I looked at the back of my right hand in an automatic gesture, then cursed and looked at the watch on my wrist instead. My readout had died shortly after I had gone rogue, and although the people I work for now have the Daze and a few other interesting gadgets, they haven't been able to reactivate our timepieces yet. The dark readouts gave the InClockers a good way to identify us as rogues, unfortunately.

I've never regretted the decision to go rogue, though. The work I do now feels clean and honest to me, a welcome new feeling compared to the cover-ups and intrigue that's standard fare over at InClock. Not to mention the fact that my life expectancy has dramatically increased; InClock has a terrible habit of killing agents who have become a "security risk."

I'm also allowed some side projects inbetween real jobs. In my desk I had a firebomb I hoped to get the chance to use soon, depending on the outcome of my appointment today.

Patrick and Dwayne stepped into my office in Tychoville right on schedule. I smiled and held up my hands. "Don't shoot, boys."

"Lincoln, game's up!" Dwayne shouted at me.

"It was never was a game to me," I told him soothingly. "But I played along anyway. I played along when they had me do things that nearly drove me out of my skull, and I even enjoyed it when they told me to have some children. I have twin boys, by the way."

Patrick shook his head, not listening. He always was stubborn.

I continued, "I couldn't stand by when they killed my sons to cover up for my own doings, though. They don't want anyone to be corrupted by the rogues. Did you know they routinely mindwipe people who arrest rogues in case they've been 'poisoned'?"

Dwayne's brow was furrowed and his eyes bored into me. "What are you insinuating? That you're our father?"

"Doesn't matter now," I said. "You're going to shoot me, and then you'll die. Maximum safe transfer time is 5 days, and you'll be here a lot longer than that to make sure you can't repeat anything I'm telling you."

"Shut up," Patrick growled. His gun was beginning to waver in his hands. I felt utterly calm, even though I wasn't sure if I'd live through this. Someone had to have planted a bomb in Clark's office though, right? I hoped it had been me.

"Do what you need to, son," I tell him, making my voice sound controlled, fatherly.

There's only a split second of pain as the gun tears my chest apart.

Page 1 2 3 4 5 6 7