Clara gazed out at the lake, willing to appear placid, while secretly, she harboured her strength, letting the electrical tingling of her Augmentation’s hormones drip into her bloodstream. “Are we free to leave?”

  “Frankly, no.” Vincent opened a box beneath his chair and placed a bottle of wine on the table along with two bulb glasses. “We have an unlimited supply of this stuff where I come from. Do you like wine?”

  Clara raised an eyebrow at the child.

  “I never did. Too acidic. But, as it transpires, that’s just because I could only afford the cheap stuff.” Turning the bottle over, he read the label aloud. “Chateau Beychevelle, 1999, Grand Cru Classe St Julien.” He scowled. “Not sure I’m pronouncing that correctly, but it won’t change the flavour.” He poured two glasses, placed hers beside a little tupperware of fried fish, then sipped from his.

  “Sure that’s good for you?” Clara asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “You’re not free to leave, because the world cannot do without people like you. The Augmentus. The prime species. I won’t see you go to waste. You might not understand, but you will thank me one day.” Vincent spoke slowly, the tone of his voice controlled, following the grooves of musical pitch, but absent of melody. Atonal, except for subtle changes used to emphasise or diminish certain words. Although his proclamation was sinister, there was no threat in his voice, no anger, no lust. Clara was wary to relax, but for the moment, she did not feel in danger. Vincent was just a kid after all.

  “Let me tell you about the New Patricians,” he continued. “We follow a doctrine written by the supremacy, but we are free to do what we want within its code. We seek strength, rule of order, and above all, a restoration in line with the laws of nature. Might proves right. Our empire is huge, and growing. Tell me, how far have you travelled?”

  “Very far,” Clara said.

  “From the north? South? Judging by your skin colour, I would say north.”

  Clara nodded. “England.”

  “So, you lived in the UK before the cataclysm?”

  Clara nodded.

  “Tragic, what happened to that island. You must have been quick to make it out alive.”

  Clara was silent. Those first few days of the cataclysm were a blur. She had been so small, swept away in the chaos, gripping Andy’s arm like a thread of string dangling over a crushing pit. She barely remembered any of it, but the panic had soaked into her skin and stained her forever.

  “You’ve travelled a long way. What for?”

  “Work. A life. Same as anyone else, a safer place. I’m sorry, you seem very grown up for your age, but is there an adult I can talk to? I’m happy to negotiate, just as long as Andy is alive.”

  “For now, you will talk to me.” There was a directness to Vincent’s voice which confused his age. If Clara looked across the lake, she could almost imagine she was speaking to an adult woman, or a man whose voice was high pitched. But sat beside her was a child maybe twelve years old–fifteen at a push, if he were underdeveloped.

  “And all the time that you travelled,” Vincent continued. “It was with Andrew, am I correct?”

  Clara nodded. An unfamiliar feeling blossomed in her chest. It was as though his questions were massaging an overlooked tension inside her body. The conversation thickened her breath. It was pleasant, but she was wary to indulge. Whatever manipulation Vincent was working, despite her best efforts, it was having an effect. She felt more willing to speak and share, categorise her memories and explain her life. Clara clenched her jaw shut to prevent it chattering.

  “He is violent. Does that bother you?”

  “Everyone is violent,” Clara said.

  “Not like him. Not that willing, not that… good at it. Why do you follow him?”

  “I don’t follow him. We’re partners.”

  “Not siblings?”

  “Yeah, we’re siblings.”

  Vincent fished inside his jumper pocket and withdrew a terminal, handing her it. “I have here your DNA records from when you both calibrated at Alister’s master console one week ago. It appears that the Augmentation you possess is an entirely new generation, developed very recently. I have to admit, it’s extraordinary. You’re extraordinary.”

  The terminal displayed their Augmentation’s readings, with a list of delineations and powers, and their personal genetic information. Clara recognised it all. They had a full reading of her abilities and Andy’s but were missing details on Andy’s vampiric mutation. The Augmentation Master Console mustn’t be programmed to identify mutations. That, at least, they had managed to keep a secret. It might prove an advantage.

  “Wave three Augmentation,” Vincent said. “Are you aware of the implications?”

  “I am,” Clara said, uncertain, but unwilling to admit it.

  “Read the manufacturer’s notes. They were written by a man named Linton and stored in the artificial intelligence memory. It seems that your Augmentation serum was created in quite an unconventional way. It was the first serum to be manufactured in seven years, and not a replicate archetype, but an entirely unique strain, just as potent as those developed by the Bulwark Project themselves. There are many amongst our ranks who possess duplicate, identical archetypes, there is no one else quite like you, Clara.”

  Clara squinted, flicking through the interface trying to find the entry.

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “I don’t know.” Clara said, unwilling to entertain the thought, afraid of giving her emotions or thoughts away.

