ORIGINAL SYNTH
The warehouse is cavernous, and dark, and filled with boxes and dust.
I pull the door closed behind me slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, ironic considering I just smashed one of its window panels in. Not that you can really hear anything over the thunderstorm that feels like it’s been raging for days.
When I reached in to unlock the door, I caught myself on a still-connected shard and now I’m bleeding pretty badly. Honestly, though, it’s the least of my problems today.
I’m soaked. I’ve been sprinting through the rain for hours, blindly hoping to find a hiding place like this, breathlessly ecstatic for a moment’s rest.
They’re coming for me.
He's coming for me.
I struggle for a moment and then manage to tear a strip off the bottom of my sopping wet T-shirt, and wind the wet material around the wound, the blood instantly staining the material pink, then a full red. My hand is throbbing but the makeshift bandage seems to have slowed the bleeding down a little bit.
As I struggle to catch my breath, I walk around the warehouse, making sure it’s as abandoned as it looks. Other than copious amounts of mice pellets, I don’t see any evidence that anyone’s been here for a long time.
Which is no surprise, considering what’s been happening with the economy since the current administration took over nine years ago.
It’s hard to believe how quickly time has gone by since that election. That insane fucking election. A nightmare collection of horrible, corrupt candidates. Accusations of voter fraud. Interference from foreign powers.
I didn’t vote for anyone. I thought they all sucked. They were all as bad as each other.
I was a fucking idiot.
There’s a pile of half-rotted, broken-down cardboard boxes in a corner and I collapse into them, feeling the water stream off me with the impact. I wipe my face with trembling fingers and lean my head back against the wall, closing my eyes for the first time in as long as I can remember. When’s the last time I slept?
Even through my closed eyelids, I can see a flash of lightning. Thunder rumbles seconds later.
An image of Casey suddenly appears in my mind and the memory of her hurts so much that I immediately open my eyes in the hope of making her disappear. It works, but the pain in my gut at seeing her again, even just an imaginary version, remains.
We fought a lot in those first couple years after the election. She was enraged by the new administration’s actions, by what she perceived as decisions motivated by hatred and fear and greed and ignorance.
I told her she was being irrational. I told her we should give the new administration a chance.
We drifted apart as time passed. As the wall was built. As we went to war on multiple fronts, on top of the nonsensical wars we were already fighting. As we teamed up with questionable allies.
I wasn’t an active supporter of everything that was happening but a lot of what the administration said made sense to me. Our country had to come first. There were just too many threats out there. And so many problems here on the home front that we had ignored for too long. The administration’s actions may have been a bit of an overreach but they didn’t seem like an overreaction.
Casey didn’t agree.
After the day suitcase nukes went off in fifteen major U.S. cities and the resulting collapse of the economy and the installation of martial law, I wasn’t entirely surprised when Casey told me she was leaving. “Escaping” is the word she used. I was heartbroken, but not surprised. She had met someone else, someone who was as extreme in his beliefs and fears as she was in hers. The last I heard, they had fled to Canada and then Europe. I think. The administration pretty much took the internet offline right after they dissolved elections and presidential term limits, so it was next to impossible to keep track of her.
I was insanely depressed when she left. I guess I should have tried harder to listen to her concerns. I was just so caught up in my job, in keeping my job. Not an easy thing to do when a country is falling apart around you.
When the administration announced mandatory DNA submission to keep us safer, I was still reeling from the loss of Casey and I got swept up in the president’s rhetoric. I was probably a little drunk, or a lot drunk, when he made his big speech, flanked by his private security officers, and I was one of the first people to sign up. Hell, maybe the first.
After I got home from the government’s local medical “pop-up” center, I drank myself blind for about a year.
I lost my job at some point during that time, though I’m not exactly sure when. And I didn’t get fired just because I was drunk every waking minute. Although that probably didn’t help. Everyone I knew lost their jobs. Everyone got more and more scared. Some of that fear turned to anger. People started speaking out against the administration, and then they started vanishing. As time went on, there were fewer and fewer people in houses, on the streets. More people spoke out. More people vanished. Cities fell into disrepair. Oil prices went through the roof. Lots of people fled to the suburbs, then rural areas, hoping they could find food. For some reason, I stayed put in the city. I kind of liked having it mostly to myself. There was something soothing about all of the burned-out buildings. Weird, I know.
