SILAS

I jerk upright and out of sleep, forcefully transferred from one era and into the next. I've gone from biking on a brisk summer night in a suburban district to crouching in the corner of a dark, dank cave, anxious and alert.

Were you there, with me? Did you see it?

A dream. Only, it was more than a dream, wasn't it? A memory. A pitch-perfect recreation in the way that dreams never are. A facsimile.

And a curse. To go back to the 'before', to experience my old life, full of warmth and love, despite the occasional frustrations, inconveniences, insecurities. Only for it to be suddenly torn away.

I didn't know what I had, and I lost it. I suppose that's all there is to it. Gemma might have shown up for me in my hour of need at that party, but I wasn't there a few short months later, when she needed me. Just thinking about it--it's like an ice-cold knife to the chest.

It's all my fault, what happened. To Gemma, and to my mom. And I know for a fact my father never forgave me. That's why he avoided me, retreating into his work. Until he convinced me to leave with him suddenly, before we got hit by a bright light on the highway, and the car flipped over, and I woke up...well, here. In the future.

And what a future it is. It is a torn, ravaged, war-ridden world out there. Most would see it as hopeless, but I have to think I can still do some good for the people around me. Otherwise, what's the point?

Lightning flashes outside, briefly illuminating half the cave as light streams in through the mouth. I see Shiloh, crouched over by her bedding and backpack, a finger to her lips—or the part of her clear oxygen mask that covers her her lips.

Have you met her, yet? I think you'd like her. She's a girl about my age, maybe a bit older, and almost a head shorter. She's very no-nonsense, very headstrong, but with a soft side, too. During the day, as we were traveling, she kept asking me questions about what life was like for me before the end of the world. She's fascinated by the subject. Sometimes I think her preoccupation with me is almost anthropological in nature, like she's determined to solve the anomaly that is me. But she's definitely interested in my world as well. My descriptions of my old house in the cul de sac up on the hill are strange and alien to her. She's never taken a bus to school, or climbed a tree, or sat outside on the grass on a sunny day. She's lived in an underground bunker called 'The Cloister' her whole life, with its gray, cement walls, and stale, recycled air. No windows, and nothing much to look at even if there were, not in a place like this. The only good views left are in old photographs and video archives.

For all we know, The Cloister is the sole refuge of the last remnants of humanity. That's not sustainable. We need a way to expand, at the very least. Even better, we need to fix the ecology, make this a place where we can actually live again. If that's actually possible.

That's why we're out here, looking for a hidden complex south of the Cloister. Shiloh thinks we could find some answers there, and I'm inclined to believe her. More urgently, we should be able to get our hands on some weapons and equipment we can use to defend ourselves when the Biodroids return.

Oh, did I tell you about them? They are powerful organic machines. Technically, I'm one of them. Honestly, I don't understand it, and thanks to my lost memories, it's possible I never will. What I do know is that they seem very intent on capturing me, and killing any humans who have come into contact with me so far. But I'm not going to let them.

There's no telling when the Biodroids will be back. We're on a bit of a time-sensitive operation, here. Which is why we decided to try and make the trip in one day. Unfortunately, a harsh storm picked up, forcing us to take shelter. Technically, with my hardy, bionic body, I could have continued on, but I wasn't comfortable leaving Shiloh and Cade unprotected just yet. It's enough of a risk leaving The Cloister behind to begin with.

Of course, it's possible that the Biodroids have already found us anyway.

I watch Shiloh closely, waiting for a signal. The lightning may have only provided a moment's worth of illumination, but I have other means of seeing in the dark.

With a thought, I activate a night-vision mode, using my OS.

My surroundings become clear to me, albeit through the greenish, muted lens I once associated with games like Metal Gear Solid or Splintercell.

Shiloh is still on one knee, one finger to her lips. Her complexion is sickly pale in my night-vision. Her loose, blonde hair is matted against her face and neck in curly strands, thanks to the rain, and the damp atmosphere of the cave. As always, she's wearing her no-nonsense, navy blue jumpsuit. Even sleeps in it, apparently.

She must know I can see her, even in this dark, because she's gesturing now, pointing toward the cave entrance.

'Someone's here,' she mouths.

My OS (Operating System) has a number of different systems for proximity detection. Some of them will activate automatically, like a hazard notification, if I was to stand too close to a particularly hot fire, for example. Others require a certain level of concentration to maintain at full capacity, just like human senses do.

I bring up one of those now, in my OS. A proximity sensor that uses minute vibrations in the air to determine where potential threats might be.

Unfortunately, the storm is throwing a wrench into the sensors. If there's anything out there, my systems can't distinguish it from the storm activity. There's just too much noise.

It occurs to me I probably should have positioned myself between my two companions and the mouth of the cave. As it currently stands, both Shiloh and Cade are pretty close to the opening. I'm a good distance from then, at the back corner of the cavity.

Of course, when we settled down here, we were seeking shelter from the storm, not...other things.

Shiloh tenses suddenly, cocking her head in the direction of her shoulder, toward the cave entrance.

