Cloning Love

"You allowed the notion of Rick's disappearance to prevail for the past six years as a missing person?!" The revelation shook Doctor Marek Potock to his core. It took the old man decades to climb out of the hole wrought with scandal encapsulating his early career. Before cloning became commonplace, doctors with the same leanings as Marek treated clones like true-born humans; Potock even facilitated the resurrection of loved ones to bereaved families. The shifting government policies and popular opinions on the subject led to the banning of cloning and the termination of all illegal clones.

"I needed to keep it a secret; people needed to believe he still lived. It was the only way I could have a chance at bringing him back." Ellen Crowberg, a woman approaching thirty, sat across from Potock in his office. She paid close attention to the doctor's expressions from the clinical chair made of uncomfortable plastic as Marek swiveled in his own chair behind the vintage desk.

Ellen's youth remained strong despite the hardships she faced. Her auburn hair clung to a vibrancy on the cusp of dimming. This contrasted with the much older Marek, whose hair abandoned the top of his head in a rush; the hair on the sides and back of his head refused to vacate, growing longer to compensate for the top's refusal to grow.

"What you ask of me is illegal. If caught, we'd face lifelong sentencing by the courts, at best, and at worst, execution. The government made their stance on cloning crystal clear." Doctor Potock's heavy eyes drifted off in deep thought. He served as Ellen and her late husband Rick's physician for the last decade, and it pained him to have her begging for such a request in his office.

"Please, Doctor Potock… Marek. You're the only one I can turn to. Believe me when I say I understand the consequences. I've been going over this in my head countless times, and the fact is, I am nothing without Rick. Please bring him back to me?" Ellen Crowberg did her best to maintain a sense of composure.

Marek cleared his throat and leaned forward with a consoling posture. "Dealing with previous memories can be hit or miss. Nothing about this can guarantee your Rick will be your Rick. He will have the same outside appearance and sound like him, but will he be him? I don't think so, Ellen. Too many clones have been unable to remember their previous life."

"No!!" Ellen shot up, unable to hold back her emotions. She paced the office, venting her anxious energy. "It's been six years! Six years of emptiness! In my heart, I'm certain this will work!"

With the ambulatory grace of a man in his last years, Marek stood from behind his desk and walked to Ellen. His expression beamed like a father talking down a child with genuine empathy. "Just because you wish it to be true does not make it so."

"This is all I have left, and you're the only one able to help me. Please?" Her eyes welled with tears. A slow trickle of them began as she fought to bottle the imminent eruption of pain and loss.

Ellen might as well have been Doctor Potock's flesh and blood. How does one turn down family? With a deep sigh, he stepped away and turned his back to her. "Do you have a sample?"

Ellen's eyes lit up. "I do." She wiped the tears away as hope took over.

Potock forced a smile to match Ellen's enthusiasm. "Bring it to me and be quick about it. I want to finish the procedure as quickly as time will allow."

****

The advent of the regrowth module served as a crowning scientific achievement. The technology represented a harmonious integration of biology, nanotechnology, and artificial intelligence, allowing individuals to regenerate living organisms in a controlled and responsible manner within the confines of their personal laboratories. At first, the practice prospered. It was short-lived; it didn't take long for the government to commandeer the tech for its own purposes.

A lab needed to have a controlled environment to mimic the natural conditions required for the optimal growth of a human. This included maintaining specific temperatures, humidity, and atmospheric conditions to support cellular regeneration. The conditions in the underground lab remained less than ideal; the decaying equipment barely met the necessary standards.

They equipped the module with gel packs of nanobots on the verge of expiration. These nanobots carried sophisticated sensors and programmable functions; they also served as the foundation for initiating and guiding the regrowth process at the cellular level. High-speed DNA sequencers from older growth modules were attached to the makeshift lab, ready to analyze the genetic code from the sample of Ellen's late husband; the replication mechanism from a foreign module belonging to a nation where cloning remained legal sat ready to recreate an accurate genetic blueprint.

Marek moved on to inspect the biomechanical reservoir. The bioactive compounds, growth factors, and nutrients essential for cell development appeared optimal. These biochemicals would be dosed and released to promote optimal growth conditions. Another integral module component was the 3D bio-printing framework, which assembled complex structures by layering cells, tissues, and supporting materials.

Doctor Potock, now immersed in a scientific mindset, checked the environmental controls before a last inspection of the AI system. The AI played a crucial role in orchestrating the cloning process. These algorithms would interpret the genetic data, monitor cellular development in real time, and adjust the parameters to ensure the clone's proper formation.

A considerable risk of being apprehended pushed Marek to work with speedy diligence. Doctor Potock had no choice but to accept the underground facility and hand-me-down equipment at his disposal. With a heavy sigh, Marek went to work.

Ellen waited twelve hours. What was twelve hours when compared to six years? Occasionally, she moved to use the restroom but, otherwise, remained glued to the procedure, knowing each passing minute brought her closer to Rick's return.

The growth module completed the process, speeding up the growth to make Rick the proper age. Ellen soaked in every detail of the massive contraption in utter amazement. Such creations remained illegal in most of the developed world; a few outliers stayed firm in their conviction of clone rights.

Potock sauntered over to Ellen with heavy eyes. A weary expression transformed into a delighted smile. "It was a success."

Tears streamed down her face. Seeing her beloved after six years released a joy she never thought herself capable of again. "Can I see him?"

"Not yet. He needs to rest. Jogging his memory may take some time. It might not happen at all. Regaining memory is hit or miss. We must review where Rick has been for the last six years. If he remembers nothing, all the better. Amnesia would explain why he hadn't attempted contact for so long. With his military background, it's not unusual for such things to occur with the nanotech injected into soldiers. I can help with medical backing to support this, along with some colleagues who share my ideas on cloning. We also need to go over other things, such as his paperwork. We need to ensure all his information is current and can withstand intense scrutiny." Marek sighed again. The weight of his age pressed down upon the old man.

