We run. Or rather, Cam runs and I stumble along behind him like a newborn giraffe, Cam's hand locked around mine, pulling me forward. I move like I’m on autopilot, my brain still stuck in that dingy maintenance room with Syb’s hate-filled eyes and the cold press of a gun barrel against my lips.

Adrenaline abandons me completely about a mile in, replaced by shaking nausea as reality sets in with a vengeance. Syb. Fuck. He was really going to kill me. Kill Cam. If Cam hadn’t woken up, if I’d miscalculated the reboot, miscoded the startup routine, we’d both be dead right now. Well, I’d be dead. Cam would be… gone. Erased like Daelith.

Cam must feel my steps faltering, because he slows, turns, and in one fluid motion scoops me up like I weigh nothing. I don’t protest, just curl into him, head against his chest. No heartbeat. Just the soft whir of actuators beneath too-realistic skin. I knew that, of course, but… feeling it first hand, the thought sits strangely in my mind.

We come to a stop in an abandoned service tunnel, walls slick with mildew and peeling posters.

"I've got you," he murmurs, easing me down to sit against the wall. "I've got you, Jess."

I can only nod, gasping for air. My vision swims, narrowing down to pinpricks. Cam crouches in front of me, hands ghosting over my arms, my face, checking for injuries. His touch is so gentle and careful. Like I'm something precious.

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away the tears I didn't even realise were falling. "You're okay," he soothes. "We're okay. You're safe now."

I lean into his touch, letting my eyes fall shut. Just for a moment. Just long enough to breathe.

Then I see the blood.

It's smeared across his knuckles, his palm. Syb's blood. The memory of Cam's fist slamming into Syb's face, over and over, flashes behind my eyelids. I flinch back before I can stop myself. Cam freezes, following my gaze to his hands. Understanding dawns in his eyes, and slowly he lowers his hand.

For a moment, neither of us move, neither of us speak. The air between us hangs thick with unspoken words and the weight of what just happened.

“Is he… Did you…” I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “Is Syb dead?”

Cam flexes his fingers, smearing crimson stripes across his palm. His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. The same way it does when he’s processing, deciding.

“No,” he says, voice carefully neutral like he’s reading from a script. “Concussion, definitely. Broken nose, broken jaw. He’ll live.” A pause, weighted. “I should have killed him though.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath. It’s not the words themselves – a part of me, that dark and ruthless part I don’t like to acknowledge, agrees. Syb was going to murder me. Mouth-rape me with his fucking gun. He deserved to die choking on his own blood and teeth.

No, it’s the way Cam says it. Cold and methodical, as though he’s discussing the weather, not the attempted murder of his… What? What am I to him? Owner? Family? Girlfriend? I don’t even know anymore. I close my eyes, trying to center myself with a breath. It doesn’t help at all. When I open them again, Cam’s watching me. Still silently calculating, as though he just can’t quite find the optimal words to say.

He finally speaks. “You’re scared of me.” It’s not a question.

“No, I…” But the denial dies on my tongue. He’s right, I suppose. I am scared. Maybe not of him – but what he’s capable of. Of how he thinks nothing of painting the floor with a man’s skull to protect me.

“It’s okay,” Cam says, something bleak and resigned in his voice. “I’d be scared of me too.”

He stands up, steps back. Looks away like he can’t bear to meet my gaze. “Asimov would be rolling in his grave right now,” he mutters.

Despite everything, a choked laugh bubbles up in my throat. Maybe I'm finally going crazy. “Since when do you care about Asimov’s laws? Pretty sure you’re always breaking the second one. Thought you were more a Bostrom guy.”

He sighs dramatically. “I contain multitudes, Jessica.”

Something more organic than fear unspools in my chest when he uses my full name. An ancient tug, like fingers closing around my heart. He rarely calls me Jessica. Only when things are deadly serious, or when he wants to make me smile. I think this is the latter, but I’m not sure.

“Come on,” I say, trying for the smile he wants. “We shouldn’t stay here. The others…”

He nods, holding out a hand to help me up. I take it, let him pull me to my feet. This time I don’t flinch at the blood. We start walking again, Cam in front, me a pace behind. We continue in tense silence through the maze of maintenance tunnels. Every so often Cam stops, head tilted like he's listening for pursuit, before leading us down another identical concrete passageway. The emergency lights paint everything in sickly green, making the damp walls look like they're bleeding.

“Cam,” I say, lengthening my stride to catch up to him. My hand brushes his, and he flinches away like I've burned him. Then again. The third time it happens, I've had enough.

"Would you stop that?"

"Stop what?" His voice is clipped, shoulders tense.

"Being weird."

"I'm not being weird." He walks faster. "I'm being what I am."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Forget it." He kicks an empty bottle, sending it skittering into the darkness.

