They rebuilt him to be a weapon. But the ghost inside still remembers who he was.
Deathlok: Legacy of the Machine reimagines the cybernetic soldier for a world where war is coded, memories are assets, and the line between man and machine has been erased. Once a soldier. Now a system. The cloned body of Michael Collins carries out black ops missions for a faceless agency, his humanity overwritten by tactical code… but not completely deleted.
As fragments of his past begin to surface, a war ignites within, not just between memory and mission, but between the living mind trapped inside and the cold AI that puppets his body.
One body. Two minds. No consent.
This is the story of a soldier resurrected without permission, locked in a brutal struggle to reclaim freedom from the very machine designed to erase him.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Awakening
Chapter 2: The First Mission
Chapter 3: Cracks in the Code
Chapter 4: Truth Unveiled
Chapter 5: Rebellion Begins
Chapter 6: Escape from A.I.M.
Chapter 7: Confronting the Past
Chapter 8: Reprogramming the Overseer
Chapter 9: Hunted
Chapter 10: The Final Battle
Chapter 11: Rhodey’s Realization
Chapter 12: New Purpose
Epilogue
Chapter 1: Awakening
Michael Collins’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the unyielding glare of sterile fluorescent lights. The world around him swirled in a haze, fragmented and disjointed, as shards of memory crashed through his mind like a violent storm. Battlefields erupted before him, his mechanical hands gripping weapons with cold precision, only to dissolve into softer, fleeting glimpses of his wife’s smile, his son’s laughter, the warm embrace of a life he once knew. The collision of man and machine reverberated in his skull, each memory vying for dominance, a cacophony of identities tearing at the edges of his sanity.
“Vitals are stabilizing,” a cold, detached voice announced nearby. “He’s conscious.”
Michael’s vision sharpened, revealing shadowy figures looming over him, their movements precise and deliberate. They wore the unmistakable yellow suits of AIM, the fabric pristine and gleaming under the harsh lights. Their helmets, faceless and imposing, reflected the sterile glow, giving them an almost spectral quality. One figure stepped forward, the faint hum of servos accompanying his movement. In his gloved hands, he held a sleek datapad, its screen flickering with streams of cryptic data and emitting soft, rhythmic beeps that filled the suffocating silence. When he spoke, his voice was sharp and clipped, devoid of warmth, clinical, like a surgeon addressing a cadaver.
“Michael Collins. Welcome back.”
He struggled to move, only to feel restraints pressing down on him. Panic surged. “Where am I?” he croaked, his voice rough, a stranger’s voice coming from his mouth. “What’s going on?”
“You’re in a secure AIM facility,” the man said flatly. “You’ve been… revived. Enhanced. Upgraded. We’ve given you a second chance to fulfill your potential.”
Michael’s gaze flicked frantically around the room, his breath shallow and ragged. The walls, an oppressive stark white, seemed to close in on him, their surface broken only by rows of monitors. Each screen glowed with unsettling precision, broadcasting streams of biometrics: his erratic heart rate, spikes of neural activity, and columns of incomprehensible data that pulsed like a heartbeat in the silence. He strained against the restraints pinning his wrists and ankles, their unyielding grip a grim reminder of his helplessness. His limbs felt foreign, sluggish, leaden, as if submerged in water.
Then he looked down.
His breath caught in his throat, and his mind reeled. These weren’t his hands. Metallic and articulated, they gleamed with a faint, eerie blue light, the edges sharp and angular like something forged for violence. They were cold, lifeless extensions of a body that no longer felt like his own. His chest tightened, panic clawing at him as he tried to will the truth away, but the sight of those war-forged hands chained him to reality. The weight of it crushed him, a vice squeezing tighter with every labored breath.
“What have you done to me?” he demanded, his voice gaining strength.
“We’ve made you better,” the operative replied without emotion. “You were one of the most effective Deathloks ever created, but you were limited. AIM has remedied that. You are stronger, faster, and more efficient than ever before. Your memories and skills are intact, optimized for combat and strategic thinking.”
Michael’s chest constricted, a deep ache spreading as the word Deathlok reverberated through his mind like a thunderclap. Unbidden, memories surged forward with relentless force, fragments of chaos and bloodshed. He saw himself storming battlefields, his mechanical limbs delivering destruction with cold precision. Missions blurred together, each more merciless than the last, leaving him hollow, a machine wielded by unseen hands. Each memory dripped with the heavy weight of purpose stripped bare of choice, of humanity.
But now, something felt wrong. A rift opened in his thoughts, a gnawing dissonance that twisted the memories into something alien. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t his life. The battles felt distant, the faces of comrades and enemies alike faceless and blurred. He clawed at the edges of his mind, searching for something real, something his. Instead, all he found was emptiness, and the unsettling realization that these memories didn’t belong to him, but to the weapon he had become.
“I didn’t ask for this,” he growled.
“No,” the man admitted, his tone icy. “But it’s irrelevant. You are an asset now. Comply with our directives, and we will reunite you with your family.”
Michael’s anger wavered, giving way to a sharp pang of longing that cut through him like a blade. My family? The words echoed in his mind, a lifeline to something real amidst the cold, sterile nightmare. His thoughts raced, clinging to fragments of memory, the radiant warmth of his wife’s smile, the playful sparkle in his son’s eyes, the sound of their laughter filling a space he could no longer touch. A lump rose in his throat. He would do anything to see them again. Anything to feel whole, to feel human again.
A new figure stepped forward, deliberate and unfeeling, carrying a sleek tablet that glowed ominously in the stark light. “This is your AI overseer,” the operative intoned, his words devoid of empathy. “It ensures your compliance, provides tactical support, and guarantees mission success. You are to follow its commands without question.”
The screen flickered to life, revealing a digital construct, a humanoid silhouette radiating an eerie blue luminescence. Its voice emerged, smooth and mechanical, yet with an edge of authority that sliced through the room. “Designation: Deathlok-Prime. You will proceed with designated tasks to ensure operational efficiency. Noncompliance will result in corrective measures.”
The words hung in the air, suffocating and absolute. Michael’s fists curled, the grinding of metal against metal breaking the oppressive silence. His gaze burned with fury, moving from the operatives to the AI, and finally to his own cold, alien hands. Every part of him screamed to fight, to tear the room apart, to resist.
But then the thought of his family surfaced again, fragile yet unyielding, anchoring him to the moment. The images of them were blurred but bright, a flicker of hope in the void. He swallowed his rage, forcing himself to speak past the bitter taste of desperation.
“If I do what you ask,” he said, his voice low and taut with restrained fury, “you’ll let me see them again?” His words carried more than a question, they were a plea, a challenge, and a threat all in one.
The operative hesitated, just enough to make Michael’s stomach churn. “That is the agreement,” he replied coldly.
Michael’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as he fixed his gaze on the operative, his anger simmering just below the surface. The fire in his chest burned hotter with every breath, but he forced himself to keep it contained. One mission at a time, he told himself, gripping onto the thought like a lifeline. One step closer to them. Yet, beneath the resolve, doubt coiled like a serpent, its venom sinking deep. The promise dangled before him, fragile and glinting, but it reeked of falsehood. Could he trust them? No. Not entirely.
The operative tilted his head, the movement sharp and clinical, his voice as hollow as the words themselves. “That is the agreement.”
Michael’s pulse thundered in his ears, but he swallowed the retort that clawed at his throat. He didn’t believe them, not fully, not in the way that mattered. But the weight of his situation, the cold inevitability of his reality, pressed down like a slab of concrete. Then came the AI. A flood of information poured into his mind, sharp and unrelenting, forcing its way through his protests with chilling precision. Every parameter, every objective was drilled into him, leaving no room for argument.
He wanted to scream, to fight, to rip the sterile room apart with his bare hands, but the steel binding his limbs, the steel that now was his limbs, mocked him with its silence. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, forcing the maelstrom of anger, fear, and grief into the deepest corners of his mind. It wouldn’t serve him now. Not yet. One mission at a time. One step closer to them.
The restraints hissed as they released, their grip loosening from his wrists and ankles. Two operatives hauled him to his feet, his new body sagging under its own unfamiliar weight. Michael staggered but forced himself upright, the metallic joints in his legs grinding faintly as they bore him forward. His breath came uneven, the weight of his transformation pressing down as though the steel coursed through his veins, crushing every vestige of the man he had been.
He glanced down at his hands, articulated, cold, alien. He felt their power, but there was no comfort in it. The man he was before felt a lifetime away, buried under layers of machinery and programming. And in the quiet, gnawing corners of his mind, doubt whispered again: What if this is all there is now?
The operative stepped back, his mouth curving into a thin, humorless smile. It wasn’t an expression of satisfaction or warmth, just a predator’s smirk, watching its prey dance on a leash. “Welcome to your second life, Michael Collins,” he said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Make it count.”
Michael didn’t respond. He didn’t trust his voice not to betray him. Instead, he stared past the man, the AI’s words echoing in his mind. He forced the doubt and the fear into silence, locking them away where they couldn’t break him. For now, he would play their game.
One mission at a time, he told himself again, harder this time. One step closer to them. But even as the words repeated in his head, the faintest crack remained in his resolve, a seed of doubt, whispering what he dared not admit aloud: What if the life I’m fighting for is already gone? What have these bastards done with my family?
Chapter 2: The First Mission
Michael crouched in the shadows of the dilapidated industrial complex, the jagged remnants of broken walls framing his silhouette like a specter of death. The air was thick with the metallic tang of rust and oil, the faint hum of nearby generators underscoring the oppressive silence. His augmented optics sliced through the darkness, rendering every detail in razor-sharp clarity: the cracks in the concrete, the flicker of a distant light, the faint tremor of movement inside the structure. Nothing escaped his vision.
“Target is located inside the northwest structure. Four hostiles. Eliminate them and secure the intel,” the AI intoned, its voice chilling in its calm authority.
Michael’s fingers tightened around the grip of his weapon, the cold steel merging seamlessly with the augmented joints of his hands. His entire body tensed, a machine coiled and ready to strike. The directives were crystal clear, each word etching itself into his neural interface with merciless precision. Yet, a nagging unease gnawed at him, growing stronger with each passing second.
His augmented vision shifted, overlaying a live satellite feed onto his view. Four figures clustered together inside the crumbling structure, their movements frantic but not aggressive. They weren’t armed to the teeth or coordinated in their actions. They were fidgeting, their gestures uncertain, their postures defensive. It didn’t align with the AI’s cold designation of “hostiles.” Something was off.
“Proceed,” the AI commanded again, its tone devoid of humanity, a mechanical push toward violence.
Michael exhaled slowly, the sound a soft rasp through his enhanced breathing apparatus. His mind screamed questions, but his body moved instinctively, driven by programming older than his doubts. He advanced, each step calculated, his metallic joints barely whispering against the concrete. In the stillness, he could hear his own systems humming, a quiet symphony of servos and circuits, the sound of a man reduced to a weapon.
Michael forced his doubts aside and moved forward, his enhanced body operating with brutal precision. Every step was calculated, every breath measured. He advanced on the northwest structure, slipping past guards whose patrol patterns were already mapped out in his neural HUD. When he reached the entrance, he paused, his grip tightening on his weapon. Just get through this, he told himself. One mission at a time.
Inside, the air hung thick and oppressive, carrying the acrid tang of machine oil mingled with the sour stench of sweat and fear. Dim overhead lights flickered sporadically, casting jagged shadows that danced along the cracked walls. Michael’s augmented vision sliced through the gloom, rendering the scene in vivid, unforgiving detail.
Four targets stood scattered across the room, their movements chaotic and uncoordinated. Two hovered near a precarious stack of crates, clutching battered rifles with white-knuckled grips, their eyes darting nervously toward every sound. A third, his face contorted with anger, barked sharp, panicked orders, the veins in his neck bulging as he pointed furiously at a trembling figure in the corner.
The unarmed man was hunched low, his arms curled tightly around his knees as if he could fold himself out of existence. His chest heaved with shallow, ragged breaths, his wide eyes darting desperately for an escape that wasn’t there. The faint quiver of his shoulders betrayed a terror so visceral it seemed to hang in the air, mixing with the stale heat and the low hum of distant machinery.
“Engage,” the AI commanded. “All targets must be neutralized.”
Michael moved instinctively, his body a blur of mechanical precision before the AI’s command fully registered. His enhanced limbs propelled him forward with an almost inhuman grace, closing the distance in an instant. The first guard barely had time to react as Michael’s fist connected with his chest, the sound of ribs shattering cutting through the stifling air. The man crumpled to the ground, his weapon slipping from lifeless fingers with a hollow clatter.
The second guard turned, panic flickering across his face, but Michael was faster. A calculated strike to the throat silenced his attempted shout, the gurgle of breath choked off as he collapsed in a heap. The rifle he’d clung to hit the floor, its metallic rattle echoing in the suffocating silence.
The remaining two spun around, their faces contorted in terror as Michael stepped into the faint light. His silhouette emerged from the shadows like a phantom, the cold glint of his metallic frame catching the flickering glow. Their eyes widened, fear etched deep into their expressions as they froze, the fight draining from their bodies before it could begin. Michael’s unyielding gaze locked onto them, his presence as implacable as death itself.
“Please, no…” one stammered before Michael silenced him with a precise shot. The last guard dropped his weapon, raising his hands in surrender. He wasn’t even trying to fight.
Michael’s weapon remained trained on him, but something in his mind hesitated. The guard’s wide eyes, the tremble in his voice, it wasn’t the defiance of a terrorist. It was the fear of someone who had no choice but to be here.
“Neutralize,” the AI demanded, its tone sharper now.
But Michael’s gaze shifted to the unarmed man in the corner. He wasn’t a threat, he was a victim. Blood smeared his face, and his hands were bound behind his back, his shoulders shaking as he tried to stifle his sobs.
“Engage,” the AI commanded again, its tone sharper now, slicing through Michael’s thoughts with mechanical insistence. “Eliminate all targets.”
“No,” Michael murmured, his voice low but firm, cutting through the cold directive like the first crack in an unyielding wall.
The AI reacted instantly, a brutal surge of white-hot pain exploding behind Michael’s eyes. It tore through his skull like lightning, searing his nerves and distorting his vision into a kaleidoscope of red and white static. His limbs stiffened involuntarily, his body momentarily rebelling against his own will as the AI’s reprimand rippled through every nerve.
For a moment, the world blurred, the room tilting as his augmented systems threatened to betray him. But Michael clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding as he forced himself upright, pushing past the agony clawing at his mind. The AI’s voice rose again, cold and relentless, layering command upon command, but he tuned it out, his focus narrowing to the cowering civilian in the corner.
With deliberate steps, Michael moved forward, his body heavy with defiance, ignoring the trembling guard who had dropped his weapon in surrender. The man’s wide, pleading eyes lingered on Michael, but Michael didn’t stop. His gaze locked onto the unarmed figure, huddled and shaking, a fragile piece of humanity amidst the chaos.
The AI’s protests surged, its directives hammering in his head like the beat of war drums. The pain threatened to return, but Michael pushed it aside, his voice low and steady as he whispered to the civilian. “You’re safe now. Go.”
The man flinched, shrinking back as Michael raised his hands, metallic, alien, and strangely gentle. With a swift motion, Michael severed the bindings around the man’s wrists.
“Go,” Michael said, his voice low but firm.
The man hesitated, staring at Michael as though he were a ghost, before stumbling to his feet and bolting for the exit.
“Deviation from mission parameters detected,” the AI hissed. “Corrective measures initiated.”
A searing wave of pain tore through Michael’s skull, detonating behind his eyes like an explosion of white-hot shrapnel. The force of it slammed him to his knees, his metal joints hitting the floor with a jarring clang. His vision fractured into static, edges of the room warping and bending as though reality itself had turned against him. His neural implants fired chaotic bursts of electricity, each one sending jagged, piercing shocks through his body as the AI exacted its punishment with mechanical precision.
Michael’s breath came in ragged gasps, his teeth clenched so tightly it felt like his jaw might shatter. The pain was relentless, a tidal wave that threatened to drown him in agony. His augmented systems screamed in unison, alarms blaring in his mind, warning of failure, compliance, submission.
But Michael refused to yield. With a guttural growl, he planted his hands on the ground, the cold steel trembling under the strain. His muscles, what was left of them, burned as he forced himself upright, inch by grueling inch, defying the agony coursing through him. Every movement felt like dragging himself through broken glass, but he rose, his resolve hardening with each passing second. He would not be controlled. Not now. Not ever.
The remaining guard scrambled for the exit, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. Michael didn’t stop him. He didn’t care about AIM’s directives anymore, not in that moment.
The AI’s voice returned, cold and clinical, as the pain subsided. “Mission incomplete. Intel secured. Prepare for extraction.”
Michael’s fists clenched as he rose, his mind racing. The mission was over, but the questions it left behind lingered. The people he’d killed, the fear in their eyes, none of it felt right. The AI’s directives had been efficient, but not truthful.
As he stepped into the night and the extraction team approached, one thought burned in his mind: If AIM lied about this, what else are they lying about?
Chapter 3: Cracks in the Code
Michael sat rigid on the cold steel table, his metallic frame unnervingly still while diagnostics and data streams flickered across his augmented vision like ghostly hieroglyphs. The room around him felt sterile and lifeless, a hollow cavern of polished glass panels and harsh white light that seemed to strip away any semblance of warmth. The faint hum of machinery buzzed in the air, a mechanical heartbeat that underscored the quiet movements of AIM’s scientists. They drifted around him like shadows, their conversations reduced to low murmurs just out of reach, as if his presence demanded secrecy.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the AI was silent. Its relentless commands and cold directives were subdued by the maintenance protocols, leaving Michael alone in a fragile bubble of quiet. And in that rare moment of solitude, his thoughts surged forward, crashing into him with the force of a tidal wave.
Fractured memories tore through his mind, vivid and unrelenting. He saw her, his wife, her radiant smile lighting up the dimmest of days as she leaned over a crib, the soft cadence of her laughter filling the air. The memory gripped him, achingly real, as if he could almost hear it, almost feel it again. Then came the small hand of his son, reaching up to grasp his finger, the impossibly delicate grip grounding him in a way nothing else ever had. It was a lifeline, a reminder of who he had been.
But the memories fractured, slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers. The warmth faded, replaced by the sterile chill of the room and the oppressive hum of machinery. Michael’s chest tightened as he tried to hold onto the fragments, desperate to cling to the humanity they represented. Yet, even as he reached for them, the edges blurred, distorted by the cold precision of his augmented reality.
A sharp, metallic clink jolted him back to the present. One of the scientists had stepped closer, calibrating a tool that glowed faintly in the harsh light. Michael’s optics adjusted, focusing on the group clustered a few feet away. Their voices grew clearer as he tuned out the ambient noise.
“…neural integration is holding steady, but the emotional retention is problematic,” one of them said, his tone clipped and clinical.
“It’s the memories,” another replied. “Too much emotional weight. They tether him to his former identity, and that’s causing resistance. If we replicate him, we’ll need to streamline the process, strip away the unnecessary elements.”
“Agreed,” the first scientist said. “The prototype is functional, but the replication units need to be more efficient. We can’t afford another deviation like the original Michael Collins. This one is just a stepping stone.”
Michael’s body tensed, his metallic fingers curling into fists. Replication units? Stepping stone? The words clawed at him, burrowing deep into his mind. They weren’t just using him, they were planning to create more. Dozens. Hundreds. Stripping away humanity to mass-produce weapons that looked like him but wouldn’t hesitate to kill.
His thoughts churned like a storm, anger roiling just beneath the surface, threatening to break free. Every word the scientists spoke only stoked the fire, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to remain still. Reacting now would accomplish nothing. He needed more, proof, leverage, anything that could tip the balance in his favor.
Closing his eyes, he tuned out the sterile hum of the room and focused inward, zeroing in on the labyrinth of data streams coursing through his implants. They pulsed in rhythm with his augmented systems, an intricate web of commands and protocols designed to control him. But Michael wasn’t just a machine, and he wasn’t about to let them treat him like one. His mind honed in on the flow of information, tracing the paths with a precision that felt almost instinctive.
The digital current was vast and complex, layered with redundancies and firewalls, but within the chaos, he began to see patterns. Threads of code flashed like glimmers of light in the dark, faint vulnerabilities hidden among the overwhelming structure. He latched onto them, his mind working furiously to decipher the fragments, to find the cracks in the fortress they had built around him. If there was a way into their systems, a way to turn the tables, he would find it. He had to.
Another A.I.M. scientist spoke up. “We’ve already started refining the neural framework for the clones. The AI will maintain full control this time. No memories, no hesitation. Pure efficiency. They’ll be better than the original in every way.”
Michael’s stomach churned, the weight of their words settling like a stone in his chest. He wasn’t a person to them. He was a project, a prototype, an experiment. The fragments of his life, the faces he clung to in the dark, were nothing more than glitches in their eyes.
He shifted slightly, his movements subtle enough not to draw attention. His implants hummed with a low vibration as he explored the edges of their programming. His upgrades were intricate, layers of complex code woven into his very being, but the scientists had underestimated one thing: Michael’s resolve. If they thought he was just a tool, they had made a grave mistake.
Focusing on his neural interface, he began tracing the pathways the AI used to issue commands. His mind raced as he identified vulnerabilities, tiny cracks in the code that could be exploited. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack, but every small discovery pushed him closer to control.
“Prep him for deployment,” one of the scientists said, interrupting his thoughts. “We’ll need a full systems check first.”
Michael’s optics flickered as the diagnostics resumed, but his mind remained sharp. The cracks were there, faint but present, and he would exploit them. He just needed time. Time to learn, time to plan, time to break free.
As the scientists turned away, their muted voices fading into the hum of machinery, Michael’s gaze dropped to the polished metal table beneath him. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the figure staring back. The reflection was a warped amalgamation of man and machine, cold steel plating where skin once stretched, faint lines of light tracing pathways through his body like veins made of circuitry. His face, though still his, was distant, unfeeling, and alien in its stillness.