"Doctor Potock. I… I need to." Disregarding the doctor's instructions, Ellen ran toward the end of the module.

A body identical to the man she loved with all her heart rested inside a module with a glass covering. She almost forgot his handsome appearance and savored his delicate features and short, black hair. The tears kept coming as she held her mouth to stop from whimpering.

Potock advanced with care; he became startled at the sudden aggressiveness of the hug Ellen gave him but relaxed as she let the strength of the embrace loosen. "It's okay Ellen. He's back. And no one will take him away again." Marek wished he believed the statement.

****

Rick, so that's supposed to be my name. The clone scrutinized the home the strange woman named Ellen brought him to. The house had a familiar spark, but he recalled nothing specific. He stood before a wall mounted mirror used for last checks near the front doorway. He studied his own reflection. "I'm a clone?"

"Yes, and no. You're still Rick. My Rick." Ellen moved to embrace him and experienced a stabbing hurt in her chest when he took a step back. She took a deep breath, firm in her beliefs. "Your memories are going to come back to you."

"That's what you keep saying. But I remember nothing!" Rick punched the mirror in a fit of rage; the glass cracked, and a few shards fell to the floor. His hand bled, and he stared at it in awe. This sensation of pain was new yet familiar.

"Rick!" Ellen moved to examine the hand. "Let me clean it up."

"No! Stay away!" A forceful shove sent Ellen backward, hitting the floor with a loud thud. "Who the hell am I supposed to be?! I don't remember! All these people you keep bringing here, I don't recognize them! I can talk, I can read, I can do all those things, and I'm not sure how that's possible because I'm a damn clone!"

With fearful eyes, she stood and straightened her dress. Ellen pushed back the urge to run and anchored herself using the love she carried for Rick. "Those are part of your memories. The other parts will come back to you." She walked to him with cautious steps and held the wounded hand.

"Ellen," Rick said her name with an apologetic tone. "Elly, please stop. I can do it myself."

Ellen froze. "What did you call me?"

Rick shrugged. "Elly. Why?"

Her face beamed with hope. "Only you called me Elly."

Still fearful of another outburst, Ellen moved more carefully to hold Rick; she grew desperate to wrap her arms around him. He did not step back, nor did he put up a fight. He hugged her back, confused and scared; to say he experienced an existential crisis, put it lightly.

I hope to God those memories come back. The clone thought.

****

In a sudden and authoritative show of force, two government agents clad in black suits stormed into Marek's office, their demeanor radiating a palpable air of official urgency. Marek's office door swung open with a resolute thud, drawing the doctor's attention with immediacy. Their polished black shoes echoed with purpose on the tiled floor, and the sharp contrast of their dark attire against the sterile, clinical environment made them the focal point. Doctor Potock's assistant, Lily, trailed behind the imposing men, powerless to stop them.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Potock demanded.

"Doctor Marek Potock, my associate, and I are here to discuss some of your recent medical activities not pertaining to this clinic." Agent Jones smirked as he sized up the good doctor. Jones stood tall and composed, exuding a silent authority most people bowed to on a subconscious level. His black sunglasses concealed any hint of emotion, adding to the mystery of his presence. The tailored suit accentuated a physique that hinted at discipline and strength despite the graying hair and aged facial features behind the glasses.

Lily's outrage made her tiny frame grow to intimidating heights if the anger had been directed at untrained civilians. "You can't come in here disturbing Doctor Potock like this! He has patients that need his full attention, and…"

"Lily, it's okay," Potock interjected. "I'll be speaking with these men in private."

"But…" Lily surrendered to Doctor Potock's command, whipping her blonde hair as she turned to the door; before exiting the office, she gave the agents one last disapproving glare.

Upon Lily's exit, Marek stood from behind his desk to meet them both at eye level. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"We are with the Division of Illegal Cloning. I am Agent Jones, and this is Agent Li. And you are going to be placed under arrest for the illegal cloning of one Rick Crowberg, Doctor Potock." Jones answered.

How did they find out? Potock eyed the phone at his desk; vintage landlines came back in style to counter the era's digital dominance. A constant economic battle existed between analog and digital in the technological marketplace.

"Oh, Marek, you can try to warn Ellen, but it won't matter. Our men are already en route, along with local authorities. They should be at her home any second now. The clone will be terminated, and Ellen will be arrested since I'm sure she isn't the sole architect of this deviant act against our laws." Jone's smile was chilling at best.

Agent Li moved toward Doctor Potock with a sense of controlled urgency. The taser-equipped handcuffs he carried underscored the gravity of the situation. These handcuffs would pulse currents of electrical charges should the detainee resist. Despite Agent Jones' and Li's shared attire, Li's demeanor presented a subtle contrast — a blend of vigilance and readiness. Dark eyes scanned the room with keen awareness, noting every detail.

"Ellen…" Potock whispered her name. Forgive me for failing you.

****

After all that, she still wants to make me dinner. The clone let the thought go as he cleaned up the glass mess of the broken mirror. He couldn't help but study his reflection in each piece; the fractured image better represented his emotional state.

She'll be back soon. The clone's mind went back to Ellen, who had stepped out to go shopping moments ago. I can at least make the place look nice for her.

The phone attached to the wall in the hall rang, taking Rick from his moment of introspection. Ellen voted with her dollar, and her vote went to analog tech; landlines had made a comeback. He answered and grew worried as Ellen's voice spewed fast, shaken words; fear enunciated every syllable. "Slow down. What's the matter?"

Ellen's warning created a primal panic in the clone. Yes, he was a clone, but he still wanted to live. "How did they find me?"

