"Flight of Deception"
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The sun burned high and white in the wide Nebraska sky, baking the billows of dirt that rose with every hurried footfall. Lee was running.
Lee’s senses vibrated with the urgency of the moment. Her hearing stretched infallibly into the dust, catching the crack of brush under boots far back — the clones. They were coming. With every inhale she tasted the difference in human sweat, adrenaline sharp and metallic, her own mingled with Elle’s just ahead.
Elle didn’t need enhanced senses to know time was desperate. She grabbed Lee’s wrist, urging silently: *Run, trust me.* She led Lee zig-zagging through corn stubble and past the skeleton of a burnt-out silo, toward a road that shimmered with the day’s heat.
“It’s just ahead,” Elle murmured over her shoulder. Lee almost heard her heart thumping, not as steady and strong as her own—Elle was brave, but mortally human. Lee’s own breath was measured, each intake filtered for the faintest hint of clone musk, ozone, engine oil, gunmetal. Nothing overtook the dusty scent of Elle’s fear.
They broke through a thicket to a narrow dirt road, baked gold by the sun and barren but for their shadows. The road bent into nowhere, with trembling heat mirage at its edges. Elle didn’t even hesitate—she knew where she was going, her sneakers pounding a funny wartime rhythm into the powdery earth. Lee followed closely, her long strides impossibly quiet. She sensed every pebble beneath her toes, every shift in the air behind them.
“If we make that turn,” Elle called back—the first words since the escape—“there’s cover in the trees. Just five minutes.” Her voice held both pleading and promise.
The sun pulsed against Lee’s skin. Her eyes darted once to the horizon—no pursuers visible, but there, far off, a blur of movement. Her sixth sense prickled: not just pursuit, but something watched from above, a faint drone between wind and birds.
Still, she trusted Elle’s lead. The road wound on, now shading into a copse of oaks. Here, the light filtered green-gold, dappling Lee’s arm as she reached out to keep Elle steady. Elle’s hand was clammy, strong.
Suddenly, Lee’s nose filled with aviation fuel. Her ears picked up the faint whine of idling turbines, far before Elle could discern them. She smiled, lips tight. “Here?”
Elle ducked behind an overgrown fencepost, producing from a bush not a set of keys—but a camo-green touchpad. “Keep watch,” she gasped.
Lee didn’t need directions. She scanned the treeline, eyes peeling back the layers of shadow and shape, nose hunting the mechanical tang among the undergrowth. There: a Bell 429, half-shrouded by netting, its tail still just visible beneath a mound of brush.
Elle was already on it, yanking the mesh away, madly keying in a code. “Hurry,” Lee hissed, every sense screaming at the delay. She could now hear, through layers of earth and wood, the thundering footsteps of their less-than-human pursuers.
The helicopter’s door opened as if by miracle. Elle yanked Lee inside, slammed it, and started the preflight ritual. Her hands shook. Lee reached out, steadied her as she toggled switches, lips moving in silent prayer or checklist. The turbines coughed, caught, roared. In seconds, they were airborne, wind flattening the grass below. Lee watched through plexiglass, both relief and regret stabbing her in the chest at the sight of their clones bursting into the clearing—too late by mere seconds.
Elle punched in coordinates. “Montreal,” she said, voice shaking with hope and exhaustion.
Wind battered the tail—Lee’s stomach sank with the lurch into the sky. But within moments her senses started screaming. At first, it was only the subtle shift of the sun through the window, too hot for a northeastern climb. Then the buzz of air-conditioning vents, piping warmer air than it should. The sound in her ears of rotors biting into wind from the wrong side. She knew, deep in her bones, they were turning west, not northeast.
She studied Elle. Her ally’s face was taut, mouth set in a hard line. Her fingers flicked controls, but Lee’s enchanted hearing picked up the faintest ghost of a prerecorded voice through her headset: “Proceed to target. Bypass—”
Lee’s heart stilled. Something was overriding Elle’s navigation.