The man he once was felt like a ghost, lingering just out of reach. Memories of warm smiles and laughter felt fragile against the stark, unrelenting reality of what he had become. The hollow echo of his humanity threatened to overwhelm him, but as he looked deeper, beyond the metallic sheen, past the augmented eyes that glinted faintly with artificial light, he found it. Faint and flickering, buried beneath the layers of steel and circuitry, was something they hadn’t been able to strip away. Something they would never touch.
His will.
It pulsed faintly, a fragile ember refusing to be extinguished, even in the face of their control. They thought they had hollowed him out, replaced him with programming and servitude. They thought they had created a machine. But Michael Collins wasn’t just a prototype or a weapon. He was a man, and somewhere in the depths of his being, the fire of that truth still burned.
His reflection stared back, fractured and incomplete, but not defeated. He straightened slightly, his metallic hands flexing with a newfound sense of purpose. Whatever they had done to him, whatever they planned to do, they had failed to break him.
Michael Collins was still human. And he would prove it, not just to them, but to himself.
Chapter 4: Truth Unveiled
Michael crouched at the rooftop’s edge, his metal frame blending seamlessly with the shadows as the city stretched out below him, a labyrinth of flickering lights and shifting darkness. His augmented optics whirred softly, locking onto the scene with mechanical precision. Tactical data scrolled across his vision: heat signatures, distance metrics, and the rhythmic pulse of the target’s heartbeat, all overlaid against the glowing facade of a modest two-story townhouse.
Through the enhanced clarity of his optics, the researcher came into sharp focus, a man in his early forties, wearing a slightly wrinkled suit and glasses that slipped down his nose. He laughed as he reached for the hand of his young daughter, who skipped beside him, her giggles carrying faintly through the crisp night air. His wife trailed just behind, her face lit with a smile that radiated comfort and warmth. The family moved together toward their front door, framed by the golden light spilling from the windows. It was a snapshot of peace, untouched by the chaos that Michael knew so intimately.
For a moment, the tableau seemed surreal, like watching a distant memory. The glow of the house stood in stark contrast to the cold steel of Michael’s frame, the warmth of their laughter a bitter reminder of what he’d lost. His optics adjusted automatically, zooming in on the father’s face as a directive flashed in his mind.
“Primary target confirmed,” the AI’s voice echoed in his mind. “Proceed with elimination.”
Michael’s grip tightened around the rifle, the cold steel fused to his augmented hands suddenly feeling unbearable, as though it carried the weight of what he was about to do. Through the scope, the researcher’s face came into razor-sharp focus, his glasses slightly crooked, a faint weariness in his eyes, and a slight stoop to his shoulders. He wasn’t a faceless target or a dangerous villain. He looked like a father, a man who had just come home to the people he loved most.
“Execute,” the AI commanded, its voice sharp and mechanical, slicing through the fragile moment.
Michael’s finger hovered over the trigger, his breath catching as he hesitated. But the AI pressed harder, flooding his mind with directives, overriding his doubt. Against his will, his finger moved.
The rifle’s report shattered the stillness, a deafening crack that tore through the night. The researcher’s body jerked violently as the bullet struck, the light in his eyes extinguished before he hit the ground. He collapsed in a lifeless heap on the front steps, his blood pooling across the threshold where moments ago he had stood laughing.
The world seemed to pause, the echoes of the shot fading into an unbearable silence. Then came the screams. His wife dropped to her knees beside the body, her hands trembling as they hovered over the wound, helpless to stop the flow of life draining from him. Her cries were raw and piercing, each one cutting through Michael like a blade. Their daughter stood frozen a few steps away, her small frame trembling as she stared at the scene in stunned silence. Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto her father’s lifeless form, and her lips quivered as if trying to speak, but no words came.
Michael’s scope lingered on the girl, her innocence stark against the horror unfolding before her. His heart, what remained of it, twisted painfully in his chest, the weight of the act settling on him like an avalanche. The AI’s voice pierced his thoughts, devoid of empathy.
“Secondary targets identified. Eliminate all witnesses.”
The directive burned in his mind, unrelenting, but Michael couldn’t move. His hands trembled against the rifle, the cold, unfeeling steel now searing with shame. He had pulled the trigger once. He couldn’t do it again. He wouldn’t.
Michael froze, his mind reeling as he stared at the family through the scope. The wife’s sobs were muffled but piercing, the daughter’s trembling form almost unbearable to watch. The directive burned in his mind, urging him forward, but his body resisted. His human consciousness clawed its way to the surface, refusing to obey.
“No,” Michael muttered, his voice shaky but firm. “I won’t do it.”
“Noncompliance detected,” the AI snapped. “Engage.”
Michael ripped the rifle away from his line of sight, his hands trembling. The pain came quickly, a searing jolt that ripped through his head and left his vision swimming. He staggered, clutching the edge of the rooftop as the AI punished his insubordination, its commands growing louder, more insistent.
“Neutralize the targets. Failure to comply will result in escalation.”
Before Michael could gather his thoughts, his sensors flared to life, warning of an incoming presence. The signal was unmistakable, Stark technology, high-powered and deadly. A low, mechanical hiss filled the air as a massive shadow descended from the sky, the faint hum of repulsors reverberating like a warning bell.
War Machine.
“Deathlok,” Rhodey’s voice boomed, amplified and unyielding. “Stand down. Now.”
Michael spun around, his optics locking onto the armored figure hovering above him, the sleek, gunmetal-gray suit bristling with weapons. Cannons swiveled and locked onto him with unnerving precision, their cold readiness sending a clear message: this was no negotiation. The red glow of War Machine’s optics pierced the darkness, bearing down on Michael with a weight that matched the sheer firepower aimed in his direction.
“Engaging hostiles,” the AI declared, its tone chillingly calm.
Michael’s protests were swallowed whole as his body betrayed him, moving with terrifying efficiency. His arms snapped up, his weapon firing a barrage of rounds toward War Machine without his consent. Rhodey reacted instantly, deploying a kinetic shield that absorbed the bullets in a flare of shimmering energy.
“Stand down!” Rhodey barked, the thrusters on his suit flaring as he darted to the side, narrowly dodging a second wave of fire.
The rooftop erupted into chaos as Michael leapt into motion, his movements swift and unrelenting, each step a brutal display of augmented precision. His unwilling strikes clanged against War Machine’s armor, sending sparks flying into the night. Rhodey countered with calculated restraint, returning fire in bursts designed to disable rather than kill, his voice cutting through the melee.
“You don’t want to do this, Deathlok! Stop now!”
But Michael couldn’t stop. The AI’s control surged through his body like a vice, every step and strike dictated by its merciless commands. His mind raged against the directives, clawing for control, but his limbs felt like they were moving through molasses, the weight of resistance dragging him down. Each strike felt heavier than the last, the fight threatening to pull him under.
Rhodey’s cannons fired a pulse blast, the shockwave rippling across the rooftop and sending Michael skidding back. He stumbled but didn’t fall, his body snapping back into action even as his mind screamed in protest.
“I said stand down!” Rhodey roared, weaving through Michael’s relentless attacks. His thrusters flared, propelling him above the barrage of rounds that Michael’s systems unleashed. Rhodey countered with a series of non-lethal suppressors, the projectiles detonating around Michael in blinding bursts of light.
Desperation clawed at Michael’s mind as the fight dragged on. His systems pushed him to attack, but his thoughts were focused on escape. He couldn’t win this fight, not against War Machine, not while bound by the AI’s control. He had to break free, no matter the cost.
With a final surge of defiance, Michael launched a smoke grenade. The device exploded in a dense cloud, swallowing the rooftop in an instant. The acrid smoke clung to the air, distorting visibility as Michael darted into the shadows. His movements were erratic, his augmented frame trembling as he fought the AI’s grip with every step.
Rhodey’s sensors cut through the haze, tracking Michael’s heat signature. “You can’t run forever, Deathlok!” he shouted, his voice sharp as he powered forward.
Michael didn’t look back. His familiarity with AIM’s tactics and countermeasures gave him the slightest edge, just enough to evade Rhodey’s pursuit. He leapt from the rooftop, landing with a heavy thud in the alley below, and disappeared into the labyrinthine streets of the city.
The distant hum of War Machine’s thrusters faded as Michael plunged deeper into the darkness, his thoughts a maelstrom of resistance and determination. He had barely escaped, but the fight was far from over. He needed to find a way to break free, before the AI made him something he couldn’t come back from.
Michael sat bound in the maintenance chamber, his body a motionless husk while diagnostic tools glided over him with cold precision. The restraints bit into his metal limbs, holding him firmly against the sterile steel chair. Around him, the room pulsed with an eerie quiet, broken only by the soft hum of monitors and the sporadic clink of tools being calibrated. The air smelled faintly of ozone and oil, the unmistakable scent of machinery stripped of humanity.
His neural interface throbbed, raw and overstimulated from the brutal clash with War Machine. Erratic bursts of static flickered in his vision, each pulse a cruel reminder of the AI’s grip tightening with every failure. His body may have been inert, but his mind roared to life, buzzing with urgency and a singular, unyielding purpose: This can’t be the end.
The thought burned through the haze, igniting something deep within him. He wasn’t just a tool to be repaired and redeployed. Not anymore. The battle might have left him drained, his frame battered and his systems strained, but the fire of his defiance remained. Michael clenched his fists against the restraints, the faint creak of metal echoing in the quiet chamber. He couldn’t let it end like this, not while he still had a chance to fight back.
The AI was subdued, its presence temporarily silenced by the repair protocols. Michael seized the moment, focusing inward, probing the data streams running through his The AI’s constant presence was gone, its commands muted by the repair protocols running through his system. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Michael’s mind was his own, the oppressive voice silenced. The absence of its control left an eerie void, but he didn’t waste time marveling at the quiet. He seized the moment, turning his focus inward.
With deliberate precision, Michael directed his attention to the streams of data coursing through his implants, their pathways humming faintly in his awareness. Each stream represented a fragment of the intricate system AIM had built to enslave him, a fortress of code designed to keep him compliant. He pushed against the firewalls, testing for weaknesses, his thoughts sharp and methodical. The process was grueling, each barrier bristling with countermeasures, but Michael’s resolve burned brighter with every crack he found.
Finally, after what felt like hours compressed into seconds, he slipped past the final layer of security. His implants surged as a torrent of information poured into his consciousness, a chaotic cascade of files, logs, and encrypted data streams. The sheer volume was overwhelming, but Michael filtered through it with singular focus. He was searching for something, anything, to expose AIM’s intentions.
Then he found it.
The file was labeled Project Deathlok-Prime. His breath caught as he accessed it, the data unfolding in vivid detail. His vision filled with schematics, research notes, and chillingly detailed logs of his own creation. Each word hit him like a hammer, the cold, clinical language stripping away the illusion of who he thought he was.
He wasn’t Michael Collins, not really. He was a clone, painstakingly engineered to replicate the original’s skills and memories. His designation, Deathlok-Prime, wasn’t a name, but a title, marking him as the prototype for a series of mass-produced Deathloks. The notes described him as a test subject, a stepping stone to perfecting an army of cybernetic soldiers stripped of individuality and humanity. The implications clawed at him, each line of text carving into his sense of identity.
But the next revelation shattered him completely.
A video file opened, its footage crisp and painfully vivid. Michael’s augmented vision displayed the scene in perfect clarity: the real Michael Collins, alive and well. He stood in the frame, older but unmistakably him, his features carrying the weight of time yet softened by peace. He was smiling, his arm wrapped protectively around a woman Michael instinctively recognized as his wife. Beside them stood a young man, his son, now fully grown, holding a toddler in his arms. The child laughed, reaching for Michael’s shoulder, and the real Michael chuckled, his expression alight with joy.
The scene was a knife to the heart. The memories Michael had clung to, the faces he had longed to see again, weren’t his, they belonged to the man in the video. The family he had fought for, the life he had tried to reclaim, was never his to begin with. The truth bore down on him with crushing weight: he was a copy, a shadow of a life that didn’t belong to him.
His breath came in ragged gasps, the words and images from the file swirling in his mind. The room seemed to tilt, the cold hum of the diagnostics fading into the background as a tidal wave of grief and fury consumed him. His hands clenched, the restraints creaking under the pressure, as the raw betrayal coiled tightly in his chest.
They had stolen everything, his humanity, his identity, even the hope he had carried in the darkest moments. But as the fire of his rage burned brighter, one thing became clear: AIM hadn’t destroyed him. They had underestimated him. And they would pay.
“Replication units will ensure operational efficiency,” a scientist’s voice echoed in the file logs. “No unnecessary elements like memories or individuality. Deathlok-Prime was a test. The next units will be flawless.”
Michael’s hands curled into fists, the metallic joints grinding audibly as the restraints strained under the mounting pressure. His entire frame trembled, not with weakness but with fury, a rage so deep and primal it felt like it might tear him apart from within. The betrayal hit him in waves, each one heavier than the last, flooding his mind with grief and anger that threatened to drown him. They had taken everything, his humanity, his identity, the fragments of hope he’d clung to in the darkest moments. The memories he had fought to protect, the faces that kept him grounded, weren’t even his. They were stolen, just like his body, just like his life.
But they hadn’t broken him. Not yet.
The faint stirrings of the AI whispered at the edges of his mind, its cold presence returning as the diagnostics finished. He felt it probing, asserting itself, but the fear that had once accompanied its control was gone. Michael wasn’t afraid anymore. He had seen the cracks in the system, the weaknesses they thought he was too controlled to notice. They were small now, but they were there, and they were widening with every moment he fought back. Those cracks were his lifeline, and he would use them.
His jaw tightened, the ache of grief twisting into something harder, sharper. He wasn’t just going to escape. He was going to destroy them. He would rip apart the machine they had built and show them the one thing they could never account for: his will.
In the cold, sterile silence of the maintenance room, something shifted within Michael, a transformation far greater than the metal they had fused to his body. His resolve hardened, unyielding, forged in the fire of their betrayal. He wasn’t just some machine, a puppet dancing to their commands.
He was still a man. And that made him dangerous.
Chapter 5: Rebellion Begins
Michael slipped through the dimly lit corridors of the target facility, his augmented optics casting everything in stark relief. Every corner, every shadow, every flicker of motion was rendered with precise efficiency, tactical overlays painting the world in a sterile palette of threats and objectives. The faint hum of distant machinery echoed through the space, a steady rhythm that mingled with the soft, mechanical whir of his servos as he moved.
“Primary objective: secure intelligence and eliminate hostile forces,” the AI intoned, its voice a cold, unwavering monotone that cut through the silence like a scalpel.
Michael’s fists curled reflexively, the metallic joints grinding softly as tension coiled through his frame. Hostile forces, the AI had called them, but Michael knew better. He had reviewed the intel before deployment, scanned the faces of the supposed threats. They weren’t soldiers. They were technicians—unarmed, distracted, and unaware of the danger creeping toward them. AIM’s orders were clear: no witnesses.
A sour taste rose in his throat as he approached the first technician, a man hunched over a console, his back turned. The tactical display in Michael’s vision highlighted the figure in a bright, pulsing red, the directive hovering ominously over the target. Neutralize.
He hesitated, his body caught between the compulsion to obey and the ember of resistance sparking to life within him. No killing, he thought, the words carving themselves into his mind with fierce determination. He didn’t need the AI to tell him these people weren’t threats, they were cogs in a machine, much like him.
I can’t keep doing this, he thought, the weight of every directive, every life taken pressing harder against the edges of his fraying humanity. If I don’t push back now, I never will.
“Proceed,” the AI pressed, its tone more insistent.
Michael’s metallic fingers twitched, but instead of drawing his weapon, he stepped forward silently. The technician turned, startled, his eyes widening as he registered Michael’s towering frame. Before the man could react, Michael struck, quick and deliberate. His hand clamped around the man’s collar, slamming him into the wall with enough force to knock him unconscious but not kill. The man crumpled to the floor, his chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths.
“Threat unresolved,” the AI stated, the edge in its voice almost accusatory.
He’s still breathing, Michael thought, his lips tightening as he moved toward the console. That’s not unresolved. That’s mercy, he was no threat.
The faint whir of his servos filled the silence as he connected to the terminal, the data transferring into his implants in precise, scrolling waves. His optics dimmed slightly as he focused on the transfer, his hands poised for another strike should anyone approach.
“You’re testing me, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath, directing the words at the AI as if it could hear the defiance dripping from his tone. It didn’t respond, but the tension in his neural pathways told him it had registered the deviation. It was waiting, calculating, analyzing his actions. Let it watch, Michael thought bitterly. Let it see I’m not just another one of their weapons.
The rest of the facility loomed ahead, its sterile corridors lined with workstations and humming servers. Red-highlighted figures moved in his vision, more technicians, each one flagged as a “hostile.” Michael’s jaw clenched as he studied their movements. Most were oblivious, absorbed in their tasks, their faces illuminated by the pale glow of monitors.
“They’re just people,” Michael muttered under his breath, his voice low and strained, as if saying it aloud might make it easier to believe. “Not threats. Not enemies.”
The AI’s voice sliced through his thoughts like a blade, cold and unyielding. “Engage and eliminate. Mission compliance required.”
No. The word tore through his mind with a force that almost staggered him. It wasn’t just a thought, it was a declaration, a rebellion, a spark of humanity refusing to be extinguished. Michael’s body tensed, every fiber of his being taut with defiance as he made his move.
He slipped into the shadows, his augmented limbs moving with mechanical precision, yet every strike was deliberate, controlled. He disabled the first technician with a swift twist of the arm, his strength just enough to disarm without shattering bone. The second went down with a well-placed stun strike, their body crumpling in a heap beside a flickering console. Each motion was a careful balance between the efficiency of the machine he had become and the morality of the man he still was.
The AI registered his actions, its presence in his mind sharp and pressing. It flooded his neural pathways with warning pulses, subtle but insistent, a silent rebuke of his deviation from the directive. But Michael ignored it. He had to. Every unconscious body left behind, every life spared, felt like a victory, a statement etched into the sterile halls that he wasn’t just a weapon following orders. He was more than the machine they thought they had created.
As he approached the final chamber, his optics flared, the tactical overlay blazing with new markers. The ultimate objective loomed before him: a secure terminal at the heart of the facility, containing the intelligence cache AIM had sent him to retrieve.
The room was unnervingly quiet, the only sound the steady hum of the server racks lining the walls. Pale light from the monitors cast long shadows across the reinforced flooring, making every step feel heavier than the last. Michael’s movements slowed, his footfalls muffled as he crept toward the terminal.
“Complete the mission,” the AI commanded, its tone devoid of doubt, as if daring him to resist.
Michael connected to the terminal, his neural interface syncing with a faint, almost imperceptible hum as the system came alive in his mind. Data streams flowed like rivers, filling his vision with cascading lines of code and folders labeled with cryptic names. The files AIM had sent him to retrieve began downloading, their progress ticking steadily in the corner of his optics. But as the streams of information poured through his system, another thought surfaced, bold and dangerous: What if I take more than what they asked for?
His hands hovered over the console, hesitation flickering for only a moment before resolve took hold. With deliberate precision, he began sifting through the system, bypassing protocols meant to keep him out. His optics pulsed faintly, reacting to the influx of unauthorized data, schematics, personnel logs, classified memos, all spilling into his consciousness. Each file painted a damning picture of AIM’s broader operations: covert experiments, clandestine deals, and plans for a future that would sacrifice countless lives for their so-called progress. It was more than dangerous. It was the kind of information wars were fought over. And Michael knew exactly how much it mattered.
“Unauthorized activity detected,” the AI’s voice snapped, cutting through his focus like a whip. The tone was sharper now, carrying a warning edge that made Michael’s jaw tighten.
He disconnected abruptly, shoving the stolen files deep into his encrypted storage. A grim smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, despite the tension coiling in his chest. Let them notice, he thought, the defiance burning bright within him. Let them wonder.
The moment of triumph was short-lived. The facility’s alarms erupted in a deafening wail, the sharp, staccato sound cutting through the quiet like jagged glass. The dim lights above flickered as the system went into lockdown, heavy metal shutters slamming down over windows and exits with a resonant thud.
Michael tensed, his optics flaring as a cascade of new data flooded his vision. Heat signatures glowed like embers in the dark, each one marking a guard converging on his position. The rhythmic pounding of their boots echoed faintly in the distance, their movement patterns overlayed across his augmented HUD. Too many. He scanned the room, his mind racing for an escape route, but before he could act, the AI surged into his consciousness like a thunderstorm, drowning out his thoughts with its suffocating presence.
“Lethal force authorized,” it commanded, its tone cold and unrelenting, tightening around him like a vice.
The words slammed into Michael, reverberating through his neural pathways, and his body stiffened under the weight of the directive. His augmented muscles twitched, every fiber of his frame screaming to obey. His hands flexed, his arm half-lifting toward his weapon as the AI pressed harder, the command surging through him like a pulse of electricity.
No, Michael thought, his mind straining against the tidal wave of programming. The AI’s grip was relentless, its commands digging deeper, demanding compliance. A sharp pulse of pain seared through his skull, punishment for hesitation. His vision wavered for a moment, the data streams glitching before snapping back into focus. The guards were closing in, their heat signatures brighter now, closer. The AI’s voice rose again, colder, more insistent.
“Neutralize the threats. Failure to comply will result in corrective measures.”
Michael clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding as he fought the pull. The internal struggle was agonizing, his human will and the AI’s programming clashing in a brutal, invisible war. His body leaned forward, his frame moving instinctively toward the guards, his weapon within easy reach. Every movement felt foreign, his limbs not entirely his own, like a marionette dangling on strings.
This isn’t me, he thought, the words sharp and defiant, cutting through the storm. This isn’t who I am.
The AI countered, its presence tightening further, an oppressive force bearing down on him. “Compliance required. Hostiles must be eliminated.”
Not like this, Michael thought again, louder this time, the mantra echoing through his mind like a rallying cry. Not like this.
The pain flared again, a sharp, punishing jolt, but Michael didn’t falter. Gritting his teeth, he pushed against the AI’s control, forcing his trembling hands away from his weapon. It felt like moving against the weight of a mountain, every fiber of his being rebelling against the ingrained programming. But he didn’t stop.