  “Does that name mean anything to you? In the notes there,” Vincent’s hand shot out, and he tapped the terminal. “Linton?”

  “No,” Clara said, though her voice was uncertain.

  “I don’t believe that,” Vincent said, and before she could react, he took the console out of her hands and placed it back in his pocket. Clara had the urge to snatch it back off him and fling it into the lake. Anxiety washed over her. She was constantly on the back foot with Vincent, answering his questions, being led around by his narrative. However weird, he was just a child–she had to take the initiative.

  “You’re Augmented too then?” she asked.

  Vincent nodded. “All officers of the New Patricians are.”

  “Wait, you’re an officer?” Clara snorted.

  “A commander.”

  “Really? What are your powers?”

  Vincent's mouth sharpened to a grin. “My archetype?”

  Clara nodded. “You have information on us. It’d be rude not to share. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “That’s valuable information, the sort I would be happy to indulge, should you join our ranks.”

  “Give me a clue,” Clara said.

  Vincent looked away for a moment, preparing his statement. “I have been Augmented for a very long time, and I have spent that time developing my strengths. You, it seems, have been Augmented for only two weeks?”

  “About that.”

  “And your brother, six years?”

  “Yeah, about that.”

  “Answer me this. How has he survived so long, and yet developed so little in that time? As far as we can predict, less than one percent of soldiers injected with wave one Augmentation Serum have survived to this day. They were employed on the front lines during cataclysm. Mortality rates were high. Those who survived are much further along in their development, having had years to hone their abilities. But your brother…”

  “Are you asking me why he’s so lazy?”

  “Lazy? Unmotivated? Undirected?” Vincent raised an eyebrow. “We can change that. We can offer you wealth, a unit of sapes to command, a chance to become more powerful. What exactly about this deal does not work for you?”

  “Taking orders,” she said quickly, although that was only half of it. “Andy won’t do it.”

  “But he will take orders from you, yes?”

  “Sometimes,” Clara said. “We’re a team.”

  “Siblings?”

  Clara swallowed. The silence that stretched weighed on her. “Yeah, why?”

  “We have both of your DNA records, Clara. You cannot hide anything from us. The chromosomes don’t match. You’re not blood related.” Vincent's eyes narrowed his one unswollen eye. “But you knew that already, didn't you?”

  Clara froze. It was a fact which she had tucked away, kept even from herself, compartmentalised with all the other inconvenient truths of their world. Andy was not her brother, not genetically speaking. She’d never had a brother. Two sisters, actually, older than her, whom she barely remembered. A short time after the Cataclysm occurred, the city she had grown up in collapsed.Andy had chosen her out of a stampeding crowd. She had been ten years old, defenceless, separated from her family, shocked and awed by the magnitude of death and destruction. Andy had saved her life and started calling her Clara, his sister. He was her angel, and he asked for nothing in return, only Clara knew that she must play the role of someone who was gone. As a child, it had felt like a game, the meaning behind it was discarded in her immediacy to survive.

  As the years had gone by and they travelled together, helped one another, bled for one another, the lie became the truth. Clara loved Andy. The child she had been before the cataclysm disappeared long ago, replaced by a distorted image of Andy’s real sister. Her birth name, long unused and dissociated, had sunk beneath dark waters. There were two versions of herself in her mind: the dream version–the pristine childhood, full of joy and wonder and grandparents, trips to the beach, ice cream and video games and school and cartoons. Then there was the new her, the real her: Clara. Woman. Mercenary.

  Liar.

  Vincent's innocent face looked up at her. There was no empathy in his eyes, no confusion, no weakness. He wasn’t a child, he was something else. “Should I inform Andrew as well?”

  Clara’s heart thudded, but she bit her tongue.

  Vincent leaned forward a fraction, his wine glass balanced in his small hands. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  “He won’t believe you. Chromosomes…” Clara laughed. “Do you think that means anything to him?” Anger shot through her, and she rose from her chair. “Do you think that means anything to me? Blood? Parents? Nothing, gone.” Clara clenched her fists, blue electricity discharging through her fingers. “How dare you judge me. What the fuck even are you?”

  The strange boy surrendered his hands, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “Yes you did. Don’t lie.”

  “No, I did not.”

  Clara booted the small table, shattering the wine bottle against the cracked golden pavement. “Yes you fucking did. And don’t threaten me either.” She jammed her finger into his face, barely containing the energy shooting down her arm.

  “Please,” Vincent said, raising one diminutive gloved finger to match hers. Slowly, he pressed her hand away from his face, moving her whole arm with the simple, precise motion, an unforeseen strength beneath that disarming woollen jumper. “I understand your anger but you must control it. If you make yourself an enemy of the New Patricians, Augmented or not, I will end you.”

