When he woke up, he immediately realized he felt better. The sensation of his brain melting on a never-ending spinning wheel had completely vanished.

  Adam was a new man. The pain had lifted, and his muscles had finally relaxed.

  It took a few seconds for him to orient himself in space and a bit longer to place himself in time. He was in the apartment bedroom.

  What day was it? He wasn’t sure. Vicky? She had been with him, and…

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” she said. She was sitting at the far end of the bed, watching him with a calm smile.

  “Hey…” he greeted her, untangling the last threads of sleep. “What day is it?”

  “Friday.”

  Adam sat up and discovered, with pleasant surprise, that he could do so without a symphony of cramps.

  “Did you sleep next to me?”

  She laughed warmly. “You’d have to be on death’s doorstep for me to grant you such a favor.”

  Adam’s bladder felt like it was about to burst, so he went to the bathroom and relieved himself without bothering to close the door. The sound of urine hitting the water in the toilet went on for several seconds.

  “I’ve gotten used to that sound,” Vicky called over. “That doesn’t mean I like it, though.”

  The color of his urine was an intense yellow, and the smell was sharp. Medications, Adam knew. He flushed, washed his hands, and looked in the mirror. To his pleasant surprise, the swelling on his face had gone down, and the bruises had lost their prominence.

  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the small bathroom mirror above the sink had transformed into a floor-to-ceiling panel. In the reflection, he saw himself sitting in a barber chair, draped in a white cape from the neck down.

  He was Juzo, sitting in a hair salon after hours. Most of the lights were off, and the shutters facing the street were closed.

  It was just him and Vicky.

  “The shipment will pass through Route 226 at 0800 hours,” he said. “The boys and I will move first. I’ll need you to stay alert. When I signal, fire a Fotia in front of the truck, then position yourself above us. With the thruster, it’ll make everything easier. Got it?”

  Vicky, standing behind him with scissors in hand, tilted her chin until their eyes met in the mirror.

  “I’m not going,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I said I’m not going.”

  “Vicky, you’re the only Grenadier we have. I don’t have powers. And according to Rigel, this is our one chance to—”

  “Juzo, I don’t care what Pablo said. I’m done with hunting expeditions. And let me tell you, I’m tired of whatever thing you and he have going on. You know as well as I do that, aside from his sick obsession—something the two of you share—the one thing that gets Pablo Rigel’s heart racing is me—another thing you’ve both shared.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “That I don’t like you feeding Pablo’s curiosity addiction by asking him for intel. You know that if he gets caught, he’s done for. Pablo doesn’t realize how dangerous this game is, Juzo, but you do, and I want you to stop because he won’t—not as long as I’m with you.”

  “Vicky, Rigel’s a grown man who makes his own decisions.”

  “No, he’s not. That’s the problem,” she said, continuing to snip at his hair. “Rigel’s still an idealistic teenager at heart—just too old now to risk quitting the service and chasing the drifter’s life he secretly longs for. His issue is that he still fantasizes about cleansing his conscience by playing spy games, and that’s where you come in—you, who are also stuck in the paradox of the eternal idealistic teenager. You’re still dreaming about overthrowing the Empire without realizing it’s a massive machine that won’t crumble anytime soon—not because of your efforts or those of the fanatics you call comrades.”

  Juzo clenched his jaw. “Let me remind you that many of those fanatics are your comrades too and have offered you shelter more than once,” he said.

  “I know. And who said I’m blameless in all this? I just want you to leave Pablo out of it. He’s only coming to you because it’s his twisted way of getting to me—don’t you see?”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “And what then, Vicky? Why are you with me? Why are you part of this revolution?”

  “Those are two questions with the same answer, Juzo,” she replied. “I’m with you because I love you, and I’m part of this revolution because I love you. Because the thought of you getting caught in a raid, with me not there to help, and then having to identify your body among the casualties—it terrifies me.”

  He exhaled sharply, irritated. “So, you’re not in it for our ideals.”

  Vicky paused, scissors and comb frozen mid-air.

  “Juzo… Look, it’s not that simple. Of course, I believe this military dictatorship needs to end. But tell me, if democracy were somehow established, what kind of place would you have in it? This country has been run the same way for five centuries—not decades, centuries! And let me remind you, more than half the population works for or is connected to the Military. Hell, even I stayed in the army, practically by osmosis! There’s nothing else to do after mandatory service ends. People aren’t ready to take responsibility for their own decisions, and they know it. Otherwise, we Troublemakers would’ve been seen as rock stars, with everyone on our side, holding up signs in the streets and setting tanks on fire. If they’re not doing it, it’s because they understand the cost of freedom would far outweigh its benefits.”

  “Uh-huh. And the alternative, Vicky? To keep bowing our heads and obeying orders for another five hundred years?”

  She shrugged.

