2142 A.D.

I was once human.

It was a long time ago. My brain is the last of my organics. Someday, the research my brothers and I will blossom into fruition; until then, ACIs rule my thoughts. We never should've created them, but it's too late now. All I can do is watch. And repent.

"What do I call you?" One of said machines sits in front of me now. Her name is Pratam. Her delicate features do not match the harshness of Site 17. "Mister infobroker?"

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by a wave of sexual attraction. Two taps of my arm later, and the feeling is gone. The emotional inhibitor I installed last week is already paying dividends. I must stay professional. "My name is Cain," I hear myself say. A lie. But also the truth. "I hear you need details on the government's latest...project."

"How do you-"

"I'm an infobroker, Miss Gavier. It's my job to stay informed. And the ALG isn't exactly...subtle."

She's silent, her gaze on the table between us. In the interim, I flag down a waiter and order two waters. He's disappeared by the time Pratam gathers her thoughts.

"It can't be allowed to continue," she says. Her gaze has hardened with resolve. Good. "It'll displace thousands of us."

"Us?"

She hesitates, reluctant to use the once-derogatory term for us lower-levelers. "Rats," she spits out. There's a touch of venom in her voice. It hasn't been long since the word was reclaimed. I understand. "And there's rumors they're going to use the facility for human experiments."

"Just speculation," I say. The waiter returns with our drinks. He waits, expecting an order, but I wave him off. No time. We'll be gone before our food gets here. "Nothing in the files suggests it's for humans."

"Then what is it for?"

"That will cost extra."

A full bank cube materializes on the table. I knew Michael John Garrison had already permitted her to use whatever funds necessary to secure any tidbit of information on the project. I wonder if I should tell her the ALG leader is a Cor2 plant.

The cube disappears into my bag before anyone sees. "They're planning on pulling creatures from outside the walls," I say. "We already know they're not normal mutations from radioactive fallout. So they want to know more."

I snap my fingers. Her PDA beeps. I see her try to hide her surprise. "Everything is in there." I stand, slinging my rifle over my shoulder, then my bag. "If you need me again, I'll find you."

I'm out the door and melting into the crowd before she can say another word. A moment later, I've become a completely different person. I'm partial to this iteration of myself. Under six feet, long blonde hair, green eyes. The polar opposite of my given appearance, I think. It's hard to recall.

Three days later, I wake in my bed to a distant explosion. My warehouse is twenty miles from the inner city, but I hear a couple windows shatter downstairs anyway. I frown. They should've been using prewar C4. Not a nuke.

I grab my rifle in the dark, not bothering to put on even pants. The click of the safety is deafening in the silent blackness. I should really get more lights in here.

Footsteps. I hear them echoing up from the ground floor. Part of me relaxes a touch; someone this loud wouldn't be here to kill me.

I creep down the stairs, Shepherd at the ready. As I approach the bottom, I hear muffled chatter. I can barely make it out, but I think they're talking about my bikes. They better not touch them.

Two silhouettes are examining my 2108 Masser Hydra. Limited edition. A classic. Pre-nukes. I found it outside the walls and patched it up myself. They seriously better not touch it. "Hands where I can see them," I say, gun trained on their backs. "Don't do anything stupid."

They disappear silently into the darkness. Shit. Assassins. A trap. "Lights!" I shout.

My warehouse blazes to life. I would've been blinded if it weren't for my modifications. The first is clearly visible now, dressed in all black. No masks. They flinch as the lights come on, eyes squeezed shut. Night vision nets must've overloaded. Good. I gun them down with a single burst of my rifle.

Too late, my motion sensor warns of the other behind me. A deactivated Atom Broadsword cleaves through my back and out my chest, right through my heart. "Motherfucker," I grunt in pain, nearly dropping my weapon. Good thing I installed a backup heart. Wish they'd activated the broadsword, though. I could've used some cauterization.

I yank myself forward, a horrible sucking noise emanating from the hole in my chest as the weapon exits my body. Blood pours from the wound. I feel myself becoming more lightheaded by the moment; my backup stores won't last long this way. If my brain didn't still need blood...

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The attacker springs at me again. I harden my arm and deflect the blade, hissing as it cuts into my flesh anyway. Nerve endings, so inconvenient.

I use my gun to parry the next blow. The titanium alloy fights off the blade easily.

The weapon becomes my tool of survival for the next minute as I use it against my attacker to great effect. They show no signs of exhaustion, however, while I'm losing strength by the second. They know it, pressing me harder with each blow. I need a plan. And I have one.

I allow the next swing to pierce into my ribcage, my alloy skeleton catching the blade. It sticks fast. I try not to scream as forks of flame radiate through my body. Another burst of the rifle and the assassin is down.

It takes two hours to replace all my damaged parts. In that time, I manage to leak blood all over my warehouse. Luckily, my bikes escaped any form of damage.

I glance over at the eyeball I pulled from the second. I couldn't find the first's. It's perched precariously on my workbench, blood pooling around it. "No EyeD," I grumble. "Couldn't have made it easy on me, huh?"

