Chapter 1

Awake!

Blind. Drowning. Thrashing.

I splash about within my fluid-filled bottle, trying desperately to break out. Finally, my fist breaks through the glass. As the thick, slippery liquid drains out, I keep pounding until everything collapsed out from under me. The cold, wet tile floor hits me hard as I claw at my face and rip off the non-functional respirator that blocks my breathing. Gasping for the stale air, I tear the wires and tubes from my body and pull off the VR-immersion headset that blinds me.

Weakened muscles protest as I pull myself to my knees and survey my surroundings. This is a laboratory, covered from floor to ceiling in white tile. Along one wall is ten large glass tubes - one of them, mine, is shattered. Beside each tube is a computer screen and opposite are ten lockers, between these walls is a long bench and the only exit is a door at the end. Having regained a little strength, I manage to crawl to the nearest tube and discover it inhabited. Inside, the body does not move or breath, the monitor reads:

CATASTROPHIC SUSPENSION FAILURE

SUBJECT DEAD

I pull myself to my feet and check the others. All dead. I'm getting stronger. Finally, I come back to my tube and check the monitor.

WARNING PREMATURE ANIMATION

SUBJECT IS PHYSICALLY IMMATURE

Physically immature? I find my reflection in the glass, I appear to be sixteen years old. All of the others are fully grown... and dead. More fiddling with my tube's computer revealed that I was a:

SPECTER-CLASS INFILTRATION/TERMINATION BIOROID

According to the computer I am some sort of genetically-engineered assassin. It went on with in-depth specifications of my physiology. What bothers me is why have my... colleagues been allowed to die? Further searching of the computers' databanks show that most of them have died between twenty and fifty years ago, while I was kept alive. I need answers.

I walk to the locker that would be mine and open it. Inside, I find a set of fatigues. Kevlar-fiber, chameleonic battle-dress uniform, according to knowledge I didn't know I possessed. The fabric is a smooth, tight weave and black, so black that it reflects no light at all. Along with the BDU's, are a pair of boots (made of the same black material), as well as a set of skintight underclothes. Micro-porous anti-bacterial/anti-spall ballistic cloth. I pull on the clothing and find, thankfully, that several draw-straps make it possible to adjust the BDU's to my smaller-than-adult frame.

Ignoring the other contents of the locker for the moment, I examine the uniform I wear. My unconscious knowledge informs me that this suit can automatically adapt it's coloration to match it's surroundings, as well as thermal masking. A hardened polyceramic module attaches to the back and houses a water and nutri-paste reservoir, environmental control system and a gel-state power cell, which is recharged by my own body heat and movement. The uniform is completed by a motocycle-style helmet on the locker's top shelf, which provides an hour of independent air supply, encrypted frequency-agile comm gear, infrared-vision filter, noise/flash cutouts, as well as physical-protection. Polyceramic outer shell, ballistic-gel cushioning.

On the back of the locker hangs a short, black rifle. Compact and sleek, with no stock to speak of, the rifle fires six-millimeter flechettes at just below the speed of sound. Instead of chemical propellant, a motor-driven flywheel provides the firing action, resulting in no muzzle flash or noise. Effective, reliable and accurate. It even includes a built-in motor-driven mill that can process scrap metal into new flechettes. The rifle fits snugly into a holster on the left shoulder of my uniform.

Special pouches all over the uniform provide stowage for extra two-hundred round magazines, as well as a medikit, high-explosive charges, a ceramic combat knife and other vital equipment. Whoever is responsible for my presence here certainly wanted me to be well armed. Finding a durable black rucksack, I go about liberating the other lockers of their spare ammunition and supplies. They wont be needing it. Now to get the hell out of here.

The door appears to slide into the wall and is opened by a keypad next to it. As I don't know the code, I am forced to override it. Thinking for a moment, the knowledge comes to me - deftly I use the multi-tool to remove the keypad's faceplate and begin to work at the wiring. Within seconds the door slides open.

