See you next week. Is Gabby still visiting her dad? Say hi to her for us. We miss you already.
Dad
So Jackson Porter was obviously okay when his family left for vacation. Which meant that his body had not been merely clinging to life, brain-dead, like so many others discovered throughout the world. Had those all been tests of some sort? Michael wondered. Had Kaine actually perfected the Mortality Doctrine process before he used it on Michael? Or was Michael the first that had worked? It was a terrifying thought either way. If it seemed the attacks had stopped, no one would be worried about the VirtNet. Kaine could just move ahead and unleash an army of Tangents on the world with no warning.
But Michael had a more immediate concern—what to do about Jackson Porter. Reading that letter had made him absolutely certain of one thing: there was just no way he could pretend to be another person. The notion of passing for this stranger with his family and friends seemed ridiculous now, especially if Gabriela showed up and started whispering sweet nothings in his ear.
So what could he do?
He clicked off the NetScreen and slouched back into the chair. He had to get out of there. He could leave a note with some kind of explanation. It would break his family’s hearts, but at least it would let them know he was alive. He could even keep corresponding with them, keep the deception going. Surely that was better than finding out a computer program had erased the mind of their son and replaced it with another.
But there was the issue of money.…
Something banged, hard, against the front door of the apartment, startling him.
He turned and looked toward the noise.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
There it was again. A hard thunk, like wood against metal. Again, then again.
Michael jumped up from the chair and hurried down the hall, through the kitchen, toward the front door. The pounding happened twice more, as if someone were swinging something large back and—
With a splintering crash of the framework, the metal door exploded inward. Michael crouched down, throwing his arms up to protect himself as the door slammed to the ground, narrowly missing him. Heart in his throat, he looked up to see who was in the doorway.
Two men. Both dressed in jeans and drab flannel shirts, they held some sort of old-fashioned wooden battering ram. They were both big, muscular, one with dark hair, the other blond. Neither had shaved for a few days, and intensity strained their expressions. And if Michael wasn’t mistaken, there seemed to be a hint of surprise hidden in there somewhere.
They dropped the length of wood and stepped toward Michael.
He shot backward, scrambling across the kitchen until he ran into the counter and lost his footing, dropping to the floor. The two men stopped just a few feet away, looking down at him with twin sneers.
“Do I even need to ask?” Michael managed to say. He wanted to feel brave—to be brave—but the vulnerability of his human body suddenly hit him. It was something he’d never thought about in Lifeblood Deep. His world could end at any second.
The two men didn’t answer; they looked at each other with puzzled expressions, so Michael spoke again. “I guess I do,” he murmured. “Who are you?”
Both of them swung their gazes back to him.
“We were sent by Kaine,” the dark-haired man said. “A lot has changed in the last day or two. We were sent to … summon you to a meeting. He has big plans for you, son.”
Michael’s heart sank. He’d hoped for more time. His mind spun with questions, but what came out of his mouth sounded plain stupid.
“Well, you could’ve just knocked.”
Chapter 2: The Big, Bad World
The men actually helped him to his feet—the blond guy even dusted off Michael’s back. But both remained oddly silent, and the whole situation was beginning to take on an air of absurdity.
“So,” Michael asked, “are you guys going to tell me anything? Your names, at least?” He felt oddly peaceful as he spoke, as if any immediate danger had been swept away by the man brushing the dirt off his pants.
The dark-haired man straightened and folded his arms. His face showed no emotion as he spoke. “My name is Kinto,” he said, then nodded toward his partner. “This is Douglas. We were under the impression that you were still inside the Coffin, still undergoing the Doctrine transfer.”
“Looks like we were … misinformed,” Douglas added in a gravelly voice.
“Yeah,” Kinto agreed. “Looks that way.”
Michael was still confused, but less so. At least the men knew about Kaine and the Mortality Doctrine. “So does that mean Kaine’s taken a human body, too? How many Tangents have done the same thing?” His mouth was still open when Kinto held up a hand to silence him.
“Stop. Talking.” The man’s expression was all business. “If Kaine wants you to know something, he’ll make sure you do.”
“You’ve been given a gift,” Douglas continued. “Life. For now, just be happy and do what you’re told.”
“Fine with me,” Michael replied. His insides were a churning storm—lightning, thunder, sleet, strong winds, the whole bit—but he tried to display a sense of calm. He’d had way too many experiences lately that had ended in his being dragged away, and it was something he wanted to avoid if at all possible. He would go with these men until an opportunity to break away presented itself or until he had a revelation about what he should do.
“Fine with you?” Douglas repeated, obviously surprised at the simple response.
“Fine with me.” Michael swallowed. He’d just keep his comments to a minimum and go with it until a better plan developed.
Kinto gestured toward the door. “Then let’s go. I don’t think I need to tell you not to try anything. Douglas will go first, then you, then me. Nice and easy.”
“Life couldn’t be simpler,” Douglas said gruffly, though he broke his stern act with a smile. “You follow me, Kinto follows you. And all your dreams will come true.”
The man didn’t wait for a response. He headed for the door and Michael fell in line behind him, with Kinto right on his heels. They went through the shattered doorframe and into the hallway, the apartment building silent except for their footsteps.
For some reason, Michael thought of Lifeblood Deep, how it had been his life’s goal to make it there someday, and a wave of sadness washed over him. He’d been there the whole time. And now look where he’d ended up. He knew it was ironic, somehow, maybe even profoundly philosophical, but all he could feel was defeat.