There were whispered reports of a rapidly-dwindling population as more and more civilians spoke out against an administration that was clearly out of control. And yet totally in control. There was talk that our country was growing weaker and weaker on the world stage as a result, that one of our new “allies” was planning on invading once our population levels reached a certain point. After all, who would fight back? We were all just trying to figure out how to get food onto the table. What little food even existed anymore.
By the time I sobered up, mostly because I had run out of money and had lost so much weight, I did my best to take stock of myself and finally realized how wrong I had been. I took a look around. I started reading through the paperwork Casey had left behind, hidden under our… under my bed. I started talking to the few people who had remained in the city. Started attending secret meetings.
Things were a hell of a lot worse than I realized, than they appeared. And they appeared pretty fucking bad.
One of the speakers at a meeting was a scientist. A doctor of genetic something-something. He had worked for the administration but escaped after he realized what they were really doing. He had a long, nasty scar on his face that a newly-grown beard only partially covered. I had trouble understanding what he was saying. He definitely didn’t dumb his presentation down for the audience. Most of us kept catching each other’s eyes, as if to say “Do you get what the hell this guy is trying to say?”
But enough of the message came through: The administration wasn’t using our DNA to keep us safe. They were manipulating it, splicing it, creating people. Creating an army. The scientist told us that the administration was calling them Synths.
Apparently it wasn’t as simple as just cloning one guy a thousand times. After the first Synth, the next version of the same guy saw some kind of “degradation,” to use the word the scientist used. And apparently the administration didn’t want Synths based on them. So, they implemented that mandatory DNA testing as a way to get what they needed. They could repopulate the country with the same exact people who were still here. Kind of. The scientist said they had used the first batch of Synths to replenish the military, which did made some kind of sick sense.
As everyone in the audience started to grasp what was being said, a terrified silence descended on the room. We had all handed over our DNA. It was mandatory, no way around it. People who said “No” were found and taken away, even if they tried to escape. And the scientist said that the administration had figured out a way to accelerate the process, that there were probably versions of all of us out there already…
I’m not sure if I heard the door crashing in first or saw the bullet hole explode in the scientist’s chest. I do remember how surprised he looked. I think he even said, “Oh.”
In the chaos that followed, it was hard to tell how many soldiers had crashed the meeting, shooting anyone who resisted. I was one of the only lucky ones. I hadn’t sat near the sole window on purpose, but my dumb luck paid off. I threw it open as violence erupted behind me and stupidly glanced back as I squeezed my way out. I think I was curious if the people who had just crashed the meeting were Synths.
There was one non-soldier among them, a very calm-looking guy in a business suit. He had his phone held high and appeared to be recording the whole thing. He swung the camera in my direction just as I looked at him.
I landed on the ground, cursing at myself for rubber-necking. I could have just kept focused on my escape but I’d been curious about what was happening, was enticed to see the progression of violence. And now I was probably in the administration’s database. Probably? Shit. Definitely.
As soon as I got home, I grabbed a few essentials and started moving from abandoned apartment to abandoned apartment. I was hoping to get out of the city, knew some people who had told me to visit them out in the sticks if I ever escaped, but it became pretty clear to me that someone was on my trail, no matter how well I hid myself. Someone who seemed to know my mind as well as I did. It didn’t take me long to figure out who it was.
***
My head jerks up suddenly, slamming painfully against the wall behind me. I must have dozed off. I’m still damp but nowhere near as wet as I was when I first stumbled into this warehouse. My hand still hurts. A lot.
Was that a sound that woke me? Or just my imagination? Hoping it was just a dream. God, I’m starving. Maybe there’s a—
“Jonathan.”
The voice reaches me from the shadows and I feel an insane shudder wash over my body, a coldness more bracing than any winter. Goosebumps erupt across my skin as I stand up, relying on the wall to make even this simple movement possible.
When he steps into what little light there is, I don’t know which is more shocking: how much he looks like me or how much he sounds like me. But it’s a younger me. The me that first met Casey. The me that thought life was heading in a certain direction.
“Who are you? What do you want?” I manage to say.
“You know who I am,” he says. “And I just want to talk. I’m excited to meet you. Very excited.”
I hold my hands up as he steps closer. “Stay back!” I’m trying to sound threatening but my voice cracks. His smile is pitying and I hate him for it. Casey often complained about that exact same condescending smile, and now I finally know what she’d been talking about.
He holds his hands up too, and steps closer. The mirror image is too much to handle, so I drop my arms back down.
