Joenna Janine Browning stood in front of a viewscreen staring at her five-year-old son. He was bound at the wrists humanely—small consolations—his whole body hunched over as he cried and railed in words that meant less than the intensity of the pain behind them.
“He’ll be a legend, Janenna.” The father’s voice practically glowed.
He had done this to their son. He had delivered him to the Projects without warning or consultation.
Janenna had heard of the Projects, decided not to volunteer herself as a potential supersoldier, never dreamed they were taking children.
She turned to her husband, soon to be ex. “One day, I will kill you for this.”0