Nothing but a deserted hallway. With some exploring, I discover four more rooms, with forty more dead men and women in bottles. I also find what resembles a break room and a computer control room - the screens all flashing about the deaths of the bioroids. Sitting at the console, I use everything I know about computers (which is a great deal, apparently), I discover that I am fifty meters below a military base that was bombed fifty years ago. Since then, the suspension system has been slowly failing - evidently, the system responsible to regulating my maturation did as well.

It occurs to me that none of this bothers me. Everything I discover, I accept. Obviously, fear and stress are not part of my programming. No point in dwelling on this, I need to get out of here. An elevator at the end of the hallway is the only way out. The button does nothing. Although the power down here seems to have remained functional all this time, the elevator is obviously on a different circuit.

With a grunt, I manage to force the doors open and step into the car. The access hatch flies open with a solid punch and I hoist myself on top of the car. The uniform's gloves protect my hands as I climb the elevator cable and it occurs to me just how effortlessly I can pull the weight of myself and my equipment straight up - I must be quite strong.

Forcing the door open at top is proves much more difficult. No amount of muscle seems to budge it. I remove a hi-ex charge from it's pouch and press it into place - the molecular adhesion pad on the back holding it on - and set the timer. Quickly, I slide ten meters back down the cable and wait for the blast. I keep perfect time in my head and the explosion occurs just when it should. The shaped charge drills a whole through the doors and forces them thirty centimeters apart. Plenty of room to squeeze through.

As I climb back up and pass through the elevator doors, I realize why it was jammed. It appears at if an entire warehouse or hanger collapsed down around this elevator shaft. At least there is still an accessible exit, even if it required me to throw a few chunks of scrap metal out of the way. Once again it amazed me that I could move this much mass with this little effort. As I wade through the wreckage, I pile as much wreckage onto the elevator entrance as I can, ensuring that no one stumbles upon it, and it's cache of weaponry - I may need to return some day.

The moment I step into the sunlight, I feel the need to unlock the helmet and remove it. The view is astonishing, the entire military based is little more than craters and flattened buildings. It is apparent that nature is beginning to reassert itself around the edges of the compound. No one has been here in decades. Best to get moving.

A highway, ruined by years of disuse, leads off to the east and that is the direction I go. Walking, I observe the countryside - the signs of warfare are obvious, despite the decades that nature has had to recuperate. I continue to walk for hours without tiring, only when the sun goes down do I think to check my time sense. It had been seven hours since I started and I could probably walk another ten or twenty hours before actually starting to fatigue. So I do, the sun has risen and set again before I decide to stop. This whole time, I have seen no sign of civilization.

I climb a tree and straddle it's highest branch, with my back to the trunk. I set the thermal filter and microphone pickup level on the helmet to maximum and open the smart-vents to allow air in untreated - the filters would engage automatically should impurities be detected, but for now, my sense of smell will be unhindered. Closing my eyes, I fall asleep instantly - I will awaken the second my senses picked up any sort of unusual stimulus - but for now, I sleep.

I awaken two hours later, fully rested and alert. Without effort, I slide from the branch and land with the grace of the cat. A seven-meter drop and I hardly make a sound. For the first time since escaping the lab, I am hungry. Sucking on the tube in my helmet draws a drink of water, mixed with a cocktail of nutrients into my mouth. A few mouthfuls later, I am sated and I continue on my way.

Three hours pass on the road before I observe the my first sign of human life. A gunshot. Nearly five-hundred meters away, but all the same it causes a reaction in me that I have never felt. My mind starts moving faster than I could imagine, pulling everything my senses can detect together and reacting accordingly, without any real thought. It is as if I am sitting back and watching my body as it races down the road at full speed.

The concrete sails beneath me, I must be going fifty or sixty kilometers an hour, and still I make no noise. Whoever designed my equipment knew what they were doing, my boots grip fast without making a sound, all of my gear is stowed snugly, even the backpack has individual compartments for everything. Within twenty seconds, I can hear voices: a female screams and several males are laughing coarsely.