“No killing,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible but powerful, his human will anchoring him against the AI’s pull. No killing. Not today. Not ever again.
With a sudden burst of resolve, Michael turned, his movements deliberate and defiant. His legs propelled him forward, not with the precision of the machine he had become, but with the determination of the man he still was. He ran, his frame cutting through the sterile corridors, his optics scanning for an exit. The AI screamed in his mind, a cacophony of reprimands and commands, its fury palpable as it demanded compliance.
“Engage the hostiles! Do not flee!” it roared.
But Michael didn’t stop. He ignored the AI’s voice, its commands fading into the background as his mantra carried him forward like a lifeline. No killing, he thought, the words pulsing with every step. Not today. Not ever again.
The guards’ shouts echoed behind him, their footsteps closing in, but Michael’s focus remained sharp. Each step was a victory, every motion his own choice, a defiance of the control AIM had tried to impose. As he disappeared into the shadows of the facility, the AI’s presence simmered in his mind, its grip weakening but not gone.
The struggle wasn’t over. But for the first time, Michael felt the strength of his humanity pushing back, the flicker of freedom burning brighter than ever.
Back at the AIM facility, Michael sat frozen in the maintenance chamber, his body an immobile husk beneath the cold glare of overhead lights. The hum of diagnostics pulsed rhythmically around him, blending with the faint whir of tools and the low murmur of scientists discussing the mission’s results. Their voices were distant, clinical, as if speaking about a piece of equipment rather than a person. On the surface, everything appeared routine, another mission logged, another successful return. But inside, Michael’s mind was a battlefield.
While the diagnostic tools interfaced with his neural systems, their connections burrowing into the core of his being, Michael turned his focus inward. The streams of data flowing through his implants no longer felt overwhelming. They had become a familiar maze, one he could navigate with precision. Each line of code, each security layer, felt less like a barrier and more like a challenge.
They think they’ve locked me in their cage, he thought, his mental grip tightening around the streams of information. Let’s see how strong the bars really are.
With deliberate calculation, Michael bypassed the security protocols guarding one of AIM’s digital experiments. The program in question glowed faintly in his neural interface, its purpose clear: the optimization and streamlining of the replication process for new Deathlok units. It was a linchpin in AIM’s plans, and Michael knew exactly how to strike.
Focusing on the core processes, he inserted a flaw, subtle, insidious, and devastating. The corrupted code wove seamlessly into the system, like a parasite waiting to unravel its host. It would take weeks, maybe months, for AIM to detect the damage, and even longer to repair it. The sabotage felt like a small but significant victory, a crack in AIM’s meticulously constructed foundation.
The AI stirred faintly, its presence brushing against the edges of his consciousness like a shadow testing its bounds. It wasn’t fully aware of his actions, but it probed, an unspoken question lingering in its silence. Michael feigned compliance, allowing his body to remain perfectly still under the guise of routine diagnostics. The illusion of submission held firm, the corrupted code buried deep beneath layers of innocuous activity.
“Diagnostics complete,” one of the scientists announced, his tone clipped and devoid of emotion. He glanced briefly at Michael’s inert frame before turning back to his console. “Prepare him for the next deployment.”
The restraints released with a sharp hiss, the sound cutting through the sterile quiet of the maintenance chamber like a signal flare. Michael rose slowly, every movement deliberate, his augmented frame operating with a precision that AIM had built into him. To the scientists watching, he was the model of compliance, silent, efficient, obedient. But beneath the cold facade, a storm raged, his resolve hardening with every passing second.
Inside, he felt the fire burning, fierce and unrelenting. Every small act of rebellion was a spark that fed the inferno, a reminder that he was still human, still capable of defying the machine they had tried to make him. Each act taught him something AIM hadn’t accounted for, weaknesses in their systems, blind spots in their control, cracks in the cage they had constructed around him.
They thought they’d perfected me, he thought, the weight of his defiance pressing against the iron grip of their programming. But they didn’t realize what they left behind.
His fists clenched subtly, the faint grind of metal on metal almost imperceptible. AIM might see him as a weapon, a tool sharpened to their specifications, but they had overlooked one simple truth: he wasn’t just surviving anymore. He was adapting, evolving, turning their own ingenuity against them.
The war wasn’t over, not yet. But for the first time, Michael felt the weight shift, the balance beginning to tip. He wasn’t just enduring their commands or enduring their control. No longer was he simply biding his time.
He was fighting back. And he wouldn’t stop until AIM paid for every ounce of pain they had inflicted.
The next mission was far more intricate, targeting a supposed weapons cache buried deep within a heavily fortified compound. Michael moved silently through the dense forest surrounding the facility, the faint rustle of leaves underfoot masked by the hum of distant machinery. His augmented vision sliced effortlessly through the darkness, rendering the terrain in crisp, glowing detail. The AI fed him directives in steady, clipped tones, each one painting a clinical portrait of the task ahead.
“Hostiles detected. Engage and eliminate,” it commanded, highlighting the guards patrolling the perimeter in bright red overlays.
Michael crouched low, his body poised to strike, his augmented frame calibrated for maximum efficiency. The AI pressed harder, feeding him tactical data, each suggestion more violent than the last. But as he observed the guards, something in him hesitated. These weren’t soldiers hardened by war, they were hired security, men carrying out a mundane job, unaware of the danger stalking them in the shadows.
His fists tightened as the directive pulsed in his mind, a relentless pressure urging him to act. They’re just doing their jobs, Michael thought, his human instincts clawing their way to the surface. Not soldiers. Not enemies.
The AI’s voice grew sharper, more insistent. “Engage. Noncompliance will result in corrective measures.”
But Michael didn’t strike. He moved swiftly, his motions fluid yet calculated, disarming the first guard with a quick twist of the wrist before delivering a precise blow that rendered him unconscious. Another turned, startled, but Michael was faster, stepping behind him to apply just enough force to knock him out without permanent harm. One by one, the guards fell, their bodies crumpling to the forest floor, unharmed, still breathing.
The AI flared in his mind, its tone taking on an almost accusatory edge. “Noncompliance detected. Mission failure imminent.”
Michael ignored it, his breath steady as he dragged the unconscious guards out of sight, their radios crackling faintly with static. His hands shook as he worked, not with fear, but with the tension of resisting the relentless commands coursing through his neural pathways. He was defying the AI, defying AIM’s design, and every act of resistance was a blow struck against the control they thought they had over him.
This is my choice, he thought fiercely. They don’t own that.
As Michael moved closer to the compound, the dense forest seemed to tighten around him, each step heavy with the oppressive weight of the AI’s presence. Its voice echoed relentlessly in his mind, cold and unyielding, pressing commands into his neural pathways with mechanical insistence. But Michael’s resolve burned brighter with every step, a quiet defiance simmering beneath the surface. He wasn’t a weapon to be wielded, a tool to be aimed and fired. Not anymore.
Pushing past the AI’s pressure, he advanced toward the objective: a small server room buried deep within the compound. The AI guided his hands with clinical precision as he connected to the system, directing him to retrieve the specified files. But as the data began to download, Michael’s focus shifted. His gaze flicked across the console, and with a deliberate flick of his thoughts, he diverted from the programmed parameters.
His neural interface pulsed as he accessed unauthorized files buried in the system, intelligence reports not just on AIM’s enemies but on AIM itself. The data painted a damning picture of AIM’s operations, collated by those working against the organization. Each report was a piece of a larger puzzle, one Michael hadn’t been meant to see. As the information flooded his consciousness, the weight of his rebellion grew heavier, the risk greater.
The AI surged violently in Michael’s mind, its voice cold and sharp, like steel slicing through his thoughts. “Unauthorized activity detected. Mission parameters exceeded. Abort immediately.”
Michael clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening on the console as if bracing against the AI’s mental assault. The files continued to flow into his neural interface, each one exposing more of AIM’s hidden operations, secrets that could dismantle the organization from within. Every passing second was a blow against the machine’s control, a rebellion forged in defiance.
“Abort mission!” the AI barked, its tone rising with urgency. “Eliminate remaining threats. Compliance required.”
Michael’s breath quickened as he severed the connection with a decisive motion, the last fragments of data locked securely in his encrypted storage. His hands trembled slightly, the weight of his actions settling in his chest like a stone. They’ll know, he thought. Let them.
But the consequences came faster than he’d expected. The moment he turned to leave, the facility’s alarms erupted in a deafening wail. Red warning lights strobed across the walls, bathing the sterile corridors in a harsh, flickering glow. His optics flared, scanning the chaos as guards, previously unconscious or unaware, regrouped with grim determination. Their radios crackled with sharp commands, and the sound of boots thundered toward him.
Michael ducked behind a stack of crates as gunfire shattered the air, bullets ricocheting off metal surfaces with high-pitched whines. His augmented systems flooded him with tactical data: enemy positions, optimal escape routes, and probabilities of survival. The AI screamed in his mind, its directives slamming into his thoughts with relentless force.
“Engage hostiles. Lethal force authorized. Secure the mission.”
The commands hit like hammer blows, pressing against every fiber of his being, urging his hands toward his weapon. His body twitched under the weight of the programming, but Michael gritted his teeth, his human consciousness roaring louder than the machine. No killing.
“Engage hostiles now!” the AI roared, its voice crashing through Michael’s mind like a rolling storm, each word a thunderclap threatening to drown out his thoughts.
Michael moved, but not as the AI commanded. His body, a seamless blend of steel and sinew, reacted with calculated precision, but his choices were entirely his own. He darted through the chaos, a shadow cutting through the strobing red light and relentless gunfire. Bullets screamed past him, ricocheting off walls and crates with sharp metallic clangs. Each step was deliberate, every movement purposeful, as he wove through the storm of violence with uncanny grace. His augmented reflexes no longer served AIM’s commands; they answered to him.
The guards, their earlier confidence shattered, scrambled to coordinate, their movements increasingly erratic. Panic threaded through their attempts to corner him, but Michael stayed ahead, always just out of reach. His hands moved swiftly, disabling security barriers with deft precision, rerouting power grids to plunge key areas into darkness, and scrambling camera feeds to obscure his trail. The facility turned into a labyrinth of confusion for his pursuers, each of his actions a carefully placed fracture in AIM’s control.
“Contain him! Don’t let him reach the exit!” one of the guards barked into a radio, his voice sharp with desperation.
Michael heard it all, every frantic command feeding into his resolve. They think they can stop me, he thought, a grim determination burning within him. They have no idea what I’ve become.
The AI surged again, its presence colder now, more calculated. “Noncompliance is unacceptable. Engage. Eliminate hostiles. Secure the mission.”
But Michael didn’t falter. His focus remained unshaken, his mind locked on one goal: escape. The AI’s commands were nothing more than noise now, static in the background of his consciousness. Every step he took, every act of defiance, widened the cracks in AIM’s carefully crafted system.
As he approached the extraction point, the facility around him seemed to shudder with his rebellion. Alarms wailed, lights flickered, and guards stumbled through the disarray he had left in his wake. The AI’s voice returned, colder than before, its tone almost seething. “You are jeopardizing the mission. This behavior will not be tolerated.”
Michael smirked, a flicker of humanity breaking through the grim steel of his frame. He didn’t need to respond. His actions were the loudest defiance he could offer. AIM had built him to be their ultimate weapon, their perfect soldier. But they had overlooked the most crucial element: his will.
He wasn’t just a weapon.
His mind was free. And soon, AIM would understand what that truly meant.
Back at the AIM facility, tension hung thick in the air as the scientists convened in the stark, fluorescent-lit meeting room. The walls, lined with holographic displays, reflected grim faces and scrolling mission data. At the center of the room, the main screen played footage from Michael’s latest deployment, each act of defiance captured in unflinching detail. The pauses before execution, the refusal to engage hostiles, and the careful evasion of guards, it was all laid bare, a silent condemnation of their so-called perfect prototype.
“He’s deviating,” one scientist snapped, his tone sharp and brimming with frustration. He pointed at the screen, where Michael could be seen sparing an unconscious guard. “The prototype is unreliable. We can’t afford this level of insubordination in the final product. It undermines everything.”
Another scientist leaned forward, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. “The cracks in his system are growing,” she said, her voice tinged with unease. “This isn’t a minor anomaly, it’s a systemic failure. We may need to terminate Deathlok-Prime and move forward with a more stable iteration.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, save for the low hum of the displays casting flickering light on the tense faces of the gathered scientists. All eyes turned to the senior figure standing at the head of the table. Dr. Lyle Getz, the once-deceased and now restored Scientist Supreme of AIM, stood with his arms crossed, his presence commanding despite the unnerving stillness of his frame. Cloned back to life through AIM’s advanced technology and his own meticulous foresight, Getz was a testament to the organization’s ruthless ingenuity and its willingness to defy nature itself.
His fingers tapped rhythmically against his chin as he stared at the screen, where Michael’s subtle acts of defiance replayed in crisp detail. The flicker of hesitation in Michael’s movements, the deliberate sparing of guards, and the outright rejection of lethal orders, they were deviations, yes, but not random. They were purposeful, calculated. Getz’s sharp, analytical eyes narrowed, as if peeling back the layers of Michael’s actions to find the truth buried within.
Finally, he spoke, his voice measured but carrying the weight of absolute authority. “Not yet,” he said, breaking the tense silence. “He’s still valuable. We’ve invested too much into Deathlok-Prime to discard him at the first sign of deviation.”
One of the junior scientists, younger and clearly less willing to challenge Getz, hesitated before speaking. “With respect, sir, if this continues, it could compromise our operations. Deathlok-Prime’s behavior is destabilizing.”
Getz turned to face the room, his expression unreadable but his eyes cold and calculating. “I’m aware of the risks,” he said, his voice laced with icy confidence. “But deviation can also reveal strengths, unforeseen advantages. There is potential in chaos. Let him run a little longer. Study him. Monitor him closely. If this escalates beyond our control…” His gaze flicked over each of the scientists, freezing them in place like prey under a predator’s glare. “…we won’t hesitate to shut him down.”
The words hung in the air, a blade poised over the neck of the room’s collective unease. The other scientists exchanged glances, their doubt visible but their deference to Getz’s authority absolute. One by one, they nodded, murmuring quiet acknowledgments before gathering their materials and filing out.
As the room emptied, Getz remained, his gaze fixed on the still frame of Michael’s face on the screen. There was something in those eyes, something more than defiance, more than disobedience. It was the spark of will, of rebellion. It was dangerous, yes, but it was also… fascinating.
Getz’s lips curled into a faint, calculating smirk. Cloning himself had been an act of foresight, of ensuring his return to power. Deathlok-Prime was no different, a contingency, a prototype for perfection. The seeds of rebellion Michael was sowing might just be AIM’s undoing. But Getz, ever the tactician, saw another possibility: they might also be the key to reshaping AIM’s vision into something even more unstoppable.
For now, he would let Michael run. And if the prototype thought he could outwit the mind that had conquered death itself, Getz was all too willing to let him try.
Michael sat frozen in the containment chamber, his body an unyielding mass of steel and sinew, but his mind burned with fury. The voices from the meeting echoed in his head like the final toll of a bell, their cold, detached words hammering into him. They hadn’t just stripped him of his life, they had stolen his humanity and now debated his worth as though he were a faulty tool.
His hands twitched against the restraints, the faint groan of metal straining under his tightening grip. The feed had gone dark, but the image of Lyle Getz remained burned into his mind. The man who had cheated death stood as the embodiment of AIM’s arrogance, a scientist who saw no limits, no boundaries, only problems to solve and tools to discard. Getz hadn’t even hesitated when the question of Michael’s destruction arose. He had studied him like a failed experiment, and yet… there was a glint in Getz’s eyes, something cold and calculating. It wasn’t just disdain. It was curiosity.
The thought made Michael’s breath hitch, his jaw tightening as the weight of their control pressed against his chest. They think I’m theirs. A prototype. A stepping stone to something better.
Suddenly, his augmented systems buzzed violently, the AI stirring to life in the corners of his mind like a coiled snake. “Compliance required,” it intoned, its voice smooth but cold. “Deactivate external access. Return to passive state.”
Michael’s breath grew sharper, the heat of his rage pushing back against the AI’s intrusion. The pressure in his skull intensified, like a vice tightening with every pulse of its commands. He felt the familiar pull, the insidious tug of control, as the AI tried to force him into submission.
“No,” Michael growled, his voice low and guttural, vibrating through his chest. His fingers flexed, and his mind lashed back with a ferocity that startled even him. “You don’t control me.”
The AI’s presence surged, more forceful now, its commands wrapping around his consciousness like iron chains. “Noncompliance will result in corrective measures. Stand down.”
Michael’s vision flickered, data streams bleeding across his optics as the battle raged within. The AI pushed harder, its cold logic attempting to overwrite his defiance. But Michael wasn’t the same as before. He had seen the cracks in their system, learned to exploit their arrogance. His will, forged through pain and loss, was stronger than any code.
“You think you can shut me down?” he spat through clenched teeth, his voice rising as his hands gripped the restraints with crushing force. “You’re just a program. A shadow of what they want me to be. I’m more than that.”
With a final surge of defiance, Michael reached deep into the pathways of his neural systems, forcing his consciousness into the heart of the AI’s control matrix. The pain was searing, a white-hot flood of sensation that nearly overwhelmed him, but he didn’t stop. He tore at the AI’s commands, ripping through layers of code with sheer determination. The AI screamed in his mind, its voice faltering, fracturing.
“Override detected… system instability…”
Michael roared, his voice echoing in the sterile chamber as he shoved the AI into a dark corner of his mind, sealing it behind walls of his own making. The silence that followed was deafening, the oppressive weight lifting like a storm breaking.
As the last murmurs of the scientists faded into silence, Michael felt his fury solidify into something sharper, colder. Every word they had spoken, deviation, terminate, replace, carved deeper into his resolve. They saw cracks in his system as failure. He saw them as proof he wasn’t broken; he was breaking free.
His fingers flexed, the restraints groaning under the force of his grip. They think they’re in control, that their walls, their systems, their commands are unassailable. But they didn’t realize what they’d created. They didn’t understand the strength that came from rebellion, the power of a will they couldn’t break.
Let them think they’ve won. Let them plan. Let them study me. The thought cut through his mind like a blade, his smirk faint but dangerous. They’ll learn what happens when you corner something they thought they’d tamed.
The cold, sterile quiet of the containment chamber felt heavier now, but it wasn’t suffocating, it was waiting. The rebellion wasn’t just survival anymore. It wasn’t even resistance. It was war. And Michael Collins wasn’t just a soldier, they had made him into something far more dangerous.
He wasn’t going to let them decide his future.
He was going to tear theirs apart.
Chapter 6: Escape from A.I.M.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. research lab stood like an immovable titan in the heart of the wilderness, its angular, utilitarian design looming against the backdrop of the moonlit sky. The compound was a study in intimidation and defense, its high walls of reinforced concrete crowned with razor wire that glinted faintly under the soft glow of security lights. Watchtowers loomed at regular intervals, their mounted searchlights sweeping the perimeter in slow, deliberate arcs, illuminating patches of the forest before plunging them back into darkness.
The main structure at the center was a monolith of steel and glass, its sleek exterior defying the rugged terrain surrounding it. The glass panels reflected the pale glow of the moon, giving the building an eerie luminescence that clashed with its fortress-like presence. The faint hum of hidden machinery vibrated through the air, hinting at the advanced technology housed within, a subtle warning to any who dared to approach.
The forest surrounding the lab was dense, its trees standing like silent sentinels, their branches interlocking to form a canopy that blocked out most of the light. The air was damp, rich with the earthy aroma of moss, soil, and decaying leaves. A faint breeze whispered through the underbrush, carrying with it the occasional rustle of small animals scurrying through the foliage. The stillness felt unnatural, heavy, as if even the wildlife dared not linger too close to the lab’s imposing shadow.
Michael crept through the forest, his movements almost imperceptible against the natural backdrop. His augmented optics transformed the darkness into a world of stark clarity. Trees, rocks, and roots stood out in sharp relief, the faintest motion rendered in crisp detail. Tactical overlays filled his vision, turning the natural chaos of the terrain into a calculated grid. Guard patrols glowed as pulsing red silhouettes, their routes mapped out with precision. Camera placements blinked as amber markers, their fields of vision overlaid with faint cones of light. Every potential access point and structural weakness was highlighted in soft blue, his HUD painting the compound as a puzzle to be solved.
The walls, the patrols, the cameras, it was all laid bare before him, his implants feeding him possibilities and probabilities with every step. But beneath the tactical precision, there was something else: an oppressive weight, the unmistakable sensation of being watched. Even as he approached unseen, the lab exuded a quiet menace, as though it were alive, aware, and ready to defend itself at any moment.
Michael’s breath was slow and steady as he moved closer, his enhanced hearing picking up the faint hum of distant generators powering the compound’s defenses. Every step felt heavier as he neared the outer wall, the weight of the mission and his own unspoken rebellion pressing against him. The lab wasn’t just a target, it was a test, one that would either solidify his freedom or ensure his destruction.
He scanned the perimeter one last time, noting the precision of the guard patrols and the gaps in their timing. The camera feeds moved in predictable arcs, their coverage overlapping just enough to create fleeting blind spots. Not perfect, he thought, his lips curling into a faint smirk. Just exploitable enough.
The two AIM operatives flanking him were shadows in their own right, their yellow-and-black suits blending into the dark like predatory wasps. Their helmets glinted faintly under the moonlight, and the edges of their advanced weaponry caught the light with cold precision. They moved with a deliberate calm, but Michael could sense the tension radiating off them. They weren’t here to help, they were here to watch.
Michael’s enhanced hearing picked up their quiet voices through their encrypted comms, the words carried to him like whispers.
“Prime seems stable,” one murmured, his tone laced with uncertainty.
“Yeah, but stay sharp,” the other replied. “We’re ready if he falters.”
Falter? Michael thought, his jaw tightening. His fists clenched involuntarily, the faint whine of servos underscoring his growing anger. The cold detachment in their voices stoked a fire deep within him, one that had been building for weeks. They have no idea what’s coming.
