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Yunnan conflict zone Myanmar/China border August 14, 2091

Dusk had settled by the time the assault was over, the horizon turned a red smear choked with streaks of oily black smoke that drifted out over the surrounding jungle. The gunfire had stopped, the silence sinking down over the village like a weight, blanketing the stillness and filling the void left by the abrupt absence of chaos. No more belching rounds or snapping arc charges, no more screaming confusion. Just the gentle breeze scratching across the dirt, and the crackling of fire as the village's fuel tanks burned.

The battle had been swift, and violent. More a slaughter, really.

The thought made Ander Rade uneasy, but he buried the feeling and continued moving through the ruined village. He remained cautious, keeping his SA-68 burst rifle tucked to his shoulder, letting his senses reach out to search for any sign of remaining opposition. The mission had been straightforward: locate a small rebel outpost, eliminate all resistance, and secure a weapons cache reported to be hidden somewhere in the area. But now that the chaos was over, it was clear this had been nothing more than an ordinary village occupied by ordinary villagers. They'd been no match for the brutality of Xyphos Industries' custom-built assault team, each member having been fine-tuned at the genetic level to be a perfect killing machine. Strong, fast, accurate, near impervious to damage. Utterly fearless and addicted to aggression. Few companies in the world produced such spectacular products as Xyphos Industries' gene- modified combat operatives, and the company, based out of the United American Provinces, had no shortage of clients willing to pay top dollar for their services. This particular client—the Myanmarese government—had purchased Xyphos's aid in quashing a rebellion that was trying to take control of the country.

The details didn't interest Rade, though. Too many conflicts in too many war-torn parts of the world to bother keeping track of. None of it mattered. Xyphos pointed, and the team went.

Rade stopped in the street and kicked over a corpse with the toe of his boot. It flopped in the dirt, vacant eyes staring up at nothing. A battered and rust-spotted arc rifle two decades out of fashion lay just beyond the body's curled fingers. One of the local government's older models, and one often found in the possession of government sympathizers, not rebels. The weapon was so old it was a wonder it hadn't exploded on the first pull of the trigger. The weapon's operator, however, was just the opposite. Young. Too young. Not a man yet, and certainly not a rebel. Something wasn't adding up.

Rade sensed movement to his left. The enhanced neocortex of his brain recognized the familiar pattern of footsteps as that of his team leader, and relaxed. A second later, Sevrina Fox pushed through the doors of a shack on the opposite side of the road, her own burst rifle held at the low ready. "Southeast clear," she said as she approached.

Rade tore his gaze from the corpse at his feet and squinted at the smoke-filled sky. "These people had government-issue weapons," he said.

"Your sector. Is it clear?" Sevrina asked.

Rade looked at the carnage around them. "These weren't rebels."

'"Ander,"' Sevrina said with an edge. "Sector's clear."

The sound of a gunshot brought them both around, rifles up. Combat endorphins spiked, temporarily dampening Rade's sour mood and making him hope for something to fight. The sound of a scuffle, followed by the familiar four-round burst from an SA-68. The door to a hut a few rows down flew open and a young woman stumbled into the street. She was unarmed, shoeless, clad in threadbare clothes. Blood spattered across her face and neck, her eyes wild with fear. She lost her footing and fell to the dirt, crawling desperately as she tried to keep moving. She caught sight of the armed mods in the street watching her and froze.

Sevrina lowered her weapon. "Handle this, Ander."

The woman was locked in Rade's sights, and her eyes were locked on him.

He didn't move. Couldn't move. The sheer terror on this woman's face pinned him like an accusation, like she was seeing him for the monster he was. And for the first time in his life, he wondered if she was right. The thought grated against everything he'd ever believed, ever wanted to believe. Pulled back the layers of psychological conditioning he'd successfully endured to become the warrior he was.

He'd never hesitated before. Never felt doubt about the morality of his orders, but here, now, in this burnt-out and bullet-riddled village in the jungles of some distant country he barely understood, he'd been laid bare by nothing more than a look from a complete stranger.

He 'was' a monster. "Ander."

He could feel Sevrina's eyes on him. The team leader had given an order, an order handed down by the indisputable authority of Xyphos Industries. Yet his finger stayed braced on the upper receiver, and off the trigger. This was a noncombatant, no threat to himself or the team. The assault was over. There was no need to end this person's life.