The coast was clear. Both the Pros had taken care of Yelich first. Nobody had come for his body so far. William stumbled from the destroyed office and turned toward the elevators. He held a hand to the gaping wound in his chest protectively, his telekinesis applying the needed pressure. His vision blurred around the edges. If he fell, he doubted he’d stand again.

His mind quested outwards, guiding him instead of his faltering eyesight, wary of pursuit. He made it to the elevator in drawn out increments, the constant pain in his shoulder taking up most of his thoughts. William fumbled for the R.F tag in his coat pocket. It came out slick with blood. He pressed it to the receiver and hit the call button, smearing blood across the blue LED panel. Spent, he rested against the solid wall and waited for the elevator to make the long ascent.

He felt the profile of several minds approaching his position from the temporary command area. Williams licked his dry lips and concentrated. His physical state taxed his mental control. He reached out and clumsily burrowed into the guard’s minds, urging them to stop before they could reach him. Their brisk walk slowed to a halt. William could sense the confusion in the men but felt powerless to do more.

“You guys feel this?” asked one.

“You too?”

“It’s like… I want to run but my feet won’t move.”

“It’s him. Has to be.”

“Call for reinforcements.”

William clung on, counting and praying while blocking the guard’s capacity to walk, unable to do more. The elevator chimed and creaked open. William gasped an audible sigh of relief and slipped inside. He pawed at the control panel, mashing all of the buttons for the research levels. The doors slid closed. William crumpled against the corner and rested.

The doors opened. Bright, sterile light from the hallway assaulted his eyes. William groaned and rocked to his feet. Two guards swung out from their hidden positions, submachine guns aiming at him. William lashed out with his telekinesis before they could squeeze their triggers. Hands of force gripped the barrels and pointed them at the opposite man as the guns fired, ripping up part of the interior of the elevator before cutting the men to pieces. The two guards stumbled backwards onto the floor, bleeding. William stepped over them.

The corridor was empty of staff. He turned back to the elevator and raised a fist. Sweat broke out on his pale forehead as he focused his power. William wrenched at the elevator cables with all of his mental might. He was cornered down here. He wasn’t going to make it easy for them to find him. A giant pulley which guided the steel cable gave way and careened down the shaft. It smashed into the elevator, caving in the roof. Dust and debris flew out of the open door, diverting around William and the shield he protected himself with.

William walked past the bullet holes, broken tiles and dented panels left over from the clone riot, searching for a complete version of Connor for himself. His senses picked up the mental signatures of the cowering techs and researchers hiding in the toilets at the far end of the level. Three armed security guards watched the doors, their fear gripping them in place. William ignored them. He glanced in the first room. The clone lay on the steel operating table, bound at the feet and hands with reinforced steel restraints. This one had open wounds on his head and chest. William could see the fibres of muscle and particles of bone stitching back together. He grunted and moved to the next window. The clone inside seemed complete. William scanned himself inside with his blood stained R.F card. He stood over the comatose body, his face turned with disgust.

“Can’t believe this shit,” he said to himself, or perhaps for the benefit of the clone. He felt a twist of anger deep in his core. His world was disintegrating around him. Kemprex thought they could just use him and toss him away once he got too difficult to handle. Much like they did with these clones.

“We’re more alike than I thought.”

Revenge and vengeance were hot on his mind. William steadied himself with his good hand against the table and summoned the dregs of his ability. He burrowed into the dormant clone’s mind, seeking the juncture between it and the collective hive mind he had established. His psyche flicked the switch, activating the clone’s brain. Connor reeled in confused panic, as one might after being forcibly woken from a terrible dream. William seated the boy in the familiar surroundings of his home, kindling the memories of sight, sound and smell. Connor backed into the corner of the room, his eyes darting about for signs of danger.

“What’s happening? Is this another dream? Are you here Mom?”

William cloaked himself in the visage of Connor’s brother, battered and bleeding from the same wounds, and deposited himself within the dream.

“Help!” he yelled, stumbling into the room. “You need to help me, bro. They shot me.”

Connor ran to his brother’s side, supporting him under the arm and carrying him to the sofa. William groaned and cried in pain as Connor laid him down.

“What happened to you? Who did this?”

“It was those assholes who tried to take you. They shot me, dude. You’ve got to do something,” said William, gripping Connor’s hand.

Connor frowned. “I’ll call mom. She’ll know what to do. She can help.”

William coughed, bringing up a mouthful of blood. “There’s no time. You’ve got to heal me, bro.”

Connor winced and turned away, troubled by something.

“You’ve done it before, right?”

“Yes…” replied Connor. “I have…”

“Please,” begged William, extending a blood stained hand to Connor. “I don’t have much left.”

Connor closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said after a pause. “I’ll help. Just don’t tell mom what I can do. She’ll freak out otherwise.”

“Anything you say,” responded William, lying back on the sofa. “I promise.”

Connor knelt down and reached toward the wound with a pointed finger.

A slit appeared on the tip and a wriggling length of tissue wormed its way out. William resisted his natural urge to scream and back away. He opened his eyes in the physical world.

A thin red line dangled from the tip of the clone’s right hand. William settled his queasy stomach and picked it up between two fingers, dragging it gently to the open wound on his chest. He removed the telekinetic pressure holding back the worst of the bleeding and poked Connor’s disgusting flesh inside. The pain rose to a harrowing crescendo. William howled in agony, his body vibrating with tension. As fast it came, it went, leaving a blissful calm by comparison. William breathed deeply, composing himself. The wound tingled as the clone sealed it closed, repairing the damage to the broken collar bone and torn muscles. There were other injuries, such as the shrapnel lodged in his eye and cheek and another piece of metal stuck near his heart that he had had no idea about. The clone removed the foreign objects with the skill of a master surgeon, the process uncomfortable yet painless. William swayed on his feet and plotted his revenge.