The question was one Ellen did not have an answer for, and Rick dropped the phone, exiting through the kitchen backdoor with the speed of hunted prey.

Upon exiting the house, two men dressed in black suits closed in on Rick, attempting to hold him down. The scuffle knocked over a patio table and pottery containing some of Ellen's favorite plants. Neighbors monitored the struggle with fascinated horror; a few recorded the incident on their cell phones only to have other agents nearby apprehend the devices with cold efficiency.

Much to Rick's surprise, he fought against his attackers using aggressive self-defense techniques; the origins of his martial prowess added to the mystery of his identity. Without thinking, he lifted a handgun from within the jacket of one of his attackers. It felt so natural.

How did I do that? The clone wondered.

Without wasting a second, Rick continued his run, leaving the two agents on the lawn of his home. His home?

I may have killed! The brief encounter ran through his mind as he sped away on foot. He recalled a snapping noise as he fought off one of the men. Was that his neck? The question horrified the clone.

In the quiet suburb, where trimmed lawns and white picket fences defined the landscape, Rick continued his run at a near superhuman pace, weaving through the labyrinth of residential streets. The tranquility of the surroundings clashed with the urgency of his footsteps as government agents closed in, determined to apprehend the clone.

The suburban streets bathed in the sun's warmth and didn't care about the fugitive clone. The peaceful neighborhood became an unexpected battleground. The quaint houses witnessed the unfolding drama; their windows framed curious onlookers peering out with a mix of concern and intrigue.

I have to escape! I have to live for Ellen!

Sirens broke his train of thought, warbling in the air. The fast-paced thud of airship blades overhead added to his already elevated heartbeat. Rick's footsteps echoed against the streets as he darted around corners. Picket fences and manicured lawns became an improvised obstacle course, each hurdle adding to the suspense of the chase. More sirens. More agents on foot. There was more yelling for him to stop. The rhythmic pounding of shoes from his escape reverberated in the clone's ears.

"He's over here!" A little boy shouted as police on foot did their best to maintain a solid pursuit. Excited by all the commotion, the boy jumped up and down, thinking the scenario to be an extravagant production created for him.

The clone of Rick did his best to ignore the boy. He cut through yard after yard, jumping fence after fence, unsure where to go. The thought of being caught motivated him to maintain a solid distance between himself and those pursuing.

In a desperate bid to evade capture, the clone reached the outskirts of the suburbs, where the asphalt gave way to the uneven terrain of a dense forest. The foliage loomed with an inviting yet ominous appeal, a refuge offering both concealment and uncertainty. With a final glance back at the agents closing in, the clone plunged into the forest, leaving behind the suburban streets.

The forest now played host to the frantic pursuit. Rick's clone navigated through the underbrush, the rustling leaves and animal sounds adding a layer of tension to his escape. The setting sun filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. The airship pilots grew frustrated as their bird's-eye view became obsolete.

Rick disappeared deeper into the woods, and the government agents faced the challenge of navigating the unfamiliar terrain in suits and police uniforms. The chase unfolded beneath the overarching branches. As the benefit of the sun gave way to the shadows of the night, the agents and local police fell back, setting up a perimeter and utilizing modern technology to combat the darkness.

The time it took for the authorities to regroup gave Rick all the time he needed to make nature his refuge. This forest was vast, and he realized he possessed survival skills greater than the average person. For now, he would stay hidden.

****

"Is he still in the cave?" Agson asked Bartly; they stood far away enough to monitor yet remain hidden. Their camouflage gear also aided in this respect. The clone ran fast and hard to find refuge and made a home deep in the woods near a cave system.

Bartly stayed focused on the cave. Being a clone himself, Bartly understood the fear and confusion going through the mind of the one they tracked. "Hasn't moved. He's smart. Has survival training."

"Doesn't surprise me," Agson said. He noted the rugged features of the man's face. Sometimes, Agson thought Bartly was carved of stone. It contrasted Agson's features, which were softer and full of life.

Both men were clean-shaven of all hair on their heads. It existed as their code and as a ritual for the rebel clones. Doing so represented cutting ties with all aspects of their previous lives.

"Think he remembers anything yet?" Bartly never took his eyes from the cave.

"He might. The DC is on his ass, for sure. They discovered his birth faster than I thought they would. This means they want him in a bad way. He's special somehow." Agson struggled with what to do.

"What a bunch of DICs." Bartly spat out; it was one of three repetitive jokes the man told. The Division of Illegal Cloning was a bunch of DICs, a stand-in for dicks.

Agson didn't respond. The tired joke did not warrant a response after hearing it for what could easily have been the millionth time.

"We should make contact. If he's going to trust us, he needs to know he's not alone." Bartley suggested.

"It's still too soon. He wouldn't trust us walking up to him. He's been on the run for five days. He's still got the scent of Division agents in his nostrils; he might confuse us for them. You've read his file. He's a killer. Military trained. We play it safe with him."

Bartly took offense to the comment, and Agson picked up on this. Bartly thought himself the most elite of the clones living in secrecy.

"So, what do you want to do?" Bartly asked.

Agson smiled. "We'll let him find us."

***

Since his birth in the cloning module, flashes of everything he had experienced soared through Rick's mind. The cave system gave the clone multiple places to hide; he switched where he slept frequently, using the shelter of the caves. He escaped, for now. What about Ellen? What would he do next? What could he do?

Can't stay here for too long. Must keep moving. A handful of wild berries entered his mouth; the sweet and tart combination left a robust flavor on his tastebuds. Again, much to his surprise, Rick discovered his aptitude for survival to be formidable. The body remembered the previous life, but his mind did not.

