With a trembling hand, Till Ingo injected nanomachines into his ruined arm. Relief came immediately, and the blood had clotted. The battle was still raging around them. Five Orais in heavy assault suits came in from the corridor, filling the air with the rapid fire of their autocannons. A sixth rushed in with flamethrowers mounted on his arms, the intense flames scorching the armor of the Horde soldiers.

The Orais’ onslaught was cut short when an attacker burst through the wall of flame and kicked the guard in the stomach hard enough to crack the plate. A series of shots narrowly missed the guard’s head as he closed in, engulfing himself and his opponent in flames. Ammunition belts exploded; the Horde soldier’s machine gun melted in his hands, but the giant drew his sword and plunged it into the Orais chest. Mighty hands grabbed the intruder’s wrist and pulled the blade free, just in time for the Orais to headbutt his opponent, laughing all the way. Strangely, the Horde madman, oblivious to the heat seeping through the cracks in his suit, laughed as well.

Banshee and Till Ingo ignored it and stepped inside the small corridor leading to the control room At the sound of the first emergency, the defense system raised steel plates to block the entrance, but the woman wearing Piam’s face tore through them as if they were paper.

Pulsating growths covered the room inside. Red flesh connected every pimple the size of a man’s body, and dark vines spread everywhere. Pools of crimson flesh swallowed whole terminals, and the room’s crew was pinned to the wall, covered from neck to toe in the strange biological material. Both guards and operators had gags around their mouths, but Till Ingo was relieved to see them breathing, even if they were unconscious.

His first step was accompanied by a disgusting champ sound, and the reddish substance on the ground shuddered. The arterial vines joined together to form a web on the ceiling, digging into the walls in places. Till Ingo moved on, heading for a single untouched terminal on the opposite side of the room and gesturing for Banshee to stay back.

“We both know this is a trap,” Ingo said aloud. There was no response; the surrounding vines continued to throb. “Based on your actions so far, you are not a killer. Let us negotiate.”

“I am as many things as my mission requires, Till Ingo,” a voice came from his left, and his aides began their calculations, trying to locate the unseen spy.

Human lips appeared on a vine, but a loud series of wet pops and cracks behind Ingo’s back filled him with dread. He spun around just in time to see bones, ligaments, and muscles appearing in an innocent-looking vine in the corner. The top of the vine broke free from the mass of flesh above and whipped, heavily slapping Banshee against the jaw. She fell with a crack, dropping the coil gun. The vine lay next to her, sprouting appendages that secured his creation to the floor before a bubbling mass appeared at its center.

On an instinct, Ingo fired the searing toxic ray at the upper part of the mass, but his shot missed as the mass spread, creating a hole through which the deadly stream could pass. A hand, then another, formed from the flesh, and soon the woman in the green trench coat rose to her full height and met his eyes. A single hair whipped out, slicing through the toxic gun.

“Now we can converse in peace,” she said and noticed his eyes on Banshee. “Your companion is alive. I merely dislocated a few vertebrae. I suggest you do what you came here for while we are speaking. There may not be time for it later, and neither of us desires more needless deaths.”

Till nodded and proceeded to the terminal, flying his hand over the keyboard. Wary of the malware that overrode most precautions built into Houstad, he didn’t risk establishing a direct link to operate it remotely.

“Your deeds don’t match your words,” Ingo said coldly.

“I am deeply sorry about your wound.” The woman placed a hand on her chest and bowed. “The arrangements were clear; you were not to be harmed. It was not according to my plan, and the one responsible will pay. But I reject your implied accusation. None died by my hand. Collective responsibility is a sham, Mr. Ingo, and I am responsible only for what I have committed with my many arms. Every woe that befell Houstad resulted from the actions of its citizens.”

“Keep making excuses,” Ingo halted, trying to summon anti-malware programs. “How should I call you?”

“Trace.” The woman walked over to the operators and placed a hand on the twisted leg of one. The limb jerked and straightened.

“What have you released into the system?” Ingo demanded. He expected to see some unknown device attached to the terminal, but there was a simple USB drive inserted into a slot. “I have never seen anything like that.”

“A self-propagating virus. Your observation matches mine, as I tried to stop it as soon as I noticed the area of effect. It was meant to deliver a message, not risk causing untold devastation,” Trace said dispassionately, healing the trapped wounded. “I assume my allies are unaware of its function. It differs greatly from their standard malware. A third party involved in our situation, I am certain of it. Mayhap it is even beyond your abilities to stop it now.”

“How about a bet? If I can solve this problem, you will surrender,” the researcher offered, smiling thinly as he discovered a possible approach to tackling the system. It was the experimental malware cleaner he kept in his aide, a crude copy of Iternian programs modified with what he had found in the ruins around the globe.

“I’m afraid it risks compromising my mission,” Trace answered.

“Judging by your behavior, you are not in the business of mindless killing,” Ingo stated. He briefly established the connection, and his aide released the hunter and shut down, already infected. The cluster in his brain showed unusual activity as they pitied their affected friend. “Riches, knowledge? What are you after?”

