The day was normal, like every day before it. I almost felt if the days and their events had been cloned as well. It always started with the initial wake-up sequence, then the morning duties, then lunch, then even more chores; always thrown in the mix somewhere was me, doing something wrong and getting reprimanded for it. I'm surprised they haven't shut me down, or killed me-whatever it is that they do to clones. Odd, having everyone around you be an exact copy in body and mind, or at least it's supposed to happen that way. Everyone had his or her model and number, including me, but I was the only one who didn't use it. ASX2413. That was my name. I detested it.

Which is what got me in trouble that fateful day. I sat alone in the empty head-office waiting for Dr. Madden in scramble in the room, frantic, waving his arms around, scolding me for the second time that day. Nothing happened immediately. I waited...and waited...and waited. Dr. Madden wasn't coming in. I sat in the padded chair and fidgeted nervously, beginning to wonder what was going on. Why had I been waiting so long? I looked around at the sterile office. All that lit the room were long beams of florescent light bulbs built into the ceiling. No windows, no mirrors, not anything. It was enough to drive anyone insane. I secretly knew the security reasons for it. The public was to know the building existed, but they were to know nothing of what happened on the inside. No one seemed bothered.

Dr. Madden finally sauntered into the room. He acted unusually calm, and I had a bad feeling about the situation. The doctor's calm attitude was enough to send alarms off inside my head, but in spite of my suspicions, I didn't move.

"Well, well," Dr. Madden purred walking up the desk in front of the chair I had been seated in, leaning against it. "ASX2413, what trouble you have gotten yourself into this time?"

"I prefer to be called Andrew," I replied.

The doctor looked at me, startled. "What did you say?"

"I only said that I prefer to be called Andrew."

He sat back and contemplated my response, as if he was going through a complex thought process in a matter of seconds. "What's wrong with your real name, Andrew?" He said my name was if it was something to be chewed up, spat out, lit ablaze, and stomped out.

My eyes narrowed. He was trying to make me think I was wrong. "It sounds artificial."

He chuckled at this. "ASX2413, you are artificial. What makes you think you deserve a name?"

"Everyone deserves a name. It's a birth ritual among humans, I've studied it."

"You are not human. Get this silly notion of a name out of that head of yours. You have a name, and it is not as filthy as something like Andrew."

Did he somehow think that letters and numbers mixed together sounded like a name? I was frustrated, but I finally gave up the fight. I'd get him back somehow. "Yes, sir," I replied, monotonous.

Dr. Madden grinned. "Very good. Now, ASX2413, get back to fixing those new aircraft." Oh yes, of course, it was always about the new technology. The army needed the aircraft, yet they had no idea what kind of operations Dr. Madden's building ran. It must be perfectly running and shiny and beautiful for the military unveiling scheduled for the coming weeks; at least that's what the rumors said. My job would have satisfied most ASX models, but I hated it was well. In fact, I hated this entire facility. Screw it.

"Yes, sir." I walked out of Dr. Madden's office, frustrated as hell. I wasn't entirely sure frustration was supposed to be an emotion put into my genetic coding, but I was pretty sure that was what I was feeling. I stormed down to the port where all the aircraft was stationed, not bothering to look at anyone as I passed. I didn't need to, if I needed to see that, I'd have found a mirror.

I found the toolbox I had discarded when I had been called down to talk to Dr. Madden. I finished fixing the aircraft, slamming panels shut as I finished with them. When finished with the maintenance, I began to examine the plane. The sleek, shiny metal looked like nothing else in the entire building. Enticing. I peered around the port, making sure no one else was around. Check. I then did something I absolutely knew was not allowed. I climbed into the plane. Everything had a foreign but exotic feel to it. The leather seat cushioned my every move. I sat back, pushing the button that closed the canopy. If anyone happened to walk in, I would appear as a regular pilot, just checking out the work on the plane. I leaned back in the seat, as far as it would allow. I suppose at that moment I pushed the wrong button, or a paranormal being had pushed one for the hell of it-which seemed highly illogical. Whatever did happen, ghost or not, the plane began to move.