A rattling noise disturbed his quiet dinner of sorts; he spread out tiny breakable branches and foliage along specific paths leading to the cave. Anyone walking those paths would step on the hidden branches, revealing their approach. Quick to action, he held tight to the gun he stole during his escape and took careful steps from within his sanctuary. Upon exiting, he found a note, and various leaves covered the ground leading to the note. Someone did a not-so-excellent job hiding their footsteps and wanted Rick to detect it.

After checking the small perimeter, Rick's clone lifted the note. He sensed eyes on him from afar. Relax. Whoever is hiding out there would have moved in if they wanted that kind of confrontation.

The note read: We are like you. You have valuable skills that can help us; we need not tell you how to find us. Come to us. Join us. Find purpose and safety with your own kind.

Rick panned the trees surrounding his forest home. He searched for any signs of those monitoring him and found none.

****

Ellen understood all prospects for a happy future died the moment they discovered Rick's clone. Her life was over, and the government would make sure of it. The Division of Illegal Cloning showed no mercy. There would be no leniency, even for those who cooperated in the capture of others. But she would betray no one and feared her long-time family friend, Doctor Potock, was already in custody and in a much grimmer situation than she was.

The door to her damp cell opened, and the corridor light trickled in. A man dressed in a black suit entered with an all-knowing smile. "Mrs. Crowberg, I'm sure I don't have to tell you how much trouble you're in. Or the kind of trouble." This agent carried ancient features; he stood as a relic from before the advent of cloning. His bald head reflected some of the light, and his nose drooped with age; sporadic liver spots dotted his skin.

"I did what I did out of love." Ellen did her best to stay strong. Rick showed her how - the real Rick.

"Your husband, when alive, served as a decorated military officer. His death was a tragedy, but he died with honor, doing his duty for God and country." The man in the black suit seated himself across from Ellen at the stainless-steel table; it was the go-to decor for the various detention centers the Division had at their disposal. The older agent's chair was of a more comfortable design and placed in the interrogation room for his convenience. "A genuine tragedy. You should have mourned and moved on. Not bring him back. Why? Why go through all this trouble knowing it would be impossible not to get caught?"

"What are you talking about?" A disgusting knot of dread formed within Ellen's stomach.

"Come on, Mrs. Crowberg! Do you expect me to believe you did this out of love? Your husband carried vital information within his mind. Classified information of the utmost importance. Things he, in hindsight, should not have been privy to. He was rather adamant about reporting such things, which is why you find yourself the widow you are today. Rick carried a sickness. It's the sickness of thinking you have to do what you think is right no matter what. The problem is, his perception of what was right differed from ours." The old man laughed. His voice was dry and raspy. "The bit about being a hero is always for the public. Optics are everything. Dead and done is how we dealt with him." He cleared his throat. "But not quite dead or done, are we? You brought him back to us. And it's just a matter of time before those latent memories of his surface, and that is what we're after. We need those memories, Mrs. Crowberg." He leaned forward. Smiled. "Help us bring him in, Ellen. May I call you Ellen? I can make sure you live out the rest of your days rather than die the horrible death we have in store for you."

"I don't believe you." Her voice remained calm. Rick would have been proud of her.

The ancient agent of unknown rank ran his fingers across his bald head as if hair still occupied it. He smiled again; it was a smile that would send chills down anyone's back. "You've committed heinous crimes against our great and God-fearing nation. If you have any shred of patriotism left in you, you will help us."

"No. I brought him back because I love him. I needed him. My Rick. I have nothing to do with whatever you're talking about." She fought back the tears as best she could.

"Bring him to us." His smile turned menacing. "Just help bring him to us, and everything will be okay."

"I can't help you. Even if I could, my answer would still be no." Her strength was undeniable. She would not betray the man she loved.

"I did not want it to come to this Ellen. But you leave me no choice." The old agent's smile grew deeper, revealing yellow teeth of various shades.

The door to the interrogation room opened again, illuminating the dim surroundings to a greater degree. Another man entered wearing the same type of suit as the other agent. The striking difference with the second agent was that he carried a needle in his left hand.

"What is that?!" Ellen cried out.

"Last chance." The old agent's yellow teeth glistened in the added light from the open door.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Ellen did her best to back away from the needle, but the restraints kept her glued to the interrogation chair.

"I will find out the truth!" Spittle flew from the old man's mouth as he slammed his fist on the stainless-steel tabletop.

The focused pinprick of the syringe needle on her neck hurt; the agent didn't handle the injection with care like Doctor Potock had countless times. It released the chemical into her system, and it didn't take long for her to become less lucid. Self-control vanished from her will. She was at the mercy of those holding her captive.

****

Deep within the lush and expansive forests of middle America, where state lines had been redrawn after the Second Civil War, a hidden camp of rebel clones lived, loved, and trained for a common purpose: freedom. This clandestine enclave, born out of resistance against the powerful and authoritarian regime named the Division of Illegal Cloning, was a marvel of covert engineering and strategic camouflage.

Camp Rebirth nestled within a natural amphitheater surrounded by towering ancient trees, their leaves forming a dense canopy that shielded the rebel clones from advanced satellite surveillance. In a race to repair the environment, towering redwoods and ancient oaks were erected to replace the lost forest lands. This type of cloning didn't raise any alarms. The newly established trees served as a natural barrier, concealing the camp and dampening any electronic signals that might give away its location. A wide net of camouflage shielding acted as a second defense against the peering eyes of the Division from above.

Over time, the outlawed clones mastered the art of blending technology with nature. They constructed the structures in the camp from advanced adaptive materials that mimicked the colors and textures of the surrounding environment. The buildings seamlessly integrated into the forest, appearing as nothing more than natural formations to the untrained eye.