  The calmness in his voice unsteadied her. Clara lowered her hand, meeting his hazy eyes. They were silvery blue, faded, like in the newly dead. Controlling her breath, but remaining standing, Clara measured him. “He won’t believe you.”

  “For more than eight years, you followed him.” Vincent’s tone of voice had changed. No longer was it flat and precise, like an equation of pitch, now he indulged, lilting and sipping from his wine glass. “You manipulated him into thinking that you were precious to him. His little sister. When in fact you were a stranger. You know as well as I the importance of power, or else you would not have clung to this man like a parasite. That is the worst sin of sapes. You held him back, lied to him, kept him from his true potential… It is only because you are Augmented now that I have allowed you to remain breathing.”

  Clara sized him up, then glanced around them, searching for a gunman. There could be someone hidden in the golden rubble, scope trained on her chest, or perhaps Vincent really did fancy his chances against her alone.

  The boy sighed. “Ah, but I am repeating myself. I do not mean to offend, however, your actions are offensive to me.” Vincent rose from his chair mechanically. “I am willing to overlook your past, and forgive your transgressions, if you are willing to tread the right path. Correct history alongside us, or else, join the ruin and ash. It was nice to meet your acquaintance, I’m glad to have had the chance. Feel free to roam the city, I know you won’t escape without your brother, and he isn’t going anywhere, not until he submits. But don’t think of yourselves as our prisoners, I want you to be our brethren. Please.”

  He reached into his deep pockets and withdrew a small tattered book, placing it on his fold-out chair. The book possessed a hand-painted cover–the spine was bound by metal clamps and glue. Clara thought she recognised it from somewhere. “This is a gift. Read it, let it guide you, should I be absent. Speak to your… partner. See if you cannot convince him to see reason.”

  Vincent strode down the lake’s bank towards the docks, where a fleet of small ships unfurled their sails in the valley wind. Clara remained stranded on the shore. After a few minutes, she took a seat on the small lake wall, dangling her heavy boots over the edge, drowning her vision in the syncopated rhythm of the gold-flecked waves, absorbed in her thoughts and distant, unearthed memories. Shame sat on her shoulders. But it was her weight to bear. She could never tell Andy the truth–admit that his blood-sister was dead. It would kill him. She was certain.

  A gust of wind ruffled the book’s pages behind her, catching her attention. The contents were handwritten, annotated with diagrams. An envelope swept out from behind the cover onto the pavement. Curious, Clara stepped on it to prevent it fluttering away, then opened it. Printed at the top of the page was a short sequence of letters and numbers.

  Encrypted data unlocked, Ohm informed her.

  “Excuse me?”

  Programmer notes available.

  Clara scowled. Her AI had mentioned something during her initial calibration about a note being left behind by Linton which possessed information on her Augmentation’s manufacture. Given the events of the past week, it had slipped her mind to follow it up. “Summarise them.”

  The Augmentation serum Electrobiotic Conductor was developed in tandem with a captured apocalyptic vessel, inspired by its molecular matrix to develop a parallel reaction, a kryptonite, if you understand the phrase.

  Clara’s heart thumped. “What apocalypse vessel?”

  The associative apocalyptic platform was described by the author as: ‘A shadowy demon. A construct of pure evil. A blight on the world.’

  “A piece of that thing was in the research centre?”

  Affirmative.

  “And it followed us?”

  That would only be possible if it managed to escape its containment chamber.

  Clara remembered the shattered vats inside the Bulwark research laboratory, the faulty electronics. Linton had been afraid of the dark, muttering about shadows... Then there was that monster in the basement near Milltown–a fleshy construct, lumbering in the dark. It had travelled with her, clung to her like grime, burrowed inside her like a parasite.

  Clara gripped the golden bankside as she rocked above the waves, sick and dizzy. All of her mental barriers were crumbling–the walls which she had erected against trauma came crashing down. It felt like her head was split open. Everything was spilling out. The shadow demon hadn’t been waiting outside the vault for them to open the hatch, nor had it come from the surrounding apocalypses. It had been with them since the laboratory… with her, waiting for the perfect time to germinate. It had revealed itself on the outskirts of Milltown in the hilltop university basement, yet she had fled, and put it out of her mind. Just another apocalyptic peculiarity.

  It had stalked her in the dark bowles of Moltengarth’s lava lamp factory, but remained dormant for a lack of prey. She had escorted it to the vault in the pursuit of salvage–in greed, and belligerence. She had provided it a feast. The vault… hundreds of people, safe underground, protected from the horrors of the wasteland. Dead, all of them, torn to pieces, except for the few she had managed to save.

  “Oh god.”

  Grief caught up with her, and Clara sobbed. A storm raged in her heart. She had killed them. She had lied to Andy. She had lost her freedom. It was over. They were done. Dark clouds swallowed her mind.