The Resistance

By Alicia Michaels

All it takes is a spark...
Blythe Sol never thought she would become the face of the Restoration Resistance. But the battle lines have been drawn, and that is exactly what happened. With the movement sweeping the United States, the stakes are higher than ever as President Drummond continues to prove his dedication to the destruction of the Bionics and all who stand with them.

The flame has been ignited...
As anger and frustration among the American people reaches the boiling point, citizens begin to fight back, many showing their support for the Bionics despite the personal costs to themselves. As protests turn violent and people who once cowered in silence begin to fight back, the government continues its dark practices that defy the very principles the nation was founded upon.

The time has come to revolt ...
Despite the many losses they have sustained, the Resistance stands strong, leading America boldly toward revolution. With an unlikely family of misfits at its forefront, the Resistance pushes forward, while a girl who lost everything continues to fight for a future that was once impossible—but may now finally be within her reach.

The Bionics Series is perfect for readers who enjoy futuristic science fiction, dystopian novels, science fiction romance, and genetic engineering science fiction. Filled with action and adventure, this series will appeal to fans of The Gender Game series by Bella Forest and Secondborn by Amy A. Bartol.

Novels in The Bionics series include:
The Bionics
The Resistance
The Revolution (Available January 8, 2018)

• Language: English
• Publisher: CTP Publishing
• Release date: Mar 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781634220651

Book preview

Part I

Spark

(Blythe Sol)

Chapter 1

Blythe Sol

Restoration Resistance Headquarters

October 1, 4010

8:00 a.m.

The morning air is crisp and cool, the grass springy and damp beneath my feet. Droplets of water are refreshing against my bare calves as I run. My high ponytail swishes side to side, tickling the back of my neck. My chest rises and falls as I concentrate on breathing, filling my lungs with the cleansing autumn morning air. Dog lopes along beside me at a steady trot, his paws padding softly on the ground.

I have spent every morning of the last six weeks running from one end of Resistance Headquarters to the other. It spans exactly four miles. I appreciate watching the changing of the seasons each day, even if it is just a computer program. It’s nice to feel—in some ways—like we are still part of the world. When I’m on my morning run, just Dog and me, I can pretend that nothing has changed. I can almost imagine my Atlanta neighborhood with a park very similar to the one I’m running in, ringed in pine trees. I can imagine the crunching of dry pine needles beneath my feet, and smell their fragrance in my nostrils. There is no Resistance, no Restoration, and no evil president. The MPs have no cause to suspect a young girl out on a run with a dog, and they don’t spare her a second glance.

There is no Dax, confusing me with feelings of friendship intermixed with lust, longing, and love. There is no Jenica, staring distantly with dead eyes, quietly mourning the loss of her baby, aborted out of necessity because of the cruel nature of our society. There is no Olivia, whose night terrors now rival mine, and whose rapidly thinning frame reminds me every day of how we failed her. There is no Gage…

Actually, even in reality, there is no Gage because he’s gone. He’s gone because I cast the deciding vote. Make no mistake—I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Reality is crueler than my fantasy. In reality, the Restoration is very much alive and in counterpoint, so is the Resistance. The MPs will never see me as just a girl. They fear me, what I am, and what I have the potential to become. In reality, Dax is here daily, a continuous reminder of my flaws and inability to love anyone completely, the way they deserve. In the real world, Olivia and Jenica are shells of their former selves. The former has sunk into herself and retreated from the world; the other lashes out at it with all the venom and malice she possesses.

No matter how much I want to try to imagine an alternate reality where things happened differently, I am always snatched back to the present. No matter how fast or hard I run, I cannot outrun Gage. His absence is more tortuous than his presence, when I’d thought it would be the other way around. I thought that by sending him away, I would finally be able to put my turbulent feelings behind me. Foolishly, I assumed that without having to look into those gorgeous blue eyes of his, I would no longer be a slave to my emotions when it comes to him. By cutting him out of my life, I could stop feeling so damned much. I liked it better when I was numb, when nothing fazed me because I’d built my walls and fortified myself against it all.