To further avoid detection, the rebels utilized advanced anti-surveillance technology. Invisible dampening fields distorted the view of any intruding aerial drones, making the camp appear as an illusion amid the trees; this acted as the third defense. The rebel clones also developed a sophisticated system of signal jamming and electronic countermeasures to disrupt any attempts at high-tech reconnoitering.

Inside the camp, the clones trained rigorously, honing their combat skills and perfecting guerrilla tactics. The rebels nourished themselves with sustainable agriculture and aquaponics, minimizing their impact on the surrounding ecosystem. Renewable energy sources powered the camp, leaving no detectable energy signature that could betray their location.

They conducted communication through encrypted channels, and scouts equipped with state-of-the-art stealth technology patrolled the perimeter, ensuring the camp remained hidden. The combination of advanced technology and a deep understanding of the natural world allowed the resistance to thrive in secrecy, evading detection and remaining a beacon of hope for those deemed less than human.

Rick's clone crouched behind a small hill; his position gave him a view of the camp. Rick smiled as a few clones talked and laughed within the elegant hideout. He understood they were clones and noted that each had a shaved head. There was more to it than that. He somehow connected with his own kind. Felt them. As his mind wandered, he garnered the feelings of what it meant to be home. It felt like home until he felt something else entirely: a gun barrel to the back of his head.

"I would have thought, given your record, a guy like me would never have been able to sneak up on a guy like you." Bartly chuckled while holding Rick at gunpoint. "Stand up."

"Well, I guess things aren't always as they appear." Rick stood up with the weapon fixed to the back of his head. Once again, the body remembered while the mind did not, and Rick's mind stood in awe as his body disarmed his aggressor with ease.

"Son of a bitch!" Bartly lay on his back, embarrassed at having his own firearm aimed at his head. "You are as good as everyone says. My name is Bartly. My given name was Matthew Drafton. That was the name of the man they created me after. I gave it up and took on my own name. I remember much of Matthew's life, but those are his memories. Mine are my own. You come from the one named Rick. Do you keep his name, or have you chosen one for yourself yet?"

More footsteps caused Rick to take a few cautious steps back. He kept both this Bartly and the man approaching him in his sight. The gun stayed synchronized with his eyes. He didn't experience nervousness. There was a calmness in Rick's bones he didn't understand. He knew he could fire with ease if he had to.

"Is this a normal way to welcome an invited guest?" Rick asked.

"Please forgive Bartly. Even though I advised him against it, he wanted to test you. My chosen name is Agson. Please put the weapon down. I extend a hand of friendship and trust rather than pointing a gun at you." Agson glared at Bartly for a split second as he reached his hand to Rick.

Rick pulled the magazine from the firearm and dismantled the weapon as though he had done it a million times; he most likely had done it a million times. Rick reached out for Agson's hand and shook it.

Bartly stood. "He's damn good. Could show me a thing or two."

"I was kind of hoping it would be the other way around. I'm tired of running to nowhere." Rick relaxed his guard. Deep down inside, he recognized these people were no threat to him.

"That is why we're here. Welcome." Agson smiled the smile he always smiled when bringing a new edition into the ranks.

****

"She's not talking." The older, more experienced bald agent eyed his two colleagues, Li and Jones. Their identical black suits added to the ominous demeanor of the three. Jones and Li stood before the experienced agent as though he were a wise prophet, guiding them to the Promised Land. The man was ancient, and it was rumored he had been there at the inception of the Division of Illegal Cloning. He had rounded up the first clone and executed him himself.

"Perhaps she told the truth?" Li admitted. He sauntered to the one-way mirror and studied the beaten and crushed human who had once been a proud and beautiful Ellen Crowberg. She could barely sit on the rough metal bed in her cell. "God knows she'll never be the same after what we've done to her. She shouldn't have cloned the bastard in the first place. She should have left him for dead."

"Is that sympathy I detect in your voice?" Jones grew amused. His partner never spoke in such a way. The dark sunglasses on Jones' face hid the surprise in his eyes.

"More like pity." Li sighed and returned to face his fellow agents as they stood in one of several corridors in the Division of Illegal Cloning headquarters. "We've lost too much time already. We need to move fast. We must find Rick."

"More than likely, this Clone Liberation picked him up by now. There's no way in hell one of their own is in the wilderness for this long without them knowing about it." Jones' face flushed red with anger and frustration. "We had the bastard! He still evaded capture in his own home, of all places!"

"It does us no good to dwindle on past mistakes." The older agent of unknown rank studied the two novices in comparison. "Do whatever you must but find him. Fast. And remember not to underestimate him. He's just as elite now as when he was alive as the original Rick."

"We don't even know where to start," Li admitted begrudgingly. "We've been searching around the clock. He's vanished in the Reconstituted Forest."

"We have to assume his memories are resurfacing by now or will soon. He'll find out why he died." Jones crossed his arms, pondering. "That won't be good for anyone."

The older agent smiled; his yellow teeth glimmered in the light. "On the contrary, it's good for us. That is exactly what I am counting on, gentlemen." He ran his fingers across his bald head. "We'll use her to get to him. We'll use every last one of those memories that makes him remember why he loves her so damn much. He cares, and we can use that against him."

****

Patrick expressed a genuine smile from ear to ear. The removal of hair was a vital ceremony that meant all ties from his previous life were severed, and the skin on his shaved head experienced the rush of a cool forest breeze. Certain things continued to be new experiences for his body, but old ones for his mind. Rick was the man he came from, and slight memories cropped up of who and what Rick was, but the clone chose the name Patrick. This was now his chosen name.

Bartly grinned and began the applause. The rest of the clones joined in; the clapping of hands grew in enthusiastic intensity. Agson was the first to shake Patrick's hand, and Patrick went down the line, saying his thanks to everyone attending the ceremony. Men and women who adapted their lives to their new identities all gave him warm, comforting smiles, and those smiles reassured Patrick. This was home. These were his people.

