Kitten's Claws
Part 6

C & C always welcome.

The door snapped open, cracking against the wall as Wraith entered the room, her eyes gong instantly to where Lynx was drabbed dejectedly on the couch. Before the boy had a chance to react, the larger female had him pinned to the floor.

"What *are* you doing lazing around in here?" She snapped at him, teeth closing distressingly close to the end of his nose, "They've done something with Kitten!"

"I know!" He snarled back, thrashing under her greater strength. He tried to bring his knee up and into her stomach, but she kept it securely trapped under her own legs.

"So? What are we going to do about it?" Wraith inquired almost sweetly, bringing her face down towards his and sniffing at the scent glands behind his ear. He went limp for a moment, then tensed, muscles gathering as he shoved upwards, managing to roll Wraith under him.

"What the hell can we do?! Against the Doctors, this place…." He shouted, voice trailing off on the last few words. Wraith blinked at him, her strange eyes seeming to soften.

"Well, well," She sang out, "Scared little cat going to give up…" Abruptly her head snapped sideways, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his hand where he was holding her shoulders down. He screamed in protest, jerking back. She released her hold and lunged forward, trying to pin him again. He twisted to avoid bashing his head on the table and lashed out with his fist. She caught it and his other hand, pinning both above his head and kneeling painfully on his stomach. He gagged, face twisting up into a snarl at this more serious turn in their play fighting.

"I am tired," she hissed into his face, claws worrying the fragile skin on the inside of his wrists, "of dancing to the whim of others. Causing suffering toward my kin will no longer be tolerated!!"

"Ya think I like it any more then you?" Lynx demanded, a soft rumbling growl building in his chest, "That I enjoy knowing what these people could do to us?! I hate it! But there's no way to fight it! No escape! This is it, forever!" His eyes were misting up and he fought the tears that threatened. The growling in the back of his throat grew in strength as Wraith continued to confine him.

Wraith blinked. "You're bleeding. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bite you so hard." She shifted off of him, releasing his hand and bringing the injured one to her face. Gently, she lapped up the droplets of blood. Lynx pushed himself up and yanked his hand away.

"Stop it! That's gross." He frowned at her and checked over the wound. It wasn't too bad, just deep enough to break the skin. Already the bleeding had stopped. "You're such a freak!"

"Hmm." She shrugged, unbothered. "You're not really one to be calling names." She flicked her talons at some of the carpet fuzz, eyes downcast. The submissiveness in her demeanor bothered him-the wound wasn't that serious-and he lightly brushed his hand through her hair. She glanced up at him through her lashes, the wild green of her eyes glinting. "We shall no longer suffer the will of others." Her tone was deadly serious.

Lynx watched her uncertainly, the instinctive urge to follow/obey warring with his own fears. His nostrils flared as he took in her scent. "How?"

"I…" Here she faltered. "I am not certain, but," she growled softly at the disbelieve on his face, "But there is a way." Her lips curled up slightly. "Wait. Wait, what happened to make them lock Kitten away? You were with him today, what did he do?"

Lynx dropped his head and scooted back from her. "He vanished from tha club. I looked for 'im all over and couldn' find 'im anywhere. I went to tha hotel and he wasn' there either, so I headed back home. They *knew*," he stressed uneasily, aware of the growing hostility in her scent, "They knew he'd wan'ered off and ased me where he coulda gone. I told---I told 'em I came 'cross some people that had his scent on 'em. But it was such a touchy place, it coulda been nothin'."

A growl had been building steadily in Wraith's throat and she let it free in a soft scream. "Idiot. That hardly matters to the people here." She stood in a fluid motion, muscles rippling beneath her skin. "I've got business to attend to. Keep your ears open."

"Business?" He demanded, surprised. She always confused him when she bounced from deranged lunatic to reasoning individual. From the few glimpses he got, she must have been one smart cookie before the company started screwing with her.

"Even beaten puppies are useful." Wraith giggled at him, lashing out with her hand and shredding a chunk of the couch. Bits of fluffs drifted on the air-conditioned breeze. "Ja ne, baby cat."

In a flash of movement, Wraith was gone from the room, the door banging the frame behind her. Still crouched on the floor, Lynx stared after her. Breathing in deeply, he stood and began checking the monitoring devices scattered around the room. The ones, thankfully, that had not be mended or replace since the last time he'd 'tinkered' with them.

