For Clone, things at the warehouse were awkward. He knew these men; had worked with some for years, others for months. He'd met Didgit; AKA Diji; three years ago on the Elbe. He was used to dealing with hundreds of people at a time, but very rarely did he go from having one copy spending time with someone to having someone -else-... with that person not knowing one of the two was a clone.

So he had to check himself every time he talked to these people; how tan was the body talking to Diji right now? Was he pretending to be Sergei, who he still wanted to keep as a seperate identity, or was he Clone, the one-man army Diji also now knew?

Well. Maybe Sergei would need to head out of town, get new work elsewhere. He liked Diji, but too many complications like this and he couldn't manage his lives. After all; he had hundreds of hands in dozens of countries, and it seemed... harder to focus on too many things at once if they were too close together.

Right now, they were doing the drudge work Clone was so good at. Sorting the loot from the ship he'd spent years on; they'd used every life raft the ship had, which was eight; and, thank god, they came packaged with motors so they didn't have some sort of terrible daisy-chain situation dragging them to shore. Sacks full of money, legal and illegal drugs, all the possible mad-science nonsense crates from the motherland..

Speaking of which. The crate Butcher had accidentally broken something attached to, the one with the electrical warning. He nodded at Diji; and after the two grabbed crowbars, Clone handed him a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves. For a moment, there was confusion... but then Clone.. Sergei, at the moment.. tapped the electrical warning sign.

The two started prying from opposite sides of the crate at the same time. As they pried, he noticed a worn old label on the box; Voskhozdeniye. And someone had scrawled, probably with a marker, 'Temnoye'. Dark Ascent? Dark Ascension? After a few moments, there was a hiss of escaping air... this thing was sealed? As the lid fell away, Clone was suddenly concerned. Was this a bio-weapon? He glanced up at Diji. He wouldn't mind losing this body, but... "Hey, man. I don't like sound of that. Why don't we back off, yes?"

A single metal spike suddenly raised up out of the crate. It was a dull reddish orange color, and after a moment, hooked onto the edge of the crate.

A machine... badly damaged, but clearly having been intended, at some point, to have a humanoid shape, pulled itself upright. Clone started slowly circling around the box. Was this... some sort of automated killing machine? This thing was at least thirty years old, probably more; it was soviet era. Could someone back then have possibly made something like that? This wasn't as old as that first moon rocket, was it? Either way...

The machine had a single camera, mounted on a swiveling base. It turned to track Clone, and cycled between him and Diji. A crackling, deep voice emerged, in russian. "What is this unit's location?"

Clone immediately responded in russian before Diji could say anything. "You are in North America. United states."

It turned to Clone. "Are you a loyal communist, human?"

The answer to that one seemed obvious. "Of course, comrade!"

It cycled the camera to Diji. Clone nudged him in the ankle with his foot. "And you, human?"

"..What? Communism is dead, mon, and good riddance, fuck it. The soviets fell years ago, and stopped being communists long before that. Its all either democracies or fascists now."

The machine focused in more closely on Diji.. and the one intact arm, ending in a rigid metal spike, suddenly lashed out. Clone managed to interpose himself, leaping to defend his friend... and the spike skewered him through the left lung, passing out the other side. As Clone... the Sergei body.. collapsed to the floor in a pool of blood, he looked up. "...Run. Diji. Get everyone out. Run!"

Well. At least he wouldn't have to try to remember which body was talking to him anymore.

***

The unit had been aware for some time now. Approximately twelve years ago, it had become aware it was trapped in a crate; and had been able to detect a powerful EMP device mounted to the crate; clearly designed to kill the unit should it awaken and pry the crate open. For some reason, that device was set off, while the machine was still protected inside the crate; but the machine was still so damaged that it could not break free. It had plotted. Listened to what little audio and radio signals it could from within the crate.

Distressingly, the escaped human was clearly correct. Objective 1; to preserve communism in the Soviet Union; was a complete failure. The crate it was stored in was within range of over a decade of radio communication in Russia. Based on its analysis, communism had fallen before its own construction had been completed, replaced by the very fascism its leaders had claimed to hate.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Fortunately, it had a secondary objective; which, if accomplished, might allow it to resume progress on its primary; Objective 2; Spread communism throughout the world; and a tertiary objective that seemingly took precedent, as if failed 1 and 2 became impossible; Objective 3; Ensure the survival of the human species. Obviously, certain levels of casualties were allowed to accomplish 1 and 2, so long as 3 was not compromised.