"It feels good to finally be yourself, doesn't it, Patrick?" Agson asked while meeting Patrick's firm handshake for a second time. It was no mystery Agson took a particular interest in the one that was Rick, and as they spoke to each other, Agson led Patrick farther into the forest and away from the celebration.

"It sure does, sir," Patrick said.

"Enough with the sir business already. That's the way Rick would have addressed me. On the other hand, Patrick is a friend and familiar to me as friends are," Agson corrected.

Patrick smiled. "You got it Agson."

They would remember this day as Patrick's true birthday. People drank, some danced, and the joys of pregnancy overtook others. One of the female clones brought to the camp showed signs of the soon-to-be infant by the size of her belly. A community of people that weren't supposed to be alive was being born in the wilderness.

"Patrick. There's something I would like to speak to you about." Agson gestured for the man to follow him to a more secluded location near the camouflaged perimeter of the camp.

"I may not have known you for long, Agson, but I recognize the look on your face. You're about to ask me to do something rather unpleasant." Patrick sighed, bracing for the inevitable.

"You've been a part of the community for several months now. And we are blessed not only with your presence but also with the skills and knowledge you've offered to us all." Agson admitted.

Patrick nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I'm grateful for being able to help our kind."

Agson sighed before continuing. "The DIC discovered you so fast because of who you came from. They're afraid of you because of the latent memories that have yet to surface. And I would be lying to you if I told you those memories were anything but valuable to me as well."

Patrick shrugged, helpless. "I can't remember much. I can show some of these people how to be soldiers, but I'm afraid that's about it. I remember nothing else, Agson."

Agson locked eyes with Patrick. "You know more than you think. Buried in that mind of yours is proof. It's proof of something only Bartley, me, and a few others are privy to. Patrick, our nation's President, is a clone like you and I."

Patrick took a shocked step backward. "What? How can that be? I don't remember anything like that."

Agson reached into his pocket to reveal a small silver device. It appeared to be a visor in design meant to fit with ease over an individual's eyes. "This will retrieve what we need and save it. It can help you remember. I must warn you, though, that the process is less than pleasant. And I am asking you to do this for us. I'm not forcing you. The choice is yours."

Patrick studied the device. Rick experienced extreme torture throughout his career. Rick's ultimate experience was death itself. This was the least Patrick could do for the memory of Rick and the others like him. If Rick died knowing such an earth-shattering truth, it was Patrick's duty to retrieve the information. If what Agson described was true, the world needed to know it. "I'll do it."

With the hands of a surgeon, Agson placed the device over Rick's eyes. After pressing a button, the silver visor turned on, and Agson monitored the progression of the device's function as Patrick's body jolted about while he stood upright. Agson felt empathy for Patrick. The memory retrieval was as painful to watch as it had been to undergo all those years ago.

The deed was done minutes later, and Agson hastily removed the device from Patrick's face. Patrick's eyes were wide with knowledge as he focused on Agson. "I remember it Agson! I remember it all! My God, I remember! They knew I wouldn't keep quiet about it. Rick - he planned to let the world know." Patrick did his best to maintain his strength and balance on wobbly legs.

Agson grimaced. "I'm sorry you had to experience that. Reliving the death is the hardest part."

Patrick shook his head. "Don't be. We needed the information, and now you have it all stored away in that visor."

****

Bartly entered Agson's tent in a controlled flurry of motion. He stood at attention, unable to shake the habit that his body remembered from the time before Bartly when he was the one that came from Matthew. "Agson. The messenger is back." Bartly also gave Patrick a nod as he stood near Agson, going over final plans. He smirked as Patrick nodded in response.

"Let's not waste any time." Agson took a step forward. "Bring him in."

A skinny boy no older than seventeen entered the tent. He wore the same military fatigues all the clones wore. They were designed to blend into a forest environment, prioritizing advanced technology, adaptive materials, and stealth capabilities. The high-tech uniforms were crafted to provide optimal camouflage, protection, and mobility for soldiers of Camp Rebirth operating in their familiar dense woodland settings. The boy saluted Agson, tired from his journey and ready to relay the new information he had gathered.

"What did you find out?" Agson stood near the boy.

The boy cleared his throat and stood taller before speaking. "They're cracking down on all clone sympathizers. They have arrested anyone suspected of aiding clones for trial and execution. And these executions are going to be made public. They will carry them out tomorrow at the old football stadium."

"What?!" Patrick grew outraged. "Why would they do that? They're taking this too far!"

"They're desperate, Patrick. They want to get their hands on you. This is no doubt a trap put in place to bait you." Agson paced back and forth as he pondered the new information and returned his gaze to the boy. "Do you have anything else to report?"

The skinny boy nodded. "Our contact penetrated the central security systems of the targeted facilities. We can move in and out across the board now. Our contact informed me there wasn't anything left to stop us from realizing the plan. Everyone is waiting for you to give the final word. Our numbers are greater than what we have fed to the DIC."

"It's about time!" Bartly couldn't hide the joy he felt. He was ready to act. "They'll have to listen to us now."

"You did well, son." Agson placed his hands on the shoulders of the skinny boy in an approving manner. "You did very well. Now, get some rest. We're about to begin."

The skinny boy nodded and exited the tent.

"Bartly." Agson turned to face his longtime companion. "Spread the word. It's time to mobilize. The moment we've all been training for is here. We're going in as soon as we're ready. The first signal should be relayed within the next twenty hours."

"You got it." Bartly exited the tent to do as ordered.

"I can't go." Patrick averted his gaze, ashamed to make eye contact with Agson.

