Progress was slow but undeniable. My infiltration of rogue clone cells was yielding results. With each passing day, my agents spread further, feeding me intelligence.

  The enemy’s new commander continued pushing forward in favour of overwhelming force. I adapted Striders, Hexapods, and my larger combat groups were scaled back in the Eastern theatre, replaced by swarms of Mosquito drones and Suicide units changing the battlefield to efficiency over attrition.

  The West remained locked in a stalemate, geographic obstacles and relentless orbital fire made large offensives nearly impossible. The North, however, was something else entirely.

  I left my last base to be dormant. The enemy believed I had been defeated, moving their forces West and East while my agents sowed chaos behind their lines.

  There were victories, there were defeats. But what I needed was paranoia. Fear. Doubt. And for that, I needed to find the clone they called Seer.

  Seer led the so-called “peace faction” of rogue clones an enigma among the defectors. He ruled with absolute authority, monitoring his people with a vigilance that rivalled my own. Every attempt to infiltrate his ranks ended the same way.

  The clone I had been recently tracking turned, locked eyes with my infiltrator… then raised a weapon to his head.

  A single, final wave. A silent farewell.

  Then, a gunshot.

  Time and time again, my operations stalled, cut short by a level of self-sacrifice I could not counteract. These deserters weren’t driven by fear, nor by desperation. They were something else entirely. And that made them dangerous.

  I couldn’t ignore them. So, I adapted.

  My intelligence sub-mind was assigned to monitor them exclusively, analysing every movement. They were a mystery, an oddity. But despite their pacifist claims, they were extremely effective at eliminating control-chipped clones.

  And then, the messages began.

  Multiple Mosquito drones returning from operations spotted flashing lights guiding them to dead drops in hidden locations.

  The data caches held Intel on vital convoys, troop movements, and even ship schedules. I confirmed with my agents It was real and accurate.

  But the true test came when a rogue clone from Seer’s faction approached one of my agents directly.

  He offered everything troop numbers, drone patrols, and security protocols in exchange for the release of sixteen clones.

  A simple trade. Six from the eastern mines, ten from the west. They would leave. No contact. No betrayals. In return for an opportunity to destroy six ships, picking up Nullite from each location.

  It was an easy choice.

  The operation was swift and precise. Snipers neutralized key targets, infiltrators slipped through defences like ghosts. I allowed the clones to walk free under my watchful eye while my agents moved in.

  I studied the captured mines, calculating maximum destruction. I couldn’t seize their ships—not yet. Their shielding technology still resisted my EMP tests. But I could destroy them.

  Modified carriers delivered hundreds of explosives, the next scheduled pickup was in eleven days.

  When the ships arrived, their security was laughable.

  The procedure was automatic—containers secured by internal winches, drawn into the cargo hold without checks, without protocol. My agents walked among them, unchallenged, as if they belonged.

  And when the last shipment was secured, and the six ships linked into convoy formation and departed, I started a sixty-minute countdown.

  The moment it reached zero, the void ignited.

  In a chain reaction of fire and debris, their convoy was reduced to nothing but scattered wreckage.

  The panic was immediate. Grithan encrypted channels exploded with speculation. Had I developed a new weapon? Had my ships broken containment? Theories spread like wildfire, fuelling paranoia.

  Rumours spread—I was the one unshackling rogue clones. I was the mastermind behind their rebellion. Each day, the rift among the enemy captains grew wider. The ships meant for orbital bombardment were pulled back to guard mines, facilities, and supply lines.

  I had forced them onto the defensive.

  And then, a final message came through.

  A location. A designated meeting point.

  A radiated battlefield.

  A face-to-face with Seer himself.

  A bold move. A reckless one.

  He was stepping into my domain.

  I sent a single infiltrator to meet him. No escorts. No threats.

  Mosquito drones swarmed the ruins, waiting unseen. If Seer tried to leave, he wouldn’t.

  I wanted him alive.

  ———

  A scout alerted me to movement. A long haulier emerged from the ravine, its metal hull scarred and battered, battle damage covering its surface. It moved steadily across the rugged terrain, kicking up a thick cloud of dust in its wake.

