April 16th, 2062

The Elven district was in full spring bloom and the perfumed air wafted into the bedroom of Aidan and Neasa Darach as they lay sleeping. At 9:20, Neasa woke with a start, her husband opening his eyes at her touch. "It's time." Though it was not close, they had decided that unless nature's course insisted otherwise, they would give birth in the exclusive hospital within the Tir Nation. They met their Midwife at the dock who helped Neasa settle in for the 90 min cruise to the Elven Lands. The twins seemed willing to abide by the plans, and though Neasa struggled with contractions throughout the duration of the trip, she arrived at the pristine hospital still able to walk on her own. Seven hours later, the elven couple was each in the possession of a tiny wonder, Neasa cradling Malachi and Aidan cooing softly to Maire. Both children had undergone a series of tests to ensure their prolonged health and when the doctor arrived to share the results, both parents were worried at the complex look they received. Dr. Kavanaugh assured them that both children were in perfect health, but that there was an unusual annomoly. The children, first assumed fraternal as they were of different gender, appear to be the first known set of identical twins of different genders. The only differing genetic marker seemed to be that which determined sex. Kavanaugh explained how important such a discovery could be and urged the parents to consent to further testing but the couple refused. If the children were healthy, then they were eager to begin their family. No further testing was authorized, and that afternoon, the Darach's returned to their home.

11 SEP 2062

For Official Use Only

From: Trivesan, N2, Operations
To: Director, Operations Section Six, N1, N3

Subj: Genetic Identity Experiments, Project Mirror Gate

1. Knowledge of this project was originally gained during classified HUMINT and SIGINT operations conducted in preparation for a sanction performed by external assets. This information is detailed and corroborated by numerous unclass media tags. It represents actionable intelligence based on SK-OPS-SOP Directive 61-233.

2. I recommend beginning a covert stepped surveillance program immediately. Personnel will be drawn from Operations Section Six rosters, and run from the Seattle Operations N2 office. I will be Actual. Funding will be supplied both from Operations Section Six standard traction funds. Additional funding will be drawn from both N2 and N3 supplemental budget resources.

3. Preliminary estimates are in line with SK-OPS-SOP Directive 58-103 governing the constitution of stepped surveillance teams and assets. As surveillance evolves to active recovery and elimination we will revisit our budgetary requirements and adjust force levels and reinforcements as necessary.

4. This memorandum serves as the establishing document for Operation Pave Spectrum.

5. Downgrade/Declass: as directed/X1

/s/
Trivesan

April 1st, 2062

Physical therapy was a brutal regimen of pain on top of pain. But at least the voices were silent. The cool, seductive whisperings that tugged and pulled and touched her in all the right places. Maybe this time they'd be gone for good.

If only.

The therapists didn't like her. That was fine. She didn't like them. She worked out of spite and the feeling was entirely mutual.

"And... again, Ms. Hall." the young man's voice as crisp, professional. She stood painfully, unsteady and uncertain. Jolts of breath-catching pain shot out from nerve paths that her brain remembered, but that no longer existed.

She reached out and took the bars. They were cold under her hands. Or, at least, that's what the sensors relayed to her struggling brain. Her fingers were made of a smooth, black metal that seemed to swallow the light. She hadn't requested the coloration, but it suited her. The surgeon and his design consultancy had outdone themselves. She grunted, sweat beading on her forehead and began the arduous trek of 3 meters. And back.

It felt like crawling over 3 kilometers of broken glass. And back. They said the pain would never stop. The brain could only be re-trained so much. That was fine. Better. The more pain, the less... Her.

"And... one last time," said the therapist. He was attractive. He was just the sort of specimen that She liked. Just the sort she'd have lured back to her apartment. Just the sort... Yessssss...

The monitors attached to her spiked and shrilled. She closed her eyes hard. No, go away. Leave me alone.

I couldn't leave you... what would you do without me?

"Ms. Hall, are you alright? Doctor!" The young man raised his voice to the observers behind a thick shield of reinforced plexiglass. 'Ms. Hall' ripped the sensors from her temples and fingertips.

