Hello! Thanks for the comments! I definitely appreciate the feedback. This chapter jumps between events in the film, so I'd like to apologize in advance if it seems a little disjointed and/or repetitive. I should note that most of the dialogue in this chapter is straight from the movie and is not my work.

Chapter One

Kill two birds with one stone Cross. Chems and the doctor. The stolen Cessna got him southeast through Canadian airspace to his cache in Toronto just as the mass shooting in Maryland made the news. They were burning Outcome to the ground; there was no other explanation. Dr. Marta Shearing's survival meant she was either in deep with Byer or she was just plain lucky. He suspected the latter. It didn't matter - either way, she was the last link he had left to the chems. There was only a narrow window of time in which to track her down; his stock of intelligence-enhancing blues was dangerously low, and he had used the last of his greens the morning before. If she had just been lucky in escaping the shooter, it wouldn't be long before she was dead by some other means. Her life was important to him, he owed her for what she had given him. But right now his priority had to be the chems – no one was going to take that from him. Besides, he wouldn't be of any use to her if he regressed.

Travelling through the night, Aaron crossed the border under a fake name and drove to an address in Montgomery county that he'd found on a building permit under her name. He drove by the gate marking her lane and parked his car in a nearby lot. Dawn was touching the sky as he hiked through the woods up to a decrepit Georgian mansion. His sensitive ears picked up the sound of someone moving around the ground level of the house, preparing a meal. Concealing himself in the brush on the edge of her yard, he decided to wait a few hours to get a better grip on what was happening with this woman. There was no way of knowing who she really worked for, and he was not ready to reveal his continued existence to anyone who could contact Byer. Time will tell Dr. Shearing.

Her heart thudded in her chest. The smoke from her burning house left a trail in the clear morning air that she could see in the rearview mirror. Number Five stepped on the gas, pressing her into the passenger seat of the Buick LeSabre. What just happened? Why is he here? Why were those people trying to kill her?

"Where are we going?" He ignored her question and snapped out instructions, demanding that she repeat an alias for the two of them. June Monroe… June Monroe. James and June.

"Is that your name?" He turned incredulous eyes on her, as if he didn't believe the words coming out of her mouth.

"James? No. What? You don't know my name? What do you call me? What do you put on my blood work?"

"Five.." she murmured, feeling vaguely ashamed.

"Five? The number five?" he was disgusted. "Do you know how many times we've met? Thirteen. Thirteen exams over the last four years, and that's what I get, a number? Number Five. Right. Five of what? How many are we?"

"Program participants?" she hesitated.

"That's what you call us?"

"There were.. nine, then six."

"Participants…" he murmured in disbelief. Marta couldn't take this. She sputtered out questions but he shut her down.

"No, look you had your turn! You've been bleeding, and scoping and scraping me since the day we met, it's my turn now. I'm asking the questions, you got it? I need program meds. Where do you keep the chems?"

"I don't have any! I really don't - I don't know anything!"

"Bullshit! That's why they're trying so hard to kill you because you don't know anything? For four years… you can't be that naïve! There's no way you're that naïve!" She couldn't listen to this anymore, he was shouting and she was so scared of what he was saying.

"Let me out of the car!"

He pulled over and laid it out for her. Listening to him describe her slim chances at survival without him made her reevaluate her decision. He really was her only option; too many people had already tried to kill her. They wouldn't stop looking for her now.

"You have to understand… we don't fabricate the chems. That happens downstream."

"Where, what does that mean?" he demanded.

"It means you need live virus to seed adhesion. Cultures are highly reactive, you have to process onsite.." she trailed off at the desperate look on his face.

"Onsite where? Where is it?"

"Manila. The Phillipines."

He got out of the car and leaned his head against the trunk. She got out and stood behind him.

"Where do you stand with your dosage?" she asked. He told her, and she blanched at the knowledge that he was still taking the green physical enhancement meds. "You were viralled off physical medication last year. They infected you with live virus which means you're physically stable… you don't need to take them anymore. They locked it in... any physical enhancement is now permanent." She backed up as he turned furious eyes on her.

"You infected me? When was this? Was it that mystery flu where I almost died? That was it, wasn't it! Who tells you that this is ok!?"

"No - I do research! I don't administer meds... I don't make policy!"

"No, you just load the gun." He snapped. She turned away in horror, babbling empty excuses. What had her work been used for? What had she done? He interrupted her, grabbing her shoulders. "Tell me you can viral off blues!" The desperation in his voice shook her.

"Theoretically, yes. The pills allow temporary adhesion, but to lock it in you need live culture... live virus!"

"Do you know how to do that?"

"Yes... but - but I told you, it's on the other side of the planet!" She knew she sounded hysterical.