I activate Blast Protocol. My bionic fingers and palm disassemble, coming together into a ring just above my wrist, turning my metal arm into a cannon. I ready a small blast, aiming at the gap in the cave wall.

Movement. Not on my sensors. In my vision. A slim, glinting projectile which leaps from the hollow darkness. The angle of the trajectory is such that I can't see the source, but I can see the target. Shiloh herself.

I let off the blast--a ball of plasma that makes a blurry yellow line in the air, striking the projectile and melting half of it. The other half keeps going, spinning, but it's trajectory's been thrown off by my attack. It zips past Shiloh, embedding itself in the rough, craggy wall. The blade of a throwing knife.

In my old life, I would never have seen the weapon. I certainly wouldn't have been able to react in time. But my reflexes are on another level, in this body. Even better once I was able to activate my OS, and assimilate the Salvo Protocol.

Speaking of.

As I run forward, toward the cave opening, I go ahead and activate Salvo. Glowing particles appear atop my shoulders. They burn bright, then disappear, leaving two metal, oval protrusion in their wake. They extend upward a few inches, revealing turret guns underneath.

I rush past Cade, who's already awake and getting to his feet. I pass Shiloh, also on her feet. She watches me go, her expression tense and concerned. I leap through the gap in the cave wall.

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I'm immediately hit with a stark shift in environment. It's cold in the cave, and loud. But if you take just a couple steps out into the open, it's a whole other thing. The rain beats down in thick, slanted sheets, occasionally whirled and buffeted by sudden gusts of intense wind. Just because I have a metal body, with artificial sensory input, doesn't mean I don't feel it. Unpleasant sensations are part of what it means to interact with the world, and to be able to react to shifts in the status quo.

Still, I get a notification from my OS. Freezing temperatures detected. Dulling physical sense input.

I could veto the procedure, but why should I?

The flashes of arctic chill, raked across my body with each gale, are still there. But they're quiet. Dim, like a lightbulb running low. Which gives me that much more room to focus.

I scan my surroundings, using night-vision. Arm cannon raised. Turrets at the ready.

I would summon a handgun in my free hand, using Salvo, but that arm is still damaged from my fight with Daimon. He impaled my hand, arm, and shoulder, all the way down the length, with his sword--a sword I currently have in possession, strapped to my back. Needless to say, I can barely move the arm and don't expect to be able to for a while. At the very least, until we can find some tools to make the repairs, once we get to the facility.

Something shifts, high above me. Atop the far wall of the canal. Canyon. Whatever you want to call it. A winding recess in the high rocky plateau, caused by some kind of flood I suspect, probably a long time ago.

Something's definitely up there. Visible for a brief second, before dipping back behind the lip of the escarpment. But I'm not about to go chasing after it. Not if it means leaving Shiloh and Cade unprotected.

I'm also not keen on the idea of blind-firing, in the hope of hitting something. My body can use a resource that my OS refers to as Nanobits. I can continually manifest and load more ammo for Salvo, as well as energy for Blasting. But eventually, without ample time to recharge, the Nanobits will run out, leaving me with less options in a fight.

Better to play it safe, unless I have a real opening. A chance I'm willing to-

There it is again. A shimmer, the outline of something, above the rock.

I raise my arm cannon, taking aim.

Lightning flashes in the sky behind the shape.

I squint, even as my eyes automatically adjust to the sudden flare.

In that moment, as the world floods with light, I see the figure clearly. And recognize it.

A Biodroid, like me. Male, like me. His body is close to mine in size, if a bit blockier in style, with noticeable corners on the shoulders and arms. His ear-length, sand-colored hair thrashes in the high wind.

This is the one who had the other Biodroids killed--the one's in stasis, like I was. This is the one who chased Sal and I across the desert. This is the one who shot Sal full of holes, leaving her to bleed out, slowly and painfully.

Have I told you about Sal? Maybe not. But that'll have to wait.

The point is, he's here for me, now. And if I let him, he'll do the same thing to Shiloh and Cade that he did to Sal. Without hesitation.

I can't let him. Which means I can’t hold back. Even if I destroy him. Not that I have much qualms with the idea. Some part of me—a part that kinda scares me—relishes the idea.

Gritting my teeth, I fire a charged-up blast, aiming for the Biodroid's chest.

My opponent skirts sideways, dodging the beam, then deftly flips over the lip of rock and goes into a controlled slide down the face of the cliff wall.

Got you.

I open fire with the shoulder turrets. My target's in the open, on a set path. He can't dodge.

That is, he shouldn't be able to dodge. But somehow, he is. My shots chip away at the rock wall, hitting everything around him, but always missing. He moves in an erratic serpentine pattern as he maneuvers down the side of the cliff, tilting, jumping, swerving.

Still firing the turrets, I charge up another blast with my arm cannon. Using the turrets, I can trap him, veering him into the radius of the blast shot.

I take aim. Fire.

The end of my arm cannon flashes. The bright beam pulses, cutting the air. I swear I can see drops of rain sizzling and evaporating as they come into contact.