"No!" she screamed. "NO!"

She launched herself at the glass, hitting, clawing at it with night-black hands. "You said this was it! You said they'd be gone!"

She grabbed the hovering drone that scuttled around the room, taking readings and handling the avalanche of data pouring out of the sensors attached to its patient. Electric current coursed up her arms, the drone's defensive circuits engaging. Her hands spasmed and she hurled the drone at the young therapist.

Blood sprayed.

She moved around the room, destroying anything within reach. Eyes flat, angry, the doctor depressed a button.

"Security. Code Black."

November 1, 2062

Tomorrow night we move. The last few months have been difficult. The IRA had been extremely hesitant about letting me get too deep into the organization. Their belief that I am working for Interpol or perhaps the Tir themselves has led me to do certain things that I did not relish. After executing several hostages during a raid last week, the leadership has begun accepting some of my input. The raids on Samhain celebrations are hoped to break some of the spritual strength of the people and focus the Tir's attention on internal strife rather than the upcoming diplomatic events.

Putting the thoughts into words would enable him to remember them later, transcribe them in an endless stream of questions and paperwork during his debriefing. He would find a moment to recall the words later and relive the moments in perfect clarity with the sounds and senses overtaking him again.

Carter allowed himself a momentary reprieve, letting his mind slip away into the sometimes overwhelming echo of memory. She was there. They had crossed paths several times and he had never caught her name. This elusive woman who moved with such purpose, a barely contained power of being. When he was last in DC, he had run a check through every database the bureau had and nothing came up. That meant she was either SINless or wrapped so tightly in a blackbag that she had to be an agent, but for whom was the question.

Her wrists were so delicate appearing, Carter let himself wonder how they would actually feel under his fingers. If they would be soft and pliable or crack under the pressure...

December 24, 2062

Snowflakes drifted gently from the heavens towards the busy streets of Seattle. People bustled to and fro, in search of that last minute gift. Beneath their feet, the pure snowflakes were trampled down until they joined the sullied masses of the blackened snow.

Washing her hands once more, Suzume could identify with those snowflakes. As many times as she washed, they would never be clean. On this night of gift giving, she too had given a gift. The gift of death. She didn't know what his crime was, and she never would. But her master had deemed his death was necessary, and she had carried out that mandate.

In another time and place, she might have been just another girl in her father's house, helping her mother tend the house until the day she married, and had her own home to tend. But these were not those simpler times. These days a woman could be just as effective as a man, be it the boardroom or the streets. And when you have the gift of magic....there would never be a simple, mundane life for her. She would always be a weapon in her master's hands.

Drying her hands carefully before replacing her gloves, she stepped away from the window...

8 August, 2062

The night had been perfect. Her life was perfect. Martin had asked her to marry him after the most romantic dinner one could imagine. Dinner at that tiny, expensive resturaunt near the edge of the lake, followed by a moonlit boat ride across the lake with just the two of them. It was a little corny, almost, but Jennie didn't care. She was in love, and he loved her, and their life was going to be perfect together. It had only been six months, but they knew. Everybody said they were perfect together, and that Martin was going to go far. She was going to have a good life, nice things, everything a girl could wish for. Jennie couldn't wait to tell her parents the good news, and all the women that she'd met through Martin. They'd die when they saw the ring!

June 17, 2062

It was a strange feeling, looking out at all his classmates as they celebrated and threw their hats into the air. Everywhere he turned, families posed gleefully for photos, as the decorum and somber tone of the ceremony just a few minutes past went right out the window in a sea of hugs, tears, congratulations, joy, and most of all, relief.

The class of 2062 had completed their graduation from the prestigious Hong Kong University, number one school in all of the free city and one of the best universities in the world. Even getting in was a feather in the proverbial cap of an aspiring professional. Graduating was even harder. The normally stoic faces of parents and elders were instead bright with smiles, tears, and pride as they congratulated their offspring with their newfound degrees, welcoming them on their first steps into the world of the Hong Kong Professional.