I activate my helmets infrared filter - I see six warm bodies in a clearing just off of the road, and a seventh body on the ground, cooling slowly. The female is being held by a man on either side and one is directly in front of her, touching her face. The rest of the men are just standing around and watching her.

Slowing to a cautious prowl, I sneak along the trees for a closer look. The female is young, maybe twenty, and appears to be from the same place as the dead male, as they are dressed the same and relatively clean. The other men, on the other hand, a dirty and appear to be dressed in whatever leather or denim they could get their hands on. Switching off the infrared, I take a moment to look around, I notice that my uniform really can change color, as it has assumed a collage of greens and browns, making me very difficult to spot.

The man facing her has drawn a rusted knife and appears to be trying to cut off her clothing. Even if I needed to consciously decide my actions, they would be the same. Without thought, I draw the rifle and bring it level with the knife-wielder. A small viewbox on my visor displays what can be seen through the underbarrel camera and I quickly take aim.

I squeeze the trigger and only a slight buzz is made as seven flechettes are flung from the barrel. There is barely any recoil and for a moment I question as to whether I even fired, but the target's reaction quickly answers that question. The tight grouping of tiny holes in his upper back are barely noticeable, but as the frangible needles twist, bend and shatter inside him, he quickly drops to his knees, then flat on the ground, blood gurgling from his mouth. His heart and lungs are undoubtedly shredded.

While the others are reeling from the unexpected attack, I squeeze off two more bursts, one into each of the men holding her. The man on the left is struck in the upper chest and meets a similar fate as the first, while the one on the right is shot in the face - the damage done is very much evident in this case: his face ripped away from the bone, with jelly-like grey matter oozing from the holes.

The remaining three have now had a chance to dive for cover and draw various makes and models of pistols from their ragged clothing. Likewise, the female has run for safety. Still, no one knows where I am. No flash, no bang, just the buzz of angry hornets a split-second before someone dies.

Two have gone behind trees, and the other behind an outcropping of rocks. Switching back to infrared, I spot silhouettes through their cover. Someone behind a tree shifts his weight and reveals his right shoulder. A three-round burst rapidly reduces the arm to deadweight as the man attached to it falls to the ground screaming. With a leap, I cover nearly five meters and land in the middle of the clearing. The remaining two pull away from their cover to shoot at me, but are quickly put down by flechette-fire.

I hear the last one dragging himself to his feet. Microphones placed strategically around the surface of the helmet allow my to locate and track his movements easily. As he staggers back into the clearing, thinking I am not aware of him, he draws a knife and raises it above his head. He screams and charges me. With speed that surprises even me, my hand reaches out, closes around his throat and lifts him two feet off of the ground, then a sharp twist snaps his neck. The body goes limp immediately, but for a few seconds, I can see life draining from his eyes. I feel no regret.

Turning to the female's hiding spot, I can easily smell her fear. I've smelt it since I first neared the clearing. She whimpers and shakes from behind a fallen log. Her gaze lifts from my boots to helmet, a mask of utter terror on her face. It would appear that she was even more scared of me than she was of them.

With a sigh, I holster my rifle and remove my helmet. Her eyes lock onto mine and she stares in disbelief. "You're... just a kid?!?" Admittedly, I had not expected her to say that.

"It would seem so. Where are you from? I didn't notice any settlements." The sooner I find some people, the sooner I can get some answers.

For a moment, it appeared as if she were going to answer my question, then she suddenly looked horrified again. "Kevin!" Leaping over the log, the runs to the dead man's side.

"He's dead I'm afraid. There's no heartbeat and his body temperature has dropped considerably already." Despite this, she hugs his body and cries. I approach her and put a hand on her shoulder. "He's beyond our help. You need to get somewhere safe."

After a long pause, she manages take a deep, ragged breath and pull herself together. "You're right. We're about a hundred kilometers from Clearwater Settlement, that's where I'm from. Kevin and I were driving back from Bunker Town when we hit a road trap these fuckers had set, they chased us and finally caught us here and... and..." She shudders and holds back tears. For some reason, I feel compelled to put my arm around her, this seems to calm her somewhat. "I... I'm okay now. My name is Sarah. What's yours?" Good question.

