As soon as Kovacs stepped off the transport, he was met by a squad of soldiers, weapons slung but eyes sharp. Jackie was among them, her expression unreadable but relieved to see Kovacs still on his feet. Agent Prentis, who had been with Kovacs since Rivenhall and had shared numerous dangers with him along the way, stayed close, scanning the surroundings for any threats.

The squad formed a protective perimeter around Kovacs, and Jackie gave him a small nod. “Looks like you’re stuck with us for a while,” she said, her tone light but laced with the underlying tension of their situation.

Before Kovacs could respond, a commanding voice cut through the air. “Good job, Stewart,” the major stated as she strode over, her steps purposeful and her gaze sharp. “But don’t do it again.”

Jackie’s face remained neutral, though her eyes showed a faint flash of defiance. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, standing at attention.

The major’s gaze shifted to Kovacs, her eyes studying him with a mix of curiosity and impatience. “You’re going to be moved to a new location,” she informed him, her voice clipped and efficient. “The details of that location are classified—even to me.”

Kovacs frowned, the implications clear. “Any idea why?” he asked, trying to keep his tone steady despite the uncertainty.

The major shook her head. “I wasn’t given specifics. These are just orders to ensure your security until further notice. Agent Prentis and Stewart’s squad will be accompanying you.”

Prentis stepped closer, his expression reassuring but serious. “We’ll keep you safe, Kovacs. It’s been a rough ride, but we’re not done yet.”

Kovacs nodded, feeling a mix of weariness and resolve. Whatever awaited him at the new destination, he knew one thing for certain: the stakes were only getting higher.

Kovacs sighed, feeling the weight of exhaustion in his bones. “How may I be of use, ma’am?” he asked, turning to the older woman with a hint of forced formality.

The major studied him for a moment, her expression softening slightly. “You look worn out,” she remarked bluntly.

Kovacs let out a tired chuckle, his lips curling into a weary smile. “I am,” he admitted, “but I can sleep when I’m dead.”

The major’s eyes flickered with the faintest trace of amusement. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Mr. Kovacs,” she replied dryly. "We’ve still got use for you yet.”

Kovacs nodded, accepting the reality as best he could.

“Get some food and rest.” She said, motioning to Jackie and the impromptu squad.

“Get some food and rest,” the major ordered, motioning to Jackie and the impromptu squad surrounding Kovacs. Her tone was firm, but there was an undercurrent of urgency.

“I don’t know who you are,” she continued, eyeing Kovacs with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, “but command is hot to have you in hand.”

Kovacs nodded, feeling the fatigue pressing down even harder now that the adrenaline was wearing off. “Understood, ma’am,” he replied quietly. There wasn’t much else to say; he wasn’t entirely sure who he was to command, either, not anymore.

Jackie stepped forward, her gaze steady on Kovacs. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you squared away.”

As the squad moved to escort him, Kovacs couldn’t shake the feeling that things would only get more complicated from here. But for now, he just needed to find a quiet corner, grab a meal, and recover some strength for whatever came next.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

***

The food was one step above horrid, a bland rice mix and unseasoned beans. Still, it was filling, and Kovacs knew he was fortunate to have even this. Too many people on the planet have been left with nothing, driven from their homes, and turned into refugees by the ongoing conflict. As he chewed slowly, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, but instead, an image of a burned child flashed across his memory. The smell of smoke, the sound of wailing—raw reminders of how far this world had fallen. “*Those bastards!*”

The sudden outburst jolted Kovacs awake. He blinked rapidly, disoriented, realizing he must have dozed off without noticing. The shadows had grown long, and the light had shifted into an orange hue as the day neared its end.

“What?” he asked, still shaking off sleep as he glanced around. A group of cadets had gathered near the squad, and one of them, his face streaked with dirt and tears, was speaking in a shaky voice.

“They took hostages…” the cadet choked out, his voice breaking.

Kovacs felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. “Who?” he asked urgently, his fatigue momentarily forgotten.

The young cadet swiped at his tears, trying to regain some composure. “The bastards that hit the supply convoy,” he managed. “They… they grabbed civilians. Mostly women and kids from the refugee camps nearby.”

Kovacs’s chest tightened, anger simmering just beneath the surface. He clenched his fists, feeling a surge of helplessness mixed with rage. “Do they have any demands?” he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice steady.

The cadet shook his head. “Not yet. Command’s scrambling, trying to figure out how to respond.” He looked down, his shoulders slumping. “It’s just… it’s just not right.”

Kovacs’s mind raced as he stared at the young soldier, seeing a reflection of his exhaustion and despair. He was tired, but the fight was far from over. The hostages’ faces—imagined or not—now joined the many reasons he had to keep pushing forward.

“We’ll get them back,” Kovacs said, his voice low but persistent. “I don’t know what kind of monsters they are, but somehow, we’ll get them back.”

***

“What kind of monsters are these?” Betolomu muttered, shaking his head as he examined the data on the screen in front of him. His brow was furrowed, and the harsh fluorescent light of the lab cast deep shadows under his eyes. “Ernie, come here. I need you to verify something for me.”

“Sure, Bert,” replied Ernie, a round-faced man with a cheerful demeanor despite the grim nature of their work. He ambled over to the workstation, a slight grin on his face.

Betolomu shot him a dark look. “I swear, if you keep calling me Bert, I’m going to stab you. My name is Betolomu. Did you get it?”

Ernie raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Okay, okay. Relax, Betolomu. What am I looking at?”

Betolomu gestured impatiently toward three samples displayed on the screen. “These three data sets’re not from the same person.”

Ernie squinted at the information. “What do you mean? They look like typical DNA samples. So what? Run it again.”

Betolomu let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Look closer. The telomeres—see how they differ? Each one shows a distinct age pattern.” His finger jabbed at the screen, emphasizing his point. “If these samples were from the same person, the degradation pattern should be similar. But here, the first set shows a biological age of two years, the second is closer to three, and the third is barely a year old.”

Ernie frowned, his usual levity replaced by confusion. “How is that possible? Are we looking at clones or something?”

Betolomu’s eyes darkened further. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Designed to last a couple of years at most. Disposable troops—clones with a short lifespan.”

Ernie’s face went pale as the realization sank in. “You mean… these are people who were created just to fight and die here?”

Betolomu nodded grimly. “They’re not just sending soldiers—they’re sending living weapons, made to be used and discarded. And the worst part? These clones probably don’t even know what they are.”

Ernie leaned back, feeling a mix of disgust and horror. “It’s one thing to kill a soldier,” he said quietly. “It’s another to kill someone who was never given a real chance to live.”

Betolomu’s expression softened slightly, a deep sadness flickering in his eyes. “This is just the beginning,” he warned. “If they’re using clones, it means they’re prepared to throw as many as it takes to break us. We need to make sure command understands what we’re up against.”

Ernie nodded, the weight of their discovery settling heavily on his shoulders. “So, what do we do now?”

Betolomu stared at the data, then back at Ernie. “We tell them what we know. And we pray that someone up there has a conscience left.”