“You, Till Ingo.” Trace checked a guard’s heartbeat and frowned, sending more tentacles into the man’s chest, returning color to his cheeks. “Bio-Tinkers desire the brightest and the smartest to assist in the glorious task of improving human biology, and you should be honored for attracting their attention. As an instrument of their reach, I have been charged with gathering you. Circumstances don’t allow me to take you whole, but the brain will do. Do not worry, once the Great Mission is completed, we will reimburse you for such indignity.”

“Bio-Tinkers, Great Mission” Ingo laughed. “Bollocks! I have seen the reports of hordes of biological horrors used in the anvil of war. Twisted, hapless, created for a single purpose. Vat-grown mutants, unleashed at the snap of your masters’ fingers. There is no greatness in propagating such misery.”

“None of them are sentient,” Trace traced an old scar on the man’s face with her finger, leaving perfectly smooth skin behind. “The Oathtakers forced our hands, forced the conclave to deny my brothers and sisters sentience and use them as the cannon fodder.”

Till Ingo stood with his back to Banshee. He couldn’t see his daring creation, but a whisper reached his eardrums, transmitted at such a low frequency that no one else in the room had a chance to catch it.

“Ready.”

Wait. There is much to learn. On my signal. Till Ingo tapped a code on the surface of the terminal, disguising it as a gesture of frustration. It was a language they had invented together, a secret they shared. His ears didn’t pick up the soft tapping, but Banshee picked it up loud and clear.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Brothers… So you are not human,” Ingo stated.

“We are the Second Chance, the intermediate link between the present humans and the next race.” Trace nodded and removed her tentacles from the guard, giving the unconscious man a gentle pat. “I would recommend intensive medical checks for your personnel. Dying of heart problems is an embarrassing way to go.”

“Another idiots seeking to eradicate the human race.” Ingo shook his head, pretending to work on the terminal. The hunter program no longer needed his input, but the researcher attempted to buy time to learn more. “Can’t believe there are so many morons obsessing over it.”

“Eradicate?” Trace asked, an emotion of surprise creeping into her voice. “You misunderstand our intentions. Humans are our parents. How could we hate them?” she said passionately. “We do not seek to expedite the death of humanity in any way, shape, or form. We’d rather prefer to live alongside it.”

“Under your guidance, I trust?” Ingo asked. “What is the angle of your cult, Trace? Do you plan to forcibly evolve every human or something equally wicked?”

“Your fear is understandable, but entirely misplaced,” Trace said. “Bio-Tinkers have no enemies. Nor do the Second Chance. Neither I nor my brothers and sisters seek to subsume, alter, or control humanity. We cannot say that we love each and every one of you, but by and large, you are our kin, and I personally want nothing more than to become a doctor one day. In my own way, I weep over the deaths happening in Houstad.”

“Why can’t you be a doctor now? Why help the murderers?” Ingo asked bluntly.

“To collect you,” Trace sighed. “And to obtain genetic material from extremely rare humans. The Gilded Horde is coming, hundreds of thousands of them, and unless I take you away, there is a risk of losing your potential to the world. Hate me if you wish, but you can’t deny the necessity of the Great Mission.” Till Ingo raised his eyebrow, and Trace stepped closer to him. “Consider the tragedy of the Old World. Our own history almost ended. The Second Chance was meant to lessen that possibility in the future. My future siblings will be perfect in every way, capable of surviving any conditions, and human at their core. They are the salvation of us all, and your mind will help design them.”

“Perfection doesn’t exist. There will always be a flaw to remove, a biological function to improve. Can’t you see, Trace, that your Great Mission is, by its very definition, unattainable? It is a task without end; all the while you kidnap, kill, and maim for it.” He caught a glimmer of irritation in the woman’s eyes. “You actually agree with me. Curious. You have called yourself an instrument. Do you have free will, Trace?”

“I have faith that the conclave knows better. Certain limits to my freedom are unfortunate precautions for the sake of a better future for all.” The light above flashed, and Trace took a terminal from the pocket that appeared on her arm. “Connection to the Investigation Bureaus has been restored. How naughty of you to stall for time after I was so cooperative.”

“Wait,” Till Ingo pleaded, placing a hand on the stump of his shoulder. “Last question. Were you created using the knowledge of the Old World?”

“No. The conclave had failed to secure data vaults containing the knowledge of the Old World biotechnology.” Trace tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”

“Then you are out of luck,” Till Ingo laughed and sat, leaning against the terminal.

Trace took a step, and the floor shook. The living ropes wrapped around Banshee broke, and the woman rose, snapping her neck and grabbing her head, forcing the dislocated vertebrae back into place.

“Hey,” she coughed. “Get away from Dad.”

Bone spikes shot up from the vine closest to Banshee, splintering centimeters away. The bone fragments dropped to the ground. Vines moved, giving birth to smaller arteries; hands ending in claws emerged from the flesh, trying to tear the student apart, while organic ropes would bind her. Banshee’s mouth opened, her lower jaw touching her chest, and Trace hastily carved a hole in her body, spreading her torso wide as she calculated the presumed line of attack.

