He watched his empire go up in flames on his sub-dermal implants, seated in the back of his luxury gyro while in transit back west to his safe house. The Harristown facility and the surrounding township burned. Buildings toppled as easily as Kemprex’s stock. De-Programmed dressed in white scrubs fled for the countryside or lingered to wreak more havoc. Multiple federal and local agencies swarmed overhead in fat jet-carriers while media drones filmed from every angle. Every news channel showed the same thing. Kemprex was imploding on live television. His armed guards and the federal agents sent as backup were dead. There was too much to hide, this time, and the ace up his sleeve, the boy, was gone. Yelich was dead, too, if the reports were correct. It would take weeks to resurrect both Yelich and William into serviceable clone backups.

“I’m fucked,” said Kurniec, switching off the live news feed being broadcast into his chipped brain. “Royally fucked.”

Inbound calls came in droves. High level employees, security officers, frantic shareholders, the police and the media all wanted to talk. Kurniec muted the implant, wishing for some peace in his lowest hour. He poured another scotch and slammed it back, spilling some on his tailored suit.

Kurniec dropped the glass and buried his face in his hands. He knew he could never show his face again in public. He was going to need a whole new identity. No more parties. No more models. Perhaps the Ordo Lucis would help him? He had given them the gift of eternal life after all and Kemprex was as much their baby as his. They’d have to protect him. Unless they simply got rid of him?

Kurniec shook his head and laughed at the thought, trying to will back his confidence.

Jail didn’t scare him. A clone could go in his place. It was the loss of power and privilege, the lowering of his stature in the eyes of his peers which really got to him. Or perhaps waking up in an Ordo dungeon…

“They wouldn’t dare,” he said to himself.

The intercom chimed.

“I don’t want to be disturbed,” snapped Kurniec, hooking up the fallen glass tumbler. He suddenly found himself quite parched.

“We are being hailed, Sir,” replied the pilot. “They told me to patch them directly to you.”

“Who? I thought we were dark?”

“He said they were your boss.”

“I don’t have a boss. I am the boss, you cretin.”

“Sorry. I meant master. He said he was your master.”

Kurniec closed his eyes. This was it. The call he feared the most. “Put them through,” he said, losing the venom in his voice. He had no time to compose himself or stitch together a story where he could save some face when the penetrating voice of the Grand Master of the Ordo filled the cabin.

“David.”

“Sir,” he replied, as his tongue dried and knees started to shake.

“It is quite the mess you’ve made over in Ohio. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“We are very disappointed in how it’s been handled from the beginning. The total destruction of the Harristown plant and the escape of these… de-Programmed is the final straw. You have brought the world’s attention dangerously close to us. Again. That is unforgivable.”

“It was a mistake. I can fix this. I can fix it all,” babbled Kurniec. “Just give me the chance.”

“You will fix it. That I can guarantee. But first you must come home and face your punishment. An enclave has been summoned. You have until sundown to show yourself. Miss the deadline and we will hunt you down. That is all.”

The comm-link was cut and Kurniec slumped back into his chair. “Fuck.”

Kurniec thought for a moment. Did he dare run or should he face his judgement?

He had his doubts about staying alive for long if he turned tail. The decision was made for him. He pressed the intercom button.

“Turn this ship around. We go to Virginia.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The carrier banked sharply. Kurniec stared out the window, his jaw tightening and his eyes flashing with murder. “If I do anything, I’ll find out who did this to me and ruin their pathetic life.”

End of the first strory.