A/N- Well, here it is. The long awaited sequel to Moving Ahead. I'd like to thank all those that reviewed the last chapter of MAH, you all rock and especially that girl who came late and reviewed EVERY CHAPTER. JeNsEnS wifey ChAdZ lover- Thank you

The sequel to Moving Alongside to those that are interested in that side of things will be up mid-week. (Yes I had to write two! Feel free to point and mock.)

The next part to this will hopefully be out same time next week and should let us know what our guys have been up to but you know the drill by now- more reviews faster posting not that I'm greedy or anything

Once again, thanks to my betas Itay and Kat.

Surging forwards.

The man who stalked through the rough military camp looked out of place amidst the camouflage and Khaki of the soldiers that littered the grounds.

The camp itself didn't belong in the lush forest and it was obvious that speed and necessity rather than stealth and style had been behind its formation; the rough canvas tents and durable shelters thrown up rather than carefully constructed, as was the norm for these trained soldiers.

By the frantic expression on their normally placid faces and scurrying movements it was also patently clear that something was amiss… seriously amiss.

As he strode resolutely through the encampment like he owned it, the man sneered in disgust at the flickers of worry on their faces. To him it was a pointless waste of energy and resources to worry about something that had already happened and you had no control over. A more valuable approach would be to concentrate on the task ahead.

He was by no means an unpleasant looking man; his piercing dark blue eyes that could turn from soulful to soulless in a heartbeat were set deep in his handsome face giving him a thoughtful look. When his mouth deigned to curve into a smile it transformed his usually stern face into a heart-stopping picture of youth and vitality, good-humour and mercy.

Which just goes to show that appearances are deceiving; for mercy is one the last traits that Ames White possessed.

His thick brown hair was cut in a long businessman's style so that it barely brushed the top of his leather jacket. The jacket, of course, was of the finest Italian leather and, along with his Italian loafers, designer jeans and crisp white shirt, the whole ensemble screamed 'successful professional'. In the right light he could be mistaken for a lawyer or an accountant. But once the jacket was removed there was no way the strong rippling muscles came from pushing papers. Of course the gun in the shoulder holster helped to dispel the accountant image. Though Ames White was just pushing 5'7 there was no mistaking the aura of danger, of untapped rage that permeated the air around him.

It was that authoritative air that made the men in the main command hut stiffen and snap to attention as he walked in, throwing the opening flaps aside like he was in an old-fashioned western.

Not bothering with perfunctory greetings or mindless small talk White snapped his orders.

"Okay, people, what have we got?"

White held back a patronizing smirk as they fell over themselves to do his bidding.

"Yes, Sir," one of the subordinates, who was slightly less inefficient than the others scurried forth with a clipboard and, handing it to White, said, "Here is the data that we've compiled so far from the facility—body count, number of possibly subjects, staff— it's incomplete but its all we managed to salvage so far, they had a pretty top of the range fail safe system for eradication of files."

White flicked disinterestedly through the papers, his eyes straying to the young Hispanic man who stood in front of him, his tailored suit slightly wrinkled in the heat of the late Seattle summer.

Antonio Mendez waited for White to look up at him before he continued, "We've been running the satellite signal for the past 78 hours, and so far we've only had four turn up at the rendezvous point.

White folded his arms across his chest, the clipboard hanging, forgotten, from one hand as he regarded Mendez.

"Four?" He flapped the clipboard. "I thought this read that there was at least 8 X-series each numbering over a hundred soldiers, not including second generations, transhumans and rejects."


"What?" White turned to the unfortunate lab tech that had spoken out of turn and subsequently had the full wrath of White on him.

"Uh… uh… failed experiments were called anomalies, not rejects."

White glared hard at the tech who was wishing he'd been mute, "Like I care what the freaks are called. What I do care about is where the hell they are."

Mendez cleared his throat, "We are still working on that, Sir. The transgenics are trained to come when the satellite beacon tells them to. They should have started to arrive by now." This was the part he wasn't looking forward to. "According to our sources from the insides, there was an unscheduled PA announcement just before the explosions. We think that that might have something to do with it. All announcements are recorded into the security system, which was pretty trashed by the explosions. We are trying to pull it off the tape but it'll take some time."

White nodded, "Keep me informed. I want these scum off our streets."

He turned his back on the techs and stalked out of the tent, pulling a small, top-of-the-range cell phone from his jacket pocket and speed dialling.

"Fen'es'tol, No, not yet from Intel that we have gathered so far it seems that an emergency broadcast went out before the place blew, it could account for why we've had so few numbers at the rendezvous points." He listened for a while, his face unreadable. "Of course not, he may have been further ahead in his work than we imagined but we'll round them up. It's not like they can hide for very long. I'll keep in touch. Fen'es'tol."

White hung up the cell and stared up at the sky. Several hundred freaks run out of a top-secret facility that shouldn't even exist and they can't seem to locate more than a handful? It was a national disaster and one that Ames White had more than a personal interest in clearing up.

He sighed heavily and folded his arms even though he didn't feel the cold.

The question was; if he was a genetically engineered freak, juiced up to the eyeballs and with delusions of being human, where would he go?

"Where are you hiding?"