Title: "Echoes of Deception"
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Lee’s bare feet bounded over the dusty ruts gouged by truck tires. She heard everything—the faraway crickets trembling beneath grass blades, the tension in Elle’s breath as her friend snuck along ahead, the metallic creak of power lines caught in the late-afternoon wind. Everything was sharp, urgent, pressing against her brain.
"Keep up," Elle hissed, her silhouette blotting out the slanting sun as she jogged ahead, braid swinging like a clock hand.
Lee followed, her own heartbeat modulating to match Ella’s—their footfalls, even in their carefulness, were in sync. Neither said a word about the clones they’d left cuffed in Dr. Khesling’s basement, or how close they'd come to dying at the hands of their own faces mirrored in murderous purpose. Lee’s own clone had clicked its tongue at her, symphony of hatred and calculation; she read in the shivering air its plan to end her. Only Elle’s fast thinking and Lee’s acute perception had turned the tables.
Now, as the sun began to set and their shadows stretched long across the scrubby dirt road, Elle ducked through a hedgerow and beckoned Lee forward. A low fence scratched at Lee’s shins; mosquitoes bled her ankles as she ducked and followed.
Beyond the wild brush and mossy boulders, tucked behind a squat barn that still carried the sweet stink of manure, was the helicopter. It rested on a pitiful little mat, blades glinting russet in the gold light.
Elle scrambled up first, adrenaline in her grin. "Get inside, Lee!"
Lee’s senses flared: the fuel—cheap, tinged with ethanol—dripped from the rusty refueling valve, mixing with the ozone and the worry-sweat that spiked off Elle’s skin. Her own smell was flint, heart pounding, but she trusted Elle, or had for so long that doubt seemed pointless now.
The seat was cracked, a torn map stuffed in the pocket beside her. Lee pressed her hands to the dash, feeling the vibration reverberating deeper than any touch: she could sense every hidden stress in the battered frame.
Elle flicked switches, eyes locked on the dials, and within moments the engine coughed alive. The rotors spun faster, slicing up sunbeams into strobing shards.
"Canada," Elle said breathlessly, mouth quirking in a half-grin. "We’ll be over the border before they even realize we’re gone."
As the skids lifted off the mat, Lee fixed her attention outward, but her mind attuned to every detail—the vibration in her jawbones, the rhythm of air over the tail rotor, and in a rush, she felt it: the navigation beacons pinging from the east, not the north. The path the helicopter traced in the air arced away from their planned path. The magnetic field wasn’t right—she sensed the pull toward the ocean, not the woods of Ontario.
“Elle,” she thought, “where are we going?”
But she kept silent. She watched as the ground below was carved into squares and lines, a patchwork of fields and driveways, the spiral of the river far off. She analyzed Elle’s hands on the controls, saw the steadiness, the setness of her jaw. Something else was guiding them.
For nearly an hour, neither spoke. Lee’s mind raced, weaving together every stray bit of sense—each pressure change, every manipulated vibration, the odd bounce in their trajectory—until the distant city appeared over the horizon, lights winking in the dusk.
Not Canada. Lee guessed the destination before the first streetlight shimmered: Boston.
She turned, breaking her long silence. "You lied—why?"
Elle did not look at her, hands still on the collective, eyes stitched forward. "You wouldn’t have followed me otherwise. We need help—more than we could get hiding out in the woods. I know a guy in Cambridge. Ex-federal agent. I think you’ll be interested in what he has to offer.”
Lee wanted to be angry. She felt the emotion, sharp on her tongue. But curiosity reframed the sensation, turned it from a wound to a spark.
“And what about the clones?” Lee asked, soft, letting her voice ride the whirr of the blades.
“They’ll come,” Elle sighed. “It’s only a matter of time. But we need allies, Lee. Not just an escape.”
Lee nodded, her senses reaching out to taste the new fate unfurling—a web of possibility electric in the air.
Below, Boston’s rivers gleamed like veins in fading sunlight, and Lee, the girl with senses too sharp for her own good, began to anticipate the next round of the game: escape, confrontation, or something stranger.
They disappeared south, the helicopter a ghost over blue steel water, the past and the future both chasing close behind.