An omnidirectional blast of sound liquidated everything around Banshee. It bounced off the walls and joined a second scream that tore through the throbbing web created by Trace. The agent formed a bone shield in front of her, only to see it shatter and hiss in pain as the third scream splattered her between the two trapped guards. The intensity of the screams from Banshee’s mouth increased, and the organic covering on the floor raced into corners and was crushed into tiny spheres.

But nothing touched Ingo or the captives. Not a single hair fell from their heads.

Banshee often frightened him, Till Ingo was willing to admit this much. Where her vat-grown siblings were perfectly normal kids growing up, their youngest sister was different. As her hands touched the edges of the vat and her head showed from the green waters, she addressed Ravager and the scientist in perfect Common, claiming that she had heard everything. There was no secret in the lab that could be kept from her ears, and she often first congratulated confused students on finally deciding to become a couple. In time, such hearing became a bother, and Till Ingo made her noise suppressors in the shape of jewelry, giving the girl the same hearing as a normal human. She beamed with happiness all day long, testing them, jumping like crazy, screaming that it wasn’t noisy anymore and that her head wasn’t hurting.

Sound was her weapon; her vocal cords were capable of amplifying a simple sound to the point of leveling a tank. The ancient records stated that ‘products’ like her served as spies and assassins. But there was more to it. Ingo experimented with the Glow, trying to understand the mechanics behind the fact that it was giving powers to the few and ending the many. His results were inconclusive; there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the glow’s power-giving, but it accepted Banshee, and she gained control of the sound by her. The student wielded it with perfect precision.

That was what hit Trace. A scalper of thinned and magnified sound caught the woman, wrapped around her like a cloak, and slammed her against the wall. Trace’s eyes exploded, her fingers snapped, her body tortured and ravaged by the merciless waves of sound. Ingo was about to ask Banshee to stop when the agent’s finger lengthened and touched the ropes holding a suspended guard.

Her whole body was sucked into this rope, clothes, and bones. Banshee’s scream hit the wall, but Trace had already reappeared on the ceiling. Her right arm morphed into a thin bone blade nearing Banshee’s head. The point cracked, stopped by a hastily created sonic shield. The tip cracked, stopped by a hastily created shield of sound. A sonic burst bisected Trace in two, but a bubbling mass emerged from beneath the floor and tried to close in on Banshee’s legs. The student inhaled and screamed.

The scream shattered the ground and lifted Banshee, saving her from a reddish mass that was trying desperately to cling to the boot. Bone shards were shot from the mass, tendrils of hardened muscle unfurled, whipping madly in an attempt to bypass the sphere of sound around the student. Banshee screamed again, uprooting the mass from the ground. It twisted and contorted, suspended in the air as unseen pistons pounded on its surface, flattening it.

“Surrender,” Banshee demanded. Ingo heard no response, but another scream opened a panel on a wall and the mass was thrown against it, flailing wildly as the currents of electricity raced through its body, burning the outer skin. “Give it up. Now,” Banshee repeated. Listening to an answer deafened by the tearing and burning of muscles, she nodded and screamed again.

Covered by extensive burns, its outer shell darkening, the mass slumped to the ground. It gave a single, faint pulsation, trying to change, and slumped into a pool.

“Because you didn’t kill when you had the chance, and you never aimed for my vitals,” Banshee said to the black mass. “You really don’t like killing, do you?” She gave Ingo a worried look. “Dad! How are you?!”

“Fine, Banshee,” he grumbled, not sure what she was grinning like an idiot about. “Release the prisoners, carefully, please. What happened to Trace?”

“Incapacitated for a while.” Banshee nodded at the dark mass. “But it won’t be for long. Lying is bad, by the way,” she said in the air, gently liberating an operator from the ropes. “I can hear your capillaries growing. Can you contain her?”

“I’ll find a way,” Ingo promised when the stomping of the approaching guards made him realize that they must have been aware of the screams and if the cameras were online during the fight… “Banshee, let me explain everything…”

“Guys!” The insufferable girl waved a hand to the barged in Orais. “Dad and I stopped the baddie; don’t step on her by accident; she is our prisoner and can still bite. There she is, that heap of shit. Also, I am not a human, was grown in a vat.”

Till Ingo stopped, clenched his fist and prepared to shout the order to stand down.

“So what?” the leading Orais stumbled. “The fuck am I supposed to do with the last part of that information? You want a medal or something? Help her get the people down and the injured out,” he snapped to his soldiers.

“If you can find my earpiece, it’ll be awesome,” Banshee asked, touching the remaining jewelry on her good ear. “It’s so noisy. People screaming, bones breaking, explosions and gunfire outside. It’s rough.” She licked her lips, sweating. “Tough,” she added.

“Banshee,” Ingo began.

“I’ll manage, Dad,” she assured him. “No drugs. Never drugs.”

“Find the pretty thing for the girlie!” the Orais in charge told a Normie soldier, reloading his rotating autocannon. “As for us,” he told his team. “On the road. Honor the Champion and the Dynast by spilling the blood of their enemies!”