” Stendahl said, steepling his hands thoughtfully as he relished the thought of one of his most recalcitrant fugitives finally being brought back to the fold. “ 494 will make an excellent addition to our stable,” he said out loud.

“But sir,” the sergeant said. “My understanding was that X5-494 was a rogue ... intractable and impossible to tame.”

“Nothing is impossible, sergeant,” the major said quietly. “494, just like his brother and sister X5s, will soon bow down to his destiny. Once he’s in our capable hands, we do have ways of breaking him ... bringing him to his knees ... reshaping him until he becomes the perfect soldier he was bred to be. For more than three years he’s been a ghost ... almost impossible to track ... always on the move. But X5s in particular have one fatal flaw.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Emotions. In 494’s case, a penchant for falling in love. We knew that sooner or later he’d return to his mate in Terminal City, especially once he learned he’d sired her child. And he did return, not once but twice, opening himself up to our scrutiny. He also began making mistakes ... becoming entangled with the law. I would have had him last month if Lydecker hadn’t interfered. It was just a matter of time before my intelligence got one step ahead of him. Two young men driving a black Chevrolet Impala ... a difficult, but not impossible trace for our satellite observation team.”

“Yes, sir,” the young officer said, although it was clear from the look on his face that he wasn’t quite certain whether to applaud or fear the major’s passionate interest in X5-494.

“Is she here?” Stendahl asked curtly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Show her in.” A moment later a lithe young girl with short-cropped carrot-red hair stepped through the door. “Report, 472,” Stendahl ordered.

“Mission accomplished, sir,” the deep cover X6 with the apt name of “Hunter” said with a smug smile. “494 has been infected, as per orders. Your tip about him being in Omaha was correct. Although, I still don’t understand why you didn’t just send a squad to bring him in if you want him so badly. There was also opportunity for termination, although it wouldn’t have been easy.”

“There is to be no termination,” Stendahl said coolly. “494’s far too valuable to waste. At the very least I want his demise -- if necessary -- to be under controlled conditions so we can harvest his organs. As for completing your mission ... excellent.” A chilly smile lit up his pale features. “As to why I didn’t order his capture -- things would have gotten messy that way. It’s not as if 494 would have come willingly.”

“Oh, he already came willingly, sir,” Hunter quipped.

Stendahl thin lips twitched in a smile. “Besides,” he added smoothly, “if the Unit comes in on his own ... surrenders ... there will be a psychological advantage that will make his reindoctrination easier. Now, all we have to do is sit back and wait. Soon, our rogue soldier will realize he’s in trouble, and he’ll be forced to seek our help. Then ... I’ll have him. He’ll be at my mercy.” He glanced up at the X6. “And the DNA I requested?”

“Delivered already, sir. I just returned from medical. They retrieved an excellent sample.”

“Which means we’ll know soon enough the boy’s genetic health,” Stendahl said. “As well as his fertility status.”

“Yes, sir,” Hunter agreed.

“I gather your mission was actually quite enjoyable,” the major had to add. “You did say that you’d always admired 494, albeit from afar, when back at Manticore.”

“He was good, sir.” She ran a tongue over her lips as if remembering a pleasant taste. “Very good.”

Stendahl’s expression remained even, but his eyes were leering and full of hunger. He then nodded toward a door on the other side of the office, the one that led to his private quarters. “Perhaps you’d care to demonstrate the moves you used to catch our runaway tomcat off guard?” he suggested.

“As you wish, sir,” 472 said throatily, unbuttoning her shirt as she walked toward the major’s bedroom.

THE END