“Elle,” she said softly, but did not question, not yet.
They climbed higher. Clouds blurred beneath them. Below, the ground changed from farmland to the patchwork of dry prairie and salt flats. Several minutes passed, filled with nothing but the judder of flight and the silent presence of questions between them.
Finally, Lee’s curiosity broke through. Her senses could not be deceived; this wasn’t Montreal, or even north. “You know we aren’t headed to Canada, don’t you?”
Elle’s hands tightened on the stick. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “The helicopter… it’s preprogrammed. The owner rigged it. I thought we could override it. I thought—maybe they’d given up tracking, but—“
Lee touched her shoulder. Her own breath, measured and slow, betrayed nothing. “You’re still with me?” she asked.
Elle turned, helpless. “I never meant to betray you.”
“Where are we going?” Lee asked quietly, tasting the heavy air for electric ozone. She detected none; not a trap, then—not yet.
“To the Black Hills,” Elle whispered. “That’s what the flight plan says. After that—I just don’t know.”
Lee considered mutiny; with her senses, she could disable Elle in a heartbeat and wrest the controls. But she let her curiosity guide her, instincts honed on a thousand narrow escapes. “Then we let it play out,” she said. Her senses ranged ahead, ready for any hint of clone, trap, or danger.
Beneath them, the land splayed out wild and empty. Lee’s eyes searched the world below and the world inside Elle, waiting for the next piece of the puzzle to fall into place. For Lee understood something else in the current—a change not only in direction, but in allegiance, in the very nature of trust.
The story of who she was, and why her clone so closely pursued her, was written in the wind over the grasslands. And Lee vowed, with every remarkable sense she possessed, to survive long enough to read it.
This story was generated by user jess.jessie0 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a long story about Lee's who had enhanced senses. She and her ally Elle escaped from their own clones who were trying to kill them. Describe how Elle led Lee through the dirt roads to a hidden helicopter. Describe how Lee followed Elle down the sunny dirt road. They planned to fly to Canada, but as soon as Elle took the controls of the helicopter, it flew in a different direction. Lee, with her heightened senses, immediately sensed that they were not going to Canada and felt cheated, but she kept quiet because she was curious about where Elle would take her.
Response: The sun burned high and white in the wide Nebraska sky, baking the billows of dirt that rose with every hurried footfall. Lee was running. Lee’s senses vibrated with the urgency of the moment. Her hearing stretched infallibly into the dust, catching the crack of brush under boots far back — the clones. They were coming. With every inhale she tasted the difference in human sweat, adrenaline sharp and metallic, her own mingled with Elle’s just ahead. Elle didn’t need enhanced senses to know time was desperate. She grabbed Lee’s wrist, urging silently: *Run, trust me.* She led Lee zig-zagging through corn stubble and past the skeleton of a burnt-out silo, toward a road that shimmered with the day’s heat. “It’s just ahead,” Elle murmured over her shoulder. Lee almost heard her heart thumping, not as steady and strong as her own—Elle was brave, but mortally human. Lee’s own breath was measured, each intake filtered for the faintest hint of clone musk, ozone, engine oil, gunmetal. Nothing overtook the dusty scent of Elle’s fear. They broke through a thicket to a narrow dirt road, baked gold by the sun and barren but for their shadows. The road bent into nowhere, with trembling heat mirage at its edges. Elle didn’t even hesitate—she knew where she was going, her sneakers pounding a funny wartime rhythm into the powdery earth. Lee followed closely, her long strides impossibly quiet. She sensed every pebble beneath her toes, every shift in the air behind them. “If we make that turn,” Elle called back—the first words since the escape—“there’s cover in the trees. Just five minutes.” Her voice held both pleading and promise. The sun pulsed against Lee’s skin. Her eyes darted once to the horizon—no pursuers visible, but there, far off, a blur of movement. Her sixth sense prickled: not