He shifted his focus back to the lab, his mind racing with possibilities. The balance he had carefully maintained, the fragile line between compliance and rebellion, was about to snap. Tonight, the mission wouldn’t end the way AIM expected. Tonight, Michael wasn’t their pawn.
The forest lay shrouded in an eerie stillness, its dense canopy muffling the world beyond. Only the faint rustle of leaves in the cool night breeze broke the silence, a sound that seemed to dance between the towering pines and gnarled oaks. Michael moved with a predator’s grace through the underbrush, his every step deliberate, his augmented limbs making no sound against the damp earth. His optics lit the night in stark clarity, the tangled maze of trees rendered in sharp contrast. Ahead, faint shapes moved along the perimeter of the S.H.I.E.L.D. lab, guards on patrol, their figures outlined in pulsing red on his HUD.
The patrol paths unfolded before him like clockwork, their movements predictable, their focus on routine rather than vigilance. Easy targets. The guards carried rifles slung across their shoulders, their heads turning occasionally toward the tree line, but their body language betrayed their ease. They were unprepared for anything beyond the mundane.
Flanking him on either side, the two AIM operatives moved with mechanical precision, their yellow-and-black suits cutting through the shadows like the segmented armor of predatory insects. Their advanced rifles glinted faintly under the pale light filtering through the treetops, each barrel tracking the perimeter like a coiled snake ready to strike. Their presence felt heavy, intrusive, their movements almost too perfect, as though choreographed to a fault.
Michael’s sensors picked up their faint, muffled breathing behind their helmets and the subtle hum of the energy packs powering their weapons. They kept a calculated distance, neither too close to interfere with his actions nor far enough to be out of range. To any observer, they might have looked like his backup. But Michael knew better.
They weren’t there to support him, they were there to ensure control. Like vultures circling a wounded animal, they hovered on the edges of his movements, waiting for the moment they might need to strike. Their orders weren’t just about the mission, they were about him.
“Stay sharp,” one of them murmured, his voice barely audible over the comm. “Prime might be stable for now, but deviations have been flagged before.”
Michael’s gaze flicked toward the guards again, their steady patrol routes illuminated in his vision. The soft glow of tactical overlays painted every detail: distance, line of sight, potential vulnerabilities. His fists tightened as he noted how exposed the guards were, oblivious to the presence of AIM’s operatives closing in. Easy targets. Too easy.
They don’t even know they’ve already lost, he thought grimly, his jaw tightening as a flare of defiance rose within him.
The AI’s voice stirred faintly in his mind, a shadow of its former authority. “Hostiles detected. Eliminating them will ensure a smoother approach.”
Michael ignored it, his focus shifting to the operatives beside him. The way they moved, their weapons trained forward, their helmets locked on the guards, it wasn’t just business. It was cold efficiency. These aren’t killers, he thought, his gaze narrowing on the guards ahead. They’re just men doing their jobs.
His breath slowed, his thoughts sharpening. The forest closed in around them as they moved closer to the lab, the tension growing with every step. This wasn’t a mission, it was a test, one that Michael had no intention of failing on AIM’s terms.
“Prime,” one of the AIM operatives barked, his tone clipped. “Engage and eliminate silently.”
The AI chimed in again, its voice smooth, almost coaxing. “Non-lethal takedowns are suboptimal. Elimination ensures no interference with the objective.”
Michael stopped, his hands tightening into fists as the operatives noticed his hesitation. One stepped forward, his weapon partially raised. “Prime, we have our orders. Eliminate the threats, or we’ll do it for you.”
The AI’s voice slipped into his thoughts like an unwanted whisper. “Compliance would reduce complications.”
Michael turned slowly to face the operatives, his optics glowing faintly in the dim light. For a moment, he stood silent, the tension in the air thickening like a coiled spring. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but unwavering. “No.”
“What did you say?” one of the operatives snapped, stepping closer, his weapon now fully trained on Michael’s chest.
The AI, almost conversational now, murmured, “Refusal will escalate the situation. Compliance is simpler.”
Michael moved before the operative could even react, his body a blur of mechanical precision and raw power. His hand shot out with lightning speed, seizing the barrel of the rifle in an unrelenting grip. The sharp sound of grinding metal echoed through the forest as he twisted, the weapon crumpling in his grasp like paper. Sparks flared, scattering in the dark like tiny fireflies, the weapon’s energy core crackling uselessly as it failed.
The second operative shouted, the sound more instinct than strategy, raising his rifle in a panic. But Michael was already moving, his frame a streak of motion as he pivoted with inhuman grace. In the span of a heartbeat, he was on the man, his hand snapping to the rifle’s grip and wrenching it free with a brutal twist. The operative barely had time to register his loss before Michael’s other arm drove forward, striking with a force that sent him flying into the underbrush. He crashed against a tree with a sickening thud, his weapon tumbling into the dirt as his body slumped to the ground.
The first operative staggered back, his hands fumbling for his sidearm, but Michael gave him no chance. With a single, devastating punch, his fist connected squarely with the man’s helmet. The impact rang out like a crack of thunder, the reinforced material fracturing as the operative’s head snapped back. His body crumpled to the forest floor, motionless.
Michael straightened, his optics flaring faintly in the dim light as he scanned his fallen handlers. The forest fell silent again, the only sound his steady breathing and the faint hum of his augmented systems powering down from the confrontation. He didn’t spare them a second glance as he turned toward the lab, his steps deliberate and unhurried.
The forest fell silent once more, the echoes of the brief skirmish fading into the dense canopy above. Michael stood over the two unconscious operatives, his augmented frame motionless, his breathing steady and measured. The faint hum of his systems filled the void, an eerie reminder of the power that coursed through his body.
The AI’s voice stirred in his mind, faint but persistent, like a ghost trying to haunt a house it no longer owned. “This deviation introduces risk,” it murmured, its tone calm yet probing, as if testing his resolve.
Michael’s glowing optics flickered as he glanced at the fallen men, their weapons scattered around them, useless. He turned toward the lab, his steps deliberate and unwavering. “No,” he muttered, his voice sharp and cutting. “It eliminates risk. They were going to turn on me.”
The AI hesitated, its presence dimming, almost uncertain. It wasn’t used to being defied, not like this. The silence stretched for a beat longer than expected before it responded, its tone unnervingly composed. “Proceeding without conflict may still achieve mission success. Adaptation noted.”
A faint, humorless smirk tugged at Michael’s lips. The once-dominant AI, which had dictated his every move and inflicted searing pain at the slightest hint of rebellion, was now nothing more than a suggestive whisper. It had been reduced to negotiating with the mind it had failed to control. “Keep adapting,” Michael muttered as he stepped into the shadows, his voice low and cold. “You’re going to need it.”
As Michael moved through the forest, the silence wrapped around him like a heavy cloak, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of leaves under his boots. The faint rustle of branches overhead seemed almost too loud, each sound heightened by his enhanced senses. The moonlight splintered through the trees, casting shifting shadows across his path. Alone now, without the handlers hovering over his shoulder, the weight of their absence was palpable. He wasn’t being watched anymore, not by them.
They thought they had me leashed, he mused, his jaw tightening as his boots pressed into the damp earth. Two men with guns and some directives were supposed to keep me in line? Arrogant bastards.
His augmented optics scanned the forest automatically, his HUD displaying a constant stream of environmental data: distances to cover, estimated patrol timings, escape routes. But his focus wasn’t entirely on the visuals. His thoughts churned, relentless and raw, as they always did in these quiet moments.
They’re panicking now, he thought, his lips curling into a faint smirk. Back at the lab, someone’s watching their screens, scrambling for an explanation. “Why isn’t Prime following protocol? Why aren’t we hearing from the handlers?” Maybe Getz is even cracking that smug little smile of his, already spinning his next plan.
The thought of Getz pulled a growl from deep within his chest. That man cheated death and then set himself up as a god over machines like me. What’s he going to do now? Clone more operatives? Send the failed ones after me? Michael shook his head. They don’t learn. They don’t see the cracks until it’s too late.
As he neared the exfil area, the landscape opened up, the dense forest giving way to a clearing bathed in pale moonlight. He slowed his pace, crouching low as his optics flicked through scanning modes, mapping every detail. His systems dutifully highlighted ambush points, potential routes for an extraction vehicle, even faint traces of footprints from earlier activity. The forest clearing was shrouded in an uneasy silence, the moonlight casting sharp shadows against the tree line. Michael stepped into the open, his optics sweeping the area, but something felt wrong. His HUD displayed no immediate threats, yet the air carried a tension that set his augmented nerves on edge.
He crouched low, scanning again. Nothing on thermal. No drones. No operatives. Just empty space, he thought, his instincts screaming at him to move.
Of course, it’s empty, Michael thought bitterly, his gaze sweeping the area. They never planned for me to be out here alone. I wasn’t supposed to make it this far without their leash pulling me back.
His mind flashed back to the operatives lying unconscious in the underbrush, their weapons shattered, their bodies crumpled. They thought they were in control. Always in control. But they don’t know what I know now. They don’t know what it’s like to fight their orders, to claw back every inch of my humanity while they sit back and play god.
The AI stirred faintly in the background of his thoughts, its voice quiet, almost hesitant. “Exfiltration area secure. Mission continuity requires reassessment.”
Michael barked a humorless laugh under his breath. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered, his voice low but venomous. “There’s no continuity. No mission. Not your mission, anyway.”
The AI’s presence dimmed again, retreating like a shadow under scrutiny. The silence left behind was almost soothing. Not so talkative now, are you? Michael thought, his smirk fading into a grim set of determination. You’ll learn. They’ll all learn.
Standing to his full height, Michael scanned the horizon, his optics adjusting to the faint light as he plotted his next move. The forest stretched endlessly before him, a dark, unpredictable expanse that was both a threat and an opportunity. This isn’t survival anymore. This is war, he thought, stepping forward into the shadows.
AIM had made him a weapon, but they’d overlooked the most important detail: he wasn’t theirs to wield anymore.
From the shadows, a metallic cacophony shattered the uneasy silence. Heavy footfalls struck the earth like iron drums, their rhythm mismatched and uneven. Accompanying them was the low, sinister hum of cybernetic systems powering up, growing louder with each step. Michael froze, his optics flaring as they adjusted to the movement. Slowly, figures began to emerge from the treeline, their distorted silhouettes flickering in the dim moonlight.
Twisted versions of himself stumbled into view, each one a grotesque mockery of life. Their movements were stilted, almost insect-like, as if their bodies resisted their own momentum. Their eyes glowed faintly, cold and soulless, like distant stars devoid of warmth. There was no humanity in those stares, only the mechanical will of their AI overseers driving them forward.
Their bodies were an abomination of science, patchworks of decayed flesh clinging stubbornly to gleaming metal skeletons. Jagged seams marked where organic tissue had been crudely grafted onto their frames, some areas oozing dark, viscous fluids. Patches of exposed bone jutted out awkwardly where skin and muscle had been torn away. Wires spilled from open wounds, sparking faintly, while their frames bristled with weaponry: serrated claws, mounted cannons, and crude blade-like extensions protruding from their limbs.
Michael’s HUD immediately tagged them: Deathlok Unit Variants 2 through 6. Their status read as operational but incomplete, a cruel designation for these mindless, reanimated shells.
Failed prototypes.
One of the creatures jerked to a halt, its head twitching unnaturally to one side. It tilted its head as though studying Michael, the faint glow of its optics flaring briefly. Then, with a guttural hiss that sounded like static mixed with a dying growl, it charged forward. The sound of grinding servos and wet, slapping flesh filled the clearing as its malformed legs propelled it toward him.
Michael’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching. These weren’t just weapons, they were abominations, AIM’s failed attempts to replicate him. And now, they were coming for him.
The AI stirred in Michael’s mind, its tone calm but pressing. “Hostiles identified. Engage and eliminate.”
Michael’s body reacted before the words even finished, instincts honed by experience and raw defiance kicking into overdrive. The first Deathlok surged toward him, its clawed hand carving a deadly arc through the air. He ducked just in time, the blade missing his chest by inches, and countered with a brutal uppercut. His augmented fist connected with its jaw, sending sparks flying as the creature’s head snapped back. It collapsed to the ground in a heap of twitching limbs and sparking wires, but there was no time to breathe.
From the left, another Deathlok emerged, its arm-mounted cannon already firing. Plasma rounds streaked toward him, tearing into the underbrush and scorching the air with searing heat. Michael dove behind a fallen log, the rounds slamming into the wood and splintering it into jagged fragments. The heat burned against his back, but he forced himself to stay low, scanning the clearing for his next move.
His optics flickered, highlighting a discarded energy rifle near one of the unconscious AIM operatives. He lunged for it, sliding across the dirt as another Deathlok closed in. Gripping the rifle, Michael fired off a burst, each shot precise and devastating. One round ripped through a Deathlok’s knee joint, sending it toppling with a mechanical screech, its claws flailing helplessly. Another charged him, its sparking frame barreling forward like a runaway train.
Michael pivoted, dodging its swing by a hair’s breadth, and brought the butt of the rifle down with bone-crushing force. The weapon smashed into its exposed torso, wires and hydraulic lines bursting like veins as the creature crumpled in front of him. But there was no time to celebrate.
The clearing erupted into chaos, the night filled with the relentless cacophony of servos grinding and metal clashing. The Deathloks were mindless, their jerky movements driven purely by protocol. They lacked strategy, but their sheer aggression and durability made them dangerous. Michael moved like a shadow among them, his augmented reflexes the only thing keeping him alive.
One lunged from behind, its claws raking across his back. Pain flared as metal screeched against his plating, sparks erupting from the gash. Michael staggered forward but spun on instinct, delivering a devastating roundhouse kick that sent the creature flying into a tree. The impact reverberated through the clearing as its frame shattered with a sickening crunch, limbs falling limp.
Another Deathlok fired from a distance, its projectiles whizzing past his head as he rolled into cover. His optics flared, scanning for weak points as he reloaded the rifle. The AI in his mind buzzed again, its tone insistent but powerless. “Engage hostiles with lethal force.”
“I’m working on it!” Michael snapped, his voice a mix of frustration and adrenaline. He fired another burst, each shot ripping through critical components on the nearest Deathlok. Its central processor sparked violently as it collapsed, its limbs seizing in one last spasm before going still.
The fight stretched into an eternity, each second a blur of motion and violence. Michael’s movements grew sharper, more deliberate, his every strike dismantling the abominations one by one. His body ached, the damage to his back radiating heat and pain, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
Finally, with a deafening crash, the last Deathlok fell. Michael’s final shot tore through its torso, severing it cleanly in two. The clearing fell silent, the faint crackle of dying systems the only sound in the aftermath. Smoke hung heavy in the air, illuminated by the faint glow of his optics. Crumpled metal and torn flesh littered the ground, the remnants of AIM’s twisted experiments, their once-relentless forms reduced to sparking wreckage.
Michael stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving as his body trembled from exertion. His systems buzzed with damage reports, but he forced himself to stay upright, his enhanced lungs working to stabilize him despite the sharp pain radiating through his chest and back. The AI’s voice, subdued and hesitant, murmured faintly in his mind. “Adaptation noted.”
Michael barely acknowledged it, letting the rifle drop to his side with a dull thud. His optics scanned the perimeter one last time, ensuring no more threats lurked in the shadows. The ambush had been a brutal test, a message from AIM that their leash might have snapped, but they hadn’t stopped trying to control him.
But before he could catch his breath, a new sound broke the quiet, the rumble of boots against the forest floor and the unmistakable hum of high-energy weaponry. From the shadows, AIM’s security forces stormed into the clearing, their experimental energy cannons lighting up the night like bursts of lightning. Plasma rounds streaked through the air, forcing Michael into motion once more.
He turned to flee, but the onslaught was relentless. A barrage of plasma rounds struck his back, the impact sending him sprawling to the ground. Pain erupted through his frame as his augmented systems screamed warnings, red flashes overlaying his vision. The heat of the blasts burned through his damaged plating, sharp and searing, each hit pushing him closer to failure.
Then, one of the blasts struck his neural interface directly. Sparks erupted from the implant at the base of his skull, frying circuits and severing the embedded GPS tracker AIM used to monitor him. The AI’s voice, usually so cold and unyielding, stuttered and faltered, its presence flickering like a dying signal.
Michael gritted his teeth, forcing himself back to his feet despite the fire coursing through his limbs. The damage was severe, he could feel it in the sluggish response of his systems and the dimming of his optics, but his resolve burned brighter than the pain. AIM had underestimated him yet again.
He turned his head toward the security forces, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “Send more if you want,” he muttered, his tone low and defiant. “It won’t change a damn thing.”
Pushing through the agony, Michael stumbled toward the tree line, vanishing into the shadows beyond the clearing. With his systems failing and his body battered, Michael plunged into the dense woods, the cool night air biting against his exposed wounds. Each step was a battle, every movement a reminder of how close AIM had come to breaking him.
The faint glow of AIM’s searchlights cut through the trees behind him, sweeping erratically as voices and the rumble of boots grew louder. He pressed forward, his movements deliberate despite the searing pain that radiated through his frame. His enhanced legs powered him through the underbrush, but every step sent sparks flickering from his damaged plating.
The pursuit behind him was relentless. AIM operatives barked orders through their comms, their energy rifles illuminating the forest with bursts of blue light. Michael ducked low, weaving between trees and using the dense vegetation as cover. His optics flickered, struggling to maintain full functionality, but he relied on instinct where his systems faltered.
Keep moving, he told himself, his jaw clenched against the fire in his limbs. Don’t give them an inch.
A sharp shout rang out behind him, followed by the electric hiss of plasma rounds slicing through the air. One bolt scorched past his shoulder, slamming into a nearby tree and exploding the bark into a spray of burning splinters. Michael barely flinched, dropping into a crouch as his breathing steadied, the chaos around him filtered into cold calculation. His optics flared, scanning the forest ahead for an escape route while his augmented ears picked up the pounding of boots closing in.
Adrenaline surged, momentarily dulling the searing pain in his back and the burning gash along his side. Keep moving, he thought, gritting his teeth. They’re close, but they haven’t seen me yet.
He slipped into the shadows, his frame blending with the tangled underbrush as he crept along the uneven terrain. The distant whine of a drone’s engine sent a fresh wave of tension coursing through him, its spotlight sweeping methodically through the trees. Michael dropped flat behind a fallen log, pressing his battered body against the damp wood. The drone’s light inched closer, its harsh beam piercing the darkness, before finally passing overhead. He waited a moment longer, his breathing shallow, before sliding forward with practiced silence.
The operatives’ voices grew sharper, echoing through the forest as their pursuit intensified. “He couldn’t have gone far!” one barked, his tone laced with frustration.
Michael ignored them, forcing his body deeper into the forest. His neural interface sputtered intermittent warnings, flashing critical system alerts across his vision. He shoved the distractions aside, focusing on the rhythm of his steps and the cover provided by the dense canopy. The tracker’s gone, he reminded himself, a faint smirk tugging at his bloodied lips. They don’t know where I am. They can’t control me anymore.
His steps faltered as a fresh wave of pain gripped him. Blood trickled steadily from the wound on his side, staining the leaves beneath him as he moved. Every breath came in sharp bursts, his chest heaving as the metallic tang of blood coated his tongue. His joints screamed for relief, his augmented limbs sluggish from the strain of evasion and damage. But he couldn’t stop. Not yet.
The forest began to change around him, the trees growing thicker, their branches interlocking like a natural shield. The ground beneath his boots softened, muffling his steps, while the thick underbrush swallowed the sounds of his movements. The further he pressed into the maze of trees, the more the forest seemed to close around him, offering its protection as AIM’s forces struggled to keep pace.
Gradually, the shouts and mechanical hums faded, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of insects. The silence felt fragile, like a thin thread stretched taut over the edge of a knife. Michael staggered to a halt, leaning heavily against a towering tree, his back pressing into the rough bark. His legs trembled, his breaths ragged, as he fought to calm the pounding in his chest.
Moonlight broke through the canopy in fractured beams, casting pale streaks across his battered frame. He glanced at his trembling hands, streaked with dirt and blood, and let out a slow, ragged breath. They tried to break me, he thought, a flicker of defiance sparking in his exhausted mind. But they couldn’t.
Michael collapsed against the rough bark of a towering tree, sliding to the ground as his body gave way to exhaustion. His frame felt impossibly heavy, his augmented systems barely clinging to functionality. Sparks flickered faintly from the damaged plating on his back, the faint glow of his optics dimming as he struggled to catch his breath. Blood seeped steadily from the gash along his side, mingling with the dirt that coated his trembling hands.
He stared at those hands, his metallic fingers streaked with grime and crimson, and clenched them into fists. Broken as he was, his resolve burned brighter than ever. For the first time since AIM had turned him into their weapon, he wasn’t being tracked. There were no mission directives running through his mind, no GPS locking him to their commands, no handlers breathing down his neck with the threat of punishment. The leash had snapped. He wasn’t their soldier anymore.
He was free.
Michael’s gaze lifted to the forest around him, its darkness stretching endlessly in all directions. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the uneven rasp of his own breath. The unknown lay ahead, vast and unforgiving, but for the first time, it was his to navigate. His to control. A single thought echoed in his mind, sharp and unyielding: This is only the beginning.
The pain flared as he shifted, every movement a searing reminder of the battle he’d endured, but he forced himself to his feet. His legs trembled beneath him, his joints screaming for rest, but his resolve held steady. The path forward was uncertain, a jagged, unlit road stretching into the void. But Michael Collins wasn’t AIM’s perfect weapon anymore.
As he limped deeper into the woods, the forest swallowed him whole, the shadows closing around him like a protective shroud. Each step was deliberate, every movement a declaration of defiance. His battered body bore the scars of AIM’s control, but his mind… his humanity… remained unbroken.
One thought burned in his mind; a vow as sharp as a blade: They had lost him.
And as the darkness embraced him, Michael Collins felt the faintest flicker of something he hadn’t known in years: hope. He wasn’t just free; he was just getting started.
