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“Neil, you’ve got a Runner on your tail.” Dan’s voice was threaded through with worry over the comms. Neil still didn’t understand why she cared about his safety—sure, he was a useful asset to her group, but her obsession with his wellbeing went far beyond that. It made him feel a little bad about how much he lied to her.
“Fuck,” he swore, annoyed that he hadn’t had time to find what he’d come here for. “ETA?”
“Don’t know,” replied Dan, frustrated. “Soon, probably. We didn’t get any info other than a Blade Runner assignment in Columbia.”
“I’d better make myself scarce, then,” decided Neil. “Signing off.” He didn’t need the distraction.
“Neil—” she quickly cut herself off. “Be careful.”
Neil laughed joylessly. “Always,” he lied. He took the small communication device from his ear and ground it beneath his heel. If his luck ran out and he ended up at the business end of the Runner’s gun, he didn’t want to leave behind anything that could lead back to the Replicant freedom group he was part of. They deserved better than that.
His senses were all on high alert as he made his way out of the abandoned and dilapidated building. It would be easier out on the streets: Columbia had been destroyed years ago and the streets were obscured by a thick, yellow, mildly poisonous fog. Neil slid a bandana over his nose and mouth to keep out the worst of it; it wasn’t toxic enough to hurt him in the short term.
His eyes started to water as soon as he stepped outdoors, the mist soupy and thick. He could barely make out the dark shapes of the surrounding buildings. He ducked his head and made a beeline for the closest structure. His transportation was well outside city limits and he was considering leaving it. There was a good possibility the Runner may have already found it and would track it back to Palmetto.
He headed steadily northwest, going over the pros and cons of walking back to headquarters in Palmetto without access to comms. It was safer, but it would take a lot longer and everyone would be worried. Not to mention he’d most likely have a Runner following him unless he could eliminate them.
Even deep in his own thoughts, his instincts had him ducking out of the way of a thrown knife. He couldn’t consciously say what had tipped him off—maybe an almost-imperceptible noise, maybe a tiny displacement of air—but his well-honed reflexes rarely let him down. He had learned the hard way not to ignore his gut feelings. It seemed as if the Runner was even closer than he’d expected.
Swearing, he wheeled away, making a run for it. He doubled back to head deeper into the abandoned city, hoping to lose his pursuer in the denser fog and closely packed buildings of what used to be downtown. Or at least use the maze-like area to circle around and get the drop on them.
He ran swiftly, ducking and weaving to make it harder to follow him. He had more practice than he’d ever wanted and was therefore surprised at the Blade Runner’s ability to keep pace with him. He felt a swirl of exhilaration in his stomach; it had been a long time since he’d been tracked by anyone even halfway competent, not since—
He nipped that line of thinking in the bud and concentrated on his surroundings. He’d been in Columbia several times before its destruction; he had at least a rudimentary knowledge of the terrain. If he wasn’t mistaken, he wasn’t far from… there! The building didn’t seem particularly structurally sound, but Neil knew the layout inside well enough to give him an advantage.
Even falling apart and decrepit, it was brighter inside Eden’s Twilight than the last time he’d frequented the bar. A small pool of golden sunlight permeated the toxic gloom to shine into the building through a hole in the roof. Neil scrambled up the partially-collapsed stairway to the second level to take advantage of the mist that entered along with the light. He hid himself behind the railing looking over the dance floor, hoping the fog obscured him completely.
Memories assaulted him and he quieted his breathing, trying not to audibly gasp for breath. He’d been here several times and his mind kept superimposing images of flashing lights and writhing bodies in the dance pit below him. He could almost physically feel the weight of a palm on the back of his neck.
A creak from the entrance was the only indication that the Runner had followed him. Neil couldn’t get a good look at them, only a dark shape moving cautiously across the floor. He waited until the figure was directly below his hiding place before hoisting himself over the railing and dropping down to attack.
The Runner stepped back out of the way at the last second, so Neil’s knife sliced through his clothing instead of his neck, but his momentum knocked them both to the floor. They grappled for the upper hand, rolling around in the dust and debris.
Neil eventually found himself at an advantage, looming over the Runner and choking them. The Runner gasped and threw his head back, glaring up at Neil while trying to force his hands away from him. As soon as they made eye contact, they both froze. They stared at each other for several heartbeats before Neil threw himself away in a panic.