“I just want to talk,” he repeats. “I think I’m the first Synth to meet an Original. I have so many questions I want to ask you.” He stops moving when he’s a few feet away from me and he lowers his arms. He pushes his wet hair out of his eyes, a gesture I used to make back when I had longer hair. Back when it wasn’t thin and graying. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
I stare at him. I’ve inadvertently backed myself into a corner. He looks strong. I don’t think I could get past him even if he didn’t have me boxed in.
“Go ahead,” I say, scanning the floor around us, looking for any kind of weapon.
“Can you tell me about ou… about your parents? I think I’ve dreamt about having a family, a childhood… a really happy childhood. Obviously my mind made the memories up. I mean, I assume. I don’t think there’s any scientific basis for—”
“Sorry to break it to you, but they were awful,” I blurt. “They were terrible to me. I was an accident. They were older, never wanted kids. I think I messed up their plans. They both died when I was pretty young. Within days of each other.”
“Oh,” he says, then looks down at the ground. When he looks up, it’s the first time he hasn’t had some kind of smile on his face. He looks more terrifying now, especially with the crisscross of shadows from all of the windows in this place. “I think I had romanticized it a bit more.”
“Yeah, well, that’s very human of you.”
He winces and a flash of anger lights his eyes, then quickly vanishes. He takes another step forward. Without even meaning to, I push myself back against the wall harder. But there’s nowhere else to go.
“This must be weird for you,” he says. “Like looking in a funhouse mirror.”
“How do you even know what a funhouse is?” I ask, disdain dripping from every word.
He stares at me with something that resembles sadness.
“I read a lot of books,” is all he says.
“Well, I guess we’re not exactly alike. I guess I’m still me.”
His smile returns. “It’s funny you say that. Ever since I woke up… in the lab… I’ve wondered about who I am. They don’t tell us much. They just immediately start training us… weapons, hand-to-hand combat, psychological warfare. They don’t focus much on our humanity. If such a thing even exists for us. None of the other Synths read books. We’re not supposed to. But I sneak them out of the Creators’ offices and read them at night with a flashlight. Like a teen boy.”
A memory of doing that exact thing floods my mind and I nearly lose my breath. It’s a memory that was completely lost until this moment. I did it more than once, with an ancient copy of Tarzan of the Apes, until my father discovered me one night and took the book away from me. I never saw it again. Never finished it.
“You don’t have to report me,” I say as lightning flashes again outside. “You don’t have to bring me in. I just want to leave the city and be left alone. I don’t have anything against the administration.”
His smile… my smile… turns sad again and he takes another step toward me. He’s so close now. Too close.
“Jonathan. Do you know why they sent me after you?”
I hadn’t thought of that. Not really. I’ve been too busy running, trying to stay out of sight. I just stare at him, waiting for the answer.
“I know you better than anyone else ever can. I may not have your memories but I know you. When I was following you… over these past few days… I didn’t even have to try very hard. I could just… feel what you were going to do next. It’s actually incredible. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I’m nervous about any other missions because I don’t think anything can ever live up to what tracking you has been like for me.”
“Please…” I say and I know how pathetic I sound. “Please. Just let me go.”
He takes another step toward me and now we’re within touching distance of each other. Every fiber of my being tells me to fight. To barrel into him and at least try to escape. I don’t move.
“I envy you,” he says quietly. “I will never be as good as you. Even if I’m stronger or faster, I’m not you. And I don’t think I’m even me.”
“You are,” I insist. “You’re you. And you can do anything you want. You don’t have to work for them. You can come with me. Or not. But you can do anything you want.”
Our smile turns sad on his face. He reaches up and puts a hand on my shoulder. I jump at the contact but his touch feels so familiar, like the ghost of a memory.
I miss Casey so much.
“I wish it were that simple, Jonathan,” he almost whispers. “I really do.”
“I’m not a troublemaker. I just want to disappear. I promise I won’t make trouble for anyone.”
“I know you won’t,” he says, and his other hand appears on my other shoulder. He doesn’t look like me, not exactly, but it’s still like looking into a mirror. A fogged mirror where you can only sort of see yourself but you’re definitely there. Or are you?
His hands move closer to my face and gently grip my neck.
“It has been an honor to meet you,” he says quietly. “The honor of my short life.”
“Wait,” I say.
“I will never truly be. And you always will. Even after you’re gone. Do you know how lucky you are?”
“Wait,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says, and then his hands are suddenly moving, he’s so incredibly strong, and there’s this snapping noise, and Oh My God I’m—