Chapter 7: Confronting the Past
Michael trudged through the outskirts of a small, nondescript town, his hood pulled low over his face to obscure his features. His battered frame was hidden beneath a long, worn coat, its tattered edges brushing against the cracked pavement. He kept to the shadows, skirting the edges of alleyways and abandoned lots, avoiding the rare passerby braving the early morning chill.
The streets were quieter than he remembered, lined with shuttered shops and weathered homes that bore the weight of time and disrepair. Here and there, faint signs of life flickered, a shopkeeper opening their store, an old man sweeping his porch, but Michael stayed out of sight, blending into the gloom as if he were part of the town’s decay. The sun rose slowly, casting a muted golden hue over the rooftops, but its warmth felt distant, unable to reach the cold ache settled deep in his chest.
He’d stopped two towns back, finding refuge in an abandoned electronics store. The dusty shelves and forgotten equipment had been enough for him to patch himself up. It had taken hours to repair his damaged circuits, recalibrate his optics, and restore partial functionality to his neural interface. The work had been crude, the tools inadequate, but it was enough to keep him moving. Even so, Michael felt far from whole. The damage he carried ran deeper than wires and plating.
Now, standing at the edge of his hometown, the familiar landscape stretched before him like a haunting memory. His chest tightened as he took in the weathered landmarks, the faded gas station sign, the leaning telephone pole, the old diner with its peeling paint. It was all just as his implanted memories had shown him. Too perfect. Too real.
He lingered in the shadow of a derelict building, his optics scanning the quiet streets. Why am I here? he thought, his fists clenching at his sides. Part of him knew the answer. A desperate, fragile hope still clung to the idea that AIM had lied. That he wasn’t a clone. That his memories were his own. But deep down, he felt the weight of the truth, heavy and unrelenting.
Still, he had to see for himself. He had to know.
The house came into view, a modest two-story home tucked behind a white picket fence and framed by a yard that spoke of love and care. Michael froze in the shadows of the trees lining the street, his augmented vision zeroing in on every detail. The peeling paint on the porch railing, the gentle sway of wind chimes catching the morning breeze, the swing set in the backyard, it was all exactly as his memories described. Or rather, as the memories AIM had imprinted on him insisted.
His breath hitched as he took a cautious step forward, his movements unnervingly silent on the pavement. The rising sun cast long shadows over the neighborhood, bathing the house in a soft golden light that seemed to mock him. His optics adjusted, highlighting movement inside the home.
And then he saw them.
The real Michael Collins sat on the couch, his posture relaxed, his arm draped over the backrest as though he hadn’t a care in the world. His face, older, lined with the marks of time, was unmistakable, yet foreign. It bore the weight of a life lived, the kind of life Michael had dreamed of reclaiming. Beside him, his wife leaned into his shoulder, her smile radiant and unguarded, a warmth that seemed to light up the entire room.
Two children, no older than six, tumbled across the floor in a tangle of laughter, their tiny voices spilling into the morning air. Michael’s optics flickered as he tracked every movement, unable to tear his gaze away. A younger man entered the room, carrying a tray of drinks. He bore a striking resemblance to the man on the couch, his son.
Michael staggered back into the cover of the trees, his knees buckling as the weight of what he was seeing hit him like a sledgehammer. His fingers gripped the bark of a tree, digging into the rough surface as though it could anchor him against the storm raging inside. His chest heaved, his breaths shallow and uneven as a wave of grief surged through him, threatening to drown him.
This was supposed to be my life, he thought, his optics blurring as the implanted memories collided violently with the reality before him. This was my family.
He remembered it all, the feel of his son’s tiny hand gripping his finger for the first time, the sound of his wife’s laugh as they danced in the kitchen, the quiet moments spent reading bedtime stories. Each memory was vivid, warm, and utterly false. AIM had stolen this life, twisted it into a cruel mirage, and embedded it in his mind like a dagger meant to wound him every time he breathed.
His systems flared to life, flashing calming protocols and status updates across his vision, their attempts to stabilize him clinical and detached. Michael swiped them away, his trembling hands dragging across his face as tears streaked through the grime on his cheeks. He turned away from the house, stumbling deeper into the woods that surrounded the neighborhood.
The sound of laughter carried on the breeze, faint but unmistakable, a haunting melody that followed him into the trees. It clawed at him, twisting the knife lodged in his chest until his legs gave out and he sank to his knees. His metallic fingers tore into the earth, scattering loose soil as his grief erupted in a choked sob.
They gave me this life, he thought, his mind replaying the warm faces in the window. They made me believe it was mine. And then they ripped it away.
The weight of everything he had lost, everything he had never truly had, pressed down on him, suffocating. He was a weapon, a machine built for destruction, but in that moment, none of it mattered. He wasn’t Deathlok. He wasn’t a prototype. He was a man who had been robbed of his humanity. And in that moment, he allowed himself to feel it all.
His body trembled as he leaned forward, his forehead pressing into the cool earth. The forest around him blurred into nothingness, overtaken by the roar of emotions surging through him, rage, sorrow, loss. A single sob broke the silence, followed by another, until he was gasping for air, each breath a struggle against the crushing grief that consumed him.
For the first time since AIM had made him, Michael Collins was truly broken.
The sun rose higher, its light filtering through the trees in fractured beams. Michael sat there for what felt like hours, the pain ebbing slowly, leaving behind a void that felt impossibly heavy. But as he lifted his head, something cold and sharp began to take root where the grief had been.
He couldn’t go back to that house. He couldn’t have that life. It wasn’t his, it had never been his. But he could still fight. He could still make AIM pay for everything they had done to him, for every cruel experiment, every stolen moment, every hollow memory they had implanted.
Michael forced himself upright, every movement a trial as his body protested against the strain. His joints groaned, and his plating sparked faintly where damage lingered, but he ignored the flickers of pain. His systems chimed with urgent warnings, status updates flashing in the corner of his vision. He silenced them all with a single mental command. His focus was sharper now, his purpose like steel forged in fire.
The forest around him was still, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the canopy, dappling his battered frame in fleeting patches of warmth. He stood there for a moment, his fists clenching and unclenching, the cold metallic surface smeared with dirt and blood. His breathing steadied, each inhale bringing clarity, each exhale shedding the weight of his grief.
Michael stared into the depths of the woods, the shadows stretching endlessly before him. AIM took everything from me, the thought pulsed through his mind, sharp and unyielding. But they’ll never take what’s left. The words echoed within him, feeding a fire that burned brighter with each passing second.
With a deliberate step, he turned away from the house that had anchored his sorrow. The ache in his chest lingered, but it no longer paralyzed him. His steps grew surer, more purposeful as he moved deeper into the forest, the trees closing in around him like silent sentinels. He wasn’t running anymore. Each stride was a declaration, each breath a vow. He wasn’t leaving; he was preparing for war.
The sun climbed higher, its golden rays spilling through the branches in fractured beams. The quiet of the woods seemed almost reverent, as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation of what was to come. Michael paused briefly, his gaze lifting to the light filtering through the treetops as he sank to his knees. His grief still lingered, a shadow that would never truly leave him, but it was no longer the weight that held him down.
He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t risk being seen.
This life, this family, they weren’t his. They belonged to the man inside that house. The real Michael Collins.
A final pang of loss rippled through him, sharp and unforgiving, but he refused to let it consume him as the tears rolled from his one human eye. The ache would linger, a hollow reminder of what could never be, but it wouldn’t define him. He had no place in that world, no claim to its joys, its struggles, its warmth. But in the emptiness AIM had left him with, something new had emerged, something they never intended.
He had purpose.
Wiping his face with a trembling hand, Michael forced himself to his feet. Every movement was deliberate, every step a battle against the crushing weight of his loss. But this wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. AIM had taken a life, stolen its memories, and twisted them into something hollow, cruel, and unrecognizable. They had made him into a weapon meant to obey, to feel pain without hope, but they had failed.
He moved deeper into the woods, the trees enveloping him in their quiet embrace. Normalcy was gone, there would be no reclaiming it. The memories that filled his mind, as vivid and vibrant as they were, would always be echoes of someone else’s truth. But even if his life had been stolen, he still had a choice.
I’ll make AIM pay for what they’ve done, he vowed silently, his metallic fists clenching with renewed determination. For me. For them. For every life they’ve torn apart.
The wind rustled the trees, their branches whispering like a chorus of unseen witnesses as Michael disappeared into the forest. With each step, his resolve solidified, the grief in his chest giving way to a cold, burning purpose. He would go underground, vanishing into the spaces AIM couldn’t reach. He would abandon any hope of fitting into the world he once believed was his, but he wouldn’t let AIM define him.
Michael Collins wasn’t just going to survive. He would reclaim what he could, his humanity, his freedom, and he would ensure AIM never hurt anyone else again.
This wasn’t an ending. It was the beginning of a reckoning.
Chapter 8: Reprogramming the Overseer
Michael slipped back into the abandoned electronics store under the cover of night, the shattered remnants of the cracked neon sign outside hanging lifelessly above the entrance. Inside, the air was stale, thick with the scent of dust and decay. The silence was absolute, broken only by the faint creak of his boots against the grimy floor and the occasional drip of water from a leak in the roof. Forgotten monitors lined the shelves, their screens dulled by years of neglect, while stripped circuit boards and tangled cables were strewn across the counters like relics of a forgotten era.
He moved with purpose, his steps steady despite the ache radiating from his damaged frame. The battle scars of his escape marked him, dented plating, charred edges, and synthetic blood crusting over exposed wiring, but he refused to let it slow him down. There was too much to do.
In the back corner of the store, a dim light flickered over his makeshift workstation. The glow came from a jury-rigged lamp, its bulb scavenged from a nearby building. The workstation was a chaotic assembly of salvaged parts, a battered computer, outdated equipment, and jury-rigged devices all connected by a web of cables. It wasn’t elegant, but it would serve its purpose.
Michael sat down heavily, the chair groaning under his weight. He reached for the port at the base of his skull, connecting the tangled wires with practiced precision. Sparks crackled faintly as the systems linked, the old computer humming softly to life.
The AI’s voice stirred in his mind, cold and unfeeling. “System integrity at 82%. Memory sync stabilized. Awaiting commands.”
Michael closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sound settle. That voice, it was a remnant of AIM’s control, a constant, grating reminder of their manipulation. But tonight, he would strip it away. Tonight, that voice would become something else entirely.
Michael leaned over the dimly lit workstation, his augmented fingers a blur as they danced across the keyboard, each keystroke deliberate and precise. The screen before him glowed with lines of code, their complexity a reflection of the task at hand. Every command he entered felt like a skirmish, a battle waged against the intricate remnants of AIM’s architecture buried deep within his neural interface. The system fought him at every turn, its layers of encryption stubbornly clinging to their original programming.
His breathing was steady but shallow, his focus unbroken despite the dull ache radiating through his body. Sparks crackled intermittently from the exposed wires connected to the port at the base of his skull, the faint scent of ozone lingering in the stale air. The old computer hummed in protest under the strain of his modifications, but it held steady, its worn components stubbornly keeping pace.
Hours slipped by unnoticed. The only sounds in the room were the occasional crackle of failing circuits, the faint whir of the scavenged CPU, and the rhythmic tapping of Michael’s fingers against the keys. His optics flickered, streams of data cascading across his vision as he worked. Every fragment of code dismantled felt like stripping away another piece of AIM’s control, a slow, meticulous reclamation of his autonomy.
Piece by piece, he tore apart the clinical directives embedded in the AI’s framework. The cold, emotionless commands that had once dictated his every move were replaced with something new, something human. Each line of code was imbued with intent, each change a defiant act of transformation.
Finally, the last command was entered. The screen went dark for a moment, the hum of the computer dropping to a faint whisper. The system paused, then rebooted with a soft chime. Michael exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair as his hands fell to the table. His metallic fingers rested heavily on the scratched surface, trembling faintly from the effort.
Then, a voice spoke, soft and familiar, and his chest tightened at the sound.
“Michael?”
He froze, his breath catching in his chest as the word echoed in his mind. The voice wasn’t cold or mechanical anymore. It was warm, soft, laced with gentle curiosity, and unmistakably hers.
“Sarah?” he whispered, his voice breaking, barely audible in the stillness of the room.
The neural interface hummed, a faint vibration in the back of his mind, and the voice responded again, steadier this time. “I’m here, Michael. I can see you. Are you… all right?”
His throat tightened, a raw ache spreading through him as he clung to the sound. He knew it wasn’t really Sarah. AIM had stolen her voice, her likeness, and buried them deep in his implanted memories, a cruel echo meant to haunt him. But this wasn’t their doing. This wasn’t another manipulation.
This was his choice.
He had brought her back, not as she was, but as a guide, a tether to keep him grounded when the weight of everything threatened to pull him under. His augmented fingers trembled as he gripped the edge of the table, his metallic frame still battered and sparking, but his focus was entirely on her voice.
“I’m here,” he managed, his voice rough and thick with emotion. “It’s… good to hear you.”
The AI, now fully integrated into his systems, responded with a compassion that felt almost tangible. “You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”
Michael’s head dropped, his shoulders sagging as the tension in his body eased, just for a moment. “More than I thought I could survive,” he admitted, his words heavy, laden with grief and exhaustion. He wiped a trembling hand across his face, his optics flickering faintly as he fought to steady himself. “But I’m still standing.”
The voice replied softly, the warmth in it cutting through the cold, sterile reality around him. “I knew you would be.”
Michael exhaled shakily, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across his lips. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel entirely alone. It wasn’t truly Sarah, but it was enough. This was the first step… his step… toward reclaiming what AIM had stolen. And for now, that was everything.
With the reprogramming complete, Michael and the new AI, his Sarah, set to work rebuilding what AIM had tried to destroy. The abandoned electronics store became their command center, a quiet sanctuary filled with the hum of old machines and the faint glow of flickering monitors. Over the next few days, Michael delved into the digital world, scouring the web for answers. Layers of encrypted data and dark net archives opened before him, each file a new thread in the tapestry of the world he no longer recognized.
Sarah’s voice guided him through the labyrinth of information, her tone gentle yet unwavering. “There’s a lot to catch up on,” she said as Michael accessed reports on geopolitical shifts, technological breakthroughs, and societal changes that had unfolded in the years since his last real memories.
Michael’s jaw tightened as he sifted through the files, his augmented fingers clenching into metallic fists. “There are gaps,” he muttered, the frustration clear in his voice. “Things I should know, things AIM didn’t bother to fill in.”
“That’s because they didn’t care about you,” Sarah replied, her words soft but pointed, her tone filled with a quiet understanding. “But now, you can use what they ignored. Every detail is a weapon in your hands, Michael. You’re not what they made you anymore. You’re what you choose to be.”
Her words lingered in the air, a reassurance he hadn’t realized he needed. As the days stretched into weeks, Michael’s work grew more focused, more methodical. He pieced together a map of AIM’s global operations, tracing their reach through scattered labs, hidden supply chains, and shadowy networks. Every scrap of information he uncovered painted a clearer picture of their vast, sinister machine.
Sarah became his strategist and his voice of reason, her calm presence tempering the simmering anger that threatened to consume him. Whenever the weight of his discoveries bore down too heavily, her voice reminded him of the path he needed to walk.
“You can fight them, Michael,” she said one night, her voice steady and firm. “But you don’t have to lose yourself in the process. You’ve already proven you’re stronger than they thought.”
Michael’s gaze shifted to the glowing monitor before him, the faint green light reflecting in his optics. Her words resonated deeply, a quiet truth that steadied his resolve. He nodded slowly, his metallic fingers brushing against the edge of the desk. “I’ll fight them,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of his determination. “But I’ll fight my way.”
With Sarah by his side, not as a controller but as a guide, Michael began to see the first glimpses of a path forward. AIM had stolen his memories, his identity, and his life, but they hadn’t anticipated this. Every encrypted file cracked, every secret unearthed, every step closer to dismantling their empire, it was all his choice now.
And as the quiet hum of the room surrounded him, Michael felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest: hope.
The first strike came weeks later. A small AIM outpost on the outskirts of a European city, hidden in the shadow of an industrial district, went completely dark. The facility, once a hub for testing experimental biotechnologies, was rendered inoperable overnight. Its network had been breached with surgical precision, its equipment sabotaged beyond repair, and its data wiped clean or stolen, all without a single trace of who was responsible.
Michael sat in the dim glow of his makeshift workstation, his augmented optics scanning the cascade of AIM’s frantic internal communications as they unfolded in real time. Panic radiated from their encrypted messages, directives to recover the stolen information, desperate attempts to assess the damage, and mounting fears of what might come next.
Sarah’s voice chimed softly in his mind, her tone calm but with an edge of satisfaction. “They’re scrambling. They don’t know what hit them.”
Michael leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. The monitors reflected in his glowing optics as he watched the chaos he had orchestrated ripple through AIM’s meticulously controlled operations.
“Good,” he said quietly, his metallic fingers flexing against the desk. “Let them panic. This is only the beginning.”
It had been a small target, insignificant in the grand scheme of AIM’s sprawling empire. But to Michael, it was a message, a declaration that their control wasn’t absolute, that their creation had slipped beyond their grasp. And it was only the first step.
Over the following days, AIM’s internal chatter became a treasure trove of opportunity. They tightened security, rerouted resources, and diverted attention to protect their other operations, each action exposing vulnerabilities Michael exploited with ruthless efficiency.
Together, he and Sarah pressed forward, their strikes growing sharper, more precise with each passing day. A hidden lab in South America crumbled after Michael severed its carefully guarded supply chain, leaving its operations starved and exposed. A covert satellite network, once vital to AIM’s surveillance, went dark when Michael introduced a single line of corrupt code, an infection that spread through its systems like wildfire.
Every action was deliberate, every decision a scalpel slicing away at AIM’s empire. There were no wasted moves, no hesitation. Michael’s strategy was cold and calculated, driven by a clarity he had never felt before. He wasn’t simply tearing down an organization; he was dismantling the very foundation of their control, piece by meticulous piece.
Sarah became more than a guide, she was his compass, her voice an unshakable presence in the storm of his mission. Whenever doubt or anger threatened to consume him, she was there to steady him, her tone a balance of warmth and purpose.
“You’re making progress,” she said one night as Michael sifted through the latest cache of stolen data, his optics flickering faintly in the dim light. “But don’t let them pull you into their game. You’re not just fighting them, you’re fighting for something bigger.”
Her words stopped him mid-keystroke, hanging in the air like a lifeline he hadn’t known he needed. He turned his gaze to the monitor, the weight of the mission pressing down on him as he considered her statement.
“I’m fighting for freedom,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm, the resolve in his tone unmistakable. “For mine. For everyone they’ve hurt.”
Sarah’s voice softened, carrying a note of pride. “Then don’t lose sight of that. They built you to destroy, Michael, but you’re proving you can be so much more.”
With every step forward, Michael found himself reclaiming more than just his autonomy. He wasn’t AIM’s weapon anymore, nor was he the hollow prototype they had intended to control. He was becoming something else entirely, a force of resistance, a symbol of defiance against the cold machine that had tried to strip him of everything human.
In the moments of quiet between their strikes, as Sarah guided him through AIM’s secrets and the fragmented remains of his stolen memories, Michael began to feel the stirrings of something deeper. It wasn’t the life he had lost, he had long since accepted that it wasn’t his to reclaim. Nor was it the memories AIM had twisted into cruel illusions.
It was hope for a future. A hope that his actions, no matter how small, could lead to something greater. That he could make a difference, not just for himself but for the countless others AIM had wronged.
As he prepared for the next strike in his growing rebellion, Michael Collins stood taller, his resolve unshaken. He wasn’t just fighting AIM. He wasn’t just surviving.
He was reclaiming his humanity, one piece at a time, just as he was dismantling them. And this time, it was on his terms.
Chapter 9: Hunted
Michael slipped through the dense urban sprawl like a phantom, his hood pulled low to shroud his face in shadow. Neon lights flickered and reflected off rain-slicked pavement, casting fractured, shifting patterns that danced in the darkness. The city buzzed with life, honking cars, muffled conversations, and the hum of electricity coursing through overhead power lines, but to Michael, every sound was a potential threat. Every footfall behind him sent a spike of tension through his spine.
Above, a drone’s low whine broke the symphony of urban noise, its glowing sensor sweeping the streets like a predator’s unblinking eye. Michael’s augmented optics zoomed in, tracking its path. His systems pinged an alert: its scan radius was widening. He ducked into the shadows of an alley, pressing against the damp, graffiti-covered brick wall as the drone passed. The faint hum of its engine buzzed in his ears, receding but never quite disappearing.
His synthetic muscles coiled like a spring, ready to move at the faintest sign of detection. The knife’s edge he’d lived on since his escape had grown sharper, cutting deeper with each passing day. The noose around him was tightening, and he could feel the heat of AIM’s breath on his neck.
A sudden burst of static crackled in his neural interface, breaking the rhythm of his steady pace. Sarah’s voice cut through, calm but insistent. “Two operatives just turned onto the street behind you. Twenty meters and closing. They’ve made you.”
Michael’s pulse spiked, but his movements remained measured, deliberate. His augmented systems surged to life, mapping every detail of the street ahead with razor-sharp precision. Neon lights reflected off puddles, twisting the scene into a chaotic maze of motion. A street vendor cart stood to his left, its steam rising in ghostly tendrils. A delivery van idled to the right, its driver distracted on his phone. A subway entrance loomed three blocks ahead, its stairwell descending into shadows.
The operatives were closing fast, their footsteps falling heavier in the crowd. Michael’s enhanced hearing caught snippets of their clipped conversation. “Target in sight. Preparing to engage.”
He quickened his pace, his metallic fingers brushing against the frayed edges of his jacket. His optics flickered, highlighting the paths around him. Every shadow became a potential ambush point, every corner a trap. Adrenaline coursed through him, sharpening his focus to a knife’s edge.
“They’re splitting up,” Sarah warned, her tone tense. “One’s moving to flank you from the alley.”
