Crstn

He saw a boy, no more than six, with a mop of brown hair and a gap-toothed smile. The boy was flying a kite on a green hill under a yellow sun. The boy was laughing. The boy was calling a name. A name with vowels. A name that tasted like honey and rain.

"Report, Crstn," the Director said.

"No," she smiled, holding up a small, humming device. "You were . Let me show you what you are." He saw a boy, no more than six,

It wasn't a name his mother gave him. It was a product code from the Vanguard Corporation, stamped onto the bio-plate embedded in his left wrist. He was a Custodian, a Resynthesized Tactical Neutralizer. A ghost in a machine of flesh and chrome. The boy was calling a name