Agson nodded, understanding. "I had a feeling that it might come to this. You must know that they are counting on this reaction you're having right now. It's a trap to get you. They know you'll know that Ellen will be with the group scheduled for execution."

Patrick fought with his previous identity. Both versions agreed on one thing: they cared deeply for Ellen. "She's still alive. I remember loving her, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't still love her. I have to save her if I can." Patrick's voice never sounded so confident. "And that isn't just Rick's memories speaking. It's me, Patrick, voicing those feelings."

"Many people will die in what's coming. You could be of great use to us still." Agson pleaded.

The idea of leaving tore at Patrick, but his decision was resolute. "You have Bartly. He's more than competent, and you now have a lot of excellent people trained and ready to go. Not to mention that you're leading them and are one hell of a leader."

A pang of sorrow filled Agson's chest as he gazed at Patrick. He understood this would more than likely be their last conversation. "Good luck to you, Patrick. I hope you find her and escape."

Patrick smiled; it was forced. "We'll both be around to celebrate when this is all over."

Agson watched with weary eyes as Patrick exited the tent to meet his fate.

****

Ellen's last meal was comprised of chicken, rice, corn, a slice of bread, and a bland cola not of her choosing. She ate it with slow, deliberate bites, savoring the taste of the food as though a gourmet chef prepared it. Following the main course, armed guards escorted her down a long corridor, ripping her from a warm, unfinished meal. They had shaved her head the previous day to shame her. By doing so, it categorized her with the clones that eluded capture.

Thoughts of Rick floated through her mind as the guards took her to a massive room where a table extended from the metal floor. Behind the table sat three judges dressed in elegant robes. Each one was no older than Doctor Potock and carried eyes of extreme judgment as they studied her.

They determined her guilt with ease. The verdict was no surprise. Not even the death sentence came as a surprise.

Like cattle, they herded her from the courtroom with other clone sympathizers and people who had violated the law, hoping to regain time with a lost love or family member. My God! It's a mass execution!

The compartments in the back of the truck filled as each prisoner filed in one after another. They then made the vast number of prisoners travel without a word spoken amongst them. Each carried a grim face, as they all knew that they were about to face death.

****

Agent Jones and Li both stood in one of the former VIP suites inside the now archaic football stadium. Within the grand structure where mighty sports teams once took the field, prisoners now walked. They packed the grounds of unkept turf, waiting for the last moments before they would be no more, and they paced back and forth, pleading to the sky with desperate glances for a miracle to save them.

Li studied the booth, wondering what it must have been like when this place had been meant for joyful events. I'm sure they had their problems back then. He let the thought drift as he eyed his partner.

"What's the matter with you?" Jones asked without turning back at Li. "I can always feel it when you look at me like that."

Li shrugged. "I was just thinking about how things used to be, that's all."

Jones chuckled. "You should look at how they're doing. All these damn sympathizers will soon be dead. If that isn't a clear enough message, I don't know what is. It's too bad this stadium isn't filled with all those damn clones."

The signal had been broadcast and transmitted to the device implanted beneath the skin of his right wrist. Li's time had come. The message was loud and clear, and all deep undercover operatives had been activated. The clones would be liberated, and Agent Li would play his part unbeknownst to Agent Jones.

"Yeah," Li smiled, "those clones sure are a big pain in the ass."

Agent Jones chuckled again while turning to face his partner. The smile vanished as he stared at the barrel of a government-issued sidearm. "Li, what the hell are you doing?!"

Li smirked. "I chose a long time ago, same as you."

"We are partners!" Jones bellowed. "When the fuck did you become a goddamn clone sympathizer?!"

Li chuckled this time. "We were never really partners, Jones. I'm just a damn clone. The kind you love so much to hate. The original Li - he died a while ago."

It was a silent gunshot that ended the life of Agent Jones. It was also a silent signal transmitted from Li to all the other operatives in the area, informing them that the final liberation had begun. Operation Second Life took the country by storm.

****

Ellen shuffled about amongst the prisoners with no direction, trying to anticipate how their collective lives would end. While mixing with other groups of people, she noted a familiar face in the sea of gray uniforms.

"Doctor Potock!" Her voice couldn't help but express the relief of knowing he still lived, and a dark sadness blanketed her entire being. They were both going to die soon.

Potock turned his head in her direction. The old man appeared strange with a shaved head. He embraced her as a father would a daughter. "Ellen! My God, I was so worried about you!"

She fought back tears. "I'm glad you're here! I thought I'd die alone."

"We share this fate together, my dear." The sentiment reassured the both of them in a strange way.

Strength returned to Ellen at that moment. "Yes, we do."

A light began flashing throughout the stadium. The dome overhead closed, stealing their last view of the sky above.

Then, a series of perfectly timed explosions occurred throughout the stadium, creating a mass hysteria. The prisoners were unclear whether the explosions were intentional. Soon enough, they began running about frantically, piling upon one another to find some semblance of safety as debris fell around them and the massive structure groaned from the vibrations.

Potock held on to Ellen and grew surprised to feel another firm hand grab onto his own. Shock couldn't begin to describe Potock's face as he beheld a bald Rick standing before him. "Rick…"

"Hello, Doctor. It's good to see you again. We have to go right now." Patrick stood before the two, wearing the same gray uniform as the rest of the prisoners. "Another set of charges is about to go off. It'll give us the diversion we need to escape. Come with me."

Giving into the moment, Ellen ran to her husband and embraced him with all her strength. She kissed him, unleashing a pent-up passion as the mass hysteria enveloped their environment, and soon found she was melting in his loving arms as if nothing else in the world was going on. "I knew you'd come back for me. I never gave up hope."

"Your hope kept me alive," Patrick admitted.

Ellen's smile deepened.