For him, however, it was different. Standing near one of the side exits of the massive auditorium, he remained curiously detached and aloof. Scanning the crowds, practicing and honing his training even in the midst of one of his young life’s great triumphs, the only flicker of emotion that crossed his face was when she approached.

“Hello Simon. As stoic as ever I see,” she teased him.

“Lynn,” he nodded to her in greeting, “congratulations to you.”

“Congratulations to you too Simon,” she replied in mocking, singsong one of voice. “Honestly, can’t you ever just enjoy the moment? In fact, can’t you ever just enjoy something?”

“Do you have any suggestions as to what I should enjoy?” he answered with no trace of emotion, other than a brief arching of an eyebrow.

“Well, for one thing you could enjoy…” her voice was playful, bordering on suggestive, but she pulled up short when an elderly couple approached, stepping aside to allow them unimpeded access to Simon. Although they knew one another, nonetheless she respectfully introduced them, “Father, Mother, this is Simon Zhang, one of my classmates. Simon, these are my parents.”

Bowing formally and with perfect precision, Simon greeted them politely, “Mr. and Mrs. Tsui, you should be proud of your daughter. She honors your family name.”

Nodding in acknowledgement of the compliment, Mr. Tsui replied, “Our daughter tells us that you have been a good classmate to her during her time at the University. You have our thanks.”

Bowing again in reply, he answered, “Mr. and Mrs. Tsui, think nothing of it. I only fulfilled my responsibilities to a fellow sister of the corporation.”

The parents exchanged an inscrutable glance with one another before Mr. Tsui answered, “You are a credit to the corporation. You will go far and make your ancestors proud.” Turning to his daughter he said, “Come, we have dinner with the family scheduled at the Pearl Dragon this evening. You must pay respects and receive their congratulations.” To Simon, he added, “You are welcome to join us, if you like.”

Shaking his head, Simon answered, “It would not be proper for me to be there Mr. Tsui. This is a time for family.”

“And what about you,” Mrs. Tsui asked gently, speaking for the first time, “what about your family?”

“I have only one family, Mrs. Tsui. I will go and pay my respects to them now.”

Smiling kindly at him, she replied, “We understand. Go and pay your respects to them then.” With that, both parents turned and walked towards the door.

As Lynn turned to follow her parents, she looked back over her shoulder at him, her expression unreadable. “And what about us, Mr. Zhang? Now that we’ve graduated, will we see each other again, fellow brother of the corporation?” she asked, her sarcasm light and hidden beneath a tint of trepidation.

“Only our fate will tell…”

“I understand.” She turned to face him, bowed politely, and then began walking after her parents.

Simon let her walk for a moment, then called gently but clearly, “Lynn.” She didn’t turn around, but she did stop, waiting. “As far as it is up to me, I will make certain of it.”

Glancing back over her shoulder, she flashed him the killer smile she only favored people with when she was genuinely happy. “Good. I will expect you to live up to your words.”

He nodded solemnly. “I will do so.”

A satisfied wink preceded her reply. “I know.”

Without further interaction, she hurried after her parents while he stepped out the side door into the night. Glancing up at the night sky, the brilliance of the stars was outshined by a towering skyscraper off in the distance, a monolithic structure shaped and illuminated in such a way as to be both testament and harness to the attunement of the qi that vibrated through the air. Silently Simon set off through the night air as he began the trek to the towering building he called home, and the dwelling of the only family he knew. Wuxing Corporate Headquarters.

February 17th, 2063

The sounds of terse voices can be heard through the door of nursery. The chaos of having twins are seen everywhere. The piles of clothes, toys and the doubling up of all the basic gear for raising an infant are strewn across the room. The soft sunlight bathes the room in a warm glow of yellows and whites. The door opens with Neasa holding Maire, trying to get her to nurse while Aidan trails behind with Malachi already eagerly sucking on a bottle.

"I think we should seriously think it over.." Neasa glares over the baby's head, cutting him off. "You have got to be joking? I know things are tight but I don't think it's gotten bad enough to rent out our own children to a corporation. Come on Aidan, that woman creeps me out.....she looks at the kids like they're some sort of new meat snack that she can't wait to eat..." As she speaks, she grabs and wrestles a rocking chair underneath her and sighs with relief once she sits down.

