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You are a security guard at a department store.

Beyond the door was a small room with a desk at its center and several shelves along the walls. Elena sat behind the desk and opened a drawer. She produced a bottle of dark brown liquid, and poured a couple of glasses, pushing one across the desk toward him. The familiar fizzing sound brought a smile to his face.

"I thought you were dead," he said to her, "or imprisoned for life."

"I have been running from those drones for a very long time," she said. "I've become quite good at it."

"Well, I'm not. You know they locked me up in that prison? I was there for almost three weeks."

"I am sorry about that. I really am."

"You know they are calling you a terrorist."

Her eyes flashed, and she smiled. "Yes, I'm sure they are. And do you believe them? Do you believe I'm a terrorist?"

He examined her for a moment and took a sip of soda. "Logically, I think it's possible. But my instinct tells me no."

"So you believe the State is lying, then?" A look of fear came over him, and his eyes darted about the room. "It's okay," she assured him. "There are no listening devices in this room, nor cameras of any kind. We scan this room on a regular basis to ensure that."

He fidgeted uncomfortably and scratched the back of his head. "I suppose so, yes. If you are not a terrorist, then the State is lying."

"I assure you that I am not a terrorist, Mr. Adams," she said with a smile.

"Okay, tell me what's going on. Why am I here? Why do you keep tracking me down? Why is the State looking for you?"

Elena took a sip of her soda and closed her eyes, savoring the taste. "Mr. Adams, do you know where you were born?"

"I don't know, exactly, but I assume it was here in the city."

Elena shook her head. "What if I were to tell you that isn't true? In fact, you were not born here in New Boston. And in fact, your name isn't even Jason Adams."

He stared at her intently and waited for her to continue.

"You were born with the name Jason Locke. Unlike the others in this city, you were not genetically engineered in a lab, and your parents were not merely DNA donors. Nor were you birthed by a surrogate mother. Mr. Adams - that is, Mr. Locke - you were born naturally."

Jason sat in stunned silence. His mind reeled with confusion. "How can that be?" he said.

"You were born on a small tropical island off the coast of what was then called Honduras," she stated. "Your parents fled to that island during the Second Revolution. They managed to remain hidden until the merger of the Americas Alliance. When that agreement was signed, the Honduran militia seized your family's assets and extradited you and your parents to New Boston, where your parents originated."

Jason rose from his chair and began pacing the floor, running his fingers through his hair.

"This is crazy," he said.

"Your father was a very skilled technical architect," she continued. "The State had a pressing need for his services. He refused to work for them. As a result, your mother was executed, right in front of his eyes. An officer with the State then turned his weapon on you. That is when your father relented. He agreed to work for the State in exchange for your life."

Jason's mind reeled, but he fought to maintain his composure. "How do you know all of this?" he asked.

"Your father sent me to find you," she stated. "It took a lot of work. You have no idea how many people, and how much time, it has taken to locate you. But we did it."

"My father," Jason said. "Where is he?"

"He is still working as a loyal servant to the State," she responded. "He nearly single-handedly built the State's information network, its communications system, and its firewall protection."

"Where can I find him?"

"That is why I brought you here, Jason.

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