Connor fed the last shred of half eaten chicken bone into his open stomach and laid back to rest as his body finished the last repairs and modifications. The sedan rolled smoothly down the highway, the gentle hum of the engine lulling him to sleep. He had pawned off two handguns at the last city to fund his trip and still had enough money to fill the tank several times over if desired.

His mind turned to Harristown and the eventual showdown. His plan was that he had no plan, as he had no idea what he was up against. It pained him to think that the fate of the original and the clones depended on him alone. There was also his mother to find. No, his mother. Was she in Harristown, too? What if she wasn’t? How many days had he been freed and how much had he accomplished? Nothing, unless you counted the handful of stolen firearms, that were probably outmatched by the Kemprex security. The closer he got, the heavier the lump of anxiety in his stomach felt. Should he wait and prepare? Should he try the police one more time?

Connor pounded his leg with an armoured fist. “Fucking useless piece of shit!” He cradled his head in his hands. The realisation dawned on him, its truth bittersweet. “I’m going to die in there.”

It would be his last gamble. Nobody else was going to help him. Kemprex’s long reach made outside assistance impossible. They’d simply kill or buy off anyone he dared approach. Connor breathed slowly as his mind accepted his fate. It was try or die. Sure, he could run and live a life off the grid, but he could never let himself live it down. The guilt would crush him. The torture he had been through — what his clone brothers were going to receive for the rest of their unnatural lives…

He rubbed at the tears on his cheek. The evening skyline whipped past his reclined vision, revealing tall pines, rocky mountains, and the cloud-peeking sun through the tinted windows. Wind howled in through the broken rear window, ripping away the smell of the garbage he had strewn through the back seat. He didn’t care. The car wasn’t his, nor was he going to need it much longer. Harristown and Kemprex were an hour away.

He delved inward to the awareness of the inner workings of his body. The armour’s missing segments had been replaced and the bone matrix strengthened. It was much denser than before, and therefore weighed accordingly. His musculature had to be bolstered in tandem. In preparation for the assault he had grown more pinching claws on his hips and shoulders to carry an assortment of guns and spare magazines. He didn’t want to use them if he didn’t have to, but a moment may come where he’d be forced to. More darts and toxins had been grown to replace the ones used on the Reyes. Would he survive a volley of mini-ex? He couldn’t say, and he didn’t have the means until it was too late. The car ate the miles. Connor meditated, perfecting his body and loading the stolen guns.

The sedan’s basic A.I chimed to him, notifying that he had reached his destination. Connor snapped awake in a panic and looked around. The sedan crawled down the main road, passing pre-war houses and stores. Lampposts shone yellowish light on the clean sidewalks, illuminating the wares in the shop windows. Connor gritted his teeth. The chain-linked fence of the Kemprex facility was ahead. Multiple jet carriers sat in the parking lot, obscuring the facility’s entrance. He crouched down until his head was barely visible above the door frame. Two giants in tactical armour stood guard at the entrance, auto-cannons at the ready.

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“Shit.”

Connor slunk further down so the Pros couldn’t see him. Sweat broke out on his encased skin.

“Go around the block. Get off this street,” he commanded.

The A.I chirped and displayed a list of possibilities on the light up screen.

“The first one. Go there now.”

The sedan turned left at the next intersection, taking him past more commercial buildings.

“Alright. Find a park.”

It came to a stop, parallel parking outside of a closed doughnut shop with the smooth grace of a machine. He killed the engine and assembled his weaponry, clipping the guns to his body with the pinching claws and the tendrils at his shoulder. In his mind he pictured the layout of the complex from his sketchy memory, plotting a potential path down to the labs where the clones were held. The sword was last due to its size. Hunched forward to accommodate the haft of the sword sticking over his head, Connor started the car and disabled the autopilot. His shaking hands gripped the steering wheel.

“Might as well get this over with.”

He pulled the sedan back onto the street and drove around the block, coming back to the main road further away from the entrance to the Kemprex gate. Connor floored it, accelerating down the road at reckless speed. The security entrance rushed closer. Both armed guards stepped out into the road, alerted by the sound of the engine.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

The Pros levelled their cannons in his direction. Connor slid down to shield himself. He leaned on the accelerator, and the car answered with a howl as it revved. The long-barrelled weapons of the Pro’s spat fire. The sedan rocked with each detonation, as the front end shredded under the onslaught. The windows blew in. Connor fought to keep the vehicle on its course as he barrelled into the gate. The Pros dived out of his path. He hit a bollard and the car came to a crunching stop. Connor flew from his seat and out of the shattered windscreen, hitting the ground several meters away, his armoured body grating to a stop. Connor laughed despite his circumstances, feeling shaken but unhurt.

The Programmed weren’t going to let him rest. Connor rolled onto his feet and slipped behind the wall of the guard station. The ground exploded where he had just laid, peppering his toughened body with shrapnel and debris. They were on him before he had a chance to unsheathe his blade. The butt of a rifle struck the back of his head, knocking him forward. The other guard lashed out with a kick to his chest, rocking him. Dazed, Connor whipped the tendrils from his wrists. They slithered around the Pro’s necks and squeezed, surprising the guards before they could shoot.

“What the fu..?”

Connor struggled against the stronger men. Instead of choking them out, he slid the ends of each tendril up the crack between their neck and the polycarbonate helmet, seeking an unarmoured section to pierce. The needles dove in, delivering their toxins. The fight went out of the Pro’s and they staggered over.

A siren sounded. Connor glanced back to the Kemprex facility. In the spaces below the parked gyros and carriers crowding the lot, he could make out shadows running to and fro from the bright lights illuminating the parking lot. Was there an entire army waiting for him? He broke into a sprint fearing that he was already under crosshairs, the front doors of the facility he had recently escaped from etched in his mind’s eye.