"I don't have one." Nowhere in my physiological schematics was any sort of personal designation ever mentioned.

"What do you mean, you don't have one." She looks at me strangely.

"I don't. No one has given me one." I take a breath and cut her off before she can start asking more questions. "This goes nowhere, which way to Clearwater. I'll take you there."

"Um, okay. Like I said, it's about a hundred kilometers... east, we just need to follow the highway." Standing uneasily, she leads the way to the highway and we begin our walk. Feeling the sun on my head reminds me just how warm it is. Between the refrigerated water I've been drinking and the veins of coolant circulating throughout my suit, I hadn't felt a thing. Sarah, on the other hand, is showing signs of exhaustion and dehydration.

"Just a moment." I remove my rucksack and produce a collapsible plastic water bottle and a small, red, gel-filled packet. "Open the packet and squeeze the nutri-paste into the water. Shake it up and drink it." She eyes me suspiciously for a minute, then does as I told her. A few sips later, she is walking beside me with a great deal more energy.

"That stuff is great. It tastes like strawberry and I feel so awake now."

"It should, the red packets are laced with a powerful stimulant. I hope one liter of water to one packet is an acceptable ratio for your metabolism - mine is probably a little more tolerant." She shrugs and keeps walking. From her scent, I suspect that she finds me disturbing in some way, she was obviously very anxious and frightened. Luckily, she has chosen to trust me, for the time being at least.

After a while, her boredom and nervousness gets the better of her and she begins to make small talk with me. Over the next few hours, I learn that a major global war occurred approximately seventy-five years ago, it ended fifty years ago when virtually every infrastructure collapsed one by one. Fifty years ago would match what has happened to the military base. She goes on to tell me that Clearwater Settlement was founded shortly after "The Fall" and has become one of the largest colonies in the area. I force myself not to inquire about the Settlement's defensive measures, that may appear suspicious.

By the time nightfall comes, the last of her stimulant-induced energy had disappeared. While not as effective as my helmet's infrared filter, my own natural nightvision is on the magnitude of a cat's, and is more than sufficient to navigate our way off of the highway and to the base of a secluded tree. "We should stop here for the night." She agrees.

I produce two bottles of water from my rucksack, one I give to her and the other I pour into my drinking tube to refill the reservoir. I also give her a blue nutri-pack.

"Blue?"

"No stimulants."

"Ah." She tears it open and mixes it into her water. After a sip. "Raspberry. Who makes this stuff?"

"I'm not sure. Who controlled this area during the time of The Fall?" She is somewhat taken aback by this, but thinks about the answer all the same.

"That would have been the NORAD Alliance."

"Then these were made by the NORAD Alliance, about fifty or sixty years ago."

"Wow, so you found an old military stash? That's every scavenger's dream."

"Indeed." I don't think I will tell her much more about me right about now. "You are tired, you should get some sleep." I notice her shiver somewhat, once again my suit's climate control kept me from noticing. I remove my black jacket and undo all of the adjustment straps. "Here, you need to keep warm." Now that I feel it, the cold doesn't really bother me. Increased epithelial heat retention and elevated metabolic activity in response to hypothermic conditions. She wraps the jacket around herself and lays down on the ground, I sit with my back to the tree and rifle in my lap.

I sleep on and off for the next six hours, mostly wasting time until Sarah wakes up. A pack of wolves takes interest on us and spends much of the night venturing closer and closer to us, before being repelled by a few near-missing warning shots. By sunrise, Sarah stirs and awakens. She looks over to me and frowns. "Did you sleep at all?"

"I slept. If we start walking soon, we can be there by evening."

"Okay. Just a second, I need to... um... be right back." With a slightly embarrassed look, she hurries into the woods. A moment later, I smell urine. Of course. When she returns, I stand and we begin walking again.

"Oh, here's you're jacket back. Isn't it too warm for black, and weren't you cold last night?" I slip my jacket on and readjust it to fit me, then take a drink from the reservoir which is combined with a blue nutri-pack.