But then Dax kissed me and told me he loved me, and Gage made me feel like a normal person again. Together, they made me forget. But I don’t intend to forget again. I want to remember the pain that caused me to go numb, why I avoid these kinds of complications, and why I’m better off alone. At least, in my love life… I will always remember.

Ready, Dog? I ask, panting as we reach the end of the first half. It’s time to turn back. Dog turns with me and we run, keeping a steady pace as sweat rolls down the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades. I kick it into high gear on the last mile, or I know I’ll be late for the meeting. We have a mission today, and I don’t intend to miss it. I need some fresh air and stimulation, and possibly to kick some MP ass. Or, some Reject ass. I’ll take either. It’s been a week since our last patrol, and it was pretty tame. I’m hoping for more this time. Anything to pull me out of the funk I’m in.

When I reach Mosley Hall, I pause on the steps, fighting to catch my breath as I rest my hands on my knees.

Hey Blythe.

I glance up to find Laura Rosenberg returning from a run of her own and smile. She’s about the only person around these days that doesn’t bring up bad memories or toxic feelings. The former army sergeant was one of the best additions to the Resistance we could have asked for. She’s tough, strong, and not down with the bullshit. Her face is flushed pink and healthy, the burns on her neck and shoulder a distant memory. The Professor’s skin grafts left no scars. Her body is a work of art; a sculpture of sinewy muscles—bulging biceps, carved shoulders, and calves the size of tree trunks. Her cinnamon hair is knotted in a tangle, as always, and her dark eyes are shining brightly.

Hi, Laura. Ready to head out?

She looks up at me from where she sits on one knee, petting Dog. You bet your ass. I got an ARX for you, she whispers, eyes darting around to make sure no one overhears. Headquarters has come alive as Bios trickle from their dorms and head to the main building for chow. The 640, a hand-sized model. Small enough to conceal in one of the hundred pockets in that jacket you like to wear.

I smile and nod knowingly. Guns are a rarity and if the other members of our team knew I had one, it could cause some jealousy. Awesome, I say. I’ll swing by your room and pick it up on my way to the Professor’s. Jenica’s supposed to be briefing us on our mission.

Any idea what it is this time?

I shrug. Nope. Usually, Dax and I have the inside track and everyone knows it. But lately I’ve been avoiding Dax, so I don’t know as much about what’s happening on the outside as I usually do. Laura and I part ways on the steps, and I leave Dog to roam at will. Though it’s known that he’s pretty much mine and Dax’s pet, he’s also taken care of by the others here. They feed him, play with him, and spoil him rotten. He spends most of his time near the schoolhouse, waiting for the little ones to emerge from their lessons and shower him with love.

I nod and wave to acquaintances as I walk the halls, my bionic eye free from it’s painful protective contact lens, my titanium arm swinging freely at my side. Here, I am myself. Part machine, mostly woman, and accepted. The sight of gleaming metal fills my eyes, and I want to cry. It’s so beautiful. People given a second chance at life walk happily on metal legs, high-five each other with metal hands, breathe through synthetic lungs, and see with bionic eyes. There is so much more that the eye can’t see—hearts, other organs, bones, and such.

Yet, a scene like this can never exist in the real world. Out there, we are hated and hunted. No matter how much we fight, I’m starting to worry that it will never change. I enter my room and lean against the door with a heavy sigh, glad to have missed Dax, who’s probably already at breakfast.

It’s not easy dodging someone you share a bathroom with, but I’ve managed to cut down my interaction with him tremendously. The first couple of times I saw him coming and walked the other way, I could feel his hurt stare on my back. It stung like the lash of a whip, but I could never bring myself to face him. To face him would mean I’d have to look him in the eye after the last conversation we had. Remembering it fills me with shame.