"Look I know it's not perfect but we could really use the money, we're drowning in bills here. We had planned and saved for a baby not two." Another glare from Neasa and Aidan looks guilty. "I would not trade them for the world, I just think we need to be realistic about all of this. I say we hire a lawyer and see if we can iron out some sort of arrangement we can all live with. Find a way to keep control of the situation and get the money, money we desperately need I might add." His pointed look at everything around them seems to sit with Neasa. The silence seems to fill the room before she lets out a long held breath.

"Alright I am open to talking about it but I am not signing anything until I am absolutely sure they are not going to do anything to the kids or try to take them away from us. Laugh all you want but I know these corps, they think everything is for sale - people included. In the meantime, let's call your mom again and see if she can swing another stay for a week or two to give us a break and let me pick up some freelance design jobs to ease some of the money worries?" Aidan smiles and nods, walking over and placing a kiss on her head.

"That's all I was asking for."

August 31, 2063

Simon stared out the window of his apartment on into the pouring rain. From his vantage point on the side of Victoria Peak, along the Splendid Dragon Path, he had a spectacular view of Hong Kong in all its glory. Tomorrow it would be exactly one year since his official employment at Wuxing; that he could already afford such a prestigious location in the crowded city of Hong Kong was all the testimony anyone would ever need as to his success as a rising star in the corporation.

For a normal person, of course, such a rapid climb up the corporate ladder would be nearly impossible. But Simon was not normal, he was Awakened. The corporation had known about this, of course. Known this from the time he had been adopted by them, and trained him to be everything they wanted him to be.

He didn’t resent it, as some activists in the civilian world seemed to imply that he should. There were those who implied that the corporation was using him somehow, that they were achieving an unfair proportion of benefit at his personal expense. Such a notion was preposterous. The corporation, in its wisdom and benevolence, sought to help him become all that he could be, and it was incumbent upon him to strive to repay Wuxing with his loyal service and hard work for all that they had invested in him.

Wuxing had guided him gently and lovingly, as a parent would train a child. Some saw adepts as mere machines of destructions, martial artists out of the sims who ran up walls and jumped off them upside down while firing four guns at once and kicking twelve people in the head. Or perhaps adepts were supposed to be the sneakiest ninjas of them all, capable of walking through a crowd without ever being seen, disappearing into shadows in plain sight only to reappear on the other side of a wall somewhere. Or more recently, a charmer nonpareil who used magic to enhance their soft words and physical charms to get anyone to do anything they wanted, mere puppets dancing on the strings of their magically gifted masters.

Simon was none of those. His talents did not run towards combat, or stealth, or congeniality. His talents lay in the field of observation and analysis: a matchless ability to observe the physical and astral world around him; a keen mind able to study the facts and circumstances of a situation and come to a reasoned conclusion; most of all, the ability to blend observation, logical thought, facts and circumstances, and so much more into a picture that others could understand, and more importantly, act upon.

That was the basis of his value to his superiors, and it was that gift which the company graciously permitted him to indulge every day in service to the corporation. In but a year’s time, they had deemed him worthy of that most prestigious title that meant more to him than any mere financial gain or esteem of the world; his satisfaction, indeed, his identity, came from three precious words: Wuxing Company Man.

He did not yet know what being a Wuxing Company Man entailed. He had earned his way to that precious title through his work in Wuxing’s Internal Investigation division, protecting the company from those within who would selfishly try to exploit the corporate family for their own personal gain. His investigative and interpersonal skills had resulted in a superb track record, and he had rapidly gained a reputation as the man to call when the company wanted to get to the bottom of an audit or investigation quickly. They trusted him so much that he had been sent across the globe, protecting Wuxing from all internal threats whenever and wherever his superiors had seen fit to send him.