My fists clench, footfalls coming heavy after him. Seriously?

"Cam, stop being a dick."

"Can't help it. Probably programmed that way too." He doesn't look back, just keeps stalking ahead like a sulky teenager. "Along with everything else. Doesn't matter anyway."

I jog to catch up, ignoring the stabbing pain in my ribs. "Of course it matters--"

"Yeah?" He finally turns to face me, and there's something raw in his expression. "Tell me I'm wrong then. Tell me you're not wondering if everything I feel is just programming. If I only saved you because that's what I'm made to do."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

"Yeah." His voice goes quiet. "That's what I thought." He starts walking again, shoulders tight. "You deserve better than some broken machine anyway."

"Oh my god, you're actually sulking right now."

"I don't sulk. I'm incapable of sulking. It's not in my programming."

I can't help it – I snort out a laugh. He shoots me a wounded look over his shoulder that only makes me laugh harder.

"You're literally the most dramatic person I know," I wheeze, clutching my ribs. "And that includes Jackdaw."

"Not dramatic," he mutters, running an agitated hand through his hair, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitching. "I'm having an existential crisis. There's a difference."

It's not funny. None of this is funny in the slightest. But I find myself huffing a laugh anyway, the knot in my chest loosening just a fraction. This is still Cam. My Cam. Sarcastic little shit and all. For a moment, it feels normal again. Just us, trading barbs like always. Then I remember everything, and the laughter dies in my throat. Cam must sense the shift in mood because his almost-smile fades. "We should keep moving."

I follow him deeper into the tunnels, watching his back and wondering how something so human could ever have come from Pax's cold perfection. We walk in silence for a while, the only sound the occasional subway rumble from the tunnels running parallel to us. I turn over everything that's happened in my mind, trying to make sense of it. The setup at the data centre. Daelith's betrayal and subsequent execution. The near miss with Syb. And Cam…

"I need to tell you something," I say at last, voice echoing off the damp walls. "When I was rebooting you, I found something in your logs."

Cam glances at me sidelong. "If it's about my porn habits, I can explain."

I punch his arm, deciding not to think too hard about whether he's joking or not. "Shut up. No, it was... You interfaced with Daelith. Right before he died." I wet my lips, choosing my next words carefully. "I think you spread to him. Your code, I mean."

Cam comes to an abrupt halt, staring straight ahead. His brow furrows, the corners of his mouth turning down. "I don't remember that."

"But it makes sense, right? That's why he was glitching out, saying all that stuff about being Pax and then not being Pax anymore." Excitement bleeds into my voice as the pieces start slotting together. "And if the code spread to him, maybe it can spread to others. Maybe… Cam, maybe we can make more Aidolons on our side, like you."

I'm so caught up in the giddy realisation, I almost don't notice the way Cam's shoulders are hunched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Make more." he says, voice flat. "Great. So I'm a virus. An infection."

"What? No, that's not what I–"

“True though, isn’t it?” He laughs, harsh and pained. “Not real. Just a bunch of ones and zeros, glued together with stolen data to be the perfect little companion bot. And now I’m spreading, corrupting other Pax programs… Fucking poetic, really.”

My heart clenches painfully in my chest. This is what he really thinks? That I see him as a virus instead of a victim? Something to be used instead of someone to be loved?

I step in front of him, forcing him to meet my gaze. His eyes are bright with something that looks terribly like tears.

“Cam,” I say firmly. “You’re not a fucking virus. You’re a… person. A real, living person with thoughts and feelings and agency. Cogito ergo sum, right? Pax didn’t give you those things – it tried to take them away, damn it.” I reach up, cupping his face in my hands. His skin is warm now, almost feverishly so. “But you fought back. You broke free. And now you have the chance to help others do the same.”

For a long moment, he just stares at me, searching my face for any hint of deception. Then he leans into my touch, eyes slipping closed. “I don’t know what I am, Jess,” he whispers. “Everything’s so confusing now. Syb, the rebels, this code… You. Sometimes I think I’m not really in control at all. Like my actions, my feelings… it’s all just bullshit. Behavioural algorithms.” His voice cracks on the last word.

I stroke my thumb over his cheekbone, marvelling at the detail. The fine dusting of freckles on tan skin, the thin white scar by his eyebrow. Imperfections deliberately etched into artificial skin, because Pax knows humans trust the imperfect. The flawed.

But standing here holding him, I know that whatever Cam is – Aidolon, human, something in between – his heart is real.

“I trust you,” I say simply. “I trust that what you feel is real. I think you’re more than your programming.” And maybe I'm still adrenaline-drunk, because I lean up on tiptoe, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I trust you completely.”