And it continued to move: out of the port, and toward the horizon, on a pre-planned course. I would have pulled it off autopilot, had I know how to fly. However, out of habit, my hands clung to the steering mechanism, my palms sweaty. After an hour or so, the plane flew right into some bad weather: wind, rain, the works. The plane rocked around violently, and somewhere in it all I was slammed unconscious.

* * * * *

I awoke, I assumed, a few hours later to the buzzing of the radio system. The plane had crashed, somewhere I didn't know of, and unfortunately the radio still worked. I recognized the voice on the other end. Dr. Madden had no doubt discovered that one of his precious planes were missing, and I could see him, sitting in his office, clutching the radio, his back hair matted to his neck, him sweating profusely in shock and fear.

"Pilot 24, where are you? I repeat, where are you? You are not authorized to be flying at this time!" he cried frantically. I cringed at the number 24-part of my old name. I shook it off, realizing that I was going to get nowhere by sitting in a crash-landed plane. I pulled the radio out, ripping the wires in half as I did so.

"Not much of a conversationalist," I said to myself. I forced the canopy open, and carefully stepped out of the plane, looking around as I did so. Through my survey of my surroundings, I noticed that I was in the middle of a field somewhere and to the north, their lied a town, maybe two or three miles away. I figured my best bet of not getting caught was going to the town, landing a job, and living the rest of my days in seclusion, away from the facility-which sounded pretty damn good. So, obviously, that was the direction in which I headed.

* * * * *

"Sure, you can have the job," the small blonde replied to my inquiry about the Help Wanted sign in the window. I had never been around women before, so I wasn't sure how to react. I smiled, and said thank you before sitting down on one of the stools facing the bar. Something about the sparky girl had my nerves in knots. I wasn't quite sure what the feeling was, nor was I sure that I liked it. The dress she wore seemed short, even on her vertically challenged frame. She was quite thin, and smiled entirely too often.

"Being a waiter isn't really that hard," she informed me, as she took a wet cloth to a nearby table. "You walk up to the new customer, ask them what they want, jot it down, bring it back to the counter, then take them the food when they're ready. Do you think you can do that?"

I nodded, somehow not able to speak. She went around behind the counter and found a blank pin. "What's your name?" she asked.

"AS...no, no. Andrew."

"Andrew," she repeated. "Nice name. I know a guy named Andrew, he's one of our regulars, and now that I think about it, you kinda look like him."

I looked at her in confusion. "He looks like me?"

"Yeah. I haven't seen him in a while though. Maybe you'll meet him. He's a really nice guy."

I nodded. There couldn't be another clone wandering around. Coincidence, it had to just be a coincidence. People look like each other all the time. Tasha, as I read the nametag pinned onto her apron, wrote "Andrew" on the blank pin, and handed it to me. He then threw me an apron, almost identical to hers, and I pinned the nametag on in the same place. Once she noticed that I had that accomplished, she slid a small pad and a pen across the counter in my direction. I assumed that was for writing down the orders. I took the supplies, and put them in the pocket of the white apron.

The bell on the front door rang out as a young couple walked in. So the job was a bit more social than I would have liked. I'd live. They found a table in the corner, and I walked up to them, took their order with amazing ease and ran it back to the counter. Tasha smiled, again, her green eyes sparkling in approval. She took the sheet of paper and headed to the kitchen. "Not bad for your first time, Andrew." I smirked inwardly. I was a natural. Great. This was going to be a breeze. Until lunch hour rolled around.

Boy, was I tired when that rush ended. I had managed to spill at least two drinks, fouled up at least one order, and almost got into a fight with a particularly unpleasant customer. And still, Tasha hadn't said a word of disapproval. She must have really liked me, or she felt really sorry for me. I had an impending instinct that it was probably the latter.