The air was thick as cotton, chocking his throat and clogging in his chest. Duo twisted, lungs laboring to pull in more oxygen. His entire body ached, muscles drawn tight and throbbing with pain. Struggling to draw in air, Duo turned onto his stomach and pushed himself up with his arms. [Where am I? What happened?]

He opened his eyes and closed them just as quickly as the room spun around him. He had the vague impression of an expanse of empty blue gray. Hyperventilating now, he tried to focus on his surroundings through the swimming in his mind. Slightly soft surface under his hands and knees, the pressure of the air around him spoke of enclosed space, a steady pounding in his ears, but that could have been his own blood.

Details were getting harder to pay attention to. He yelled as the muscles in his left calf cramped up tight.

"Where did you go this evening at 7 o'clock?" The question drifted through his thoughts and he answered them without evaluating his words.

"To 'Black Barrel' with Lynx." Each word was panted out between a desperate gasp for breath. Fine tremors shook his frame. [I hurt…air. I need air. Please let me breathe, please.]

"How long were you there?"

"Hour or more." [Careful, careful.] A firm distant voice whispered out of the dizzy chaos. [They're searching for something, watch what you say.]

"Where did you go after that? Answers us honestly."

"Met up with (gasp) some guys and girls, went with them to their place." Shaky arms gave out from underneath him and he screamed as more muscles tightened unbearably.

"Then what happened. If you tell the truth, we will administer the drug."

The powerful, all consuming need to breathe nearly forced the whole truth from his lips, but something else fought it back. "We hung out together for a few hours." Ideas and possibilities flashed through his mind like lightening. "Drank, messed around. Nothing serious." He couldn't feel his body anymore for the pain. Talking was becoming steadily impossible.

There was a jolt in his right leg. Instantly, air started moving easier into lungs. Still not enough, more like when he first woke up. He thoughts cleared a fraction. [Interrogation. They're interrogating me.]

"Continue."

Duo babbled on, giving random details about their conversation and then about an argument where they wanted him to stay and he wanted to go back to his hotel room. He told how he had gone to the hotel a short while later, hung out there, and left when Lynx didn't show. In his mind, he selected random people from the many in the club and described them in vague, haphazard detail when asked.

Finally, finally they gave him a full injection and the air that filled him had never been sweeter. He didn't know how long he lay there, just breathing and trying to ease the agony in his body. After a time his head cleared, kick starting his thoughts.

[They know I wandered off where I shouldn't have been. Either Lynx told them or,] his mouth tightened, [They were tracking me. If the tracking part is right, them I'm in deep pucky. Especially if they somehow had listening devices on me. But if they did, then why the hell do this?]

He stared up the ceiling above him, noticing the steel panels held together with thick rivets. [Unless they just like causing pain, which I don't doubt for a minute. Or they could be testing me, see how much I'd lie them if given the chance. Then again, they may not know exactly what happened and this could just be scare tactics to keep me from wandering off again. Too many possibilities.]

Rolling his eyes in quick, random scan of the ceiling, he managed to pick out a camera in each of the two corners he could see from his position. [There must be speakers up there too, since the questioner had that 'voice of the universe' sound that comes from an intercom. And where speakers lay, so may audio bugs.] He twitched the leg that had been injected, remembering the compression of the hypo-spray. [But somebody had to have been in here to give me the drug. And I missed them leaving…damn.] He flared his nostrils briefly to try and pick up a scent.

There were several, more than he expected, all of them overlaid with fear and pain, but he didn't know which were recent and which weren't. Tests had proved that he could pick up scents well over a week old, but he'd never been able to determine the age of an odor without being told. No chance all the scents were recent; he would have noticed that many people regardless of how out of it he was, and it stood to reason that the room was used frequently.

[Well, that doesn't help me much. Fuck,] letting his eyes flutter closed, Duo sagged against the floor in parody of sleep. He rather doubted they'd be letting him out anytime soon; it was better if they thought him tired and weak from the withdrawal, though that gave him scant advantage. They knew his capabilities---they'd built them after all---and would be extra cautious.

[But if my luck is holding strong and they don't know I'm a Gundam pilot…well, I may yet have some tricks they can't guess. After all, they had nothing to do with those.] Senses tuned to any change in his environment, Duo lay and breathed and waited.

Tracking devices are splendid little things.