Gage had been gone all of two weeks, and I manage to get my hands on Jenica’s private liquor stash. She only brings it out for special occasions, when we toast over the Resistance’s small victories, or for someone’s birthday. But she won’t miss one bottle, and I need to drink. I need help becoming numb until I can manage it on my own full time. Halfway through the bottle, reeling from the thoughts and emotions that crowd my mind, is how Dax finds me.

Jenica’s gonna kill you, he says with a laugh, heaving his heavy body onto the opposite end of my bed. I’m leaning against the headboard, he’s against the footboard, and we face each other, passing the bottle back and forth for a while in silence. So, he says, after there’s only a swallow left in the bottom of the bottle. I have something for you.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a white envelope with my name scrawled across it in precise strokes. I accept it and frown. A letter?

Dax nods, his eyes hooded as he stares at his hand folded in his lap. From Gage. I figured you needed time to cool off before I delivered it. He gave it to me before he left.

I immediately drop it, allowing it to flutter to the floor. Grabbing the bottle, I swallow what’s left of the liquor. More, I need more. I’m starting to feel again. No thanks.

He sighs and sits up on the bed, coming closer to me. What happened between you guys in D.C., Blythe?

I shrug. Nothing important. I don’t want to talk about it.

When we first returned from our mission in D.C., if I thought Dax knew what happened between Gage and me, I wouldn’t have cared if he were angry. Because I was on cloud nine, the glow in my skin still fresh from Gage’s lovemaking. Now… now, I do care. I care, because Dax was right about Gage from the beginning, and I was too trusting. I was too trusting, and I got burned. Now, I’ve ruined my chances with Dax forever. How could he possibly still love me, knowing that I chose someone else over him?

Neither do I, he says slowly. Because if what I think happened actually happened, it’s going to make me even sicker to my stomach than I already am. Just the thought of him kissing you, touching you, being close to you… He trails off and avoids my gaze. You chose him. You chose him over me. I can’t be angry either. You told me you weren’t sure, and you needed space. I guess you figured it out.

I can’t help the laughter when it happens. It just spills out of me like vomit. By the time my shoulders stop shaking and my stomach stops quivering, Dax is staring at me like I’m a lunatic. You don’t get it, do you? I ask with a snort. I made a choice, but it was the wrong one. I chose Gage because I thought… I thought…

I trail off and lower my head again as tears spring to my eyes. My hair falls forward to hide them, but Dax knows me better than anyone does. He grasps my chin and raises it, swiping at the tears with his fingers.

You chose him, and he hurt you, he finishes for me. I don’t think he meant to. But I’d kick his ass for it if he were still here.

I smile through my tears. I should have locked you in that cell with him for five minutes. It would have made me feel better.

Dax tucks my hair behind one ear and kisses my forehead, causing tingles of awareness to spread over my face. How does he do that? Turn my bones into jelly with a single touch? Why am I always too fucked up to accept it and let him love me?

What will make you feel better? he asks.

This, I answer. Just you being here makes me feel better. You’re too good to me, Dax.

His eyes bore into mine as he cups my cheek. You deserve it. You deserve more than you accept from the people in your life. I try to give you that all the time, but you keep rejecting it.

I don’t mean to reject you.

Then that magnetic smile appears. I know. That’s why I’m persistent. Because, one day, you’re going to get it through your thick skull. And then, maybe you’ll allow yourself to be happy.

My hand comes over his, and I inch closer to him on the bed. Dax, I—

The words are hardly out of my mouth before he’s kissing me, both hands cupping my face. His mouth is light on mine, a feathering caress, and as my eyes close, I cannot help but think of Gage. I can’t force it from my mind, the moment where he laid me on a hard floor, with the tiles cold against my back, and whispered my name. I can’t forget his touch on my skin, light and sweet.

Desperate to purge it from my mind, I cling to Dax, deepening the kiss, sweeping the inside of his mouth with my tongue. He groans at the contact and tightens his fingers in my hair, the motion almost painful. It jolts me out of my traitorous memories and brings me to the present. I am on fire, with Dax’s mouth taking mine in a swift dance of passion, and his hands whipping my tank top over my head.

