The secure line on the desk buzzed once. I reached out and tapped the speakerphone icon.
"Mr. Spencer," the voice on the other end said. "We received the priority alert from your personal terminal. You're requesting the Mark IV Tactical platforms?"
"I am," I said, leaning back in my chair, spinning a pen between my fingers. "Ten units. But I don't want the standard factory specs, Vance. I need modifications."
There was a pause on the line, the sound of keyboard clatter in the background. "The Mark IV is already classified military hardware, Mr. Spencer. It's designed for heavy infantry support. What kind of modifications are we talking about?"
"Strip the hydraulic assist for the exoskeleton," I said. "Remove the weight limiters. I want the external plating doubled. Use the carbon nanotube weave we developed for the experimental tank program last year. Internal climate control, full spectrum sensor suites and integrated encrypted comms linked solely to my server."
"Sir," Vance said, his tone shifting to one of professional concern. "With those modifications, particularly the additional plating without the hydraulic assist... the suit will weigh nearly six hundred pounds. A human operator won't be able to move in it. They'll be statues."
"The operators won't be normal humans, Vance," I replied smoothly. "Just build the suits. Can you meet the forty eight hour window?"
"It will require pulling the engineering team off the railgun project," Vance noted.
"Pull them," I ordered. "And one last thing. On the chest plate, center mass. I want a designation painted in dark crimson. Just one word."
"Which is?"
"RED."
"Red," Vance repeated. "Understood. Ten units. Forty eight hours. Delivery to the penthouse secure elevator as usual?"
"As usual. And Vance? No digital trail. If anyone asks, these are scrap metal from a failed prototype test."
"Understood, sir."
The line clicked dead.
I set the pen down and stood up, walking to the center of the spacious command center.
"System," I said aloud. "It's time to expand the workforce."
[Cloning time? Finally!] the System's voice cheered in my head. [I was wondering when we were going to start our own boy band. Or a very coordinated dance troupe.]
"Let's stick to a hit squad," I murmured.
I closed my eyes, reaching inward. I felt the knot of energy that represented the Cloning power I had taken from Splinter. I grasped it mentally and pulled.
It felt like my cells were boiling, expanding and splitting at hyper speed. The air around me shimmered, the light bending and warping.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Five distinct displacements of air.
I opened my eyes.
Standing in a semi circle around me were five men. They were wearing the same charcoal grey loungewear I was. They had the same dark hair, the same eyes, the same height.
I looked at the one in the center. He looked back at me. I didn't need to speak to know what he was thinking because I was thinking it. It was like having five extra limbs that just happened to be detached from my torso.
"Check in," I said.
"Red One," the clone in the center said. His voice was my voice.
"Red Two," said the one to his right.
"Red Three."
"Red Four."
"Red Five."
I walked up to Red One. I reached out and grabbed his arm. The muscle beneath the fabric was hard as iron.
"Power check," I commanded.
Red One turned to the heavy steel heavy bag I kept in the corner for stress relief… a custom piece filled with lead shot. He snapped a jab.
CRACK.
The chain holding the bag snapped instantly. The heavy bag flew across the room like a cannonball, slamming into the reinforced wall with enough force to shake the floorboards. It split open, spilling lead shot everywhere.
"Tier 1 Strength confirmed," Red One said calmly, lowering his hand.
I nodded. "Defense?"
Red Two stepped forward. He pulled a combat knife from the pocket of his pants… I hadn't even realized I'd subconsciously manifested the inventory items for them and slashed it across his own palm.
The blade skittered off his skin with a metallic rasp. Not a scratch.
"Tier 1 Defense confirmed," Red Two said.
"Cryokinesis?" I asked.
Red Three raised his hand. The temperature in the room plummeted instantly. A ball of ice formed above his palm. He clenched his fist and the ice shattered into diamond dust.
"Tier 1 Cryokinesis confirmed."
It was perfect. They were full powered duplicates.
"You know the mission," I said to them.
"We are the Red Unit," Red Four said.
"We are the ghosts," Red Five added.
"Dissipate," I ordered.
Their forms turned gray, then translucent, then dissolved into a fine mist that rushed back into my body. The rush of energy was intoxicating as they rejoined me.
I checked my watch. 8:15 AM.
I turned and walked out of the command center, the heavy steel door locking automatically behind me.
I went into the kitchen. The morning light was streaming in, making the marble countertops gleam. I washed my hands and started pulling ingredients from the fridge.
I grabbed a fresh fillet of salmon, some miso paste, tofu and a carton of eggs.
I started cooking. The rhythm of the knife against the board was soothing.
Chop, chop, chop.
Scallions.
Slice, slice.
Salmon.
Twenty minutes later, the smell of grilling fish and savory miso soup filled the penthouse. I arranged the food on two trays, making sure the presentation was neat. I added a small bowl of pickled plums to hers, I had noticed she liked the sour taste.
I walked down the hall to the guest suite. I balanced the tray on one hand and knocked three times.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
"Kimiko," I called out in Japanese. "Breakfast is ready."
I heard the soft pad of bare feet on the carpet. The lock clicked. The door opened.
Kimiko stood there. She was wearing a fresh set of clothes… black leggings and an oversized grey hoodie I had ordered for her. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. She looked… better. The dark circles under her eyes were fading.