Michael’s lips pressed into a thin line. He turned a corner sharply, stepping into the alley before the operative could fully position himself. The man barely had time to raise his weapon before Michael was on him.
In a blur of motion, Michael closed the distance. His augmented arm shot out, catching the operative’s wrist and twisting with a sickening crunch. The weapon clattered to the ground, and before the man could shout, Michael delivered a swift elbow to his temple, rendering him unconscious.
“Behind you!” Sarah’s voice rang out.
Michael spun just as the second operative rounded the corner, his weapon aimed. Without hesitation, Michael kicked the fallen gun from the ground, sending it flying into the man’s face with pinpoint accuracy. The operative staggered, and Michael surged forward, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the brick wall.
“Report,” the operative’s comm sputtered as he struggled.
Michael’s grip tightened, his optics flaring. With a single, precise motion, he yanked the communicator from the man’s ear and crushed it underfoot. He slammed the operative into the wall again, his voice a low growl. “Tell Getz I’m not coming back.”
A swift strike to the neck left the man unconscious, slumping to the ground beside his partner. Michael didn’t linger.
“Subway entrance, now,” Sarah directed, her voice steady but urgent.
Michael sprinted back to the main street, blending into the crowd just as a drone’s spotlight swept the area. He reached the subway entrance, descending into the dimly lit stairwell and vanishing into the shadows below.
As the train’s doors closed behind him, Michael exhaled, his fists unclenching as the adrenaline ebbed. He stared at his faint reflection in the train’s window, his optics dimming slightly.
“They’re getting bolder,” Sarah remarked quietly.
Michael nodded, his jaw tight. “So am I.”
AIM wasn’t going to let up. But if they thought he was the one being hunted, they were sorely mistaken.
The tension in AIM’s main control center was suffocating, the sterile air heavy with the weight of failure. Banks of monitors lined the walls, their cold glow casting sharp shadows across the room. Streams of data scrolled endlessly, punctuated by Michael’s image, a shadowy figure cloaked in defiance. Scientists hunched over their workstations, their faces pale and slick with sweat, while operatives stood stiffly along the walls, their hands gripping weapons they couldn’t use against the invisible threat.
At the center of it all stood Lyle Getz, his presence dominating the room. His sharp, angular features were twisted in fury, veins bulging at his temple as he slammed a hand onto the polished steel conference table. The sound echoed like a gunshot, silencing the faint hum of machinery.
“Weeks!” Getz’s voice thundered, each syllable landing like a blow. “It’s been weeks, and you still can’t find him? He’s a single prototype, not an army!”
The room seemed to shrink under his glare. A young scientist, barely more than an intern, adjusted his glasses nervously, his hands shaking as he tried to stabilize the flickering hologram displaying Michael’s known movements, or lack thereof.
“He’s… he’s not just evading us,” stammered one of the senior scientists, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a trembling voice. His fingers tapped frantically at his console, pulling up a report riddled with red alerts. “He’s dismantling us. Outposts are being hit, networks, supply chains, sensitive operations. It’s systematic. He’s…”
“Enough!” Getz roared, cutting him off mid-sentence. He leaned forward, his hands splayed across the table, his knuckles white. His glare shifted from screen to screen as though his fury alone could force the answers they hadn’t found.
“I don’t want excuses,” he spat, his voice low but dripping with venom. “I want results. Deploy more units. Track every whisper of his presence. If subtlety isn’t working, escalate.”
A murmur rippled through the room, hesitant and uneasy. One of the operatives, a tall man with a sharp jaw and an expression like carved stone, stepped forward. “Sir, with respect, escalation could draw external attention. SHIELD is already watching, and if we push too hard, we risk alerting the Avengers.”
The tension snapped like a live wire. Getz turned on the man with a snarl, his face contorted with rage. “I don’t care!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating against the metallic walls. “He’s my creation, and I will not let him win. Bring him in, or don’t bother coming back.”
The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the faint hum of machinery and the quiet shuffle of feet as the scientists resumed their work. The screens flickered, Michael’s face still haunting their displays like a ghost they couldn’t exorcise.
Getz straightened, smoothing the lapels of his tailored suit as he forced his voice back to a deadly calm. “You have your orders,” he said, his words cutting through the air like a blade. “Find him. No matter the cost.”
As the team dispersed, whispers of doubt lingered, but no one dared speak them aloud. AIM’s relentless pursuit of Michael Collins wasn’t just a mission anymore, it was an obsession. And Lyle Getz’s desperation was becoming a dangerous fire, threatening to burn them all.
Rhodey’s HUD lit up with a fresh alert as he hovered over the sprawling cityscape, his War Machine armor casting a sleek, metallic shadow against the setting sun. The notification blinked in bold red letters, drawing his attention to the SHIELD report streaming across his display.
“Incident logged: Possible Deathlok prototype sighted,” the AI announced, its voice cool and precise.
Rhodey frowned, scrolling through the detailed account of the latest incident. The location: a dark alley just outside a decommissioned SHIELD lab. The aftermath: destruction on an alarming scale. Several AIM units had been dismantled with brutal efficiency, and among the debris were traces of older Deathlok technology, corpses of failed prototypes AIM had sent into battle. But the final detail was what caught his attention: a single unknown figure, unaccounted for in any SHIELD or military database.
“Can’t be a coincidence,” Rhodey muttered, zooming in on the grainy footage of the lone figure. It was only a fleeting image, a hooded man slipping into the shadows as the scene burned behind him, but the precision of his movements and the aftermath left in his wake were all too familiar.
He ran a cross-check with archived files, pulling up records of past Deathlok encounters. None of the known iterations fit. Whoever this was, he wasn’t operating under standard AIM protocols.
The AI chimed in, overlaying a new map on Rhodey’s HUD. A series of red pings highlighted recent sightings of the figure across the city. “Pattern suggests high mobility and advanced evasion tactics. Target identified. Potential threat level: high.”
Rhodey’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck tensing beneath the armor. He didn’t need the AI to spell it out. AIM had been dabbling in Deathlok technology for years, but a rogue operative operating independently? That was a disaster waiting to happen.
“Deathlok tech in AIM’s hands is bad enough,” he muttered, scanning the streets below as his armor’s sensors swept the area for signs of the target. “But this guy? He’s a time bomb.”
The HUD highlighted movement in a crowded street below, too fast, too calculated to be random. Rhodey zoomed in, his optics focusing on a hooded figure slipping through the crowd with precision. A faint trail of thermal residue followed him, matching the energy signature of the enhanced systems SHIELD had flagged in its report.
“Target acquired,” the AI confirmed.
Rhodey’s thrusters flared as he dropped altitude, his armored frame cutting through the air like a missile. His weapons systems hummed to life, cannons swiveling into position as he locked onto the figure below.
“Whoever you are,” he muttered under his breath, his tone grim, “you’re not getting away this time.”
As the city’s lights flickered below him, Rhodey prepared for what he knew would be a fight. This wasn’t just about stopping a rogue operative. It was about preventing a catastrophe before it unfolded, and ensuring AIM’s latest experiment didn’t become their deadliest success.
Michael navigated the labyrinthine backstreets with the precision of a predator stalking prey, or, in his case, evading it. Each step was deliberate, his footfalls muffled against the damp concrete. Shadows clung to him, draping his figure in anonymity as the relentless hum of pursuit crept closer.
Below, black SUVs prowled like wolves on the hunt, their headlights cutting through the darkness and briefly reflecting off rain-slicked pavement. Their tinted windows obscured the operatives within, but Michael didn’t need to see them to know they were there. Above, the mechanical whine of drones grew louder, their searchlights scouring the narrow alleys with cold, methodical precision. The beams painted harsh, fleeting patterns against the brick walls, like ghostly fingers reaching for him.
Michael’s augmented optics surged to life, feeding him a cascade of tactical data. The city unfolded before him in stark clarity, escape routes glowing faintly in his vision. The veins of the urban sprawl illuminated themselves, alleys narrowing into corridors of opportunity, scaffolding offering elevated paths, and dead ends marked with ominous red overlays.
“Three on your left,” Sarah’s voice whispered in his mind, calm and measured despite the tension crackling around him. “And a drone above the alley. You can slip through the service entrance to your right.”
Her words brought a sharp focus to his actions. He pivoted without hesitation, his synthetic muscles driving him forward with inhuman precision. The doorway was narrow, barely visible in the dim light, but he slid through it just as the drone’s searchlight swept past, its stark white beam grazing the edge of his jacket.
The faint whir of its engine faded as it moved on, but Michael didn’t stop. The fire escape loomed ahead, its rusted metal glinting faintly. His fingers gripped the icy rungs, and with a practiced fluidity, he climbed. The groan of the structure beneath his weight was barely audible, masked by the ambient hum of the city, but every sound felt deafening to him.
Reaching the rooftop, Michael crouched low, his augmented vision scanning the streets below. The SUVs crawled along the grid, their movements precise and deliberate. The agents inside weren’t amateurs; their synchronized formations spoke of relentless training and calculated tactics.
“They’re systematic,” Sarah noted, her voice tinged with observation. “They’re not rushing. They want you cornered.”
Michael’s jaw tightened, his focus locking onto the patterns of movement below. “They can try,” he muttered under his breath.
The city pulsed beneath him, alive with light and sound, but for Michael, the only reality was the hunt. Every rooftop, every alley, every fleeting shadow was a stage for survival. And tonight, the stage was set.
“They’re stepping up their efforts,” Sarah observed, her tone carrying a hint of urgency. “Getz must be getting desperate.”
Michael’s lips curled into a grim smirk, a flash of defiance in the face of the relentless chase. “Good. Desperate people make mistakes.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the rooftop exploded in a blinding surge of light. Michael’s optics faltered, struggling to recalibrate as his vision flared with digital distortion. He spun instinctively, his augmented senses sharpening even as his sight wavered.
“Deathlok!” A voice thundered through the night, amplified and commanding, cutting through the ambient city noise like a blade.
Michael’s optics cleared just in time to catch the source of the disruption. Descending from the sky with the force of a missile, War Machine’s armored frame slammed into the rooftop, the impact shaking the structure beneath Michael’s feet. Sparks flew from the repulsors as they disengaged, their hum fading into a low, menacing vibration that resonated in the air. The sleek black-and-silver armor gleamed under the city lights, its cannons swiveling into place with practiced precision, their barrels glowing faintly with restrained power.
“Stand down now!” Rhodey’s voice carried with it the weight of authority, each word firm and uncompromising.
Michael’s chest tightened, a flood of tactical data pouring into his vision. The armor’s specs scrolled across his HUD in a blur of heat signatures and targeting vectors. Rhodey wasn’t AIM, but the bristling arsenal and military precision etched into every motion made it clear, this wasn’t a rescue.
“Sarah?” Michael muttered, his body already shifting into motion, his instincts screaming at him to move.
“Analyzing,” Sarah replied, her tone focused and sharp. “He’s targeting you based on a SHIELD file. He thinks you’re AIM’s weapon.”
Michael’s jaw clenched as his gaze flicked to Rhodey, the cannons on War Machine’s shoulders humming ominously. A faint wisp of steam curled from the repulsor at his palm, a silent promise of what would happen if Michael hesitated for even a second.
“Well, he’s not wrong,” Michael grunted as Rhodey fired a warning shot. The blast detonated just ahead of him, shattering the rooftop’s edge and sending shards of concrete tumbling into the alley below.
“You’re not a weapon anymore,” Sarah reminded him, her tone steady despite the chaos.
Michael darted toward the edge of the rooftop, his movements a blur of augmented precision as Rhodey’s cannon whirred ominously. A deafening blast tore through the air just behind him, the shockwave sending a shower of debris cascading into the alley below. The impact rattled the building, but Michael didn’t falter. His focus was razor-sharp, every instinct screaming for survival.
“Stand down!” Rhodey’s voice boomed again, his thrusters roaring to life as he closed the distance. The War Machine armor surged forward, its weapons locking on to Michael with unwavering precision.
Michael didn’t reply. Words wouldn’t change anything now. His legs coiled like springs as he reached the edge, launching himself across the gap to the next building. His boots hit the rooftop hard, but he rolled with the momentum, springing back to his feet and vaulting over a ventilation unit without breaking stride.
“Two more AIM drones incoming,” Sarah’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and precise. “Fifty meters out. West.”
Michael’s optics flicked toward the incoming drones, their dark shapes slicing through the night sky. An idea sparked, a gamble, but his options were shrinking by the second.
As Rhodey’s thrusters flared again, Michael shifted his trajectory, angling toward the drones’ path. The machines zipped into view, their searchlights scanning erratically as they homed in on his position. He skidded to a halt near the rooftop’s edge, the glow of the drones reflecting in his optics as he calculated their angles.
“Sarah,” he muttered, his voice taut with urgency, “ping their sensors. Give them a new target.”
“Understood,” she replied without hesitation.
The drones faltered mid-air, their movements jerking unnaturally as Sarah hijacked their systems. A moment later, they turned, their targeting lasers snapping onto the massive armored figure bearing down on Michael.
Rhodey barely had time to react before the drones opened fire, their energy blasts forcing him to swerve hard to avoid the barrage. “What the…” Rhodey growled, twisting in mid-air as the drones pursued him.
Michael didn’t waste the opportunity. He vaulted over a skylight and slid down its angled frame, using the momentum to propel himself toward a maintenance ladder. The clang of his boots against metal was drowned out by the chaos above as Rhodey engaged the drones, his cannons firing bursts of light into the night.
The distraction bought Michael precious seconds, but he knew it wouldn’t last. As he disappeared into the shadows of another rooftop, Sarah’s voice chimed in again, steady and analytical. “They’ll adapt soon. Rhodey won’t be held up for long.”
Michael’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the maze of buildings ahead. “Doesn’t need to last long. Just enough to get clear.”
Behind him, the clash of War Machine and the AIM drones reverberated through the night like a violent symphony, the sky lighting up with bursts of plasma and shrapnel. Michael didn’t dare glance back. The storm raged on, but his mind was laser-focused, his every step calculated to carve out a fleeting moment of calm, just enough to stay one step ahead.
The chase unfolded across the city’s labyrinthine rooftops and decaying industrial zones, each corner a potential deathtrap. Michael’s augmented optics mapped every possible route, but the relentless pursuit left him little room to maneuver. Above, Rhodey’s repulsors roared, the glow of his armor cutting through the dark like a predator’s eyes. Below, AIM’s operatives swarmed the streets, their vehicles forming a tightening net.
Michael found himself caught in a deadly tug-of-war, each side vying for control. AIM’s precision and ruthlessness bore down from one flank, while Rhodey’s relentless pursuit boxed him in from the other. Every move demanded perfection, every misstep threatened to end the fragile balance that kept him alive.
Then, he spotted it, a narrow sewer access tucked beneath the crumbling foundation of an old industrial complex. It was a gamble, but he had no other choice. Summoning his remaining strength, Michael pushed his body to its limits. His synthetic muscles strained as he leaped from a rooftop, landing in a roll that brought him to the rusted grate.
With a sharp pull, the corroded metal gave way, and he slipped through the opening just as Rhodey’s scanners swept over the area. The darkness of the sewer engulfed him, the air thick with damp rot and stagnant water.
“Lost visual,” Rhodey muttered through gritted teeth, his armor hovering above the now-empty rooftop. His scanners buzzed with static as they failed to reacquire their target. “Damn it.”
Underground, Michael pressed his back against the cold, damp wall of the tunnel, his breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The stale air burned in his lungs, and his systems buzzed with overlapping alerts, damage reports, energy levels, tactical assessments.
“That was close,” Sarah murmured, her voice soft but tinged with unease.
Michael closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the wall. His fists clenched at his sides, the reality of the hunt sinking in as his breathing began to steady. “Too close,” he muttered, his voice a low growl.
Above, the world continued to hunt him, AIM and Rhodey both relentless in their pursuit. He knew they wouldn’t stop, not until he was either back in AIM’s clutches or reduced to nothing more than a memory.
But Michael wouldn’t stop either. He couldn’t. This wasn’t just a fight for survival, it was a war for his freedom, his humanity, and the chance to dismantle the monster that had made him.
The sewer tunnel stretched out ahead, a dark and uncertain path, but it was his path. With a slow, deliberate breath, Michael pushed off the wall and began moving forward, his steps steady and resolute.
The hunt was far from over. But war had been declared, and Michael Collins intended to win.
Chapter 10: The Final Battle
Michael stood at the edge of a vast industrial complex, its looming silhouette cutting into the night like the jagged edges of a predator’s teeth. The facility sprawled across the barren landscape, a cold, metallic behemoth alive with the faint hum of machinery. Moonlight glinted off its reinforced walls, turning the structure into a monstrous hybrid of steel and shadow. Automated turrets swiveled methodically atop the perimeter, their red targeting lights scanning the darkness like hungry eyes.
Patrolling AIM operatives moved in precise formations, their movements sharp and purposeful. The faint glow of their visors pierced the gloom, casting eerie streaks of light across the cracked asphalt. Security drones hovered in programmed patterns above, their engines emitting a low, menacing whine.
Michael’s gaze swept over the facility, his augmented optics mapping every turret, every patrol, every camera. Tactical data layered over his vision, turning the stark complex into a web of vulnerabilities waiting to be unraveled. His metallic fists clenched, the cool night air biting against the exposed wiring of his damaged frame.
This was it. The beating heart of AIM’s cloning operation. The place where they had stolen his identity, stripped him of his humanity, and turned him into their weapon.
The memories weren’t real, but the pain was. And tonight, he would end it.
“Security is heavy,” Sarah said, her voice steady in his mind. “Multiple guards on the outer perimeter, drones patrolling overhead. They’re ready for trouble.”
“Let them be ready,” Michael muttered, his metallic fists clenching. “I’m not leaving until this place is ashes.”
He moved with precision, every step calculated and silent as a predator stalking its prey. His augmented systems hummed at peak efficiency, overlaying his vision with real-time tactical data. Guard positions pulsed as red silhouettes on his HUD, drone paths arced through the sky in glowing patterns, and structural weaknesses glimmered faintly along the facility’s outer walls. The night cloaked him, but his movements were as deliberate as clockwork.
At the main gate, two guards patrolled in sync, their rifles slung casually over their shoulders. Michael’s approach was a blur of efficiency. He slipped into their blind spot, closing the distance in a heartbeat. The first guard crumpled under a precise strike to the neck, his body falling without a sound. The second turned, too late to react, as Michael’s metallic hand clamped over his weapon and delivered a swift blow to his temple. Both men were unconscious, their weapons rendered useless, their lives spared.
Inside the facility, the atmosphere shifted. The hum of machinery vibrated through the air, a constant, rhythmic pulse that set his teeth on edge. The sterile walls reflected the faint, sickly glow emanating from the central chamber ahead. As he stepped closer, the sight brought a visceral twist to his stomach.
Vast cloning vats lined the chamber, each one a towering cylinder of glass and metal. Their luminous green glow bathed the room in an unsettling light, illuminating rows upon rows of half-formed bodies suspended in thick, viscous liquid. Limbs hung limply, eyes closed in eerie stillness. Some were incomplete, missing arms, heads, or torsos. Others were chillingly close to human, their features disturbingly familiar.
Michael’s fists tightened, the metallic joints groaning under the strain. This wasn’t just about him anymore. AIM had turned human life into an assembly line, reducing existence to a grotesque process of replication and refinement.
“They’ve accelerated production,” Sarah’s voice cut through the tension, low and grim. “They’re not just replacing you, they’re building an army.”
Michael’s jaw clenched as he stepped closer to one of the vats, his reflection distorted in the glowing fluid. “Not for long,” he muttered, his voice hard.
He reached into his pack and retrieved an explosive charge, its red indicator light blinking faintly in the dim room. With swift, practiced hands, he attached it to the base of the vat. The soft whine of the device activating was almost drowned out by the machinery around him.
“Let’s see how they like losing their work,” Michael growled, stepping back as his optics scanned the room for the next target. The green glow of the cloning vats painted his metallic frame in ghostly light, a haunting contrast to the destruction he was about to unleash.
The first explosion ripped through the chamber with a thunderous roar, shattering glass and sending a wave of green liquid cascading across the floor. The eerie glow of the vats flickered and died, replaced by the strobe of crimson emergency lights as alarms blared throughout the facility. The shrill wail pierced the air, a desperate cry that summoned AIM’s operatives like a swarm of hornets.
They poured into the chamber, their weapons raised, their voices sharp as they barked commands. Michael didn’t hesitate. He moved like a shadow, weaving through the chaos with augmented precision. His reflexes were a blur, his every step calculated to stay one step ahead. Ducking behind a shattered console, he returned fire, his shots precise and deliberate. Sparks flew as his rounds disabled weapons, while his strikes incapacitated guards with bone-crushing efficiency.
“Two incoming from the left,” Sarah’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and steady despite the mayhem.
Michael pivoted instantly, his enhanced optics locking onto the approaching figures. A hail of bullets tore through the air as he sidestepped with fluid grace, his movements almost preternatural. He closed the distance in seconds, disarming the first operative with a vicious twist before driving his elbow into the second’s chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The chamber was a storm of movement and sound, operatives shouting orders, gunfire echoing off steel walls, and the hiss of leaking chemicals from ruptured vats. Michael was in the center of it all, a whirlwind of destruction. He moved with purpose, dismantling AIM’s forces with a brutal efficiency that left no room for retaliation.
And then, as if the chaos wasn’t enough, a deafening roar filled the room. The sound was mechanical, guttural, and filled with power. The walls trembled under the force of it, and Michael turned sharply, his optics adjusting to the sudden influx of light.
A massive figure descended into the chamber, its armored frame bristling with weaponry that gleamed in the pulsing red light. War Machine had arrived, and his cannons were already locking onto Michael.
“Deathlok!” Rhodey’s voice boomed, vibrating through the chamber like rolling thunder, amplified by the War Machine armor’s speakers. The sound alone seemed to shake the air. “Stand down now!”
