Doppelganger

Chapter 2

It was almost impossible for Alec to get drunk. He could waste a week's pay check and barely get a buzz. He had been well-designed, and in some part of his intricate, piece-by-piece, mosaic DNA coding was a gene from an Irish guy that let him hold inexplicable amounts of hard liquor without needing to find the nearest toilet to hurl his dinner into. He had never had a hangover in his life. A good soldier couldn't fight with a hangover.

So when he walked into his apartment, the barely-there buzz that had him feeling pretty good dissipated instantly when he saw his broken door frame.

Alec's shoulders tensed as he gently pushed on the door, letting it swing into the apartment. His muscles bunched and drew taut as he unconsciously reverted to Manticore Assassin Mode. Someone had broken into his apartment, and whoever it was could possibly still be there. However, as long as his intruder wasn't a transgenic or some crazy Familiar, he was pretty sure he could take whoever it was, no problem.

The living room was empty. He tossed his jacket onto the couch and looked around. It didn't look like anyone was there. No one ducking down behind the couch or hiding underneath the card table.

He walked over to the kitchen and leaned over the counter. If anyone was in the kitchen, they were hiding out in the cabinets. Probably drinking his good Scotch too. But he doubted anyone would hide in his cabinets; it was just too much work, and you'd have to be a contortionist. There was also the pantry, but he had taken to stashing everything he stole in there until he could sell it later, so right now it was packed full of TVs and stereo systems. That left the bathroom and his bedroom as probable hiding spots.

Alec rubbed his forehead. He wasn't really feeling up for this. He had been planning on drinking another couple glasses of Scotch before crashing. So much for that.

He leaned against the kitchen doorway and crossed his arms. "Hey, if you're still here, I suggest you go ahead and come out. Maybe I won't break both your arms." Not that he was likely to waste his energy breaking any bones anyway if the burglar didn't put up a fight, but intimidation tactics were usually useful in making a person compliant.

No one came whimpering out of hiding.

"Fine, have it your way, but I'm not shelling out any cash to have your arms put in casts."

He pushed away from the doorway and grabbed the doorknob to the bathroom. He couldn't hear anyone in there, and ordinary humans usually made a lot of noise. Maybe his thief had already made off with the goods. The only problem was that it looked like nothing had been stolen. What kind of burglar breaks in and doesn't steal anything?

A burglar that isn't really a burglar...

He opened the bathroom door. No one. His towels were on the floor where he had dropped them that morning, the sink was dripping, and the toilet seat was still up. Good. Fine. No burglar there.

Alec shut the bathroom door and walked toward his bedroom slowly, silently. The open archway was dark, so whoever his burglar was hadn't felt like turning on the lights if they were in there.

The vent on the other side of the bedroom huffed warm air, and suddenly Alec got a nose full of a harsh, metallic scent that he knew too well. Blood.

He stepped into his bedroom, fingertips twitching as if anticipating an attack. Once a super soldier, always a super soldier.

His eyes focused in on the bed. He blinked. Once. Twice. "The hell..."

There was a bump on his bed. A small, kid-sized bump curled up on top of his blankets, its head pressed against his pillow. He couldn't tell if the kid was a girl or a boy; short, dark blonde hair was flopped over its face, and it was wearing generic clothing, blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Did it really matter anyway? The little punk had broken into his house for a good night's sleep and probably cleaned out his fridge in the process. Now he'd have to dump it at a sector station or a shelter.

He took a step closer, ready to shove the twerp off his bed when he caught sight of the white cloth belt around its waist. Huh, that looked weird. It wasn't a belt. It was a piece of a white t-shirt...and lying in a heap on the floor at the end of the bed was one of his t-shirts, the bottom ripped off. The way the kid was curled up looked sort of strange, shoulders curled in, knees pulled up, like an animal protecting a wound.

Near his foot was a kid-sized navy hoodie, covered with some large, darker stain. Alec bent down and picked it up; it was starting to stiffen with half-dried blood. He dropped it back on the floor. Damn it. The scent of blood was coming from the kid. It had probably been in some kind of gang fight; those sort of street wars were always breaking out among the undisciplined brats in the city.

Sighing, he reached over and flipped on the lights, nearly blinding himself in the process. The kid stirred and sat up, head bowed, its hair obscuring its face. Alec cleared his throat. "Look, Scruffy, I don't know why you decided to crawl up in here and die, but how about I take yo-"

He was interrupted by a flash of wild, eerily familiar hazel eyes, and the kid flew off the bed in a perfectly executed back flip.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, cool it!" he shouted. His eyes telescoped on the black barcode tattoo on the kid's neck, reading the numbers.

335198036270.

The kid was transgenic. One of his kind.

Shit.

The landing was off, and the kid stumbled, taking down the lamp from his bedside table and ending up underneath the window in a protective ball. The kid grunted in pain and grabbed at its side, but those eyes stayed on him, staring at him with tension and fear. The small face was covered in grime and dirt, but if he had to guess, he'd say that this was a girl, only about seven or eight, one of the X8 ankle-biters. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite place it. Maybe he had seen her in the hallways at Manticore before.

Alec held up his hands as he approached the girl. "Hold it, soldier," he said, keeping his voice low and hopefully something close to gentle. He didn't want to scare the trembling, injured transgenic child at his feet.

When she started scrambling backward, trying to find refuge between the wall and his bedside table, he turned around and pulled down the collar of his turtleneck. "Look, I'm like you, okay?" He turned back around and met her wide-eyed gaze. "So quit doing the whole scared rabbit trick and get up."

"You're..." Her voice trailed off as she stared at him. Alec shifted uncomfortably and took a knee next to her. She was small, like all of the X8s. They were created with some kind of pipsqueak jungle cat DNA. He didn't know much about the X8s except that they weren't nearly as creepy as the X7s, and they had super-enhanced senses. They were trackers or something like that. He wasn't sure; Manticore hadn't exactly kept him in the know or anything.

"Yeah, I'm Manticore too. It happens," he said. He motioned to her makeshift bandage. "So, why'd you have to rip my shirt to pieces? It's not like I don't have a first-aid kit in the bathroom."

When she didn't say anything, he rolled his eyes and stood up. Bending down, he swept her up and deposited her onto the bed before she could retaliate.

"Since you've suddenly turned into a mute non-responsive, I'm gonna check on this bleeding problem of yours." While she sat there just watching him, he unwrapped the bloody, shredded t-shirt from her waist and tossed the pieces at the trashcan by the doorway. Even without close inspection, he could see that the kid's right side had caught a bullet. At least it hadn't held it.

He frowned but didn't touch the wound. "Could've been worse," he said, "What'd you do, play tag with a handgun?"

"You're X5-494."

Alec's hand stilled over her wound, and he looked at her. She was staring at her hands now, finally not trying to discover every inch of his face. She had seen his barcode so of course she knew who he was, but the way she said it... It was like she knew him.

"It's Alec," he said, "Alec McDowell, if you want to get technical. 494 just wasn't descriptive enough for some people." He gave her a smirk before turning his attention back to her side. "So, kid, who're you? Stacie? Amanda? Lacey? Wait, no, don't tell me. You're Max 2.0."

She looked up from her hands, and met his amused gaze with her eyes, eyes that were green with gold flecks. Wait...

"I'm you."