just pursuit, but something watched from above, a faint drone between wind and birds. Still, she trusted Elle’s lead. The road wound on, now shading into a copse of oaks. Here, the light filtered green-gold, dappling Lee’s arm as she reached out to keep Elle steady. Elle’s hand was clammy, strong. Suddenly, Lee’s nose filled with aviation fuel. Her ears picked up the faint whine of idling turbines, far before Elle could discern them. She smiled, lips tight. “Here?” Elle ducked behind an overgrown fencepost, producing from a bush not a set of keys—but a camo-green touchpad. “Keep watch,” she gasped. Lee didn’t need directions. She scanned the treeline, eyes peeling back the layers of shadow and shape, nose hunting the mechanical tang among the undergrowth. There: a Bell 429, half-shrouded by netting, its tail still just visible beneath a mound of brush. Elle was already on it, yanking the mesh away, madly keying in a code. “Hurry,” Lee hissed, every sense screaming at the delay. She could now hear, through layers of earth and wood, the thundering footsteps of their less-than-human pursuers. The helicopter’s door opened as if by miracle. Elle yanked Lee inside, slammed it, and started the preflight ritual. Her hands shook. Lee reached out, steadied her as she toggled switches, lips moving in silent prayer or checklist. The turbines coughed, caught, roared. In seconds, they were airborne, wind flattening the grass below. Lee watched through plexiglass, both relief and regret stabbing her in the chest at the sight of their clones bursting into the clearing—too late by mere seconds. Elle punched in coordinates. “Montreal,” she said, voice shaking with hope and exhaustion. Wind battered the tail—Lee’s stomach sank with the lurch into the sky. But within moments her senses started screaming. At first, it was only the subtle shift of the sun through the window, too hot for a northeastern climb. Then the buzz of air-conditioning vents, piping warmer air than it should. The sound in her ears of rotors biting into wind from the wrong side. She knew, deep in her bones, they were turning west, not northeast. She studied Elle. Her ally’s face was taut, mouth set in a hard line. Her fingers flicked controls, but Lee’s enchanted hearing picked up the faintest ghost of a prerecorded voice through her headset: “Proceed to target. Bypass—” Lee’s heart stilled. Something was overriding Elle’s navigation. “Elle,” she said softly, but did not question, not yet. They climbed higher. Clouds blurred beneath them. Below, the ground changed from farmland to the patchwork of dry prairie and salt flats. Several minutes passed, filled with nothing but the judder of flight and the silent presence of questions between them. Finally, Lee’s curiosity broke through. Her senses could not be deceived; this wasn’t Montreal, or even north. “You know we aren’t headed to Canada, don’t you?” Elle’s hands tightened on the stick. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “The helicopter… it’s preprogrammed. The owner rigged it. I thought we could override it. I thought—maybe they’d given up tracking, but—“ Lee touched her shoulder. Her own breath, measured and slow, betrayed nothing. “You’re still with me?” she asked. Elle turned, helpless. “I never meant to betray you.” “Where are we going?” Lee asked quietly, tasting the heavy air for electric ozone. She detected none; not a trap, then—not yet. “To the Black Hills,” Elle whispered. “That’s what the flight plan says. After that—I just don’t know.” Lee considered mutiny; with her senses, she could disable Elle in a heartbeat and wrest the controls. But she let her curiosity guide her, instincts honed on a thousand narrow escapes. “Then we let it play out,” she said. Her senses ranged ahead, ready for any hint of clone, trap, or danger. Beneath them, the land splayed out wild and empty. Lee’s eyes searched the world below and the world inside Elle, waiting for the next piece of the puzzle to fall into place. For Lee understood something else in the current—a change not only in direction, but in allegiance, in the very nature of trust. The story of who she was, and why her clone so closely pursued her, was written in the wind over the grasslands. And Lee vowed, with every remarkable sense she possessed, to survive long enough to read it.
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