Connor had fought like a wild cat when he attempted to slip him back into a resting sleep. No fabricated dream would take. The boy could see through William’s weavings of lies and would soon wake, screaming and thrashing in the tank which contained him. In William’s last attempt, Connor had left the safe confines of his familial home and escaped to the roof. He stood at the edge of a building, an imaginary wind tussling his hair and clothes, his face to the fake sun. William watched from high above amongst immobile clouds made of memories, invisible and silent, his concern growing at his lack of success.

“You’ve lost!” called Connor, offering the briefest glimpse of a smile. “I can remember now. Remember everything you’ve done to me. It’s only a matter of time now. You can’t watch me every second of the day.”

William spoke with a voice of thunder, his frustration getting the better of him. “Your delusions have finally gotten the better of you, Hill. You may rule the body, but I rule supreme in the mind.”

Connor pointed at his head. “I’ve remembered something important. Something they don’t want you to know. Just how much do they trust you, the people you work for?”

William shied back at the question. “They trust me with everything…” he said to himself. He dove into Connors mind, searching for his secrets. He sifted through the boy’s memories, looking for the ammunition Connor thought he had. He found a lone kernel of hope and attached to it, was an alien, indescribable feeling written in a code or language that William had never seen before. He pried further, but met only more of the strange, undecipherable feelings. William didn’t know what he was seeing. It was as if Connor had discovered this new language, or rather a new way of feeling. William stepped back to appraise it some more. Connor attached his hopes to this feeling, as small as they were. There was another connection, but again, that too was unfamiliar to William’s understanding of emotion and thought. He pulled out of Connor’s mind and resumed his watch from the clouds.

“They’ve been hiding things from you,” continued Connor, his gaze falling to the pavement far below. “All I need is a little time… the right materials… and I’ll bust myself out of here.”

“If that’s what you want to believe… so be it,” said William, thinking of his new strategy. If Connor was so desperate to escape, why not let him think that he had. He concocted a new dreamscape, one where Connor escaped, exactly as he hoped. “Why hadn’t I thought of this earlier?”

Perhaps because you didn’t consider it possible to happen in real life, and yet here you are, came his own thoughts to scold him once more.

William built a set of scenarios, much as what had happened when the clones had woken up, culminating in a desperate pursuit through the woods and a long trip home to Idaho. It wasn’t perfect but it should keep him occupied at the very least. He refreshed the dream, adding his new recipe. Connor found himself back in the containment tank and struggling with the bonds that held him, except in the dream he acted with determination rather than manic desperation. William watched him wail against the glass until it shattered, spilling the neon pink, nutrient rich liquid across the laboratory floor. Satisfied, he surfaced from the other boy’s mind, returning fully to his own. His body tingled. William opened his eyes to the dim lighting he had left on in his sparsely decorated, windowless office. He stood slowly from his swivel chair, testing the jellied muscles in his legs and back. He must have been working on Connor for a while. His stomach rumbled and the unclean taste in his mouth suggested he try drinking something other than alcohol for once. William left his office in search of the cafeteria and something to fill his belly.

Outside in the hall, the taste of ether was inescapable. That and the smell of death had William shaking as he watched another slain clone being loaded onto a gurney. They lined the walls down the corridor, head to toe, as far as he could see. Each clone would be reintroduced to the Goose, Connor himself. His healing process would take over, repairing the damage the hollow points and mini-ex had done. The healed clones would then be put on ice, ready for transfer and integration into their own Cornucopia machine, forever a slave to a digital master.

“And good riddance, once and for all,” mumbled William to himself. He just had to stomach these last few hours, then he’d be free.

Free from the prison you’ve imposed on someone else, came a rebuking thought. William let the idea go. It wasn’t his fault. He was simply following orders.

He walked down the corridor, eyes averted from the sight of so many messy head wounds. The elevator doors stood open, a single Pro-human outfitted in black poly-carb armour guarding it. Another of the monster guards stood by the double doors leading to the containment vault of de-Programmed teenagers. They were to be transferred to another lab out west where the techs would have one last attempt at curing them of their mutated genes. Only a few had actually been cured, and those were done for the sake of publicity, their strange abilities minor compared to the others.