  “No… I don’t know…” she said and went back to cutting his hair. “But keep one thing in mind, Juzo. The only way to win is by taking the Imperial Citadel by force, right? Well, guess what? That city is a fortress, guarded by legions of soldiers and Grenadiers armed with weapons you’ve only seen in your dreams. Do you really think an ambush on a convoy is going to scare them? How many successful heists would it take for the Imperial Council to start seeing you as a real threat? And even if your people succeeded, what politician is qualified to run the city without Military support?”

  “Vicky, I’m hearing the same nonsense cowards always spout.”

  “And I’m watching you do things only fanatics would do, Juzo. Why don’t you question your motives once in a while? Haven’t you realized that our only success in recent clashes has been coming out alive? Last time, thanks to that false lead, we walked straight into the lion’s den. And for what? Just to say we made it out to tell the tale. What’s the difference between us and teenagers joyriding when all we’re chasing is a quick adrenaline rush?”

  Juzo glared at her through the mirror. “Our ideals,” he said.

  “What ideals? Feeling all macho because we’re tickling a beast so sluggish it can’t even be bothered to swipe at us to keep us away?” Letting out a long sigh, Vicky set the scissors and comb down. “Look, I’m just really exhausted. That’s all.”

  “I get it. You need a break,” Juzo said.

  “No. A break won’t cut it. What I need is for you to take a weight off my shoulders. And you know exactly which weight I’m talking about.”

  Juzo stood up, yanking the white cape off his neck and tossing it onto the chair. He hated how casually Vicky brought up this particular subject.

  “I’m not doing it. I’m not putting myself through that. I could die.”

  “Oh, of course!” Vicky snapped. “Better I die from sheer exhaustion than you risking your precious self, you selfish bastard!”

  “Vicky, nine out of ten men don’t survive the treatment.”

  She shook her head. “That’s BS. There’s a way to tell if your body is ready to handle it.”

  Juzo hesitated. “How? Have you been researching?”

  Her gaze hardened. “Hey, watch what you’re about to say,” she warned. “You know I hate when my skills as a former intelligence officer are questioned. I had nothing to do with that false lead the other day, and if you want—”

  “Vicky…” he interrupted her. “I was just going to ask how you know. That’s all.”

  Feeling the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks, she lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, then cleared her throat. “And I’m sorry… maybe I should’ve told you this earlier, but—”

  “Vicky! Just say it.”

  “It’s classified information,” she said, lowering her voice as if afraid someone passing by on the street might overhear. “Only the Imperial Council and a few in High Command know about it, to avoid crowds lining up to try it. But, well, being the General’s daughter, I hear things. The truth is, if 70% of your genetic profile can be traced back to the Lowlands of Pannotia—y’know, from the Mid-Equatorial region in the southeast to the southern continent: New Somalia, the Edda Peninsula, all that—your body should be able to withstand the treatment without any issues. And judging by those striking amber eyes of yours and that copper hair, I’m pretty sure you qualify. All it takes is a DNA test to confirm.”

  Juzo still hesitated.

  “Come on, I wouldn’t lie about this!” Vicky insisted. “The genome of those who survived all shares that trait. Everyone who died didn’t have it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.”

  “Yes, you are, Juzo. If your ideals are as lofty as you claim, this would be nothing more than a small sacrifice to achieve them.”

  Furious, Juzo stormed out of the salon, slamming the door like a petulant teenager.

  But then he realized how ridiculous he was being, acting so stubbornly. Of course Vicky was right to ask him. How had he not seen it before?

  Oh, right—because he had been Juzo Romita. But now he was Adam White, and his mindset had changed.

  “What about the cargo?” he asked. His mouth felt dry, and his throat ached. “It was crossing Route 226 at 0800.”

  “What are you talking about?” Vicky’s voice came from somewhere nearby.

  Adam woke up, sitting upright in the bed. He was alone in the temporary apartment.

  “Never mind,” he muttered, still groggy. “Is today the appointment?”

  “For the dentist, not the Satellites,” Vicky replied, walking in from the kitchen. “It’s Saturday.”

  “Uh, right.”

  “Hey, Adam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Broga,” she said. “You… Do you know who Broga is?”

  Adam chuckled, puzzled. “What, I’m the one who gets hit in the head, but you’re the one losing your memory? Of course I know who Broga is. He’s the A60, isn’t he? Or did I miss something?”

  Vicky, faced with his ambiguous answer, didn’t know how to respond.

  “No… It’s just that… You mentioned it the other day, in your sleep, and I…” She tried to explain but decided to let it go instead, heading back to the kitchen as fast as she could. It was better to carry the torturous doubt of whether Adam truly knew or not than to risk saying too much and confusing him even further.

  She had never mentioned the names of the original Binaries, Broga and Brun, in his presence. Had Juzo? If not, then the Binary Project concealed a mystery far beyond anything she had imagined.