Disclaimer: I don't own Dark angel or any of its characters.
Author's note: This is my first Dark angel fanfic, so I'm sorry if I get anything wrong. -I haven't seen all of the episodes. I've only made it to the fourth disk in season one so far.
This fic is set in season one in the episode where Logan's wife shows up.
A rush of blood.
Chapter one.
Life. Max couldn't understand why people looked at it with such misguided optimism and hope. It sucked.
She'd spent a long time running from her childhood, thinking that was the cause of all her problems. Why wouldn't she? She'd been created in a secret government laboratory for god's sake. It was a pretty conceivable conclusion to come to. Now she was discovering it was life. It just plain sucked. Max had realized that life loved to get one over on the idiots stupid enough to believe that it was a gift. And on the cynical bitches like her who didn't believe in anything. Basically it was a loose, loose situation. Inevitably, eventually something always went wrong. That was life. Tonight Max hated it.
"Slow down, boo!" Original Cindy yelled at her from the sidewalk.
Her mood must have been obvious. Of course it freaking was, she was speeding up and down the same run down Seattle street on her motorbike, like she was trying to escape some invisible fire. So what? She needed to vent.
"Max! I said take it easy!"
"'Just blowin' off steam." She yelled back, expertly leaning forward as her bike sped up to take the sharp corner.
She had a lot of steam. Mostly rising from the uncompromising scene she had just witnessed. Max had gone to Logan's place for some advice on the latest dead in the water dilemma he'd taken it upon himself to fix, and found him so completely lost in his ex wife Valerie's mouth, that he didn't even see her.
So what? She thought stubbornly. Logan's a free agent. He can do whatever the hell he likes.
She eased her bike into fourth, and slowly brought it to a stop in front of a fuming looking Cindy.
"Look, while I understand that sustaining serious injuries to your head might help you forget that you saw your sugar getting busy with someone else, it aint a good idea. Girl, haven't you ever heard off speed limits?"
Max snorted.
"We're living in an economic depression. Nobody gives a damn about a little thing like the law."
"Max, there are too many cops out there thinking they thugs. I doubt they'll go easy on you just 'cos your sugar-"
"He is not my sugar." Max interrupted. "It doesn't bother me."
"Oh, so he's not the reason why your zooming up and down here like a squirrel on steroids?"
"No." Max said quietly, starting her bike up again. She was bored of this conversation.
"Girl, where 'you going?"
"'Still got steam."
She always seemed to have steam these days. A never-ending amount. There was always something bothering her. Bent cops. Manticore. Logan…
Max took a deep; stinging breath of the icy air currently whooshing around her black leather insulated body. She didn't fully understand what was between her and Logan. She never had. Thinking back to her first, unbiased impressions of him, she remembered him being cute. Clever. She remembered wanting him to kiss her that night in front of the mirror. She also remembered him playing her to figure out who she was. That had hurt. Why would it hurt if there were no feelings there? Why would it hurt now? She hated things being so complicated.
Max sighed, and decided to turn her attention to he bike. A ninja 660. Simple perfection; simple being the operative word. It didn't get much more simple that basic speed. The intoxicating feel of the air coursing through her hair. Being completely at peace, while thinking about absolutely nothing.
She must have taken thinking about absolutely nothing slightly too far, and blanked out for a second, because she didn't even see the scaffolding truck coming. All it took was a second.
Max jerked into action, and slammed on the brakes, skidding precariously to the left. She heard the trucks breaks screech too as it veered desperately from one side to the other, trying to miss her. Max's bike smashed into the side of it, and she bolted forward, before being hurled off the side. She landed with a painful, concussing thud on the stray bits of scaffolding that had splintered off the back of the truck when it braked.
Original Cindy hurried to the scene, shouting her name. She knelt down beside her head.
"Jesus girl, are you okay?"
"Not so much boo." Max winced breathlessly.
She knew she was hurt. Hurt even worse that a genetically modified killing machine was used to. A glance down only confirmed this. A forty inch metal pole was sticking out of her abdomen. Impaling her. Nicely decorated with a growing puddle of warm scarlet blood.
Cindy started shaking.
"Oh my god… Oh my god!"
"Is she alright? Is she okay? She just came right towards me, I-I swear I couldn't have done anything else… Is she alright?"
the last thing Max heard was Cindy turning and yelling at the truck driver to call an ambulance. Then she passed out. Well, it was going to take a hell of a lot of beauty sleep to fix this little imperfection wasn't it? Life really did suck.
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