"That's where we're going. Get in."

Aaron gunned the car down the highway, silently fuming. Number Five? For fuck's sake. Marta sat in the passenger seat, staring at her hands. He almost couldn't believe what she had said. Naïve didn't begin to cover it. Although he knew he shouldn't be surprised; she was a scientist and in his experience they tended to be a narrow-minded lot. It wasn't her fault he'd put her on a pedestal all these years. Her voice broke his train of thought.

"So let's say you wanna change the human body... fix a mistake, repair something, improve something. Well if you're gonna reprogram human genetic material, you need a delivery system, and nothing works better than virus. It's like a suitcase. You pack in genetic mutation, infect the body, and the virus loads into the target cells... you've had some very minor alterations made to two different chromosomes. The green side, the physical side, is nothing more than a one and half percent rise in your mitochondrial protein uptake. But with one and half percent, you see this immediate increase in cellular tempo, muscle efficiency, oxygenation..." she trailed off.

"And the blue side?" He prompted.

"Intelligence, obviously, but it's more than that. It's neural regeneration and elasticity, sensory function, pain suppression... it's the most exciting development in genomic targeting in the history of the science-" She abruptly stopped speaking. His mind reeled. To her, he was nothing but a science project. He knew they had been messing with his body, and for the most part he had been happy to let them do it. But this went beyond anything he had imagined. They had altered his genes. Glancing over, he was surprised to find her watching him intently, wide eyes full of tears.

"What is your name? I'm - I'm sorry I never asked before.. in the lab."

He hesitated - he wasn't sure he wanted her to know. It was her exhausted yet earnest expression that loosened his tongue.

"My name is Aaron, Marta."

- Manila, 17 hours later -

Aaron felt her hands on him, gently mopping his fevered brow with a wet cloth. He wasn't sure where they were, but they couldn't have made it far from the pharmaceutical factory. She needed to keep moving, there was no time. Pushing her hands away, he struggled upright to look her in the face, his sight swooning around him.

"What-" she choked out.

"There's forty thousand dollars in the lining of my jacket. In this bag are passports, two blanks three ghosts… you take it. There's the guy's watch… look at me. You can make it, you're a warrior, you can make it ok? You stay small, no airports… just stay small like you know. You've done enough for me… you've done enough for me." He stopped speaking as she touched his face with the cloth, shushing him. The room spun in his vision. He thought he was in the grips of another fever dream when he felt her pull him to her chest, rocking him like a child. What the hell was she doing? It was unbelievable for her to stay, she had done what he asked her to do. He was viralled off. She needed to take the money and go; they were too close to the people hunting them. It was his fault she was here – and now he was useless, despite his genetically enhanced body. So much for be all you can be. He tried to speak again, but instead closed his eyes. There was no way to resist the feeling of resting in her arms, just for a moment. The room seemed to stop spinning, her body anchoring him. How many times had he thought about her touching him like this?

"Shhh… shh." Rubbing his back with her free hand, Marta felt the last twenty-four hours crashing in on her. Leaving him was an impossible thought for too many reasons. That he was giving her a chance to get away just reinforced her determination to stay. He owed her absolutely nothing. And yet here he was, giving her the tools she needed to survive at his own expense. What had she done to him? The creeping sense of guilt she had been trying to ignore finally swamped her, as hot and heavy as his body resting on her chest. The memory of calling him number Five made her cringe. Running her hand across his forehead, Marta wished that she had done more for him, said more to him… anything. It seemed insane that he had once been a numbered experiment to her, yet now he was the most vital thing, real thing she had left. How had it all happened so quickly? Her mind whirled and she fought to stay calm. There was no reason for him to protect her now and she was going to slow him down. He was too good to let them kill him - soon she would have to let him go. The thought of him leaving made her hold him tighter for a second. His breathing slowed and his body slumped against her.

"Here, lay back. There, that's good Aaron." she whispered as she lowered his head to the dirty pillow. She sat on the floor beside the bed, resting her head close to his face to watch him sleep. His skin had a sickly glow in the yellow light from the street as she traced his profile with her fingers. Afraid of disturbing him, but unable to resist the urge, she quickly leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Come what may, she was determined to get him through the night.

The hours ticked by in a sweaty haze as she bathed his brow and chest with her dwindling supply of bottled water. Every small sound made her flinch and check the door for intruders. Around five o'clock, just as dawn was touching the sky, his fever broke. Marta heaved a sigh of relief. She got up to change into fresh clothes and wash her face. Dizzy, she braced her arms on the sink; tired, red eyes stared back at her in the tiny mirror. Focus. There was no way Aaaron was out of the woods yet, so she decided on stocking up on basic medicinal supplies to get them through the next few days. Thinking she had better avoid wasting their precious time, she penned him a quick note and sped out the door.