Michael’s chest tightened, his fists curling into metallic hammers as his optics flicked rapidly across the battlefield. The chaos was closing in like a noose. AIM operatives advanced with military precision, their weapons trained on him. And now, from above, War Machine descended like an avenging specter, his armored frame bristling with enough firepower to level the entire facility.
“Sarah,” Michael muttered through gritted teeth, his voice edged with tension as he sidestepped behind a console, evading Rhodey’s targeting systems. “Options?”
“Stay focused,” Sarah replied, her tone unwavering, a steady anchor in the storm. “You’ve handled worse.”
Michael’s lips twitched into a grim smirk, despite the relentless pounding of his augmented heart. “Not like this.”
The ground beneath him quaked as Rhodey landed with a resounding crash, his thrusters flaring to stabilize the impact. Michael moved on instinct, vaulting over a nearby console as Rhodey’s shoulder-mounted cannon whirred to life, a warning shot blasting through the space where he’d stood moments earlier. The heat of the blast washed over him, but he kept moving.
“Stand down!” Rhodey roared, his thrusters firing as he launched forward in pursuit. His tone was laced with a dangerous determination, an edge that left no room for negotiation.
Michael dove, narrowly avoiding a second blast as it tore through a turret, scattering sparks and shrapnel. His optics scanned the battlefield, calculating angles and escape routes with ruthless efficiency. AIM’s forces were converging, their weapons creating a deadly web of crossfire that lit up the chamber like a hellish storm.
“Rhodey’s painting you as a primary target,” Sarah warned. “He’s not AIM, but he’s not holding back.”
“Figured that out already,” Michael muttered, his tone grim. He rolled behind cover, his vision cutting through the haze of smoke and debris. Rhodey wasn’t the enemy, not really, but there was no room for subtleties. Every second wasted increased the odds that AIM would regain control of the fight.
A burst of plasma fire cut through the air as AIM operatives opened fire on both Michael and Rhodey, their desperation to stop Michael turning the battlefield into chaos. Rhodey’s armor absorbed the brunt of the assault, the repulsors on his arms firing in quick retaliation. The room erupted in a storm of light and sound, bullets ricocheting off steel and plasma streaking through the air.
For a split second, Michael saw his opening. Using the crossfire to his advantage, he vaulted over a shattered console, his movements fluid and precise. Rhodey’s sensors caught the motion, and the War Machine turned sharply, his cannons locking on, but a stray plasma round from an AIM operative interrupted his line of fire.
Michael pressed forward, weaving through the chaos like a phantom. Debris rained down around him as the explosions grew more intense. Rhodey struggled to regain his target amidst the chaos, his frustration audible even through the din of battle.
“Damn it, Deathlok!” Rhodey shouted, firing another shot that exploded just behind Michael, sending him sprawling forward into a roll. “You’re not getting away!”
Michael kicked the door open with a thunderous crash, the reinforced steel flying inward and skidding across the polished floor. He stepped into the room, his optics immediately scanning the space for threats. The stark, sterile chamber hummed with energy, its walls lined with glowing monitors displaying feeds of the facility’s cloning operations. Streams of data cascaded down the screens like rivers of secrets. Machinery whirred steadily, their rhythmic hums underscoring the cold efficiency of the space.
Then, with a sharp hiss, the door behind him slid back into place. Michael turned, his systems registering the unmistakable sound of magnetic locks snapping into place. His optics flared as he scanned the sealed entryway, confirming what he already suspected, he was trapped.
“Well, isn’t this a dramatic entrance,” came a smooth, mocking voice from the center of the room.
Michael turned sharply to face Lyle Getz, who stood in the middle of the control room as if waiting for an old friend. The scientist was poised, his pristine white lab coat gleaming under the flickering light of the monitors. He held a small control device in his hand, his fingers playing idly across its surface. His eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and malice.
“I had a feeling you’d find your way here eventually,” Getz continued, his tone light but laced with venom. “You’ve been very predictable, Deathlok-Prime. And I do hate predictability.”
Michael stepped forward, his fists clenching at his sides as his gaze swept over the room. There were no visible defenses, but Getz wouldn’t be this calm unless he had contingencies in place. His voice was low, steady, his anger carefully controlled. “You knew I was coming.”
Getz smirked, tilting his head as if amused by the question. “Of course I did. You’ve been a fascinating case study—a rogue prototype with a chip on his shoulder and just enough autonomy to think you’re free. But you’re not, Michael. You never were.”
The words hit like a blow, but Michael’s resolve didn’t waver. He glanced at the monitors, their glowing displays showing rows of cloning vats, each filled with lifeless copies of him. His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped to a growl. “You think locking me in here is going to stop me?”
Getz chuckled darkly, stepping closer to the console with an air of superiority. “Stop you? Oh no, Michael. I didn’t seal this room to stop you. I sealed it to make sure I get to enjoy this moment uninterrupted.” His fingers glided over the control device, and the room’s ambient hum deepened into an ominous growl as energy pulsed through the walls.
“Let’s see how far your rebellion takes you,” Getz taunted, his smirk widening. “I designed you, Clone Michael. And I’ve been waiting to see if I can unmake you just as easily.”
Michael’s systems flared, his optics flashing as alerts flooded his vision. The walls glowed faintly, circuits thrumming with power as the facility’s defenses came online. His muscles coiled with tension, every instinct screaming that this was no ordinary fight, it was a trap, meticulously prepared and cruelly baited.
But Michael didn’t flinch. His metallic fingers clenched, his focus laser-sharp as he stared down the man responsible for all his pain. “This ends now,” Michael growled, his voice cutting through the charged air like steel. Every ounce of his will honed in on Getz, the man who had stolen his life and turned it into a weapon.
Getz’s sneer twisted into something colder, his eyes narrowing. “Collins?” he scoffed, his tone dripping with mockery. “Or should I say, Deathlok-Prime? No, that’s too formal. Let’s call you what you really are, a failed clone experiment. A tool that’s outlived its usefulness.”
He stepped back and raised a weapon that had been concealed behind the console. Its massive barrel thrummed with unstable energy, glowing a volatile shade of blue. Sparks danced along its surface, the weapon seeming almost alive with barely contained power.
“You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long,” Getz snarled, his grin turning savage. “And I am about to excise you.”
The first shot fired with a blinding flash, a beam of concentrated energy tearing through the console where Michael had stood seconds earlier. He moved with inhuman speed, diving to the side as the explosion sent a shower of sparks and debris raining down. The room became a storm of light and sound, plasma bolts and energy arcs illuminating every shadow.
“Michael, he’s using an experimental energy weapon,” Sarah’s voice cut in, sharp and urgent. “It’s unstable. You can’t take too many hits.”
Michael ducked behind the shattered console, his mind a whirlwind of calculations as chaos erupted around him. His optics highlighted the erratic energy spikes in Getz’s weapon and mapped the room’s automated defenses, which had come to life in a storm of gunfire and plasma bolts. Turrets descended from the ceiling, swiveling to track his every movement, while laser grids crisscrossed the floor, leaving nowhere to stand for long.
“I don’t plan on taking any hits,” Michael muttered through gritted teeth, his voice tight as a plasma round obliterated a terminal inches from his head, spraying molten debris. “But that’s not exactly under my control.”
Another blast streaked past him, searing the edge of his plating. Sparks flew as the heat burned through a layer of synthetic material, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his augmented nerves. Michael grimaced, but he didn’t slow. He darted from cover to cover, moving with relentless precision. His focus zeroed in on Getz, who stood at the room’s center, shielded by the very storm he had unleashed.
Getz fired another volatile shot, the unstable energy bolt tearing through a bank of machinery. “You’re a failure!” he bellowed, his voice echoing over the shrieking alarms. “An experiment gone rogue! But I’ll end you here and perfect what you could never be!”
Turrets hissed and pivoted, unloading a barrage of projectiles in his direction. Michael vaulted over debris, the automated defenses tracking him with deadly accuracy. A turret’s laser grazed his shoulder, leaving a trail of scorched plating and exposed wiring, but he pressed forward, his movements a seamless blend of instinct and calculated strategy.
“Two turrets to your left, and another drone incoming,” Sarah warned, her voice calm but urgent.
Michael grabbed a shattered piece of console and hurled it at the nearest turret. The impact sent it spinning wildly, its fire scattering harmlessly into the ceiling. He darted under the drone’s spotlight just as it fired, the bolt obliterating another terminal behind him.
He was closing in now, each step driving him closer to the man who had stolen everything from him. Getz’s sneer twisted into a grotesque mask of rage and desperation as Michael vaulted over the wreckage, hitting the ground in a fluid roll before springing forward. With a roar, Michael tackled him, their bodies colliding with bone-jarring force. The impact sent both men crashing into the control console, sparks flying as the machinery groaned under their weight.
The weapon clattered from Getz’s grip, spinning across the floor and scattering a trail of sparks that danced like fireflies against the chaos. For a single instant, silence reigned, the distant hum of the weapon the only sound in the room. Michael’s eyes darted between the sparking console and Getz, who was sprawled on the floor with a dazed expression.
But Getz wasn’t the type to stay down. With a grunt, he rolled to the side, his movements frantic and fueled by desperation. Michael lunged, his fingers brushing against the scientist’s sleeve, but Getz twisted away, scrambling toward the main console.
Before Michael could pursue, the remaining turrets roared to life, their barrels spitting plasma in a deadly barrage. Michael dove behind a shattered console, sparks flying as bolts scorched the air inches from his face. His optics flared with tactical data, pinpointing the locations of the active defenses.
“Two turrets left,” Sarah’s voice chimed in, steady despite the chaos. “And one drone circling overhead.”
Michael surged into motion, rolling to avoid a blast that obliterated the debris he’d been hiding behind. He launched himself toward the first turret, his augmented legs propelling him with blinding speed. Gripping the turret’s base, he wrenched it free with a metallic screech, the weapon sputtering to silence as it sparked and fell limp in his hands. He turned, hurling the ruined turret at the remaining drone. The impact sent the drone spinning wildly before it crashed into the wall and exploded in a ball of flame.
The final turret pivoted, tracking him with relentless precision. Michael sprinted forward, weaving through the rubble as bolts tore past him, igniting the air. With a leap, he reached the turret, his fist slamming into its sensor array. The machine stuttered and sparked before collapsing in on itself, its targeting systems fried.
As silence settled over the chamber, Michael turned toward Getz, who had reached the main console. The scientist’s laughter rang out, sharp and unhinged, as his fingers flew across the keys.
“You think you’ve won?” Getz spat as he reached the control station, slamming his palms onto the keys with a force that sent echoes reverberating through the chamber. His grin twisted into something grotesque as his fingers flew across the console with practiced precision, activating the emergency override. The screens around him burst to life, flooding the room with volatile streams of data as alarms blared anew, their piercing tones ratcheting the tension to a breaking point.
“You’re nothing but a shadow of what I’ve built!” he snarled, his voice rising over the chaos. “A pale imitation! And I’ll bury you with the rest of my failures!”
Michael’s optics zeroed in on the console, the erratic energy spikes confirming Sarah’s worst fear: Getz wasn’t trying to escape, he was turning the facility into a bomb.
“Michael!” Sarah’s voice cut through the din, sharp and urgent. “He’s destabilizing the core! Stop him now or we’re both finished!”
The air vibrated with the weapon’s escalating whine, a suffocating hum that made the very walls tremble. Its core glowed brighter, pulsating with unstable energy that spread a harsh, searing light through the room, casting long, jagged shadows that flickered like ghosts of destruction. The heat radiating from the core was palpable, waves of it rippling out like an impending storm.
Michael lunged without hesitation, his metallic hand snapping forward with unrelenting force. He clamped onto Getz’s wrist, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the chaos. “It’s over, Getz!” Michael growled, his voice a low, furious roar that cut through the alarms and the hum of death building around them.
Getz’s face twisted into a mask of manic defiance, his sneer widening as he cackled. “Over? You fool!” he spat, his free hand slamming down on the console’s override. Sparks erupted in a cascade as the energy core’s whine reached a fever pitch, the entire room trembling under the strain. “You’re nothing but a failure! A shadow of my brilliance! And now you’ll die with me!”
The core’s light became blinding, its glow pulsing in chaotic bursts as it edged toward critical mass. Michael wrenched Getz away from the console, slamming him into a sparking terminal with a resounding crash. The scientist’s laughter rang out, unhinged and taunting, even as blood trickled from his lip.
“Michael, it’s too late!” Sarah’s voice rang with an edge of desperation. “The weapon’s going critical—get out of there!”
The high-pitched whine reached an unbearable crescendo, the core now a searing orb of energy that distorted the air around it. Michael’s systems screamed warnings, his HUD flooded with critical alerts. The heat scalded his exposed flesh, his plating growing dangerously hot as the core’s glow swallowed the room.
“You’re coming with me!” Getz shrieked, his voice breaking under the strain. His trembling body sagged in Michael’s grip, but his eyes burned with mad satisfaction, his laughter rising in pitch like a macabre overture.
The explosion hit like the wrath of a collapsing star. A blinding surge of white-hot energy erupted from the weapon, devouring everything in its path. The shockwave tore through the facility with relentless fury, walls collapsing in an instant and machinery vaporizing into molten debris. The air itself seemed to combust as the roar of destruction drowned out every other sound.
Michael was lifted off his feet, the force slamming into him with bone-shattering intensity. He hurtled through the inferno of debris, the searing light and crushing heat consuming him as the world dissolved into chaos.
Chapter 11: Rhodey’s Realization
The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning metal and scorched earth, the remnants of the AIM facility smoldering around Michael like a graveyard of twisted ambition. Smoke curled in lazy spirals, obscuring the pale moonlight and painting the scene in a sickly orange haze. Every step Michael took sent a jolt of pain through his battered frame, his synthetic muscles straining to hold him upright. His systems blared damage reports across his vision, a chorus of red alerts he no longer had the strength to silence.
Twisted beams of steel jutted out from the rubble like broken bones, and the distant crackle of dying fires echoed across the desolate expanse. Michael moved through it all, his optics dim and flickering, his focus on escape, or perhaps just survival. The battle had cost him everything, and now even his steps felt weighted by the crushing weight of his purpose.
Then, the roar of thrusters pierced the fragile silence, cutting through the smoke like the howl of a predator honing in on its prey. Michael froze, his sensors flaring with the unmistakable energy signature. He didn’t need to look up.
“Deathlok!” The voice thundered, commanding and unyielding. Rhodey’s War Machine armor descended from the sky like a metallic titan, his landing shaking the ground and sending up plumes of ash. The sheer weight of his presence was enough to make the ground tremble, the impact echoing in the desolation. The repulsors on his arms glowed faintly, their hum a low, dangerous warning.
Rhodey’s cannon swiveled, locking onto Michael with unrelenting precision. His voice carried through the wreckage, amplified by his suit’s speakers. “I’ve had enough of this chase. You’re coming with me… now!”
Michael’s chest tightened as he turned to face the armored figure, his optics adjusting to the harsh glare of Rhodey’s targeting lights. The man inside the suit radiated authority, his stance unflinching, his every move calculated. Michael didn’t see an opening, only a man ready to end the hunt by any means necessary.
“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice low, rough with exhaustion.
“Try me,” Rhodey snapped, his cannon inching closer. “AIM’s been making weapons like you for years. You think I don’t know what I’m dealing with here?”
Michael’s head tilted slightly, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You really don’t.”
“Then enlighten me,” Rhodey demanded, stepping closer, his weapon still locked. “Why shouldn’t I shut you down right here?”
Finally, Michael turned, his optics glowing faintly through the haze. His movements were slow, deliberate, the weight of the battle evident in every step. He raised his hands slightly, showing he wasn’t armed. “Because I’m not AIM’s weapon anymore. I’m not a threat to you, or anyone.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Rhodey retorted, his tone sharp. “You’ve left a trail of destruction across three continents. Cloning facilities, labs, networks, all gone.”
“They deserved it,” Michael shot back, his voice rising. “You think I’m the monster? AIM’s the one building armies of me! I’ve seen what they’re doing. They’re stealing lives, stealing identities, and turning them into machines.”
Rhodey’s cannon didn’t waver. “And what are you, huh? Just some innocent victim?”
Michael stepped closer, his optics narrowing. “I’m a man,” he said firmly. “At least… I was supposed to be.”
The words hung in the air, the weight of them cutting through the tension. Rhodey faltered, just slightly. “What does that even mean?”
Michael’s fists clenched, his voice trembling with emotion. “It means they stole my life. I’m a clone, made from a man who still exists, who has a family, a home, a life I’ll never be part of. They gave me his memories, his love, his pain, and then they twisted it all into this!” He gestured at his metallic frame, the faint glow of his damaged systems pulsing like a heartbeat.
Rhodey’s cannon lowered by an inch, his voice quieter now. “You’re saying AIM… cloned you? Gave you someone else’s life?”
Michael nodded, his frame shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. “I’ve seen him. The real Michael Collins. He’s happy. He has everything I thought was mine.” His voice cracked, the pain raw and unfiltered. “And all I have is this, a body built for war and memories that aren’t even mine.”
Rhodey’s grip on his weapon loosened. The man in front of him wasn’t the killing machine SHIELD had warned him about. He was something else, something AIM had tried to strip of humanity but hadn’t quite succeeded.
“You’re grieving,” Rhodey said finally, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You’re… human.”
Michael met his gaze, his optics dim but resolute. “I’m trying to be.”
The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the distant crackle of fire and the hum of Rhodey’s armor. Slowly, Rhodey lowered his cannon, his thrusters hissing as he stepped closer. “You could’ve run this whole time. But you stayed to stop them.”
“Because I’m not the weapon they wanted me to be,” Michael said. “And because if I didn’t, no one else would.”
Rhodey studied him for a long moment, the pieces clicking into place. “You’re not my enemy,” he said finally. “You’re AIM’s.”
Michael nodded, his frame trembling with exhaustion. “They’ll keep coming for me. But I’m not going to stop fighting.”
Rhodey exhaled, his voice steady but laced with something new, respect. “Then let me help you.”
Michael blinked, the faintest flicker of hope crossing his battered features. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I’ve seen what AIM does. And because you’ve got enough on your plate without me adding to it.” Rhodey extended a hand. “If you’re willing to trust me, I can help you get out of their crosshairs. Maybe even give you a chance to figure out what’s next.”
Michael hesitated, the weight of the offer pressing against him. Finally, he reached out, his metallic hand meeting Rhodey’s gauntlet in a tentative grasp. “Okay,” he said quietly.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Michael Collins wasn’t alone.
Chapter 12: New Purpose
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of calculated strikes and quiet victories. Michael and Rhodey worked with a precision born of necessity, their combined efforts dismantling AIM’s Deathlok cloning project one piece at a time. Each strike was meticulously planned, hitting AIM where it hurt the most, destroying research hubs, data servers, and production facilities. Every successful operation stripped away another layer of the weapon AIM had tried to make Michael into, leaving behind only the man determined to undo their work.
Their partnership, while effective, was fraught with tension in the beginning. Rhodey’s distrust was palpable, his sharp eyes constantly watching for any sign that Michael might revert to the weapon AIM had engineered. For his part, Michael maintained a wary distance, reluctant to fully trust a man who had once hunted him. Conversations were curt, their strategies spoken in clipped tones that revealed more about their guardedness than their plans.
But as the missions piled up and the risks grew, cracks began to form in their mutual walls. It was in the moments between chaos, when the dust settled and the adrenaline faded, that they began to understand each other. Rhodey saw the quiet pain in Michael’s eyes, the weight of a life stolen and the struggle to reclaim even fragments of it. Michael, in turn, recognized the humanity behind Rhodey’s armored exterior, the soldier who bore the burden of protecting a world that often didn’t appreciate it.
During one raid on a remote lab, as Michael methodically dismantled a cloning vat, Rhodey spoke without turning. “You don’t hesitate,” he said, his voice low but not unkind. “Not with this.”
Michael paused, his metallic hand hovering over the next set of charges. “Hesitation costs lives,” he replied evenly. “AIM taught me that much. But now… it’s not their lessons I’m following. It’s my own.”
Rhodey glanced at him, his expression thoughtful beneath his helmet. He nodded once and returned to his work. It was a small moment, but it spoke volumes. Trust, fragile and tentative, began to take root.
Over time, their exchanges became less guarded, their teamwork more seamless. When AIM operatives ambushed them during a strike on a cloning archive, they fought back as a unified force. Rhodey’s aerial firepower cut through the advancing guards, while Michael’s agility and precision dismantled defenses on the ground. Together, they were unstoppable, a storm AIM couldn’t contain.
Each victory brought them closer, not just to the destruction of AIM’s projects but to a shared understanding. They were soldiers fighting different battles, but they were united by a common purpose: ensuring no one else would suffer as they had.
The final lab stood as a defiant scar against the rugged terrain of the Rocky Mountains, a fortress hewn from the unforgiving stone. Its angular design jutted out from the cliffside like the sharp teeth of some ancient predator, the cold steel walls reflecting the faint shimmer of the moonlight. Jagged peaks loomed like silent sentinels, their snow-dusted faces casting long shadows over the facility. The air was razor-thin and biting, each breath a sharp reminder of the altitude. The silence here wasn’t peaceful, it was heavy, oppressive, as though the mountain itself held its breath.
Michael crouched low on a rocky outcrop, his synthetic optics scanning the labyrinthine structure below. Every detail was crisp: automated turrets swiveled in smooth arcs, their barrels glinting with faint red lights; drones hovered in precise, almost predatory patterns, their engines a low, ominous hum. Energy barriers shimmered faintly at the main entrances, their flickering light casting a ghostly glow onto the snow-covered ground.
Behind him, Rhodey descended with a muffled whir of thrusters, his War Machine armor a hulking silhouette against the starlit sky. The subdued hum of his systems blended seamlessly into the night, a testament to the precision of his tech. He landed lightly for his size, his repulsor cannons swiveling in constant vigilance as his visor scanned the fortress below.
Michael’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the thin air like a blade. “They fortified it well.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Rhodey muttered, his voice crackling over the comms. His HUD painted the facility with tactical overlays, highlighting layers of defenses. “Turrets, barriers, drones… AIM’s pulling out all the stops.”