Even now, thinking about how much the company had entrusted him with in the past year brought a tightness to Simon’s throat. The mere idea that he, a lowly orphan with no family to speak of would be entrusted with the critical task of protecting Wuxing against harm from within was stunning. That he would be deemed fit for the task of evaluating the corporate family and judging who was worthy to serve Wuxing loyally and faithfully into the future was nothing short of an awesome privilege and tremendous responsibility.

Sternly Simon shook himself, firmly dispelling the emotions that rushed to the surface at the thought of the honor that had been bestowed upon him. Discipline and decorum must be maintained, even in private. Even if he did not know what he would be called to do in his new position, he knew who he was now, and the demands that came along with it. He was a man now. And not just any man.

He was a Wuxing Company Man…not a child, but a man of the company…not just any company, but Wuxing. To be a man of the company, to be found fit for service in the corporation at the highest, most elite levels of the institution, no, the family! There could be no greater honor than this.

Without taking his eyes off the gently falling rain outside, he read the clock on his nightstand through its reflection off the window, the red numbers seeming to project themselves through the window into the sky. Simon smiled to himself. 23:59:00. In sixty seconds, he would be a Wuxing Company Man. What in his heart he always had been, what in his soul he always would be.

9 July 2063

It had been two months since Martin had come home. He had missed the appointment with the wedding planner to hash out the last few details before the fall event. He had missed Jonatha's 1 month birthday...not that anyone had come to the party anyway. He had missed their 2 year anniversary, the first time his child had smiled at her parents, and Johnnie's annual Fourth of July barbeque.

She left the bed less and less often. Only when the baby needed to be changed and she didn't have diapers near the bed, or every couple of days to eat something so she could keep breastfeeding. Nobody called any more, nobody stopped by, and nobody answered their phones. She had tried going to see people after the first week. She had gone to the houses of the people that had welcomed them in the past, houses she had cooked at, houses they had partied at. Strangely, every time she knocked on a door or rang a bell, there was nobody home. Despite the cars in the driveway, the furtive faces at the window, and the whispers behind the door, there was nobody home.

I still ask myself if I'm ever going to get used to the face I see reflected in pools of water. The murky shaking surface of the puddles show me a downy coating of fur. I know that the fur is a process of gene therapy, and my altered cheekbones were the simple gift of a surgeon's knife. Still though, my eyes come through behind a mask of terror as I labor in the internment camps.

Something is going on here beneath the veneer of a simple racist response to the unknown. My superiors sent me in to the AGS two months after the beginnings of SURGE and after a brief altercation with Special Police, I was interred. Initial contact with some of the more charismatic prisoners has confirmed that a riot could be in the works. They tell me that all they need are weapons and they will be ready to move and strike back, though I know that it would only be an exercise in pro-active suicide.

Of course, the stream of events which always follow from people without guns revolting against the people with guns has never stopped me before. I need to know what is going on and the riot could serve as ample distraction.

Tonight I'm going to go into the health center. It's the only secure building that allows changelings access.

--------------------------

Figures drifted in and out of the room. Patients, doctors, nurses... The walls were butter-colored. When had she ever had butter? It was hard to keep track. And whispering, they all whispered. Together. Watching. Butter... on corn. Real, sweet corn.

Two figures emerged from the corn field, crouched low, looking up and down the long road that stretched miles in both directions. Cicadas creaked in the distance.

Uncle Creach had said the cicadas they could hear now had been asleep for seventeen years. Longer than April had been alive. Two said that was baloney. That they weren't asleep, they were busy eating all that time. For seventeen years. Two knew lots of cool stuff like that. They both agreed that cicadas must be very fat. Uncle Creach called Two a know-it-all and stormed out of Grandma E's kitchen. The two shrugged at each other over their lunch of grilled cheese and right-outta-the-field corn. April said that she'd read of ancient emperors that kept pet insects on strings and by the end of the week, April and Two had built a forbidden city out by the barn out of old palettes and tarps. Complete with a leashed cicada entourage. It had been fun. Until Uncle Creach - 'Uncle Creature' they called him - had discovered their fortress. He yelled at them, tore apart the fort, freed the bug entourage and sent Two home, ears burning with rage at the way he'd spoken to April, like she'd done something wrong. Like the two of them had been doing something wrong. He watched Creature drag the girl away by her arm still ranting about what good girls did and didn't do.