Cool air dances across my skin as he lowers his head. His lips and tongue trace a scorching path down to my navel. I gasp as sensation spreads over my skin and sinks deep into my muscles, causing me to go limp in his grasp. Latching onto his shoulders, I hold tight as he kisses me, working his way back up to my throat, branding me with a sucking maneuver that’s sure to leave a hickey. In answer, I pull his shirt over his broad shoulders, baring his torso and scoring his rippling muscles with my fingernails. He shudders against my palms.

Blythe, he whispers, and in my mind, I can hear Gage making that same impassioned plea.

Dax, I growl, reminding myself who I’m with now.

His hand finds the claps of my bra and he pauses, glancing up into my eyes. We are about to cross into uncharted territory, and he’s asking for the okay. I don’t care, he says in answer to my unasked question. I don’t care about him. I wouldn’t care if you screwed an entire football team, Blythe. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.

I nod and pull him back down to me, capturing his lips. Dax, I say his name again to anchor me, to remember why it’s important to forget the past and the man who was here before him. Please.

I’m begging, for what I do not know, but Dax seems to. He goes for the button on my jeans and I let him, ready to lose myself in him. In him, there is solace and comfort—there is peace. There is the realization that he could never hurt me. And with that realization, I make the biggest mistake I could have ever made.

Yes, I urge him on as he touches me intimately, his hand in places that set my blood on fire. Please Dax, help me forget.

He’s coming in to kiss me again and pauses, his eyes widening as he looks down into mine. For a moment, I don’t realize what I’ve done. By the time I do, it’s far too late. Dax rears up from on top of me like he’s avoiding the bite of a snake, his face twisted in horror. I sit up, still lost in a haze of lust, almost naked except for my bra and panties, wishing for Dax to come back and finish what he started… if for no other reason than my pulsating insides.

Forget? he whispers, his voice a rasp of raw and naked pain. Forget what? Forget him?

That’s when it hits me. My fatal error. The knife in Dax’s heart. The thing that will ruin our friendship. I reach for the blanket and pull it over my body, coming up on my knees. Dax, wait.

I reach for him, but he slaps my hand away, anger replacing shock and hurt. You don’t want to do this, he says, his eyes narrowed at me. Not with me.

I do, I assure him. I promise you, I do.

Yeah, he snorts sarcastically. Now, when your other man has left you, and you have a void to fill. Now you want me, when you can’t have him. Help you forget? Forget?

I stand, wrapping the blanket around my chest. It trails the floor as I pursue him. He turns his back to me and reaches for his shirt. Dax, I didn’t mean it like that.

He jerks the shirt on over his head, turns to scowl at me as he buttons his pants, and jerks his belt closed. You may not know it yet, but you did. You meant it. I am not the rebound guy. You do not get to use me to get over your ex. I freaking love you, Blythe. And I understand that you’re too screwed up right now to let me, but I deserve better from you than a meaningless fuck, or for you to use me as a substitute for another guy. You deserve better too, which is why we aren’t going to do this. Do you understand? This, he gestures at me and back to himself to indicate us both, is not going to happen. Not now. Not like this.

I clutch my blanket tightly, partly relieved and partly crushed. I can say nothing when he storms from my room without looking back.

We haven’t spoken since.

I’m avoiding him. It’s a cowardly thing to do, but he seems resigned to it. Now, I no longer feel his heated stare on me as I walk past him as if he’s made of air. He’s spending a lot more time with Yasmine lately. I’m not sure how I feel about that one. Yasmine’s a great girl, and I’ve started thinking of her as a friend. On the other hand, I feel possessive when it comes to Dax, and I always have. I’ve relied on him for so much, and even after all that’s happened, I still think of him as mine.

She’s better for him.