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: Lee’s bare feet bounded over the dusty ruts gouged by truck tires. She heard everything—the faraway crickets trembling beneath grass blades, the tension in Elle’s breath as her friend snuck along ahead, the metallic creak of power lines caught in the late-afternoon wind. Everything was sharp, urgent, pressing against her brain. "Keep up," Elle hissed, her silhouette blotting out the slanting sun as she jogged ahead, braid swinging like a clock hand. Lee followed, her own heartbeat modulating to match Ella’s—their footfalls, even in their carefulness, were in sync. Neither said a word about the clones they’d left cuffed in Dr. Khesling’s basement, or how close they'd come to dying at the hands of their own faces mirrored in murderous purpose. Lee’s own clone had clicked its tongue at her, symphony of hatred and calculation; she read in the shivering air its plan to end her. Only Elle’s fast thinking and Lee’s acute perception had turned the tables. Now, as the sun began to set and their shadows stretched long across the scrubby dirt road, Elle ducked through a hedgerow and beckoned Lee forward. A low fence scratched at Lee’s shins; mosquitoes bled her ankles as she ducked and followed. Beyond the wild brush and mossy boulders, tucked behind a squat barn that still carried the sweet stink of manure, was the helicopter. It rested on a pitiful little mat, blades glinting russet in the gold light. Elle scrambled up first, adrenaline in her grin. "Get inside, Lee!" Lee’s senses flared: the fuel—cheap, tinged with ethanol—dripped from the rusty refueling valve, mixing with the ozone and the worry-sweat that spiked off Elle’s skin. Her own smell was flint, heart pounding, but she trusted Elle, or had for so long that doubt seemed pointless now. The seat was cracked, a torn map stuffed in the pocket beside her. Lee pressed her hands to the dash, feeling the vibration reverberating deeper than any touch: she could sense every hidden stress in the battered frame. Elle flicked switches, eyes locked on the dials, and within moments the engine coughed alive. The rotors spun faster, slicing up sunbeams into strobing shards. "Canada," Elle said breathlessly, mouth quirking in a half-grin. "We’ll be over the border before they even realize we’re gone." As the skids lifted off the mat, Lee fixed her attention outward, but her mind attuned to every detail—the vibration in her jawbones, the rhythm of air over the tail rotor, and in a rush, she felt it: the navigation beacons pinging from the east, not the north. The path the helicopter traced in the air arced away from their planned path. The magnetic field wasn’t right—she sensed the pull toward the ocean, not the woods of Ontario. “Elle,” she thought, “where are we going?” But she kept silent. She watched as the ground below was carved into squares and lines, a patchwork of fields and driveways, the spiral of the river far off. She analyzed Elle’s hands on the controls, saw the steadiness, the setness of her jaw. Something else was guiding them. For nearly an hour, neither spoke. Lee’s mind raced, weaving together every stray bit of sense—each pressure change, every manipulated vibration, the odd bounce in their trajectory—until the distant city appeared over the horizon, lights winking in the dusk. Not Canada. Lee guessed the destination before the first streetlight shimmered: Boston. She turned, breaking her long silence. "You lied—why?" Elle did not look at her, hands still on the collective, eyes stitched forward. "You wouldn’t have followed me otherwise. We need help—more than we could get hiding out in the woods. I know a guy in Cambridge. Ex-federal agent. I think you’ll be interested in what he has to offer.” Lee wanted to be angry. She felt the emotion, sharp on her tongue. But curiosity reframed the sensation, turned it from a wound to a spark. “And what about the clones?” Lee asked, soft, letting her voice ride the whirr of the blades. “They’ll come,” Elle sighed. “It’s only a matter of time. But we need allies, Lee. Not just an escape.” Lee nodded, her senses reaching out to taste the new fate unfurling—a web of possibility electric in the air. Below, Boston’s rivers gleamed like veins in fading sunlight, and Lee, the girl with senses too sharp for her own good, began to anticipate the next round of the game: escape, confrontation, or something stranger. They disappeared south, the helicopter a ghost over blue steel water, the past and the future both chasing close behind.
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