---------------------------

The moon had almost set before I rolled out of the rack I had been assigned to and crept across the camp. Photo-sensitive hairs woven amidst the soft coat of fur darkened and absorbed the light. I moved as a liquid shadow, threatening and terrifying to the broken victims on the internment camp. Approaching the gap between the huddled together barracks and the clinic, I drop down to a crouch.

The fresh dirt beneath by boots triggers a tumbling avalanche of memory from before the training.

I know from my records that I grew up along the Eastern seaboard, but these memories were always of somewhere else. A land of gentle hills, cornfields and insects calling in the night. A girl I should recognize, the smell of light dust and dirt near to my nose as I crawl over a gentle rise.

We are playing a grown-up game of cowboys and Indians…as grown up as you can be at age 10 with imaginary enemies and tractors as safehouses. We are playing Runners and Agents. Today the girl wanted to be runners and we were deep within the southwest fighting against the Evil Aztlaners.

And then it was gone. Without giving me any deeper clues into the childhood which was subsumed by the training, lost in the fog of antiquity so that I could exist until my death in perfect clarity. At nineteen, I joined up and never looked back. Now as I feel my memories in fractured clarity, I wonder whether I would make the same choice.

Derailing that entire line of thought, I creep closer to the clinic. With twenty steps I would be inside the clinic and living by my wits and senses.
---------------------------

A plume of dust in the distance. “The convoy is coming!” One of the figures pointed and gestured urgently to the other. They dived behind the cover of some roadside shrubs.

One of them, the girl, backed up onto her elbows and snuck a glance down the road. "Okay, Two. This is it. They're coming. You know what we have to do."

She grinned. She didn't know at all. But Two would. He always had the best ideas. He raised his head to peer out over the road for himself. She looked at him, at his clear brow, his fine features... intelligence alive in every gesture. The sun lit the fine hairs on his face and made his hair glow like a halo. She loved him. A wave of sadness swept over her. His brow creased and he opened his mouth.

"Shit," he said.

Scrambling backwards, "Come on!"

He was turning toward her, eyes bright. She schooled her face to smoothness, "What?" she asked.

"Come on!"

The door to the center opened and shut. Out in the general recovery room, patients groaned and turned in their cots. The ones who could make utterances or move, anyway. Patients tended patients under the watchful eyes of the doctors and nurses. All of them freaks of nature. None moreso than the doctors and nurses. April's head rolled toward the sound of the door. It was night outside. And dim in the room. She couldn't make out who had entered.

One of Them.

They were all Them.

Pretty much. She blinked and the image of the man doubled. Her vision was blurry. Good, but natural, unaugmented. In all the experiments and treatments and replacements, she'd never let Them touch her eyes. They had complied only because their data on optical enhancements was complete. Not because They felt any urge to honor her wishes. That and because if another bit of ware got shoe-horned into her, she'd die. Or worse, invalidate Their experiments. They needed her alive, to study the long term effects of the work they'd done. The sims simply didn't provide enough information. They needed a real, living subject. And a willing one. Truly willing. And now they'd abandoned her. Shuffled her off to Germany into a 'work camp' for freaks and misfits. There was no doubt in April's mind that she was still being watched. Observed. To see what their little automaton could do. She'd show them. Some time. When she could think straight. Right now she just wanted...

The woman's eyes fluttered as her head rolled away from the door. Her voice was quiet. Slurred, "Corn... "
---------------------------

The resounding echo of Mengele’s work carried beyond the shattered past and fully into the internment camp’s clinic. As I approached Unit 731, I heard the hiss and moan of ventilation systems and artificial lungs used when the patient could not afford implantation.

The patients were all changelings. Halfway through the room I came across her. A woman with shades of familiarity--all black polymers and resin stained steel. She was no one I recognized, but her drug addled senses carried a single word from my shattered memories. There was definitely something going on here.

---------------------------

April ran. Dodging back and forth between the tall corn plants. The blades rattled and rustled and she followed Two by sound as much as by sight. She called out, “Two, what is it?”