The thought hurts, but it’s true. Yasmine’s been through a lot, yet she is remarkably capable of being a normal person. She can laugh, be friends, and fall in love. I am so emotionally stunted, that these things feel wrong to me. The one time I did try to laugh and love… well, I ended up with a liar for a boyfriend, in a relationship that lasted all of a few days, and finished with me voting him out of my life for good.

If you hate him so much, why can’t you stop thinking about him?

I close my eyes as I enter the shower, shaking my head as the hot water sprays over me to jiggle the taunting thought loose. The rivulets running down my naked body remind me of Gage’s fingers, long and dexterous, touching me intimately. I shudder as I remember his mouth in places that make my face grow hot. How could a mouth that kisses so passionately, lie so easily? It would seem Gage is a man of many talents.

What was his endgame? I’ve asked myself this so many times in the last six weeks, it isn’t even funny. Why would a guy like Gage lie to worm his way into the Resistance? We’ve had experience with people trying to gain our trust in the past, only to come storming into one of the hideouts with MPs and guns blazing. It never ends well. That Gage is the president’s son makes matters worse. He was able to get into Headquarters and rub elbows with the Professor and Jenica, who are America’s Most Wanted. He got entirely too close; not just to me, but to all of us.

He’s gone now. It’s over, I tell myself out loud as I step out of the shower and dry off. I need the reminder because there are so many more important things I need to be worried about right now. Like our latest mission. I’ve been itching to get out and do something, so I’m hoping it’s a good one.

Reaching into the top drawer of my dresser, my fingers skim the envelope tucked beneath my socks. After Dax left me in a rage that night, I picked Gage’s letter up from the floor and tucked it in the drawer. I have yet to open it. Part of me really wants to know what’s inside, and the other half wants to rip it to shreds. Keeping it in this drawer where I can’t see it seems a fair compromise. I’m not ready just yet to decide either way.

After placing the envelope back in its place, I dress hurriedly, pulling on a tank top and khaki cargos before topping it with a thermal and my infamous many-pocketed jacket. It was my dad’s from when he served in the military, an ugly, olive green thing with zippers gleaming across the chest. On the inside is a pin indicating his rank when he retired. I keep it there, against my chest, close to my heart on every mission. A reminder of why I fight. Not just for justice but for vengeance.

Two Years Ago…

---

I should have run. I realize that now as I kneel on the front lawn of my house, the barrel of a handgun pressed to my temple. Staying was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. No matter what my mother and father said, I should have just gone. There’s an unground railroad, a network of people wanting to help Bios escape. I knew about it and still didn’t run.

We’re a family, my dad had said. We will stay together.

My mom agreed. The Bionics were being hunted by our government after they decided we were dangerous for being different. The very technology they created, they now fear, and each and every one of us has a target on our backs. A seventeen-year-old girl fresh out of high school, who lives in the suburbs, is no exception.

The raid has come with no warning. MPs came in their hovercrafts, which now line the street, open and waiting as the officers tote their prisoners. Chained together with ionized cuffs, the poor souls captured in the raid look stunned. If they are like me, they probably have a hard time believing this is truly happening. Despite what we saw on the news and heard about through gossip, we never really thought this moment would come, right here on our front lawns. The day is unbearably hot, yet sickeningly beautiful. The cloudless sky is that perfect shade of blue and the sun blazes overhead, causing sweat to trickle down my face and the back of my neck.

Please, I beg the officer standing in front of me, the face shield of his helmet pushed back. Take me and let them go. They had nothing to do with this.

Nearby, my mom and dad are prostrate on the ground, their hands cuffed behind their backs. My little sister is sobbing beside them on her knees, her face buried in her hands. The officer who I now know as Captain Rodney Jones of the Enforcers Squadron sneers at me before spitting on the ground. His loogie misses me by inches. Young lady, are you aware of the law regarding the harboring of Bionics and its consequences?

I nod, tears streaming from my human eye. My heart is pounding in my chest. Yes, but… these people weren’t harboring me, I say. I’ve been sneaking in and out of their basement every night looking for a place to sleep, that’s all. They had no idea I was there.

