Chapter One
The last decade of Camden’s life flashed before his eyes, one year at a time. Ten years of grief and lies.
“I’m sorry sir; we couldn’t save her. Her daughter either.”
He slammed back a shot of vodka, and poured himself another.
“CyGes deeply regrets your loss. While we know nothing can bring back your family, we hope the implants will make your life better.”
The implants made it hard to get drunk, and that was about all they’d done. At least the bartender had left the bottle. Camden knocked back another swallow and refilled the glass.
“Your body is accepting most of the implants well, but more of your organic tissue is deteriorating.”
He gave up on the glass, and downed the booze straight from the bottle. At first, it had just been his legs and one arm. Then his spine. And several of his organs. Until he was more machine than man. Not that most people could tell.
And he was supposed to be grateful for it—this second chance at life. This empty existence, made possible by the very company that had killed his sister and niece a decade ago. Three-hundred and sixty-four days a year, he let it roll off him. But he always took the anniversary of the accident to mourn, dwell on what could have been, and honor their memory. And this year he had two new reasons to linger on the past.
The first, and hardest to deal with, was the terrorist bombing on an Emerald City Mag-Line. Seeing the wreckage broadcast the world over had dragged up every faded memory he’d spent years trying to move past.
He finished the rest of the bottle in a single gulp, finally getting enough alcohol into his system to feel the buzz before his hyper-efficient liver metabolized it. The second though…. To think he’d almost said no to the phone call earlier that week.
“We’d like to do a documentary about you, Mr. Hillesland. Kind of a ‘Where Are You Now’ type of thing. It’s completely promotional, mostly fluff, but you’re one of our first, best, and finest. What do you say?”
Camden had said yes. Even though almost every bit of him wanted to say no. His brain—at least that was still his—knew he needed this chance. To tell their story. To do right by his sister and niece. To share their wonderful memories with the world, instead of keeping them to himself.
But tonight, he would remember them in his own way.
“Are you drinking alone, or is there room for one more?” A lilting female voice interrupted his musings.
When he looked up, his urge to tell the stranger to go to hell died at the back of his throat. Her auburn hair was pulled into two tails, one on either side of her head, making it difficult to tell if she was barely legal or closer to his thirty-two years. Her dark shirt contrasted with pale skin, and hugged her curves enough to hint at what was underneath without giving it all away, despite having one extra button undone at the throat. Her jeans hugged her hips, and the gorgeous curve of her ass like they’d been made for her. While the entire package was nice to look at, he would have turned her away in his current mood. But there was something in her eyes—the dark green of emeralds lost in a storm—that made him want to know more about her.
And since the vodka buzz had all but faded, maybe she could distract him from his memories for a few more minutes. He nodded to the chair on the other side of the table. “There’s room for one more.”
“I’m Ana.” When she smiled, the storm in her eyes swirled, shifting to something paler but just as dangerous. Her mouth parted slightly.
Images of running his tongue over her full lips danced in his head. He shook the thought aside. That wasn’t the path he needed to go down, unless it looked like she’d be a couple-hour distraction instead of a five-minute one.
“Dan.” He didn’t like to give out his full name. Too many people recognized it from the CyGes ads, and since it took a trained eye to tell he wasn’t all organic, he
The last decade of Camden’s life flashed before his eyes, one year at a time. Ten years of grief and lies.
“I’m sorry sir; we couldn’t save her. Her daughter either.”
He slammed back a shot of vodka, and poured himself another.
“CyGes deeply regrets your loss. While we know nothing can bring back your family, we hope the implants will make your life better.”
The implants made it hard to get drunk, and that was about all they’d done. At least the bartender had left the bottle. Camden knocked back another swallow and refilled the glass.
“Your body is accepting most of the implants well, but more of your organic tissue is deteriorating.”
He gave up on the glass, and downed the booze straight from the bottle. At first, it had just been his legs and one arm. Then his spine. And several of his organs. Until he was more machine than man. Not that most people could tell.
And he was supposed to be grateful for it—this second chance at life. This empty existence, made possible by the very company that had killed his sister and niece a decade ago. Three-hundred and sixty-four days a year, he let it roll off him. But he always took the anniversary of the accident to mourn, dwell on what could have been, and honor their memory. And this year he had two new reasons to linger on the past.
The first, and hardest to deal with, was the terrorist bombing on an Emerald City Mag-Line. Seeing the wreckage broadcast the world over had dragged up every faded memory he’d spent years trying to move past.
He finished the rest of the bottle in a single gulp, finally getting enough alcohol into his system to feel the buzz before his hyper-efficient liver metabolized it. The second though…. To think he’d almost said no to the phone call earlier that week.
“We’d like to do a documentary about you, Mr. Hillesland. Kind of a ‘Where Are You Now’ type of thing. It’s completely promotional, mostly fluff, but you’re one of our first, best, and finest. What do you say?”
Camden had said yes. Even though almost every bit of him wanted to say no. His brain—at least that was still his—knew he needed this chance. To tell their story. To do right by his sister and niece. To share their wonderful memories with the world, instead of keeping them to himself.
But tonight, he would remember them in his own way.
“Are you drinking alone, or is there room for one more?” A lilting female voice interrupted his musings.
When he looked up, his urge to tell the stranger to go to hell died at the back of his throat. Her auburn hair was pulled into two tails, one on either side of her head, making it difficult to tell if she was barely legal or closer to his thirty-two years. Her dark shirt contrasted with pale skin, and hugged her curves enough to hint at what was underneath without giving it all away, despite having one extra button undone at the throat. Her jeans hugged her hips, and the gorgeous curve of her ass like they’d been made for her. While the entire package was nice to look at, he would have turned her away in his current mood. But there was something in her eyes—the dark green of emeralds lost in a storm—that made him want to know more about her.
And since the vodka buzz had all but faded, maybe she could distract him from his memories for a few more minutes. He nodded to the chair on the other side of the table. “There’s room for one more.”
“I’m Ana.” When she smiled, the storm in her eyes swirled, shifting to something paler but just as dangerous. Her mouth parted slightly.
Images of running his tongue over her full lips danced in his head. He shook the thought aside. That wasn’t the path he needed to go down, unless it looked like she’d be a couple-hour distraction instead of a five-minute one.
“Dan.” He didn’t like to give out his full name. Too many people recognized it from the CyGes ads, and since it took a trained eye to tell he wasn’t all organic, he
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