"It doesn't bother me much." We keep walking.

"Um, okay. You're not much of talker are you?"

"I haven't had much experience with people."

"Oh." She is silent for nearly an hour before she begins to talk again. This time she talks about her life, growing up in Clearwater Settlement, her job as a member of a scavenger squad, her engagement to Kevin. By the time we take a midday break, I probably know as much about her as anyone in Clearwater.

"So, tell me something about yourself. I've been talking all day, but you've barely said twenty words." I cannot shake her gaze and decide that I must tell her something.

"I don't remember much about my life beyond the last few days. I was trained as a soldier and recently got my hands on this equipment. Which brings me here."

"Oh, so you've got... amnesia?"

"Pretty much."

"Wow, well what army were you a part of?"

"They, don't exist anymore." That may not have satisfied her, but it certainly made it too awkward for her to continue on this line of questioning. Soon, we begin walking again. This time, there is no talking at all. By seventeen-hundred hours, I can smell civilization - I smell large concentrations of metal and methanol exhaust - Sarah did say that they did a lot of salvage work and distilled their own alcohol-based fuel. In two more hours, I can see the Settlement.

The whole compound is nearly three kilometers wide, surrounded by a wall of double-stacked semi-trailers. Fifty meters beyond the wall is a chainlink and razorwire fence, with signs posted that declare the space between the wall and fence as a minefield. A dozen warehouses and airplane hangers have been erected to one side of the colony and nearly two-hundred trailers to the other. In the middle, a large school seems to be the center point of Clearwater Settlement.

"That's it, we're home!" Sarah jumps up and down excitedly and picks up her stride towards the first gate. Keeping up with her is no problem as I would have been moving faster than this without her anyway. As we approach, two guards at the chainlink gate raise their assault rifles to us... to me.

"Halt who goes there... Sarah? Is that you? What happened to Kevin? Who's he?" The one speaking is a rugged-looking man in camouflage and is pointing an AK-47 at me. His partner is somewhat scrawnier and armed with an M-16.

"Roger, oh god am I glad to see you. This is... well, he doesn't really have a name, but he saved my life. These gangers killed Kevin and they were gonna do something awful to me, but he stopped them." Sarah is practically ranting now. They continue to aim at me.

"Alright, Roy, go get Garret. Someone's going to have to decide what to do with him." Now he raises his rifle to eye level while he aims at me. Trusting individual. "Now why don't you drop your weapons and lay down on your stomach."

"No." Even now, I could draw and kill them both before they could fire. Once again, my mind has gone into overdrive, just waiting for the right moment.

"What do you mean 'no'? I've got a god damn gun pointed at you!" Roy has run down the path and through a small door, built into the main gate. In a split second, I close the distance between Roger and I, wrap one hand around the muzzle and bring my palm down on his firing hand's wrist sharply. The end result: his rifle is in my possession, pointed at him.

"Not anymore." Neither Roger nor Sarah blink for a moment, their faces masked in shock. Once the fact that I could kill them if I wished to has sunk in, I throw the rifle off to the side and back off by a few feet. "I don't like having guns pointed at me."

"Yeah, well I don't much like strangers showing up on my watch." Roger is defiant and brave, though his scent betrays his apprehension, while Sarah is openly nervous, no longer keeping these feelings hidden. After a very long ten minutes, Roy and three others come through the gate and approach us.

From the way these three walk, and how they talk to Roy, it is obvious that they are in charge around here. The man taking the lead is in his late forties and, judging by his haircut, gait and tone of voice, has considerable military experience. Following him, is an older man in a greying labcoat and an even older woman.

They get close enough to see what's going on, the man in the lead quickly assesses the situation. "Roger, where's your rifle?"

"Over there." Roger points it out.

"Well what the hell is it doing there?"

"He threw it over there." With an exasperated snort, the man in the lead puts his hand on the sidearm holstered at his side. Though he doesn't draw it. The older man appears fascinated by my battle dress, and repeated gives me a strange look.