Especially useful when hunting down errant sometimes-partners and returning them to the loving arms of their compatriots. Or at least a solid beating for lying and running off again. Tracking devices are not, however, completely fail-safe, regardless of what Heero insists (who, when drunk, had been known to go into great and detailed lengths about his favorite mechanical and digital wonders---of which tracking devices were one---but mainly about his Gundam. And what the other pilots have to say about Heero and the Wing Zero Gundam, when he isn't listening, should not be repeated in public).

So when the little blinking red dot on the tracker screen suddenly went bye-bye at four o'clock in the morning, Trowa wasn't particularly surprised. Quatre would have been equally unsurprised if he were awake and so would Wufei, if he had cared or was even there.

Heero, on the other had, was completely and utterly shocked. It even showed on his face for all of a second.

Trowa briefly regretted not being able to catch the expression on film. "Where did it last show?" he asked.

"Same place its been for the past half an hour." Heero answered in a muted voice, juggling the device a little as if he could make the blinking light appear again by force. He frowned and tossed it on the dashboard, resting both hands on the steering wheel of the sport car they'd jacked. "Hold on, I'm going to stop."

With no more warning with that, he swerved into a clear spot along the roadside and braked with enough force to jerk Trowa's head forward. Quatre, whose small frame was curled up tightly in the poor excuse for a back seat, was thrown against their seats. He woke up suddenly and quietly, twisting around from a semi-prone position to sitting up straight. He assessed the situation long to determine that they weren't under attack, before slouching back against the seat, apparently to doze off again. Trowa decided not to bother him and scanned their surroundings instead.

They were well out beyond the reach of the city and trailing suburbs, in the middle of a dry, untamed scrub forest---of a sort the colonies, with their carefully tended woodlands and parks, had never truly replicated. Only the occasional private horse ranch or water tower broke the wilderness. The road leading out from the main through-fare had steadily dwindled down to a twisty, one-and-half lane strip of pavement, bordered heavily with vegetation. It vanished off into the darkness before them.

The area wasn't entirely deserted; several cars had passed them on their way up, yet the general lack of habitation made it hard to explain a wandering car. Especially one now stopped on the roadside for no apparent reason.

Triggering the parking brake, Heero slipped deftly out his driving harness and opened the door. Coughing slightly at the cloud of dust stirred up by the tires, he bent over sideways to pull something set next to the seat. The hood popped open, a little light inside coming on. Heero exited the car and went around to look under it; or at least, to give the impression of doing so.

Trowa stretched his lean frame as best he could in the cramped front seat. Sports cars were not known for their spaciousness. He waited, listening to the soft ticking of the car cooling down and to Heero messing around under the hood.

After a while, the driver side door re-opened and Heero got back in. His hands were covered in grease. He opened the glove box and sorted through the former owner's registration and insurance information.

"There is a path on the other side of the road. Dirt, just wide enough for one car. No sign or number, I couldn't tell how well used it is. The signal last appeared in that direction," Heero said casually, giving up on the glove box and checking the storage compartment between the two front seats. Stuffed into that was a handful of McDonald's napkins, and he used them to clean off most of the oil and grit.

"Do you think that's it?"

"Possible."

"Monitored?"

"We'll assume so," Heero said, stuffing the napkins back into the storage box, "If we're asked, we've been having trouble with the radiator. Pulled over because I heard a strange sound. Didn't see anything wrong."

Trowa nodded in acceptance of the story. "And why we're here in the first place?"

"Got lost," Heero shrugged.

"How original," said Trowa, deadpan. Heero gave him a sour look.

"Go take a piss."

Trowa didn't really have to go, but he knew that wasn't what Heero asking for. This was his cue to investigate the dirt road closer. If this operation was as big as Duo's scant details (assuming he wasn't lying) suggested, then it stood to reason that any entrances to their facilities were closely watched, if not guarded. He undid his own harness and opened the door.

"Don't wake Quatre," he requested, sliding his long legs outside. Heero made soft sound in compliance. Trowa stood up and ambled around the car, sharp green eyes straining to see anything of value in the darkness. A soft, chill breeze carried the scent of dust and dry grass to his nose.

He found the road, little more than a rutted dirt track, between two heavily overgrown bushes. It was a wonder Heero had spotted it at all. Trowa stopped a few feet to the right of track, dutifully taking the chance to empty what little was in his bladder. From where he stood, the countryside sloped down away from the road, forming a wide shallow valley before rolling upward into the tall hills that dominated the rest of the landscape. The track vanished for some distance, before appearing again, starkly white in the moonlight, just as it led into the hills.

