Resist by Tracey Martin Page A

down the first CY, searching for humanity that no longer exists in its eyes. He was a normal person once, possibly a criminal who volunteered for this so-called upgrade, not realizing his freedom was being bought at the price of a technological lobotomy. Whoever he was, he’s gone.
    A CY feels no fear. Has no compassion. Some are better at faking it than others, but they’re not really designed for missions that require much pretending to be human. Still, it assesses me, or rather the unexpected situation. We were supposed to be unconscious, after all.
    â€œThat’s not going to work,” Gabe says, crouching next to me. He’s referring to my attempt to threaten the CY. They can’t be threatened. They follow orders.
    Gabe also has a gun pointed at the CY, though neither of our guns are ideal for this. Only RedZone’s specially designed rifles can penetrate the armor under its clothes. A regular handgun with a typical caliber range is only useful if you manage to shoot a CY in the head. Even for us, that’s more difficult than it sounds.
    Ignoring Gabe’s comment, I rest my finger on the trigger and address the CY again. “You don’t want me to shoot. Your orders are to take us quietly, right?”
    The CY cocks its head to the side. “If possible.” It shrugs, a surprisingly human gesture that I’m not prepared for.
    It’s what it’s anticipating and what it planned for. In the split second of my confusion, it lunges forward. Its enhanced muscles move with such speed that its body is a blur. The gun is snatched from my hands, and I go flying with the force of the impact.
    My head smacks the wall hard enough that my vision blackens, but the moment passes and so does the pain. Fear grips me around the chest. Although the CYs may be under orders to bring us in alive, bringing us in unbroken is unlikely to be considered important.
    I scramble to my feet as chaos descends on the hallway. So much for stealth. Between the gunfire and the yelling, we’ll wake up the whole town soon enough.
    â€œSophia!” Kyle calls my name, and I dodge as the nearest CY grabs for me. His hand smashes into the support post, and the wood cracks.
    I swear, imagining that post as my head. “Kyle!”
    A projectile whizzes by and lodges in the motel door. Not bullets, but tranquillizers.
    I snag Kyle’s arm and pull him down the hallway toward the steps. The only chance we have of escape is to split up. The hallway is too narrow to fight, and there’s no way we can take down a CY in hand-to-hand. I need distance and a rifle, or barring that, the ability to get in a clear, up-close headshot without the CY being aware of it.
    I slip on the half-heartedly shoveled steps, and Kyle steadies me. His eyes are wide with fear, but at least he’s managed to hold on to his gun.
    Something crashes to my left in the parking lot, and someone—Jordan, I think—lets out a whoop. There’s no time to check it out. More operatives are racing around the side of the building. These are human, judging from their movements, and while their weapons are drawn, that means they don’t worry me half as much as the CYs. They’re obviously under orders not to fire on us unless absolutely necessary.
    â€œStay with me,” I yell to Kyle, then I take his weapon and charge the men.
    I fire once, twice, and they scatter for cover around the cars. I’m not interested in killing anyone, so I take off after the farthest car. The parking lot is every bit as slippery as the steps, and I slide toward the car and launch myself over it, coming at the operative from above. The gun flies from his hand as he hits the ground. Bounding off him, I grab it.
    Kyle has stayed low, tracking me from around the lot’s darkened perimeter. I pause to catch my breath and push loose hair out of my face. Everyone’s spread out. I can’t find Summer or Lev, but someone is behind the