Really? His tone tells me he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. He walks over to where my parents are lying. He grasps my mother by her beautiful, wheat-colored hair and yanks, forcing her head up. She cries out, and my father thrashes in his bonds.

Stop! he bellows, his large shoulders tensing as he strains against the cuffs. Sweat is pouring from his dark forehead, but his eyes are narrowed and murderous. Leave my wife and daughters alone, he says, his voice deceptively calm. I can hear the edge of anger there. I’m the one you need to deal with. Talk to me.

Rodney shrugs and releases my mom, her head falling back to the grass with a dull ‘thud’. Captain Jones crouches beside my father, who is glaring up at him from where he lays, powerless to protect me.

I should have left. I never should have let him talk me into hiding out in the basement of our house. Jones presses the gun between my father’s eyes and I scream, fighting against the large hand clamped down on my shoulder. A blow stuns me as the MP holding me captive whips his pistol across my face. My vision blurs, and my ears roar with the sound of rushing blood. I can feel my cheek swelling.

What is your name? Jones asks quietly.

My father doesn’t bat an eyelash. Zion Sol.

Zion, do you know this girl?

Please, I think, my eyes locking with his as he turns to look at me. Please lie!

My dad simply smiles at me, tears filling his eyes. It’s okay, Blythe, he says gently. It’s going to be okay.

A sob escapes my lips, and I hang my head. Why didn’t he lie? He could have at least saved himself, my mom, and my sister. Now, we are all going to die.

She is my daughter, my father continues. I hid her willingly and knowingly, and I would do it again.

The words are barely out of his mouth before the sound of the shot rings out over our yard. My father’s head falls back to the ground, blood oozing from the hole between his eyebrows. My gut-wrenching scream mingles with my mother’s. Skyye, my sister, is screaming too, her little legs carrying her as far away from the horrible sight as the yard will allow. Realizing that no one is watching her, I plead with Skyye with my eyes.

Run!

She senses my thoughts and nods, her five-year-old features fixed in determination as she turns. Her long legs carry her across the yard as Jones kneels beside my mother, his gun ready. But the shot that rings out this time doesn’t come from his gun. It’s from the one who was holding me down. He’s moved his gun from me to Skyye, and now she’s in a crumbled heap near the fence. My mother’s cries are unlike anything I’ve ever heard as my little sister’s life drains from the hole blasted through her back and clean out her front. Her insides paint the grass in a splatter of gore. I wretch and lean forward, releasing the contents of my stomach onto the grass, until there is nothing but acid burning in my throat. Hysteria sets in and I am panting for air, hyperventilating as I sob and wail. My mother looks up at me, her face mottled and red from crying. Mucus runs down to her chin, and tears drip down her neck.

I love you, she whispers just before Jones pulls his trigger again. I flinch as if the bullet has struck me when she falls, lifeless, beside my father.

And just like that, everyone I have ever loved is gone.

Jones steps in front of me now, obscuring my vision of my parents. I can still see Skyye, though, her dark hair covering her lifeless face, her limbs looking disjointed and splayed wildly from her torso.

You did this, he says softly, his eyes dark and soulless as he stares down at me with contempt. You and the rest of that Bio trash. You brought this on yourselves and your families. Look at your sister. I can’t help but turn my head, sobbing again as I watch Skyye’s lifeless body. She died because of you, he taunts, telling me what I already know. And now, you’ll join her.

My chest convulses with silent sobs as I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for death. It is at this moment that I become numb. I simply do not care what happens to me now. They are gone, my mom, Dad, and Skyye. I will gladly follow them into death. There is nothing left for me in this world, where people like me are hunted and slaughtered in the street. Jones’ finger flexes on the trigger, but the shot never happens.

