3.7) Clay Banning

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After hours of running, Mike finally found a place where he could get a car. A supermarket he could after he made his way out of the forest. It was early in the morning, and the parking lot was almost empty.

Mike hasn't slept in almost a day, while he drives, his body failed him, shutting down itself. But before he could fully fall asleep, a car pressed the horn, it alerted Mike once again and quickly moved the wheel to the right to avoid hitting the car. He took deep breaths to calm himself and kept driving.

He drove into the forest, and left the car parked a mile away from his destination. He walked for what felt like forever, until a branch cracked near him. He looked around, his eyes scanning his surroundings to find anything, until his eyes landed in a small ranch not far from where he stood. He made his way to that place and looked to his left, to see an old man with his pistol in hand, pointed straight at Mike's chest. The old man breathed heavily as he made his way towards Mike, his rifle shaking in his hand.

"How the fuck did you find me?" He asked.

"I run security for the President. How do you think? You've been here for the last five years," Mike stated, the old man's face softened, making him put down his pistol. "North Carolina before that. Alaska before that."

"You see, that's Big Brother for you," he stated.

"No, actually, it was just me wondering if you were still alive," Mike said sincerely, and the old man nodded.

"Did you do it?" He asked.

"You'd like it if I did, wouldn't you..." Mike paused and sighed. "Dad?"

The old man took a deep breath and walked towards the ranch, his son following behind him. Clay Banning, a man Mike hasn't seen since his childhood, and thought he would never see again.

"I'm not gonna stay long. Just need a place off-grid, lie low for a bit," Mike stated as he looked around the ranch. "Hey, you got any water?"

"Yeah," his father nodded and served him fresh water in a cup. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Mike nodded. "So you run off your own power source, water, everything?"

"Sure, why not?" He nodded. "You stay attached to their tentacles, they own you for life."

"Fuck," Mike sighed, his migraine coming back to him again. "Hey, you got any aspirin? Something stronger?"

"I don't do medication," Clay responded.

"Of course you don't," he sighed.

"And by the looks of it, you shouldn't either," he stated and his son gave him a small glare.

"What's this?" Mike put the cup in a table as he touched his father's typewriter. "Writing your own manifesto?"

"You know, I've had a lifetime to think about the things I've seen and I've done," he said sincerely as he walked to his son's side. "I don't want to ever forget. That's how we get lost."

"Yeah?" Mike asked and walked away from him. "What chapter am I in?"

"Why are they saying it's you?" He asked his son as he sat on a reclining wooden chair.

"I was set up," Mike stated.

"Not a surprise. Fucking government," his father said as he uncovered the security footage of their surroundings from under a blanket.

"No, not the government," Mike shook his head. "It was a friend of mine. I'm trying to figure out who else."

"Sounds like you should pick better friends, son," he said and Mike scoffed.

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