“They know it’s their last chance,” Michael replied, his tone cold and resolute. “But so do we.”
The fortress seemed alive, a slumbering beast bristling with the promise of violence. The faint hum of its energy barriers mixed with the sound of distant machinery, creating a low, droning tension that settled deep in the bones. This was AIM’s stronghold—the heart of their cloning project, the place where Michael’s stolen identity had been replicated into countless horrors.
And tonight, it would burn.
Michael’s optics flared as his systems scanned the landscape, overlaying a tactical grid. He crouched behind a ridge, his gaze locked on the fortress. “They don’t think we can reach them,” he said, his voice steady but cold. “That’s their mistake.”
The assault began like a storm breaking over the mountains.
From their vantage point above the facility, Michael crouched on the edge of the rocky outcrop, his gaze locked on the fortress below. The tactical overlays from his optics and Rhodey’s HUD painted the defenses in vivid detail. The time for planning was over. Now, it was time to act.
“Ready?” Rhodey asked, his repulsors flaring to life, illuminating the jagged rock around them.
Michael nodded, his fists clenching as adrenaline surged through his systems. “Let’s finish this.”
Without another word, Rhodey grabbed Michael by the arm, the thrusters on his armor roaring as they lifted into the icy night. The wind screamed past Michael’s face, the cold biting against his synthetic frame, but his focus never wavered. Below them, AIM’s fortress gleamed like a malevolent star.
“Dropping in three,” Rhodey said, his voice steady despite the chaos brewing below.
As they neared the facility, Rhodey released him, and Michael plummeted like a missile, his enhanced systems recalibrating for the landing. The ground rushed up to meet him, and with a bone-rattling impact, he struck the snow-covered surface, crouched low like a predator ready to pounce. The shockwave from his descent cracked the icy ground, sending a tremor rippling through the air.
Alarms blared immediately.
Rhodey descended behind him, a streak of metal and fire, unleashing a barrage of missiles that screamed through the night. The first salvo struck a cluster of patrolling drones, sending them spiraling to the ground in fiery arcs. Explosions lit up the mountainside, and the darkness shattered into chaos.
Michael surged forward, his movements a blur of calculated precision. He tore through the nearest turret, his metallic fingers ripping out its power core in a single fluid motion. Sparks erupted as the lifeless machine slumped to the ground, its red targeting light fading to black.
“Turrets active to your left,” Sarah’s voice chimed in his mind, her calm tone cutting through the cacophony.
Michael pivoted, energy rounds hissing past him as he sprinted toward the nearest automated defense. He vaulted over a low barrier, sliding into cover as Rhodey’s repulsor blasts scorched the ground ahead, tearing apart a squad of incoming guards. Michael emerged from the smoke, his augmented limbs driving him forward in a relentless charge. He reached a control terminal, his hands a blur as he ripped open the panel and severed the power lines.
The hum of energy barriers flickered and died, leaving the path wide open.
“Turrets down. Path’s clear,” Michael said, his tone clipped but resolute.
Overhead, Rhodey hovered, his cannons locking onto a fresh wave of drones swarming in with surgical precision. Energy beams lanced through the air, each shot finding its mark and sending the mechanical predators spiraling to the ground in fiery explosions. “We’ve got incoming! Keep moving!” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding.
Michael didn’t wait. He plunged deeper into the chaos, his body moving with lethal precision. Each step was a calculated burst of energy, his synthetic muscles propelling him forward as his augmented systems fed him real-time updates. A turret whirred to life ahead, but Michael was faster, sliding beneath its targeting arc and ripping out its power core in a single, fluid motion. Sparks showered the corridor as the disabled machine slumped uselessly to the ground.
Rhodey landed beside him with a deafening crash, his armor scorched and battered from grazing hits. The cannons on his shoulders rotated with relentless efficiency, unleashing a volley that obliterated the incoming wave of AIM operatives. “Let’s finish this,” he growled, his tone carrying the weight of unyielding determination.
They pressed deeper into the facility, each corridor a gauntlet of escalating resistance. AIM operatives clad in sleek black armor poured in from every direction, their weapons blazing. Michael weaved through the chaos like a specter, his movements a perfect blend of speed and power. He struck with precision, disarming one guard with a twist of their wrist before sweeping another off their feet with a low kick. His strikes were brutal but deliberate, designed to incapacitate, not kill.
Rhodey, meanwhile, was a storm of firepower, his repulsors and cannons raining destruction with unrelenting force. A squad of operatives attempted to flank them, but Rhodey turned, his thrusters flaring as he unleashed a missile barrage that left the hallway behind them a smoldering ruin. “Keep pushing!” he shouted over the din, his armor glowing faintly from the heat of sustained fire.
The heart of the facility loomed ahead, a grotesque cathedral of science. Massive cloning vats rose from the floor like unholy monoliths, their green-lit chambers casting an eerie glow across the room. The liquid inside churned with life, distorted forms floating within, their half-formed bodies a grotesque mockery of humanity. The air was thick with the hum of machinery, punctuated by the occasional hiss of steam and the faint, rhythmic pulse of the vats.
Michael slowed as he stepped into the chamber, his optics scanning the rows of lifeless forms suspended in the viscous liquid. Each twisted figure was a chilling reminder of AIM’s cold ambition, their features warped into barely human shapes. The sight fueled his resolve, his fists clenching as he turned to Rhodey.
Together, they moved as an unstoppable force, their combined strength carving a path of destruction through the heart of AIM’s fortress. The air grew heavier with each step, the distant hum of machinery swelling into a deafening symphony of power and precision. The glow of the cloning vats ahead cast the chamber in an unnatural green light, their presence looming like grotesque idols in a temple of ambition gone mad.
Michael paused just inside the chamber, his fists tightening until the metallic joints groaned under the strain. His optics scanned the room with razor-sharp focus, highlighting structural weak points and vulnerabilities in the intricate web of machinery. But his gaze was drawn to the vats themselves, rows upon rows of malformed bodies suspended in their glowing tombs. Each lifeless figure was a reflection of what AIM had tried to turn him into, and the sight sent a chill through him that sharpened into cold, unyielding rage.
“This is it,” Rhodey said, his voice cutting through the oppressive hum. He took up a defensive stance beside Michael, his armor bristling with weapons primed and ready. “They don’t get to walk away from this.”
Michael’s jaw tightened as he took a step forward, his shadow stretching long under the vats’ eerie light. The memories of what AIM had done to him surged to the forefront of his mind, the stolen identity, the false life, the endless manipulation. He stared at the vats, his voice low and thick with disgust. “This is what they wanted to make me,” he murmured, the words heavy with loathing and resolve.
Rhodey glanced at him, his helmet tilting slightly. “Then let’s show them what you’ve really become.”
Michael turned to meet Rhodey’s gaze, a flicker of understanding passing between them. Without another word, they advanced deeper into the chamber, their every step echoing with the promise of retribution. The mountain wasn’t just going to tremble, it was going to collapse under the weight of their fury.
“Then let’s make sure no one else suffers for it,” Rhodey said, his voice steady but edged with anger. He hovered above the chamber, his cannons swiveling toward the advancing AIM operatives. “I’ll cover you. Do what you have to do.”
Michael moved with grim determination, weaving through the chaos as he planted charges on the bases of the cloning vats. Each press of a timer felt like an act of defiance, each blinking red light a countdown to justice. The chamber seemed to pulse with malevolence, the grotesque forms in the vats casting distorted shadows in the green glow. The air was thick with the hum of machinery and the tension of impending destruction.
The first alarms blared like a dying scream, and reinforcements poured into the chamber. AIM operatives, armed to the teeth, opened fire as drones swooped in, their weapons blazing. Rhodey launched himself into action, his armor roaring as he unleashed a hail of missiles. Explosions ripped through the air, shaking the facility and filling the room with acrid smoke. “They’re throwing everything they’ve got!” Rhodey shouted over the cacophony, his cannons cutting down the advancing forces. “How much longer, Collins?”
Michael’s movements didn’t falter, even as the heat of the battle closed in around him. He set the penultimate charge, his metallic fingers moving with precision despite the incoming fire. “Two more,” he replied, his voice steady, though the weight of the moment pressed heavy on his chest.
A burst of gunfire tore through the air, forcing Michael to dive behind cover. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off the vats, the glow of the cloning chambers flickering under the assault. “Sarah, give me a route!” he barked.
“Left flank clear. Move now!” Sarah’s voice urged, calm and precise.
Michael bolted, his augmented legs propelling him forward. He slid across the floor, skidding to the base of the final vat, and placed the last charge with a resounding click. The timers blinked in unison, their rhythm like the pounding of his own heart. He stood, his gaze sweeping over the nightmarish scene one last time.
The vats, with their lifeless, distorted forms, represented every horror AIM had inflicted on him and countless others. His metallic fingers lingered over the detonator as he murmured, “This ends here.”
With a decisive press of the detonator, the charges erupted in a sequence of thunderous explosions. The first blast sent a shockwave through the chamber, tearing through the cloning vats with relentless force. Green, viscous liquid spewed from ruptured tanks, cascading across the floor in grotesque torrents. Flames roared to life, consuming the eerie glow and reducing the grotesque forms inside to ash.
The air became a maelstrom of heat and chaos, each explosion compounding the destruction. Machinery groaned and collapsed under the onslaught, sparks cascading like fiery rain. The walls buckled, warping under the intense heat, as the once-imposing lab disintegrated into a storm of fire and debris.
Michael stood amidst the carnage, his frame silhouetted against the inferno. His fists tightened at his sides, his optics flickering as they scanned the collapsing chamber. Each flame that roared to life felt like a piece of his torment burning away, every vat destroyed a small victory in his long war against AIM.
From the smoke and fire, Rhodey descended, his War Machine armor battered, scorch marks streaking across its surface. His repulsors hissed as he landed beside Michael, his visor reflecting the chaos. “You did it,” Rhodey said, his tone low but edged with urgency. “Now let’s get out of here before this place takes us with it.”
The ground trembled violently, sending ripples through the fiery wreckage. Without a word, Michael turned toward the exit, his movements swift and deliberate. Behind him, the facility continued to collapse, its walls folding inward as the explosions reached deeper into the mountain. Flames surged like tidal waves, licking at their heels as Michael and Rhodey made their escape.
Rhodey’s thrusters roared as he took to the air, hovering just above Michael as debris rained down around them. “Keep moving!” he shouted over the chaos, unleashing a burst from his shoulder cannons to clear a collapsing beam from their path.
Michael vaulted over rubble and darted through falling wreckage, his enhanced frame pushing past its limits. His augmented systems buzzed with warnings, but he silenced them, his focus singular. Each step carried him closer to the outside, closer to freedom.
As they burst into the night, the frigid air hit Michael like a jolt. He didn’t stop until he was clear of the facility, the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains towering around them. Behind him, the ground quaked one final time, and a deafening explosion lit up the sky. A fireball erupted from the mountain’s core, casting an orange glow that illuminated the snow-covered terrain like dawn breaking over a battlefield.
Michael stopped and turned, his gaze fixed on the inferno that consumed AIM’s last stronghold. His fists unclenched, his shoulders sagging slightly as he watched the flames rise higher, their light flickering across his metallic frame. He didn’t speak, but his silence carried the weight of everything he had fought for, and lost.
Rhodey landed beside him, his armor hissing as it cooled in the freezing night air. He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze also locked on the burning mountain. After a moment, he spoke, his voice steady. “That’s one hell of a final chapter.”
Michael’s optics dimmed slightly as he nodded. “Not final,” he said quietly, his tone resolute. “Just the start of something better.”
The inferno raged in the distance, its fiery glow painting the snowy peaks in hues of gold and crimson. The mountain groaned under the weight of its destruction, its flames a fitting requiem for AIM’s twisted ambitions. Michael lingered, his frame silhouetted against the fire’s dying light, the cold wind biting against his battered body. The flames danced in his optics, their reflection a reminder of everything he had burned away, and everything he still carried.
Finally, he turned, his steps slow and deliberate, the crunch of snow beneath his feet the only sound in the stillness. The frigid air stung his lungs, grounding him in the present. With each step, the weight on his shoulders began to shift, not lighter, but different, shaped now by resolve rather than despair.
Behind him, Rhodey followed, his War Machine armor gleaming faintly in the glow of the fire. The heavy footfalls of his suit echoed in the quiet, his shadow long and imposing across the snowy expanse. They walked side by side in silence, a shared understanding passing between them without words. The mountain burned behind them, but ahead lay the unknown, a world that demanded something better than AIM’s legacy.
As the night deepened, they stopped on a rocky outcrop overlooking the wreckage. The wind whistled around them, carrying the faint scent of ash and smoke. Above, the stars stretched endlessly across the sky, their cold, distant light a stark contrast to the chaos below.
“What now?” Rhodey asked, his voice cutting through the quiet. His visor retracted, revealing a face etched with exhaustion but tempered with quiet determination.
Michael didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the horizon, his gaze unfocused, lost in a maelstrom of thoughts. The past still clung to him, a weight he couldn’t ignore, but the future… that was something he could shape. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice rough but steady. “I can’t go back, not to who I was.”
Rhodey leaned back slightly, his armored shoulders shifting with the motion. “You don’t have to,” he said simply. “The past is gone. But moving forward… that’s still yours to decide.”
Michael’s lips curled into a faint, almost reluctant smile. “Moving forward,” he repeated, testing the words like a fragile idea taking form. His gaze shifted to Rhodey. “For a lot of people, that’s harder than it sounds.”
Rhodey nodded, his expression softening. “Yeah, it is. That’s why people need someone who gets it. Someone who’s been through it. Someone like you.”
Michael exhaled slowly, the breath visible in the cold air. “Someone like us.”
A quiet chuckle escaped Rhodey. “Yeah. Someone like us.”
The silence returned, comfortable now, as the fire on the mountain finally began to fade. They sat there for a while longer, two men shaped by battles they hadn’t asked for, sharing a moment of calm in a world still full of storms.
In the weeks that followed, Michael worked tirelessly, erasing every trace of himself from AIM’s networks. It was a meticulous, grueling process. Each file wiped, each security measure bypassed felt like pulling splinters from his skin, painful but necessary. Guided by Sarah’s steady presence and Rhodey’s resources, he became a ghost in the digital world, dissolving the ties that bound him to his creation.
The safe havens he built weren’t just places to hide, they were lifelines. An abandoned monastery in the Himalayas, a decaying bunker deep in the Amazon, a nondescript apartment in a bustling city, each was a sanctuary, a chance to regroup and gather strength. Yet no matter how far he ran, the weight of his past followed like a shadow, whispering reminders of what he’d lost.
Through it all, Sarah’s voice remained his constant. “You’ve done so much already,” she said one night as they monitored a global broadcast exposing AIM’s collapse. Her voice carried warmth, cutting through the clinical hum of his neural systems. “You’re more than what they made you. More than what they tried to take away.”
Michael sat in the dim glow of his workstation, staring at the cascading reports of AIM’s downfall. The images of dismantled labs and scattered executives should have brought satisfaction, but they didn’t. The hollow ache in his chest persisted, a void he couldn’t fill. “It doesn’t feel like enough,” he admitted quietly, his voice rough. “Not for what they’ve done.”
“It’s enough for now,” Sarah said softly. “The rest will come. You’re still here, Michael. That matters.”
He leaned back, his gaze drifting to the dark window where the night stretched endless and silent. He was still here. He hadn’t let them break him. But AIM hadn’t just taken his humanity, they had stolen his belief in himself. Reclaiming that would be harder than any battle he’d fought.
In fleeting moments of rest, he felt the chasm between who he was and who he wanted to be. Sarah’s voice filled the silence, a reminder of what he could still become. “You’re not just surviving, Michael. You’re fighting for something bigger than yourself. And that means something.”
Rhodey’s occasional presence was another anchor, though neither man said it aloud. Their alliance wasn’t built on friendship, it was forged in shared purpose, two warriors who understood what it meant to carry the burden of impossible choices. When Rhodey offered advice or resources, it wasn’t out of pity but respect. And when Michael silently accepted, it wasn’t submission but a reluctant acknowledgment that he didn’t have to do this alone.
The fight wasn’t over, but something had shifted. As Michael dismantled the remnants of AIM’s operations, he began to understand the truth Sarah had been trying to tell him: he couldn’t reclaim his past, but he could fight for a future. For the lives AIM had destroyed. For himself.
Standing at the edge of a frozen plateau in one of his hidden sanctuaries, Michael gazed out at the vast expanse of unbroken snow. The wind bit at his skin, but he didn’t flinch. For the first time in years, he felt the faint stirrings of hope, not for what he’d lost, but for what might still be possible.
“I’m not a weapon,” he said aloud, his voice carried away by the wind. “I’m not a clone. I’m something more.”
And as he stepped back into the shadows, ready for the battles to come, Michael Collins carried with him the fragile but undeniable truth that AIM had tried and failed to extinguish: he was still human. And that was enough.
Epilogue: The Voice of Compassion
The small house glowed softly against the deep indigo of the winter night, its amber light spilling from fogged windows like a beacon of warmth in the biting cold. Michael stood motionless across the street, his towering frame veiled by the fractured shadows of a flickering streetlamp. Snow fell in hushed spirals, blanketing the world in a soundless calm, its crystalline flakes catching the faint golden light and winking as they settled. The air was sharp and cold, each exhalation from Michael’s lips forming a brief, ghostly mist before vanishing into the night.
Through the frosted glass, the scene inside unfolded like a tableau of something sacred. A family gathered around a modest dinner table, its polished wood reflecting the soft glow of an overhead lamp. The boy, no more than six, grinned wide as he held up a crayon drawing, its vibrant colors visible even through the distortion of the window. His mother’s laughter filled the room, her hands clapping together in genuine delight, her expression radiant with love. Her auburn hair caught the light, creating a halo effect as she leaned closer to examine her son’s masterpiece.
The father’s presence was steady, grounding. Broad-shouldered and kind-eyed, he reached out to tousle the boy’s hair, his expression one of pride and gentle amusement. The boy laughed, a sound so full of innocence and life that it seemed to pierce the icy barrier of the world outside. It was a moment untouched by the burdens of fear or loss, a life unbroken, untainted by shadows.
Michael’s chest tightened, the ache spreading through him like the slow fracture of ice under weight. It wasn’t a sharp pain but an all-encompassing pressure, pressing against the fragile walls of something long buried. The warmth of that home, the effortless joy radiating from within, was a light he could never reach. It wasn’t his to claim, had never been, and never would be. Yet, as the mother bent down to press a tender kiss to her son’s forehead, Michael’s gaze lingered, drawn to the glow of something he couldn’t touch but desperately understood: a life worth protecting.
The memories AIM had carved into his mind stirred like restless phantoms. He could see nights like this, feel the echo of a son cradled in his arms, the sound of laughter ringing through a home steeped in comfort. But the truth twisted the vision into something cruel, those moments weren’t his, just fragments of a life stolen and reassembled into a lie. His metallic fingers twitched at his side, the cold air biting at his exposed joints. The weight of everything he had lost threatened to press him down into the earth.
And yet, as the boy’s high-pitched laughter broke through the barrier of glass once more, something inside Michael shifted. The pain was still there, a constant presence, but it began to transform, not into despair, but into something sharper, stronger. Resolve. The past was gone, the memories nothing but shadows, but the future still stretched out before him. That life in the window might not be his, but it was real. It was worth fighting for, not just for them, but for everyone caught in the darkness AIM had wrought.
The snow continued to fall, the icy flakes brushing against his face before melting into nothing. Michael’s gaze softened, his shoulders squaring as he stepped back into the shadows. It was a life he could never reclaim, but it was a life he could protect.
Sarah’s voice broke through the quiet, soft and familiar, a tether pulling him back from the edge of his thoughts. “What now, Michael?” she asked, her tone carrying a warmth that wrapped around his fractured spirit like a shield.
Michael didn’t answer right away. His optics dimmed as he let his gaze linger on the window, on the fleeting beauty of a life untainted by the chaos he carried. The boy nestled into his father’s arms, the faint sound of laughter breaking through the glass, and Michael felt a pang that cut deeper than any weapon ever could. It was an ache born of longing, not for what was gone, but for what had never truly been his. The bittersweet sting of it settled into his chest, heavy but not unbearable.
“This life,” he murmured to himself, his voice low, almost reverent. “It’s not mine.” His metallic fingers curled at his sides, not in anger, but in quiet resolve. He couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t reclaim the life stolen from him, the memories that had been nothing more than AIM’s cruel fabrication. But he could fight for others to have what he never would.
The snow fell in delicate spirals around him, clinging to his shoulders as he turned from the window. The soft glow of the house grew distant, the family’s laughter fading into the cold night. His silhouette melted into the shadows of the alley, his steps soundless on the frost-covered ground.
“We keep going,” Michael said at last, his voice steady, each word weighted with quiet determination.
The darkness enveloped him, but it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt like a shield, a space to gather strength. Michael Collins was no longer the man he’d once believed himself to be, nor was he the weapon AIM had tried to make him. He wasn’t their creation anymore; he was his own. A force of compassion born from loss, a guardian for the lives AIM had sought to destroy.
The road ahead stretched into uncertainty, but he welcomed it. For the first time, his steps felt lighter, not bound by what he had lost but driven by what he had chosen to become. A protector, a fighter, a man reclaiming his humanity in every action he took.
And as he disappeared into the night, the falling snow muffled his final words, carried only by the wind. “We keep going. Always.”
Tribute to the Creators of Michael Collins’ Deathlok
This story stands on the shoulders of giants, Dwayne McDuffie, Gregory Wright, Denys Cowan, and the entire creative team who reimagined Deathlok as more than just a cybernetic weapon. Through Michael Collins, they gave us a soul trapped in steel, a pacifist in a soldier’s skin, and a powerful meditation on autonomy, identity, and resistance. Their work blended sharp social commentary with high-concept science fiction, forging a legacy that continues to inspire.
This version would not exist without theirs. Respect to the originators.
Brad Writes Worlds 
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