I turn to him. "You must be Garret."

"How do you know that?" There is an angry growl in his voice. I merely motion my head towards Roger and Sarah. "I see." He glares at them. "We'll have a talk about what is acceptable discussion with outsiders later. But for now, what do you want?"

"Nothing, really." Now that I'm here, it occurs to me that Sarah answered all my questions. "But, perhaps I could be of some assistance to you."

Garret snorts and looks me over. "And just how would you go about doing that?"

"I am a soldier. Black operations specialist to be specific." While Garret's mein doesn't seem to change, the older man behind him is studying me very closely.

"You? Do wetwork?" This seems to amuse him greatly.

"Very well. Sarah can attest to that." All eyes turn to Sarah, who nods emphatically.

"It's true, he killed three before they even knew it was happening. Two more he blasted like they were moving in slow motion, and the last one he lifted clear of the ground and snapped him in half with one hand!" While they all obviously believe her to be exaggerating, they also must believe that I killed the six men by myself.

"Oh did you now?" This intrigues Garret, his posture changes and his voice shows some that he is impressed somewhat. He has begun to take great interest in by battle dress. "So, who trained you and where did you get the high-tech gear."

"I have no memories of my training, nor anything beyond three days ago. As for the equipment, I found it in the remains of an old military base - everything else had been plundered, but this all was stored in a locker, underneath a fallen wall." I decide not to inform them of the remaining equipment beneath the base.

"Oh really? Amnesia?" Garret does not seem to believe this, but after a moment, decides to accept it. For now. "Alright. So you're a black-op, why would I need one?"

"To help you fend off the raiders that have been attacking you lately. They are just a prelude." This really gets Garret's attention.

"And just how do you know all this?"

"There are sections in your fence that have been recently repair, someone's been trying to get in, repeated. Likewise, there are small craters scattered over your minefield. Also, I have been smelling petrol exhaust for the last two days. You use methanol. I have also observed lens-glare from three excellent surveillance locations in the last few hours - they are probably watching us now. These small raiding parties you keep encountering are merely testing your defenses, while they watch. I assume the raids have suddenly ceased, haven't they?"

Garret is looking at me strangely. "Yes. Yes, they have. Why?" I nod.

"The actual offensive will probably be deployed as soon as a messenger can reach headquarters. Are there any nearby settlements big enough to support a campaign of this magnitude? If I had a home, I'd be more than willing to protect it." Garret is genuinely impressed and surprised by my assessment, as well as intrigued by my proposal.

"Actually, there are. Come with me, we need to talk." Garret motions me over and I walk over to him. It is then that I notice the older woman's reactions.

"You can't possibly suggest we believe him!" She is visibly shaking with some sort of irrational agitation. "How could he possibly know all of this without observing us for days? He's probably part of whatever army is going to attack us and is spying for them. Or maybe there is no attack and he's just using it as a scheme to get in here. I simply refuse. He is not entering this city's premises." The woman sets her jaw and glares defiantly at Garret, and hatefully at me.

The older man beside her turns and puts his arm on her shoulder. "Now, Emma. Firstly, Sarah has just corroborated his whereabouts for the last two days, so he couldn't really know what is going on with such up-to-date information. And as for being a spy, why would anybody arm a spy, a teenaged spy, with such rare and valuable equipment. I'm afraid I will have to support Garret on this decision - that makes two aye's my dear."

Emma's eyes bulge fiercely as she turns on her heel and begins to shout at him. "You can't possibly be this stupid, Cornelius!" She continues to rant and rave for some time until finally stating. "I will fight this!" and stalking off, back into the city.

After a tense pause, the man, Cornelius, turns to me and extends a hand. "You'll have to forgive Emma, she is a little... wary of strangers. But she'll come around. My name is Doctor Cornelius Hunt, but everyone else just calls me Doctor Hunt. Shall we, Garret?" Garret nods and the three of us and Sarah begin walking toward the main gate, while Roger and John retake their posts with a little nervous muttering.