But it was the oddly square, bulky shadow-within-shadow some few hundred meters down from the road that caught his attention. The lines were too straight and regular for anything but man-made, yet it didn't seem big enough for a full-fledged house. And if he'd noticed anything about rural areas like this, it was that they took advantage of the open space and built large. Even as he watched there was a brief flash of light from the shape.

That may not bode well.

Trowa sighed to himself and zipped his pants back up. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he walked casually back to the car. Heero was standing in front of it again, poking around at the engine. While Trowa watched, he pulled back and lowered the hood. Before he had the chance to drop it back into place, the unmistakable sound of a car engine stopped them. They both glanced up at the noise, then at each other. Their eyes locked as Trowa reached their car; he nodded in response to the question in Heero's eyes. The other boy's mouth tightened and he released his hold on the hood, leaning his weight on it to seal it back into the place.

Car headlights were starting to show at the top of the road just as Trowa got to the passenger side. He pulled open the door and peered inside, catching Quatre's half-open gaze. "Let us take care of it," he told the small blond. Quatre inclined his head in agreement, covering his unfeigned yawn, and shifting back into a semi-prone position so that his face wasn't visible in the window.

Trowa slid into his seat. Heero was, as far as he could tell, just standing between the open driver's side door and the car itself, picking idly at some grease stuck under his nails. Trowa knew that jumping into the car and speeding off was the most incriminating this they could possibly do, but that didn't stop his instincts from jangling 'run away, run away' as the car they were waiting for made its appearance.

Heero was watching the car----a truck actually, to judge by the height of the vehicle and the shape of its headlight---come up over a slight rise before it eased onto the main road, but he turned away from it when Trowa slammed his door closed.

The truck pulled up beside them, the driver---nearly invisible even to their trained eyes---rolled down the window and called out to them, "Having some car trouble?"

Heero paused in the act of get back into their car. "Radiator's been acting up," he answered back calmly as yellow dust billowed and swirled, "Had it replaced but..." He grunted and made a 'you know how it is' gesture.

"Yeah, yeah," the driver said in an understanding fashion. "I'm always having trouble with this old thing myself." He patted the dashboard, then leaned further out his window, though still not where they could see him. "Not from around here, are you?"

"No...looking for an old friend actually," Heero said, slinging a comfortable arm over the top of the car and sort of lounging there. Trowa cocked an unseen eyebrow at the change of their cover story. Thoughts of how such a lie could 'end badly' were purposefully set aside.

"Really now?" Mild suspicion mingled with friendly curiosity. Perfectly acceptable for a rural man confronting strangers in his territory. Assuming that's all he was. "Well, I know everyone in this area, mind telling me who you're looking for?"

"Haya Shouri."

"Hmm, don't know that name." A bit more suspicion entered his voice.

"Are you sure?" Heero challenged, if politely, "The address was 27651 Farback dr."

Trowa blinked at the ease with which Heero rattled that off, then eyed the global positioning device that sat in place of the car's stereo. So that's what he had been doing while Trowa was checking out the track.

The man paused, then let out a low 'huh'. "That's the Kingswell place and they don't get much company. Certainly not anyone---pardon me---so Japanese sounding." His tone darkened despite the continued politeness of his speech.

Trowa decided it time to help out and leaned across the seats to address Heero. "I told you that bitch gave you the wrong number," he announced loudly, deliberately speaking cruder than he normally would.

He couldn't see Heero's face, but he did hear the annoyance the Wing pilot injected into his tone. "I wouldn't put it past her. Crap." He rapped his fist on top of the car.

"An 'old friend', huh?" the truck driver grunted doubtfully. But he wasn't suspicious anymore. They'd past his test.

"Ex-girlfriend, actually," Heero admitted, bitterly this time, "Been trying to get my stuff my back, but the damn woman keeps on eluding me. Are you sure you haven't heard of a Haya Shouri around here?"

"Not a word of one. Well, shame about that," the man continued, leaning back and gripping the wheel in preparation to go, "Good luck tracking her down!" He waved and started off, if slowly.

"Thanks for the help," Heero called back, swinging his leg into the car. He wasted no time in gunning the engine and releasing the brake. "The only way out is back the way we came." He said softly to Trowa, spinning the wheel around with an expert touch. "Looks like we're going to be following him out."

Trowa grunted in acknowledgement, vaguely wondering what their next step was. Quatre stirred uncomfortably in the backset. "Heero with a girlfriend," he spoke up softly, "That's a strange thought."