William walked into the elevator unchallenged, giving the soldier a casual nod as he passed. He thumbed the level two button and the doors dinged close.

The cafeteria was a hive of activity, even in the aftermath of the recent drama. A team of six Pro-human soldiers stood at a table, their tactical helmets removed and weapons stowed, receiving a mission briefing from a slight man dressed in all black fatigues. At the other tables were a mix of logistics and information technicians making phone calls and working at laptop computers. The combined thoughts of the people in the room indicated they had a lead on the escaped clone. Several men and women were positively fizzing with excitement as they plugged at their keyboards. Net Jockeys sat slumped in what looked like a torpid stupor, their eyes rolling up into the backs of their pallid heads while their tongues lolled over the precious information which downloaded straight into their hardwired brains.

The jockeys gave William the jitters. They dedicated their life to conquering the capricious internet, addicted to the highs and lows of an almost purely digital life. The Khalists had proven how dangerous that game could be. William turned his attention to the Pros who listened to the briefing with laser focus, like wolves stalking a lame deer, waiting for their chance to kill.

“…entry at these points of the roof. Here and here,” said the man in fatigues pointing to a digital map. “Once inserted, you will spread out and find the target by any means necessary. The target will be retrieved for analysis and brought back to this facility. Witnesses will also need to be neutralised and the scene cleaned. Use of proprietary hardware is forbidden. Instead you will have access to our armoury and outfit yourselves with sub-military grade weaponry only. Nobody can know a Pro-human wet team were there, as it will raise too many questions. Instead, we need to make it look like a low rent gang attack or corporate clean job. Our jockeys will scrub the evidence clean…”

William noticed Yelich in the corner of the room. The neon green lights of the various displays reflected from his rimmed glasses, hiding his eyes. Thick grey smoke curled from the tip of a cigarette held delicately in two walnut fingers, his crooked elbow cupped by the free hand. Yelich smoked wherever the hell he wanted. He didn’t give a fuck about anybody else’s feelings or the health consequences. He could afford a new set of lungs, no problem. The scientist’s thoughts were still lost to William. He snarled and skirted around the overflowing space to talk to the man directly.

“Am I needed on this one?” he said without preamble.

“No. We’re not interested in bringing this one home whole. It would soothe a few souls to know this one had been punished too,” replied the scientist, punctuating the sentence with a drag on his cigarette.

“Where is he?”

“Chesterton. Only a dozen or so miles away. Your boy couldn’t even leave the state before getting caught…” said Yelich, giving William a glib smile. “That’s one less thing we have hanging over our heads. The least pressing… but baby steps I guess.”

“Our friend is finally asleep,” replied William, sour at the constant barbs from the old man. “You can hook the copies up when ready.”

Yelich flicked ash on the floor.

William nodded at the Pro team. “How’d you find him?”

“Local P.D did a search on him.”

William resisted the urge to bite his lip in front of the other man. “Are we really going to neutralise some cops??”

“Depends on how they react… how much they know. They’ll send someone in to scout the place out. Big dogs will come in and kick the door down if the piggy doesn’t play ball.”

“You seem very calm, considering what we are about to do,” said William.

Yelich dropped his finished cigarette on the floor and snubbed it out with the heel of his leather shoes. “Your Uncle trusts me to get results. No matter the cost.”

The mercenaries finished their briefing and headed for security’s modest armoury. The tension in the room seemed to break as the giant killers left the room. William expelled a breath he couldn’t remember holding.

“Enough gawking. Time we got back to cleaning up your mistakes, eh?” asked Yelich, clapping William on the shoulder and walking away in his ponderously slow gait.

William felt his face turn into a bitter sneer. The bastards mind was completely closed to him and the cocky attitude proved he didn’t fear his abilities at all. What had Yelich done to himself to make him immune?