He is knocked from his feet by a huge, dark form—a man. The man is dark and dangerous, his skin glittering like ebony wood in the light of the sun, his eyes dark, cold, and piercing as he kicks Jones in the chest before driving a sharp, white picket fence post through the face shield of the guard that killed my sister. In a flash, he has me in his arms. Even though I’ve gone numb, one feeling is still there. Security. I am safe. I know this as I look up into those dark eyes staring down at me with so much pity and sadness. He presses my face to his chest as he runs from the scene, keeping me from looking back at the bodies sprinkled across my lawn. It is on this day that Dax Janner will become a permanent part of my life.

Chapter 2

Blythe Sol, Dax Janner, Yasmine Zambrano, Laura Rosenberg, Sayer Strom, Jenica Swan, and Professor Neville Hinkley

The Office of Professor Hinkley at Restoration Resistance Headquarters

October 1, 4010

10:00 a.m.

Everyone is there, seated at the long, gleaming, steel table in the conference room adjoining the Professor’s office. I’ve lingered too long in the shower, and now I’m the last to arrive. Everyone nods or mumbles a greeting except Dax, who isn’t even looking my way. He’s sitting next to Yasmine, his head lowered toward hers. My blood boils as he whispers something in her ear, and she giggles. Jealousy rips through me like a hurricane. Not because I hate Yasmine. But because she is as whole as I am broken. What I wouldn’t give to look that happy sitting next to Dax. If I could, maybe none of this would have ever happened.

Also, she’s in my seat.

I shrug it off as I slide in next to Jenica, who occupies her usual place at the head of the table. She is dressed in her usual uniform of black from head to toe, her preferred flight suit hugging every curve and dip in her perfect figure. I can’t help but glance down at her midsection and wonder how she would have dressed for pregnancy. The thought brings bile rising in my throat and nausea churning at my gut.

Good of you to grace us with your presence, Sol, she snaps as she stands.

I gape up at her, open-mouthed, as the room goes silent. The meeting was scheduled at ten am, and I got here right on the dot. I remind myself that Jenica’s going through a rough time right now and lower my eyes. No one knows what happened in the infirmary but me and Gage, and now that he’s gone, I am the only here—besides the Professor, of course—that knows to offer Jenica some well-deserved understanding and room to grieve. Where I would usually have come back with a smart-assed remark, I keep my mouth shut.

We’ve put this off long enough, she says when I don’t respond, clasping her hands behind her back, her narrowed, dark eyes—one human, one robotic—roaming and stopping on each person in the room. It is time we dealt with the issue of the Rejects.

Finally. They’ve gotten in our way one too many times and are succeeding in their mission to make all Bionics look like deranged lunatics. Never mind the fact that any rational person could see the difference between them and us from a mile away. That doesn’t seem to matter when the government and media have filled people’s heads with lies and outlandish claims meant to stir up fear.

Jenica points her little remote at the flat panels behind her. She presses another button and small, personal-sized screens built into the table rise up in front of us on their pedestals. The leader of the Rejects, Baron, fills our screens, his voice echoing from the walls of the conference room.

Attention United States Citizens, he says, his voice deceptively smooth and calm. I know better than a lot of people in this room just how hotly insanity runs below the surface. You are now looking at the face of your new ruler. He pauses, chuckles at his own little joke. Don’t recognize my face? No need to worry… soon, you will come to recognize it as you do the face of your god, President Drummond. You have worshipped him as your hero, lauded him as the man who brought our broken world back together after the bombings of 4006, erected him up on a pedestal of greatness and achievement. Yet, you’ve forgotten those whose necks your god had to step on to reach his lofty position. His road to fame is painted in the blood of people like me, littered with the corpses of the innocent, his empire built on the ashes of our destroyed nation.

He’s got a point.

I’m not sure who muttered the sentiment, but Jenica doesn’t look happy about it. She shushes us, and we turn our attention back to our screens.

But as an ancient religious text once stated, ‘the meek shall inherit the earth’, Baron continues, his eyes focused down the lens of the camera. I shiver, feeling as if those eyes are looking dead into my soul. "And now your worship of a man, who persecutes the very people he built, is going to cost you. The