"AARON! RUUUN!" Her desperate shriek echoed up through the morning air, snapping him to attention. The fever was gone and his mind was sharp. Grabbing their gear, he was out the window and on the roof in seconds. The sounds of the chase rose up from the street and he followed, sprinting across rooftops to a narrow drop between two buildings. Two officers had her pinned.

"Get down!" Marta obeyed, dropping to her knees as he vaulted over her to take out the second officer. He was pretty sure he had killed the first when he landed on him. There was no time to think about collateral. Down the street and halfway across a footbridge, he spotted a man watching them from another roof. It was the man's stillness and intense scrutiny that gave him away. Asset. Aaron knew it had only been a matter time before they called one in. Improvising, he caused a distraction by ripping open a passerby's grocery bag. Ducking down amidst the yelling, he forced Marta over the railing of the bridge, dropping her onto the top of a bus on the street below. He followed her down and pushed her to walk ahead on her own, while scoping the street for the nearest available vehicle. Some idiot had left his bike idling on the side of the road – he was on it and back to Marta in seconds.

"Have you been on a bike before? No? Here, put this on." He waited until the helmet was on her head before he revved up. "Hang on tight." The asset he had spotted earlier rounded the corner as he sped away. Maneuvering his way through the city, he zeroed in on narrow passages to try and lose the growing number of vehicles following them. They burst out onto a major road where he realized that rush hour traffic was in his advantage. The bike could squeeze through openings the police couldn't follow, although the asset was proving to be more resourceful than he'd hoped. The man caught up with them in a stolen police car and he had to shout at Marta to turn her head away; the guy had a Glock trained on them out the driver's window. He swung the bike around, kicked the front wheel over a stone railing and slid down on the chassis to a street below. Marta was gripping his waist hard enough to bruise. Passing a side road, he heard a gunshot just as it entered his thigh. Motherfucker. After checking to make sure Marta wasn't hit, he took a hard right in the direction of the shooter. With one hand, he pulled the gun from his belt, released the safety and fired twice at the asset as he crossed behind him at the next intersection. Without pause, he raced on into a complex of warehouses – they had to be near the shore. Just make it to a boat. Marta reached down to touch his leg.

"You've been shot! Pull over! Pull over!" she screamed.

"We just need to make it to the water" he tried to reassure her, resting one hand atop hers on his waist. His sight was going black at the edges. Blood loss. He focused on the street in front of him, angling the bike down a wide pier just as Marta yelled his name. It was the asset, hot on their tail. This confirmed Aaron's suspicion that the guy was enhanced; he'd shot him twice and it had barely slowed the asset down.

His sight was failing – it was all he could do to keep the bike upright and moving in the right direction. He felt Marta move behind him and scream again, but he couldn't concentrate on what she was saying. The bike tipped under them and he felt the shredding sensation of his skin sliding along concrete. The next thing he knew, Marta was leaning over him, grasping at his hand. He held on, trying to see if she was ok. He knew the light feeling in his head was slowing down his ability to think. Focus. More voices, and another set of hands gripped him under the shoulders and heaved him to his feet.

"It's okay, it's okay, they're going to help us… walk!" Marta rasped, her voice rough with pain. He leaned on her shoulder as they struggled across a metal walkway. He felt the ground shift under him. A middle-aged Filipino man walked ahead of them and opened a door leading into darkness. Stairs. He made it to the bottom before the ground rushed up to meet his face.

"Alcohol? Bandages?" Marta frantically mimed the words to the young boy standing in the doorway. He nodded and ran down the hall. Marta turned back to Aaron who lay sprawled across the floor. The small cabin they were in was musty and cluttered with fishing gear. She swept junk off the tiny bed attached to the wall and moved to lift his body. The effort it took to get him up on the bed left her dizzy and dripping with sweat. She braced her shaking hands on his legs to look at the bullet hole in his thigh. Blood stained his pants from hip to knee. Shit shit shit. The boy raced back into the room and dropped a first aid kit at her side - all it held was tweezers, gauze and rubbing alcohol. Good enough. She worked feverishly, tugging his pants down his legs and pulling the bullet from his thigh, sagging in relief when she saw it was just a flesh wound. It wasn't until she was done cleaning and bandaging him that she realized something wasn't right with her.

She couldn't get back up. Strange colours spotted her vision and she couldn't get enough air. Collapsing on her back, sound bombarded her suddenly sensitive eardrums as an overpowering smell of rotting fish made her turn her head and vomit bile. Her mind raced, instantly making a connection. Oh God. Seed adhesion…live virus. The boy was still there; his worried face was the last thing she saw before the strange colours pulled her under.