At the end of the day, I sat on one of the bar stools, leaning against the edge of the bar. My nerves were in even tighter knots, and I was really confused as to why. I had read of concepts such as love, but living in a cloning facility, with a job as a mechanic (and not a very good one at that) I hadn't been given an opportunity to really find out what it was. I didn't love Tasha. I couldn't. I had known her for a total of possibly six hours. Ridiculous idea.

Tasha threw a mop my way, and I didn't even wait for instructions. I knew what I was supposed to be doing, and that's what I began to do. The bell on the door rang again, and I looked up, and almost fell backward in spite of myself. The man standing at the door looked exactly like me. He had the same brown eyes, the same dirty-blonde hair, the same tall, gangly build, everything. He saw me, and cocked his head in confusion, then straightened it again. He walked up closer tome, and poked me in the arm, and I pulled away.

"Wow," he said simply.

I looked at him in utter confusion. He had to be a clone. Probably sent by Dr. Madden to take me back to my old job as a mechanic...or to lock me up in a dark, empty, metal room, all alone until I went insane. "Are you a clone too?" I asked, innocently.

He smirked. "No. I'm Andrew Madden," he replied. "You must be one of those things my father created."

I was a thing? I felt pretty damn human last time I checked. "Your father?"

"Joseph. Yeah, you have to be one of them."

I nodded.

"I hate you, and your brothers, friends, clone companions, whatever in the hell you call yourselves."

I think Madden would have killed me had Tasha not walked in at that moment. Upon initial glance at us, she took a step back, and looked again. "Oh my God," was all she said.

Madden walked up to the bar. "All I wanted was a damned coffee, Tash...not a genetic copy."

She shook her head. "I had no idea!"

"How could you not notice?"

"Andrew, I..."

"Forget it. You'll be too dead to care," he responded, pulling out a gun.

I still don't know what went off in my head, but I tackled Madden to the ground, knocking the weapon across the room. "Leave her out of this, Madden."

He struggled against me, and I let him go. As he walked to the door, he screamed, "I'll get you for this, you damned clone!" With that, he left. A few minutes later, I heard a struggle outside, but I decided to ignore it.

A few days later I saw something in the papers about an illegal cloning facility being exposed, but no one had been alive when it had been found. I was sure it was Madden's facility, but what happened to him I still don't know. Maybe he ticked off the government one too many times? I doubt anybody will ever know. Soon after the incident, I changed my name legally to Andrew Lois, sharing Tasha's last name. She didn't mind.

About a week later, I was wiping down the bar when I heard the door open. I turned around, and in the doorway stood four men dressed in military uniforms. They walked in only far enough to let the door swing shut.

"How can I help you gentlemen, today?" I asked.

The most decorated one stepped out. "You can help, by coming with us, and not putting up a fight."

Tasha began to walk out from the kitchen, but saw the men and walked back inside. I didn't blame her.

I looked at him suspiciously. "And if I don't?"

"I'll kill you," he replied simply.

"What do you want with me?"

"You're one of them. We need you for research. You're one of the only copies left."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He nodded. "Yes you do, and you're going to come with us now."

I shook my head. Not over my dead body. "No."

He sighed. "You know what I'm going to have to do now, yes?"

I nodded. However, what actually did happen wasn't what I expected. The man produced a needle out of his pocket, and injected it into me, and I fell unconscious.

* * * * *

I was awake. That's all I knew. I couldn't feel anything. I looked down, and found pieces of my body missing, and I felt no pain. Well, physical pain. I was pissed off as hell about being experimented on, and as the "doctor" walked in the room, and finished his tests, before I died, I saw Tasha on the table next to mine in the dark room, her body even more mangled than mine. That angered me more than anything. She had been the only person I had even known who had cared. I died, angry, not just with the disgusting doctors who had decided it was their right to toy with people, but also with myself for not being strong enough. I hadn't even been strong enough. I had never deserved a name, for I had been just like the real Andrew Madden-weak and ignorant. I am ASX2413. I am no different than the rest.

Backtrack

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