Heero didn't respond to the gentle gibe, only focused on his driving. Trowa smiled very faintly, reaching back to touch Quatre's hair, sliding his fingers over the silken strands. Quatre turned his face into Trowa's hand, softly kissing Trowa's slim fingers.

"What now?" Trowa asked of Heero, reluctantly removing his hand from his lover's face. The car jostled as they went through pothole. Heero didn't answer, but Trowa could see the glimmer in his eyes that meant he was planing. He'd get his answer when Heero was ready to give it. Trowa shifted, stretched his legs out as best he could in the cramped space, and settled into a light doze.

Long, light gray hairs tipped with black ran the length of his back, starting at the high arch of his forehead and ending somewhere below the dark shorts that were his only clothing. His face was elongated well past human standards, though not so much as to render speech impossible. He carried himself like some quadruped that had tried to stand upright only to get bored and give up halfway through the attempt. His hands were massive and fashioned with blunt claws, the muscles of his arms and legs bulging obscenely.

He was Kizoku, the so-called 'alpha' of the wolf hybrids and she'd had to bluff and bully her way into speak with him. The four other wolf hybrids were particular about their leader's privacy and always made a big show about letting one so unworthy as herself before him. There was more snarl and snap to it than any real fighting; they were far too beaten down to engage in any real fighting outside a practice ring.

Wraith rested before him in a comfortable half-crouch, clicking her teeth together in personal amusement. This Kizoku was the most grotesque looking of any of the hybrids, and in her more lucid moments, she suspected that he had been created in this form, rather than altered from a true human. It didn't matter. He held sway over the other Wolves by virtue of his strength and charisma, which is why she desired to see him. What purpose he served the agency was beyond her, for he was kept, unmonitored and ignored, entirely within this section of the complex.

She watched him as he settled himself into the pile of blankets and cushions that served as his nest, wrapping one thick arm around the human girl sharing it with him. Since Wraith was the only female of any of the hybrids to have survived and the Wolves left the complex only for business, ordinary women and girls had been brought in to amuse them. It was not a gentle fate; not all of the Wolves cared whether or not their partners were willing. Kizoku, it seemed, wasn't one of that sort, for though the girl's eyes and face were those of one who'd seen far too much for sanity's sake, she also showed signs of honestly caring for the monster.

Kizoku bore his teeth in something too bloodthirsty to be a smile. "What the fuck do you want?"

Wraith adjusted her weight to ease a discomfort in her thigh and answered plainly, "A better home. Wanna help me get it?"

Kizoku snorted, wrinkling up his brow in a way more threatening than thoughtful. "I'd sooner rip your throat out."

"That would be counter productive," Wraith said, sounding genuinely confused by the statement, "I'd rather go out in a blaze of glory and take a few dozen others with me." She passed into a considering silence, staring at a point beyond Kizoku's shoulder. He made a gruff warning sound at her and the hybrid behind her stirred in agitation.

"The killing I understand," he said slowly, as if from another conversation, nuzzling into his woman's neck. Intelligence flashed briefly beneath the base animal instincts in his wild brown eyes. Strength wasn't the only reason he ruled the Wolves. "But we kill and then, no drugs."

Wraith hissed at that, her mind working. Yes, yes, that was the real issue. How to survive without the injections. Well, there was one potential solution to that. "We search the complex, find the drugs. Use how *we* want."

Kizoku's woman actually perked up at that, gazing at him with something that could be called hope. Kizoku whuffed, his expression calculating. "Have to kill everyone then."

"Yeah, so?" Wraith sniffed idly at the scents of sweat and sex that permeated the room.

"Stop us," protested the Wolf that guarded the door, the extent of his speaking abilities. Though almost entirely human in appearance, his modifications had badly damaged the speech centers of his brain.

"Yeah, yeah," Wraith scoffed, "That's why we don't do it *now*. Later, when they're distracted."

There was another long pause. Then, Kizoku said, slowly at first but with gaining certainty, "When distraction comes, we'll kill and keep killing. Until no one to stop search." He suddenly fixed Wraith with a fierce glare. "But you find drugs first, you share them with pack. You don't, and we kill you too."

Damn, there went that idea. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going to work on that distraction." She stood in a liquid ripple of motion and stalked out of the room, replying to the door guard's snap with one of her own. Now came the hard part of her plan.

Actually doing it.