He yelled over his shoulder, panting out the words, “That was… the Connors’ …truck.”

“Shit,” she said and poured on some more speed.

The Connors were a favorite target. They owned then next farm over. April and Two would rush through their chores and meet where two small creeks fed into each other marking the edge of three properties. Grandma E’s, the Connors’ and… Two’s family, April guessed. She never was sure who owned that third plot. And Two never said one way or the other. Wouldn’t. He didn’t talk about his family much. Or his home. The fields on that side of the creek always lay fallow. Two made cracks about being a dirt farmer.

It remained a mystery, though it made sense to April that Two didn’t have a regular complement of farm chores – he almost always seemed to beat her to the creek. Thinking back she couldn’t be sure that she’d ever seen him walk across those empty fields to meet her. Or even to go home. For a while she entertained notions that he was a sprite or a brownie. Something fey and magical just for her.
But pretty quickly she caught on that he simply didn’t care to talk about it. Was uncomfortable for some reason. That was fine. Certainly April understood that, she was niece to The Creature, after all. So by mutual agreement, she never asked and he didn’t offer. And so, for her, he remained shrouded in mystery, her friend, the Puck.

Pranks were a favorite pastime. And the Connor farm, a favorite victim. The largest farm for miles, it had dozens of farm hands at any one time. More during the harvest. The dour, humorless workers just asked for it. Some took it better than others. Some… April and Two spent a lot their days fleeing across creeks and pastures, running pell-mell away angry, arm-waving farm hands. And quite a few times, feigning innocence when caught.

Today was shaping up to be one of those days. They had dusted off an old stand-by. Potato in the tail pipe. The ancient, care-worn, irritating lore passed down over decades. It only worked on some of the vehicles, though, the older ones. And it didn’t do any real harm. Just puzzled the driver until they walked around and saw the offending vegetable and inevitably chucked it at the nearest clump of laughing bushes. Today had been such a day. But Mr. Connor himself had gotten a good look at them. And the one time he’d caught them before, he’d packed them up in the truck and driven them straight to Grandma E’s, frog-marching them in the back door for the tongue-lashing of the century. Grandma E had looked very disappointed. That had been the worst bit.

For both of them.
---------------------------

The guards on duty near the clinic doors were more focused on external threats than internal ones, apparently not expecting any of the changeling experiments to be ambulatory, much less dangerous. Sneaking up behind a lone guard smoking, I grab him from behind and bash his head into the building repeatedly. The first blow stuns him and by the seventeenth even dental records would be unable to identify him.

I’m not sure why I did it, perhaps it was reflected brutality or perhaps deep-down a part of me enjoyed meaningless violence. That would be a question for later…I crouch down and scoop up the stun baton. Several guards later, I have a small stockpile of weapons and am waking leaders within the camp. Blood sticks down the fur in uncomfortable matted spots, congealing darkly along the grips of the implements of revolution.

They won’t survive against well-organized forces with guns, I admit silently to myself, but I still hand over the weapons and fan the flames of revolt until like wildfire, it streaks through the barrack. As they spill out of the building, others rise to the noise, many cringe and hide, but some rally to the call. Before we have gone past 100 meters, I am fading to the back of the group and heading to my own barracks. I wash my hands of the blood, scrubbing away the physical traces with clumps of fur. Below the surface, this would haunt me until I died, but the persona-fix didn’t care. It programmed revolution, and I excelled at violence.

---------------------------

Today they had been certain that they’d gotten away unspotted from the scene. It didn’t seem that way now. They broke out of the corn not far from the house. The truck was parked under the car port, April could hear the engine ticking as it cooled. They were too late. Grandma E wouldn’t get to hear their side. A part of April was glad, she hated lying to Grandma E. The back door swung open and Uncle Creach came stalking out. He glared at them both as he approached. They glared back, panting, catching their breath.

The Creature grabbed April by the arm and turned to walk her away. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called.

Uncle Creach made a strange and disturbing face. It took April a while to realize her uncle was smiling. It was a nasty smile, “Go home, runt,” said Creach.