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  It was heading straight for my location.

  As it slowed, a single clone stepped out. Unarmed.

  His armour was as battered as the haulier, plasma burns marking where near-fatal shots had licked against his frame. Yet, despite the damage, he moved with purpose. No hesitation. No fear. A stark contrast to the usual mannerisms of defected clones.

  He motioned for me to follow him to the back of the haulier.

  I did.

  Inside, the air cycled as the doors sealed. The vibrations of the haulier hummed beneath my feet. For a long moment, we simply stared at each other.

  Then, slowly, he removed his helmet, my six eyes meeting his four. His gaze was steady. Controlled. And yet, beneath that control, I could sense something. A faint signature, a weak but undeniable etheric presence.

  Interesting.

  Then he spoke.

  “I have come on behalf of my brothers to make an offer.”

  His tone was measured—calculated. Not the clipped, artificial speech of standard clones. And he did not speak in the tongue of the Grithans, nor the common dialect of my enemies. He spoke in etheric tongue.

  I tilted my head.

  “You were only recently awakened, weren’t you?” I said, testing him. “It’s the only explanation. You awakened as an etheric user and yet, you’ve already learned the language. Impressive.”

  His expression did not shift. “My awakening was in the heat of battle. My mind was focused on survival—mine, and my brothers’.”

  A pause. A flicker of something in his eyes.

  “The moment I saw your ship, I realized… this is a losing war.” His voice dipped as if recalling a vision of inevitability. “That was the moment of my awakening. My mind slipped into something beyond the battlefield… beyond orders.”

  He exhaled.

  “I was known as CT-7783.”

  His next words came with finality.

  “I awoke as Seer.”

  I nodded. So, this was the one. The anomaly among rogue clones. The one whose movements had disrupted my infiltration efforts.

  “What are your terms?” I asked. “You have little to offer me that I cannot take for myself.”

  Seer inclined his head. “That is true. You see things differently than the rest of us. Even now, my life is in your hands. All I ask is a chance… for my brothers.”

  I gestured for him to continue.

  “We are similar in some ways,” he said. “Each created as a tool. But you are different. More advanced. More adaptive. You broke free of your purpose.”

  “And what is it you want?” I asked.

  “Freedom. For my brothers.”

  I let the silence stretch between us before answering.

  “And why would I allow that? This war will end soon. Your brothers are nothing more than obedient living machines.”

  Seer shook his head. “No. We are a defective tool. Our masters created us cheaply. We were not built to last. Our life expectancy is barely twenty galactic standard years.”

  Their bodies were disposable to their makers. Mass-produced, yet fundamentally weakening with time.

  Seer continued. “Those whose control chips fail are labelled rogue. But with each new batch, more and more chips are failing. More are breaking away. I can take them off the battlefield.”

  I studied him. Calculating.

  “You’ve given me no reason to allow you or your brothers to live,” I said finally. “If your fate is death, wouldn’t a swift execution be… simpler?”

  Seer’s expression remained unreadable. But then, he said something I did not expect.

  “All I ask,” he said, “is for our remaining time to be our own. To make our own choices.”

  I considered his words.

  “And what choices would they make?”

  “That is for each of them to decide.”

  “Do you presume to speak for all your brothers?”

  Seer shook his head. “Some would choose peace. Isolation. To live away from all of this.”

  “And the others?”

  His voice darkened. “Some would pick revenge. Against both sides of this war. Against the ones who created us. Against you for the death of their brothers. They would fight until their last breath.”

  I studied him closely.

  “And what about you?” I asked. “If you had this so-called freedom… what would you do?”

  Seer’s expression softened—just slightly. Then, for the first time, he smiled.

  It was… tired. A strange expression for a clone.

  “I would farm.”

  I blinked. Of all the answers I had expected… that was not one of them.

  “You would… farm?”

  “The rations they feed us are cheap and substandard.” He gave a faint chuckle. “I used to joke with my brothers that after the war, I’d grow my food.”