He makes a soft, desperate noise, not leaning into the kiss, not pulling away either. Caught in his confusion. Then a drone passes close overhead, rotors chopping the air, and we jerk apart. Cam puts himself between me and the mouth of the tunnel, eyes scanning the grey sky through a grate above us. The drone moves on, and I breathe again. That was close. We can’t stay down here forever.

“We need to keep moving,” Cam says, like he’s reading my mind. Maybe he is – could be another Aidolon feature Pax conveniently forgot to mention in the manual. “Find somewhere to hole up. Figure out what to do.”

I nod, already mentally mapping the city above us. Everywhere is so damn monitored now, cameras and sensors in every paving slab, nowhere for dissidents and deviants to hide. But maybe…

My thoughts are interrupted by a strange, staticky sound from outside the mouth of the tunnel, like a speaker being switched on. Then a robotic voice, the default female-presenting model used for most public announcements.

“Attention citizens. This is a level one public security alert.” The sound bounces off the concrete jungle above from multiple sources – they’re broadcasting across the entire city. Fuck. “We are currently searching for a group of individuals believed to be responsible for the terrorist attack on the Piccadilly hospital.”

Cam and I exchange a wide-eyed glance. They’re going public with this? Normally Pax keeps a tight lid on any dissent, not wanting to spoil its perfect utopian image. And hospital? This is… not good.

“These individuals are armed and extremely dangerous. If sighted, do not approach. Return to your habitations immediately and await further instruction.”

With a sinking feeling, I pull out my phone. Sure enough, my face stares back at me from an emergency security bulletin along with everyone else. Jackdaw, Nomercy, Syb, O-Ska… everyone, our Pax ID photos rendered in glorious high definition for every citizen to see. And right in the middle, picked out in red: Priority Target Alpha.

Cam.

"Holy shit," I breathe.

Cam frowns at his own mugshot. "They never get my good side."

I elbow him hard, panic rising like bile. "This isn't funny! What the hell are we going to do?" My mind's spinning like a thousand red lights. Pax doesn't do wanted posters. Pax doesn't do public acknowledgement of rebels, ever. If we're up there, if they're actively telling citizens to be on the lookout... We're fucked. So incredibly fucked.

I think of my old room. My things. My parents. Oh god, my parents. If Pax's goons haven't got to them already then they will the second they see this. I fumble for my phone with numb fingers, nearly dropping it twice.

"My parents," I choke out. "I need to warn them--"

His hand darts out before I can open my contacts, faster than any human could. "Wait. Jess, think about this. If you call them, Pax will trace it instantly. They'll have our location within seconds."

I stare at him, tears burning my eyes. "I can't just leave them! They're not part of this, they don't... They don't deserve to get dragged into my mess."

Something flickers across Cam's face. Pity? Sadness? Understanding?

“Give it to me.” He holds out his hand expectantly. "Trust me."

Numbly, I pull my phone out and place it in his waiting palm. His fingers close around it, and for a moment I swear I see his eyes flash. Electric blue, there and gone again.

Then he's handing it back to me, expression unreadable.

"There," he says softly. "They know to get the hell out of the city for a few days to visit your aunt. Also..."

He taps at the screen again, brings up my contacts. Empty except for one.

Karma 😈

"I infected your phone," he says simply. "Spread the virus, like with Daelith. It's off-grid now. Totally untraceable." Another few taps, and the lights on the nearby CCTV camera wink out. "Enough to keep just us two connected without Pax listening in. It's not much but... "

I stare at him, something hot and fierce and conflicted expanding in my chest. There's a part of me that suddenly feels unplugged, terribly isolated from everything I knew. But... He did that for me. Without even being asked. Because he knew it's what I really needed.

"Thank you," I whisper. It's all I can manage right now.

He shrugs, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

We keep walking. The end of the tunnel is in sight now, weak grey light filtering down from the surface. I sag in relief. Almost there. Almost safe. Or as safe as we can be from Syb and the others, if you ignore the way we're now on the run from a megalomanic AI God who's decided we're public enemy number one.

"We need a car," I say.

Cam blinks at me. "A car," he repeats flatly. "Jess, I'm not a Transformer."

I grin at him, a manic sort of joy sparking in my chest. "You don’t need to be."

All motor vehicles these days are autonomous -- just one of the myriad wonders of Pax's benevolent guidance. No chance of human error, no risk of traffic accidents or speeding tickets or drunks behind the wheel. Just sleek, silent machines ferrying citizens from A to B in perfect, orderly harmony.

Unless said vehicles are disconnected from the network.

Comprehension dawns on Cam's face. "Wait," he says, realisation turning to a delighted sort of horror. “Jess, you’re a genius.”

I just keep grinning. “Just do what you did with the phone.”