As if the man hadn’t spoken, Two said, “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

He didn’t.

---------------------------

Rubbing the back of my head from where the support beam of the bunkbed had connected solidly with my skull, I am subsumed by memories.

A man and woman both in UCAS army uniforms stand on the platform wave at me as the train pulls away. I can feel the electromagnetic fields building up to propel the train at bullet speeds out of the station. They treated me as if I didn't know what was going on. I was being shipped away, they didn't want me anymore.

Flashes of other young boys, a camp of some sort. Each morning after breakfast I would leave, that's how I met her. An older woman was always there too, not asking questions as she hands me a warm spiced bread.

The girl was my first crush, I realize, but what happened to her? Did I kill her like so many others. Only her eyes are familiar, though with today's bio-tech that doesn't mean anything.

Nursing the bruise like a good broken-willed prisoner should, I lay there listening to the sounds of death and carnage. Soon I would move to make my escape, once the guards were fully engaged.
---------------------------

Creach dragged April into the kitchen, nodded his head at Mr. Connors. Grandma E was handing a box of jars and foil-wrapped bundles to the leathery old man. “Here, that’s the last of it. I do hope that helps, Brother.”

“It will, Sister Ellen. Thank you. Mrs. Connors sends her regards.”

April tugged against Creach’s grip on her, “Let go!” she barked. He held her a few moments just to show her he could and then let go of her arm.

“You forget what tonight is, girl?” April’s brow furrowed and then she remembered. She was going to The Hall tonight. They were inducting new members, and Uncle Creach was sponsoring her. April wondered why. Grandma E bustled about the kitchen, cleaning up after a day of baking for tonight’s gathering. She rarely went to The Hall, but her banana bread was famous. She smiled and patted April’s cheek, “Bet you’re excited. Getting inducted tonight. Here. Take this,” she put a slab of banana bread into April’s hand, “You should eat something. Who knows what silliness these roustabouts will have you doing before they let you eat.”

Mr. Connors’ leathery face broke into a grin, “I assure you, Sister, eating is the first order of business.”

Uncle Creach’s face split into that nasty grin again. Connors glared at Creach and the younger man’s face returned to its customary unpleasant expression. Grandma E seemed oblivious, but something seemed weird to April. Mr. Connors nodded his head to Grandma E and held the door open for April to lead the way out. On an impulse she hugged Grandma E, who hugged her back and petted her hair. “Don’t let Uncle Creach give you too hard a time.”

They trooped out the door. Grandma called, “You have fun!”

She didn’t.

06 Jun 2063

Trivesan closed the open display windows on his workstation, frowning thoughtfully. Rain hissed on the windows outside, gray curtains opening and closing across the Sound.

"What?" Parse queried, leaning back in his chair. The slim bodyguard's long coat draped open, revealing the Ares Predator in the cutaway holster on his hip. Light from the overheads winked off a hollowpoint round as it whisked back and forth across the back of Parse's hand.

"We're out of position." Trivesan stood and moved towards the door. His bodyguard reached the portal before him without having appeared to move quickly at all. The hallway beyond was empty, Section staff usually did not hang around after the end of the workday.

"How? We've got three squads in contact. Rotating shifts. Matrix tails. Drone Section on Alert Five. Astral's covered." Parse cleared the intersections they came to with subconscious shifts of his body and eyes. Trivesan noticed, because he noticed everything, but did not comment. As a professional, Parse had few equals. He shook his head in response to his bodyguard's question, though.

"No, we're only seeing what they want us to see. Despite what Intel says, I think we're only seeing their current OpDec. We need to reposition our assets to pierce this veil of disinformation. I'm cancelling all current ops and recalling personnel until we can reassign based on a new assessment." His long fingers stroked the air silently, entering keystrokes into his pocket secretary.

"Directorate isn't going to like it."

"Directorate can choke themselves. This is my operation." Trivesan's tone of voice was savagely matter of fact, mirroring the neutral phrasing of his bodyguard. Parse shrugged. This was a decision that was above his paygrade.