Just before the blast impacts, the Biodroid boosts away from the cliff face. The rocky surface explodes behind him, propelling him forward. Toward me.

He's a weapon. An airborne projectile. Closing the distance. He has his arms held up in an X, shielding his face. Bullets spark and glance off his forearms and shoulders.

I ready another shot. He's locked into his jump, now. There's no possible way-

But apparently there is. As I fire the shot, my opponent contorts his body in the air, dodging the beam.

Too late, I notice one of his arms twitch during the maneuver. Two throwing knives fly my way, slicing through and disabling each of my turrets before I can react.

That's right. He wants me alive. Unharmed.

He's faster than me. More agile. And, seeing as there are massive gaps in my memory, more experienced. So far, my survival has been thanks to certain vestigial pieces of muscle memory, chiming in to get me to do what I need to. But is that enough when I'm up against an actually battle-hardened fighter? Someone who isn't just playing with me, the way Daimon was?

For now, it will have to be. But if there's one distinct advantage I have at the moment, it's that this guy wants me in one piece, while I'm more than willing to destroy him, if I have to.

He careens through the air, like a ballista bolt. He holds out his hand, summoning a long-bladed weapon with his Nanobits.

I de-activate Blast Protocol, allowing my robot hand and wrist to snap back into place so I can reach behind my back, to the sword I took from Daimon. I grip the handle and pull, unsheathing the blade. It's about a foot and a half long as I pull it free, but then lengths of metal fold out and lock into place, doubling the span of the blade. A red line of heat appears along the blade's edge, fizzing and issuing little trails of smoke from the rain.

The Biodroid pivots in the air, swiping at me as he hurtles past, aim for my arm; high up, toward the shoulder.

I block the strike with my sword. Rather than glancing off, his sword's blade catches on the red-hot edge of my own, and is cleaved in two, one half spinning uselessly, bouncing off a section of steep rock.

The Biodroid lands on his feet, skidding, still facing me. More particles appear in front of him, as if he's working to summon some new weapon.

I rush toward him, sword raised.

The eyes. For some reason, I know you should watch the eyes, as well as the footwork. If you can read those two, you might as well be seeing a second or two into the future.

There's no doubt in those eyes. No fear. Whatever he's summoning into existence, he thinks he can do it in time. He's not about to dodge out of the way. He's got some ace in the hole, and I'm right where he wants me.

This was a mistake. I've committed myself to a bad trajectory. I can course correct, but it might mean leaving myself open, if only because I've slowed down, giving him an edge in the next bout.

No. I double down in speed, calling his bluff. I meet his bet, and raise. I can't afford-

Something. A crack like a gunshot, muted by the heavy rainfall. And then the Nanobit particles disappear, as the Biodroid cringes and goes on end, furious arcs of blue electricity stretching out across his body.

Shiloh must have hit him with a taser. This is my opening.

I position the sword, about to plunge the blade directly into his chest.

Lightning flashes overhead, flooding the canyon with white light. Once again, I can see the Biodroid clearly, without the aid of night-vision. This time, he's not a shadowy figure at the top of a rocky rise. He's right in front of me. His eyes are closed. His entire body writhes. He's leaning back, his windswept hair pushed back from his face.

A millisecond from cutting him through, I realize...

...Ethan?

I try to stop, heels skidding across slick, mud-slimed rocks. I turn the blade away from the Biodroid at the last second, and nearly crash right into him, chest-to-chest.

A fatal mistake. If my opponent wasn't already incapacitated.

As the lightning fades, so do the dazzling wires of electricity zapping back and forth across the Biodroid's body. Without the influx of electricity keeping his muscles on edge, he collapses.

I take a step back, just in case it's a trick, so he can't lash out and grab me. But I'm pretty sure he's down, for the moment. Unconscious.

I stare down at him. Noting the features of his face.

It is him. How could I have not seen it before? Even considering the darkness, and the wind and rain. Even considering that when I first saw him up close, he was chasing me on his airbike, throwing blades at me. For some reason, it just hadn't clicked.

It has, now. And now, no matter which angle I look at him, I can't un-see it.

Behind me, I hear wet, splashing footsteps on the rough ground. Shiloh comes up next to me, her tousled hair flat against her face and neck, streaming with rain. She holds a black, automatic rifle. There's an empty launcher under the barrel, where the taser was ejected.

"I don't think he knew you had the sword," Shiloh says. She's yelling to be heard over the rainfall, even though she's practically talking into my ear. "He thought he would have the advantage in close-quarters. After that...well, I'm not sure."

I'm supposed to nod, or acknowledge what she's saying. But honestly, I'm just too distracted. I cock my head, surveying the face of my old 'friend', waiting for something to finally click. For this to actually make sense.

"Better do it quickly," Shiloh says. "If you don't kill him now, the effects of the stunner could wear off."

I don't answer.

Water streams downhill, past the fallen Biodroid's face, jostling his sandy hair in the current, like reeds in a stream.

"Silas?" Shiloh waves a hand in front of my face. "Well? What are you waiting for? Silas?"