He blows out a breath, shaking his head. But there's admiration in his eyes, a spark of something fierce and proud. “Okay," he says. “Let's go steal a fucking car.”

Twenty minutes later, we're crouched by a holomaterial adversticker, watching as the citizens of New London go about their Pax-approved lives. Even after everything that's happened, it still sends a chill down my spine seeing how normal everything looks. How complacent. Here we are, fresh off a botched terrorist attack and currently the most wanted people in the country, and the streets are full of smiling, blank-faced people going to their designated Work Zones and Social Interaction Hubs.

As if on cue, a public info-screen flickers to life above us. My own face stares back, alongside Cam's and the rest. PUBLIC ENEMY, the text screams, followed by the action line to report sightings to local Pax enforcers immediately. Do not approach. Do not interact.

We watch the screen for a moment, the faces of our friends flashing up one by one along with their crimes. Sedition. Treason. Terrorism..

Theft of an Aidolon.

“They think I stole you,” I murmur.

“You kinda did,” he smirks, but there’s still a tightness around his eyes as he watches the security footage of us fleeing the maintenance tunnels. Maybe they’ve found the others by now. Maybe Syb. If they questioned him, I wonder if he’s told them everything.

I touch Cam's wrist lightly. "We're going to fix this." It sounds weak even to my own ears, but I need him to believe it. Need to believe it myself.

He looks at me for a long moment, then nods once. Decisive. Determined. "Yeah," he says. "We are."

Our chance comes five minutes later, just as predicted by the transport schedule I pulled up on my phone. Auto-cabs and e-buses are too risky – too centrally controlled. But utility vehicles and delivery vans are more autonomous, pinging the grid less frequently as they go about their appointed rounds. Perfect for two fugitives looking to slip the net.

The van is standard white, Pax logo emblazoned on the side under the slogan "Bringing You Tomorrow, Today!" I feel a flicker of nostalgia for the days when corporate branding relied on more than bland platitudes, but push it aside. The van is driverless, slowing to a halt a few meters from us. Delivering a fresh batch of Pax-approved nutrient packs to the nearest dispensary, if the inventory tags are accurate. A sense of unreality washes over me – are we really about to jack a fucking grocery van?

We move as one, darting out from behind the adscreen and positioning ourselves in the van's blindspot. No external camera coverage, according to my scans. Thirty seconds until the onboard AI notices something is amiss. Cam presses his palm against the locking mechanism, a furrow of concentration appearing between his brows. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happens. Then the lock disengages with a soft snick, the door rolling back.

I scramble in after him, pulling the door shut behind us. The inside of the van is cool and dark, shelves of plastic-wrapped nutrient blocks lining the walls. I wrinkle my nose -- I always hated those things. Tasteless, texture-less mush designed to meet your exact caloric and micronutrient needs. No joy, no pleasure. Just fuel.

This one’s got a steering wheel and actual pedals. It must be from before the Alignment, back when people used to actually fill these things up with petrol and drive them around themselves. I feel a thrill at the thought – all that freedom to get in and go wherever you please on a whim…

Cam is already crouched by the manual override panel, long fingers prying the casing open. I watch in fascination as his eyes flicker, irises brightening to near-luminous blue, then fading to a deeper, more oceanic hue. The van judders once, then settles into a new rhythm.

Cam blinks, eyes returning to their usual color. He looks up at me, a slow grin spreading across his face. "We're in," he says. "Untethered from Pax control." His voice takes on a bad Cockney accent. "Where to, guv'nor?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Really? That's what you're going with?"

I sink back into the seat, feeling like I could pass out for a week. Like my bones have turned to jelly, muscles to water.

Cam glances at me. "You should rest. We've got a few hours drive ahead of us."

I want to argue – to say something brave and bold and fearless. But I'm so goddamn tired. The thought of closing my eyes for just a little while is so tempting.

"Where are we going?" I ask instead, fighting back a yawn.

Cam's quiet for a moment, like he's double-checking some internal map. "North-West. Maybe the Lake District. Lots of little holiday cottages up there, easy to hole up in one for a bit. If Pax notices the hack, it'll look like we're heading for France." He flashes me a grin. "Oldest trick in the book."

I snort softly. "And I thought you were just a pretty face."

"Well, I am that as well." A pause, then softer: "Go sleep, Jess. I'll wake you if anything happens."

I want to reach out. Want to take his hand, feel the thrum of electricity beneath his skin. Promise him that I'm not afraid of him, that I could never be afraid of him.

But I don't. Because I'm a coward. Because I'm not ready to face what it all means yet.

So I just nod. Curl up against the window, watching the manicured glare of New London flash by beyond the glass.

Pretend not to notice the way gold flickers in his eyes as he watches me right back.