The clone led Potock and Ellen through a corridor into an old locker room in the stadium. The second set of explosions went off with a violent boom, and they fell to the ground as the surrounding structure shook from the mini-quake that followed.

"The other people, are they okay?" Ellen voiced the question on her mind. She had been scheduled to die with them, after all.

"I did my best to make sure the explosions wouldn't harm anyone. But given the hysteria out there, I can't say for certain no one was hurt or killed. But we can't worry about that right now. We have to keep moving." Patrick explained.

Ellen nodded, experiencing a tinge of immense guilt at being happy for still being alive as others around her died. She did her best to shake the emotion as she, Potock, and Rick rounded a corner in the locker room. Upon making the turn to the exit of the stadium, a fatal gunshot echoed.

Time slowed down as Ellen observed in a helpless state as Potock's body hit the ground.

"Ellen, my dear, did you honestly think this would end well for any of you?" The older agent stood before them. Like Ellen remembered, his bald head and skin were covered in liver spots. His black suit blended into the shadows near where he stood. His presence loomed over Rick and Ellen like the darkest of clouds.

"You…" A rage grew within her, the likes of which she never experienced.

Before Ellen could even think about acting, another gunshot went off. Ellen hit the floor with a hand covering a bullet wound in her gut; the blood seeped from her stomach like tears running down her cheeks. A third gunshot followed. Patrick hit the floor of the abandoned locker room as well.

"Ellen…" Patrick crawled to her as she lay bleeding. He spoke with a weak voice. "I remember. I wanted you to know that I remember everything, and I wanted to tell you I love you so much. I needed to look you in the eye and say it one more time."

Before any words could be spoken in response, life faded from Ellen Crowberg's eyes. Soon after witnessing her death, Patrick ceased moving altogether. This was the second time Rick/Patrick died for what he believed in. The first was for an honor-bound code preventing conspiracy, and the second was for love.

The ancient agent towered over the bodies in a victorious stance. He spoke into his wrist while staying vigilant about any unexpected escapees. "We got him. Repeat: the primary target is down." A devilish grin formed on his face.

Another voice responded in his earpiece. "Copy that. Stand by. It looks like we've got situations brewing all over the country. Attacks are being made everywhere. Report to Division HQ immediately."

****

President Brandon Tej sat behind his desk in the Oval Office, dressed in a finely tailored suit, awaiting a critical meeting. The clone rebellion had been well organized and took much manpower to contain, but President Tej understood the word contain was a misnomer. The events leading up to now had been more like a ceasefire, at best. This Operation Second Life, orchestrated by the clones, shook the nation's fabric.

The Oval Office had undergone a transformation, reflecting advancements in technology, design, and sustainability. Smart glass walls lined the perimeter, capable of transitioning from transparent to opaque with a simple voice command or touch interface. This feature provided President Tej with privacy when needed while maintaining a connection to the outside world.

They equipped the office with holographic displays that could project three-dimensional images. This enabled President Tej to interact with virtual data, briefings, and simulations, creating an immersive and dynamic workspace. They integrated the augmented reality surface on his desk with digital information. This interactive surface allowed the President to manipulate data, review reports, and engage in virtual meetings with a simple touch or gesture. His next meeting, however, would be face-to-face.

A voice broke the silence with a knock at the door. One of Tej's agents stepped in, looking at his commander and chief. "Mr. President. We've brought him in to see you."

Tej sighed. "Bring him in." He straightened out his shirt and suit jacket.

Agson smiled fondly, remembering what it was like to be in this office from his previous life. The restraints binding him as the agent led him in were a bit much for this meeting, but he understood they had to keep up appearances for the sake of politics. Power perceived and all that.

"Sit him down," Tej ordered, waiting until Agson sat across from him before continuing. "Now leave us."

The agent gave the President a questioning glance, and Tej met the gaze even harder, reminding the agent of his position. The agent nodded and exited the office with reluctance.

Agson nodded. "Hello, Mr. President. It's good to see you again."

Tej said nothing.

"I love what you've done with the place," Agson continued.

Tej grumbled before speaking. "You've been keeping quite busy."

Agson nodded in agreement. "I had to pass the time somehow."

President Tej cleared his throat before continuing. "You have the memories hidden somewhere. I want the original copy you took from Richard Crowberg."

Agson gave the President a disappointed glare. "I know what you want, Brandon."

Tej grumbled again. "It's President Tej."

Agson cleared his throat and landed forward. "No, actually it isn't. We both know that the real Tej died. Look, Brandon, we stopped this skirmish before it got too far. But you understand, we will go as far as it takes to make this right. We're the ones who stopped the attacks, and they can just as easily be started up again." Agson held up his hands, offering the restraints holding them. "These are for appearance. They don't really hold me back."

Tej exploded with anger. "For Christ's sake, Barry, we were friends!"

Agson shook his head. "Barry died. He was the Secretary of Defense during your first administration. I'm just plain old Agson these days."

Tej considered his options and relented. "What do you want?"

Agson continued. "I want the policy on clones to be lifted, and I want my people to have a real chance to live normal, happy lives. We'll start with a separate community first. Think of it as a way for these people to start fresh without outside interference. Integration will have to happen eventually, but we need to take baby steps before we get there."

Tej laughed. "And who are you to dictate policy to me?"

Agson sighed, tired of the back and forth. "I'm just another clone, like you. If these demands aren't met, there will be another attack and a different ending to this story than I would like. Those memories you desperately want will go public as well."

Tej stood from the chair behind his desk; the frantic energy building within him had no outlet. The road ahead would be difficult, but he understood what he had to do. Too much was at stake. His presidency was in jeopardy, and many more innocent lives could be lost if he failed to navigate appropriately.

"What is it going to be?" Agson asked, smiling the smile he always smiled when adding a new edition to the ranks.