Instead, I run facial recognition on the intact would-be killer. In the meantime, I decide to go back to sleep. I collapse in my bed, out cold before I hit the pillow.

No sunlight streams through my windows in the morning. Outside is a slightly brighter shade of gray. I remember the warmth of the sun from before the nukes. I miss it. It reminds me of the days my brothers and I were still on good terms. Before we decided to play god.

I'm gradually pulled out of my reverie by beeping from downstairs. My scan is done. And it found a match.

My attacker is a man named William Bradley. Nothing special to note about him. Plus, he's dead now, his body rotting on the floor behind me. What interests me now is who he works for. Known affiliations: Millenium Rifleworks. Specifically, their Espionage team.

I feel I should be shocked, but I'm not. Millenium has never been one for subtlety.

I make a couple calls to Millenium headquarters in Site 20, then to their Site 17 satellite office, asking for the Head of Espionage, a woman named Cally Hubble. Neither knew where she was, so I make a third call.

"It's you." The voice on the other end is smug, with a touch of cold calculation. "What can I do for an old...friend?"

Six hours later, I'm in Tiantang. I hate it here. It's dangerous, and I have a reputation. Luckily, I'm also a phantom. So I become someone else. The estate looms ahead. I hate dealing with the people, so I take a side entrance.

I pause outside of Min's office, hesitant to go in. I know these people. Too well. If they decide they don't want me to leave, I have no choice. I can't fight Yaoqi on any level.

The door swings open before I can make a decision. A short, Asian man with a cane and sly smile stands in the opening. "Cain," he says, recognizing me despite my current appearance. "Why don't you come inside? You must be cold. The rain down here is...unforgiving."

I say nothing, following him in. The door closes behind me. I try to avoid imagining it locking. "Make yourself at home," Min says. "Would you like some tea?"

I shift back to myself, my blonde hair spilling over my shoulders. "I'm alright." Movement in the back of the room catches my attention. A well-built man in all black glares at me from the corner. I nod at him. "Yaoqi."

He scowls. "Now now, that's not the way to treat our guests, Zhang," Min chides, offering me an apologetic smile as he slides behind his desk. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Now, what can we do for you?"

I recant the events of the previous night. Min interjects with the occasional "oh no" and "that must've been hard". I suppress the urge to launch one of his many memorabilia at his head.

"I'm currently trying to track down their Head of Espionage, Cally Hubble," I conclude. "She's missing. None of my usual databases show her anywhere."

"Even the illegal ones?"

"Especially the illegal ones."

Min sniffs and sits back, steepling his fingers for effect. "This is all well and good, but I'm seeing no reason to help you." He looks up at Yaoqi. "Do we, Zhang?"

Before he can respond, I whip Pratam's bank cube at Min. Yaoqi snags it out of the air with a single, deft movement. Before he can retort - most likely with violence - Min plucks the cube from his grasp and examines the numbers. A snake-like smile creeps onto his face. "Yes, this will do nicely." He winks. "Nice arm."

Yaoqi lives up to his reputation. Four days later, Cally Hubble is hogtied outside my warehouse in the perpetual downpour. I can't say I'm thrilled the two stooges seem to know where I live, but I'll deal with that later. Might need a new home.

The middle-aged ginger woman is fast asleep when I find her. I suspect she's been out here a while. I kick her awake. "Bastard!" she screeches, jolting awake. I sip my coffee from the safety of the overhang as she glares up at me, waiting for her gears to start turning. Her face goes dark. "You."

"Me." I grab her by the ropes and drag her inside.

It doesn't take long to strap her to a chair. I drag my own over and sit in it backward, propping my mug against the back. Hubble continues to glare at me. I didn't bother to gag her, but she isn't screaming for help. Two possibilities: one, she already knows it's pointless; or two, she already has help on the way.

I spy dried blood around a neat incision in her neck. She doesn't seem to realize her tracker is already gone. "Nobody's coming," I say.

"You think I don't know that?" she spits. "I've been out in the rain for fucking hours. Least you could've done was find me earlier."

I shrug. "I sleep late."

Something in her face twitches. If she wasn't bound, she'd have tried to kill me right then and there. I sigh. "Look, we can do this the easy way, or I'm going to have to torture you." I sip my coffee. The caffeine feels great. I'm motivated. "Doesn't matter which. You know what I'm after."

"I don't know what you're hoping to hear," she says. "You're the world's greatest treasure trove of up-to-date information. Eliminating you only helps our cause."

I blink. "And how, exactly, did you anticipate accessing my storage without me?"

She smiles. "Who said anything about accessing it?"

I grunt. "Fair point," I grumble. "I can't say I'm shocked."

She stares at me for a while. I let her. I have coffee to finish. "Who are you?" she asks. I've heard this question before. Everything about me is clearly manufactured. "You have no history. One day you appeared and started causing havoc. Cor2 doesn't even know your name."

I laugh. "You've seen their files?"

"And then some."

"Then you know you should leave this buried."

She sighs. "I'm going to die here. At least tell me your name."

She has a point. So I tell her. With conviction this time. "My name is Cain."

A gunshot. The world continues on outside.