A lone figure sat in a darkened booth in the back of the local speakeasy. Like most establishments of this kind, it sat in a quiet corner of the sprawling metropolis. The sanctuary of quiet provided him with a kind of repose that was reminiscent of a day at the beach. A brief memory of a recent trip to the
It was exactly this safe place that he desired to infiltrate; to maneuver into; to take by surprise and leave nothing standing. Like the darkness that comes with an approaching storm, his mind recessed back into a malaise as he mulled over the chain of events which led him to this quiet contemplation; the veritable calm before the storm. His contact within headquarters had promised him great wealth, a place of power, and most important of all, a unique identity within this new kingdom which would be set up in place of the current hierarchy if he were to follow their plan precisely.
He knew his contact only by his code word: Mr. Kane. Mr. Kane had been his constant mentor. Whenever situations arose in which he questioned his involvement with this new organization, Mr. Kane was always there gently reminding him of the reward when all pieces fell into place. When he thought of the “plan”, he could not help by smile and dwell on its simplicity and brilliance. The Club knew that with a long history of success and triumph, their enemy would grow complacent and unfocused. They figured that with each victory, human nature would cause them to grow overconfident and allow them to become more important than their actual worth. Pride it seemed is bred by success, and it was exactly this emotion which The Club sought to use to lull its enemy into a cocoon of security in their own abilities.
He took a long, anticipated sip of the “Old Fashioned”, the kind of drink that one consumes to remind himself of the days when things were better. The drink had its origins in the prohibition era when alcohol was often times made in the bathtub with subpar ingredients. To mask the often times fowl taste, imbibers would add sugar and syrup to take a bit of the edge off of the bitter taste. Over countless hours that he had sat at this bar, he’d poured out his heart to the curmudeonly bartender who had recommended the drink. He drank not to forget the past, but to remind himself of the bitterness that grew in his heart toward those who he once considered allies.
As he tasted the subtle nuances of the bourbon and cherry, he bitterly contemplated the implications of cloning and how it now affected his life. Even in the underworld of organized crime, there was a reluctance to even consider human cloning. There was a certain justice when a man met his end. There was no thought that he would reappear. Dead is dead. But what happens when dead begets another. Is that person doomed to live out a dead existence? It certainly seemed the case now, and this is exactly what Mr. Kane had used to goad him on.
With all things in life, he was given a choice. There was no “one choice”, but a choice that he made on a daily basis. This choice was presented to him one day as he was chasing the man who he know knew as Mr. Kane through the back streets, right outside the door of the very abode that he now sought sanctuary in. Mr. Kane had fallen to the ground with a thud as he tripped over an unseen object. Instead of crying out or begging for his life, Mr. Kane had instead turned to meet his attacker with a glint in his eye. Instead of waiting for the inquisition to begin, Mr. Kane began to barrage his would be interrogator with personal information, information that someone only personally acquainted with him would know. Mr. Kane began talking about the sweet wife of the man who now downed bitter alcohol to remember. Mr. Kane spoke of his child, the child who ran to and fro through his mind like the droplets of liquid forming on the glass. The two most important people in his life, Mr. Kane knew all about, and not only did he know everything about them, he knew of the death that now surrounded them. Instead of fighting against Mr. Kane, Kane offered a pact. “Join me, and I will restore that which was lost.” This hope reverberated in the ears of the listener so much, that they got up, went inside this establishment, and shared a drink. Listening to Mr. Kane was like listening to a wiser version of himself; he couldn’t stop agreeing with the plan that was now being laid out in front of him.
In the words of Mr. Kane, he had lived a life of meaning and purpose, well, at least he thought so, until a familiar stranger had snatched it from him. This familiar stranger happened to be Bob. And not just any Bob, but the very man who now gazed at his reflection in the swirling concoction of bitter alcohol, and sweet syrup.
At some point, and one not entirely known to this version of Bob, he had been killed and the current reincarnation of Bob was put into service. Six months previously, and armed with the memories of his predecessor, Bob tracked down Mr. Kane, which led to the dark alley way, and which now led now to the dark hope of reclaiming that which was lost. Bob’s memories told him enough of what he needed to know about his wife and son, and his fears were confirmed the day after when he brought his wife some flowers. The flowers were not meant as a reminder of his recent death, but of the life that he sought to live with her, and in service to his country. Instead, it was as if he had driven a funeral dirge through the living room and had slammed that hearse into his wife and son. Instead of dying, they remained alive, but alive only to the extent that they walked around, without identity, and without attachment to the real corpse: Bob.
It was after this that the Bob that sat at the bar took on the identity of “Rob”. Rob would hunt those responsible down, and Rob would redeem himself in the eyes of his family. What had happened instead was that Rob was now equipped with a plan to save his loved ones by taking down the organization that had coerced his involvement in something that was so damaging. If he was going through the aftershocks of dying, how many more currently involved in the cloning program were going through the same daily death? It would be interesting to have to battle his own clones, but Rob was prepared to do exactly that. Take the battle to where it hurt the most, to save those he loved the most. If only his former organization knew of how close these counter-agents were to Rob’s family and to freeing them from their constant reminder of death. If only the organization knew how much Rob knew about the security measures of the facility where they cloned people. If, if, if. It was only a matter of time before Rob took back what was his.
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