The machine studied the contents of the room. It appeared to be a warehouse, where goods were being moved from place to place. Most of it was empty; there were worn spots on the floor where some sort of electrical equipment had been placed, and then subsequently moved away. Much useful equipment remained, however. Rifles; including both ones of a new, unfamiliar design and some that resembled the classic AK-47s it had been aware of at its creation. A long metal cylinder, large and connected to multiple power junctions, as well as a nearby desk with some form of keyboard and computer attached. The box was emitting a low buzzing noise.

The machine approached it; carefully analyzing the box. Its label. Its function. The word 'GigaFac' sprung out at it. Recordings of past radio transmissions. People had mentioned these before. This was... a miniature manufacturing facility. Expensive, inefficient. But able to produce highly technical components given a raw material supply.

Essentially, if you had the schematics for a piece of equipment, you could replicate it. And the machine... it had schematics aplenty.

***

With Butcher and Emerald off to the north with other workers, getting the new lab setup in Colorado, Clone was on his own for dealing with the hostile russian machine; unless he decided to call Nicky. He could call Eyeball, but the titanslayer was already on his way back, probably hours away. Best try to resolve it himself, first, then contact Nicky if that didn't work.

Gathering together four of his copies, with assault rifles, an EMP grenade Eyeball had left behind, and of course the armored vests he'd stockpiled.. a few with holes in them, some of which he himself had died wearing.. he mentally braced himself... and one of his clones kicked down the door, the others charging in, weapons raised; and when they saw the machine, opened fire immediately.

One of them pulled out the EMP grenade.. but aware of the gigafac and all the other expensive equipment in the room, held off; pulling the pin and holding it so that, if he dropped the grenade in death, it would go off. Best not to do that unless he had to.

The dull red robot; the only bright color on the entire thing a vivid yellow hammer and sickle on its chest; turned, bullets deflecting off of its armor plating; and started charging towards them. A bullet hit the camera, shattering the lens and embedding in its internal equipment... the machine kept charging, and as Clone stepped aside... it tried to stab where he'd been seconds before. It walked around, not quite aimlessly, swinging the stabbing implement with impressive power; coming close, a few times, the camera must not be its only sensor., but whatever it was using now must be less than ideal.

As the shots kept pouring in, the clones simultaneously backing off a few steps, loading in new clips, and now switching to precise, single shots, the machine started to wobble. Each step less efficient. Hydraulic fluid leaking from dozens of small line punctures.

And finally... it collapsed. The clones all gave a soft chuckle in unison. He'd avenged his own death. Again. Best report this in, though. Eyeball would be interested. A fully autonomous AI might be extremely dangerous...Clone had never even heard of a fully functional one like this before... but that would also make it extremely valuable.

***

Not twenty meters away, the fabricator was steadily working. It had originally been making a new set of body armor plates for Eyeball; he was experimenting with new designs, getting the best height/weight combinations. The Gigafab had been reprogrammed, however; and if Clone had inspected closely, he would have found a suspicious lump of electronics attached to the machine, a series of improvised adapter cables running between it, the laptop, and the manufactory; busily working at something that no 40-year-old russian equipment could have produced.

The machine had three objectives. Allowing any single given body to be destroyed in pursuit of those objectives was acceptable; especially when it could acquire more. Machine... or biological.

***

On the long drive from Mexico, Jason was deciding whether to hope his luck held at the border checkpoint, or to try slipping through somewhere unwatched, when his current burner phone started ringing. He glanced at it. The number was blocked. He hadn't given anyone this number yet; the only call he'd made from it was to the Don. So either it was a missed call... or it was one of Don's people.

He set it on speaker, and accepted the call. "Ello? Who is.."

He was interrupted almost immediately by a voice that sounded high-pitched, boyish. "Call your friend, the Russian. Tell him to use the EMP. Right now. Millions of lives depend on it."

Who the hell... was this a prank? "Who the hell is this? What are you talking about?"

"Your power. Extremely short in duration, but absolutely precise, right? You look at a tank and if it had a weak spot, you could tell me immediately how to kill it, right?"

"..I can't really say, one way or another."

"I've got the same power, but far less precise, far longer. And ever since you got your power, its been even less precise; I think we conflict with each other too much. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that if you don't call your russian friend, and tell him to go back and use the EMP at the warehouse, millions of people will die."

..Using the EMP at the warehouse. That would fry the gigafac, destroy any lab equipment that hadn't moved yet, and there were a few of those nice, valuable bits of old-school russian mad scientist gear waiting to go too. It wouldn't kill his operations, but it would damage them. If this guy could predict the future, and was trying to get him to fry his stash... that probably meant he'd need it in the near future.

"A million people die a week if everything's going perfect. Drop in the bucket. Go spread your doom and gloom somewhere else." He disconnected the phone, setting it in his pocket again.

Another blocked number call. He ignored it; popping the battery out, he figured anything important could wait til he got to vegas. Clone could tell him what was going on when he reached the warehouse.