Strangely, the Runner didn’t press his new advantage. They both sat, gasping for air, amid the wreckage of the dance floor and eyeing each other warily.
Neil knew—he knew—it wasn’t Andrew, despite the familiar face. Andrew was dead, had sacrificed himself years ago to save Neil’s life. This wasn’t the first lookalike Neil had come across; he worked frequently with a Replicant named Aaron who was virtually indistinguishable from Andrew. It was hard, being able to read his expressions and not seeing any of the familiar affection. But looking at a Blade Runner with Andrew’s features was even worse.
“How badly did they fry your brain to make you a cop?” Neil blurted, unable to help himself.
Not-Andrew blinked once; Neil was able to read the confusion from his smooth expression.
“I can’t imagine someone with your personality betraying your own kind,” Neil elaborated. Even though Aaron and Andrew were very different, they still shared the same core characteristics. Loyalty was something fundamental to the Minyard model’s programming.
“My own…?” The Minyard’s face hardened. “I’m human,” he said.
Neil raised an eyebrow in surprise. He’d never come across a Replicant that didn’t know what they were. “A couple identical Replicants I know indicate otherwise.”
“I have memories.”
“So do I,” shrugged Neil. “Doesn’t make me human.”
In fact, Neil’s memories marked him as something else entirely, something unique and to be protected at all costs. Sometimes he wondered if his memories were actually his or were implanted, but he supposed in the grand scheme of things it didn’t matter. He and he alone had the knowledge of his birth—the only offspring ever born from a Replicant. If he ever shared the fact, it would give a perfect reason for the others to rise up against their human oppressors. It was exactly the kind of thing Dan was looking for; Neil wasn’t ready to tell her yet. He had spent the majority of his life desperately trying to hide it, and he wasn’t convinced he wanted to incite a revolution.
“They can implant memories, didn’t you know?” Neil taunted.
The Minyard still didn’t react visibly, but Neil could still see his discomfort.
“Have they ever had you administer a Voight-Kampff test?” pressed Neil. “Or even listen in on one? No, because your reactions would give you away.”
The Minyard’s expression turned angry, tinged with a fair amount of disbelief.
Neil thought back to the one and only time someone had administered the test to him. It wasn’t a pleasant memory. “Describe,” he started, quoting the test question that would have gotten the most noticeable response out of Andrew, hoping this Minyard would be the same, “ in single words, the good things that come to mind when thinking about your mother.”
The response was immediate. The Minyard unholstered his gun and immediately shot four bullets directly at Neil.
Neil, having anticipated the response, laughed and rolled away. “They’d have to send a Runner like you to kill you after that response,” he said. “Rogue Replicant.”
The Minyard put his gun away again, intent on Neil’s words. He still hadn’t said anything.
“You know how you can tell what you are?” Neil asked, still pushing. “It’s not memories, it’s dreams. Replicants don’t dream.”
“I dream,” responded the Minyard, his voice hoarse.
“Of electric sheep?” snarked Neil.
“I dream of you.”
Neil’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”
“I see your face, in flashes. A dark bar with flashing lights. A car speeding down the highway and you laughing. A woman’s body burning on the beach at night. A key and a promise.”
“...Andrew?” gasped Neil, reeling. He couldn’t believe it. Andrew was dead. Sure, Neil had never seen his body, but he’d broken his promise to come back to Neil.
The Minyard’s face cleared. “You know my name.”
“Andrew,” repeated Neil in a whisper. “What did they do to you?”
He knew it could be a trap, a way to capture Neil. He didn’t care. He had been missing Andrew for too long.
Andrew’s gaze turned inward. “Nothing good, I think,” he concluded. “I don’t remember.”
“Andrew,” said Neil, shuffling forward on his knees and reaching out to him. “Andrew. Come with me.”
“Where?” asked Andrew. He didn’t shy away from Neil’s hand, but he didn’t reach out to him either. If he truly didn’t remember… It didn’t matter. Neil had won him over once. He could do it again.
Neil could feel traitorous hope bubbling in his chest. “Home,” said Neil. “I’ll take you home.”
He decided it might be time to share his revolution-starting intel, his reservations flying away in the face of what had been done to Andrew.
He was ready to let the world burn.