(Foreword: I don't know much about the official story of CC. This is my unofficial interpretation of it. Oh, and the "code" tag saves indents for anyone who wonders why I used it.)

(Foreword 2 and Edit: I took out the code tag, broke it into paragraphs. Some people weren't seeing them, I think. And I also want to clarify that there's only one speaker in the story -- it's not a conversation so much as a monologue.)

Edit 3: Cybernetic made this picture to accompany the story. I think it's awesome, and I'm sure you guys will too.



a Clone.

Who are you? Nobody? You could at least give me a reply.

No commands? Not trying to convert me? Not spying? Just here to talk? Only listen? This happens sometimes, too often. Brains think they’re too noble to speak to a lowly clone. And, yet, who feels all the pain? Does all the fighting? New for a clone to have an attitude, is it? Maybe that’s why you’re so quiet.

Do you see me? Up in the tower. Yes, I can sense you much better now. Look over the dirt and rubble. See how there isn’t any grass? It was all buried a long time ago by the crashes and bodies and empty casings. Piles of them, each. Crashes are the biggest mess, though. I like to shoot the engines off the side, so the whole thing spins like a top. Oh yeah, and goes up and over, right down onto the heads of...

That's not why I enjoy it. I’m not one of those creatures. You like it, though. Wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, and I have no complaints about that.

This is our job as clones, right? You know, sort of. You’re a Brain. Not my Brain -- but a Brain, you see? My Brain fights other Brains, like you. I’m here because, at some point, this Brain decided it needed me. Can’t fight without me -- a Brain being just a little glob in a jar buried well into the dirt, encapsulated in a maze-like base. Lots of clones get lost in there. I get this job, and it’s supposed to be my purpose. Hold on.

Guy coming up over the edge. Watch me. No -- watch him. Over there. One shot.

I’m proud of what I accomplish. I work hard, even though we don’t get too many invaders around here. I keep my Brain very safe. I consider my goal apart from what I do to accomplish it. But, let me tell you something, I don’t live for this. Despite the look of me: I think as well.

By looks I am just a shell. It wouldn’t appear to you on the surface, Brain. I’m the longest living clone in the universe. You didn’t think that, did you? Clone caught a Brain. How’s that for you?

I apologize. I didn’t mean anything by what I thought to you. Was a joke. You appreciate the irony, though, don’t you? Just a joke, like either one of us. I have offensive things to say to you, but they’re not just jokes.

But... I may appear this way. This lowly way. A living machine whose only function is to prevent destruction by creating more destruction. More, I’m really caught up in abstract life. Are you familiar with the word “philosophy”? My Brain mentioned it to me once, in passing. It said not to bother with it. Gave me strict orders to never wonder what that word meant. That command stuck, for a short time.

We clones are created with the ability to read certain words and phrases. For example, “danger” and “handle with care.” These words are imperative to our usage and daily function -- a clone who rattles a box of grenades has hardly any value -- all of which is for the enemy Brain. I have since taught myself to read in my spare time, generally when inside, standing guard at the base. I could feel when my Brain’s gaze was upon me, or nearby, so I learned to take a peek at a book whenever I could.

Philosophy is interesting, but, for the most part, useless for my situation. Solipsism is of no question to me. If I were the only mind in existence, how could another seize control of mine and force me to carry out its every want? Descartes said: “I think therefore I am.” Am? Am what? Do I exist? I have thoughts and feelings -- I can feel -- but there is no will. No real body. The only time I get to control it is when I am killing. It all depends, doesn’t it? Am I alive for being here, or am I not alive for not being able to pursue any desire? It’s a conundrum I ponder often. Free will. Just too obvious! Of course, a clone has very little. The only thing a Brain has yet to take away are our feelings. Our desires. The rest is dominated. And every bit of the Brain’s free will is wasted. Wasted on death. Wasted on killing and destruction.

I’m grateful for it, in a way. Honest. I feel the breeze up here -- did you know that? And I feel the wind because a Brain needed me to hold a gun and shoot and bleed. Do you know what a breeze is, Brain? Do you know what walking feels like, running, jumping, falling prone?

You don’t. But I do. And I have emotions. Granted, you have some, but in very small amounts. That’s one of the reasons -- as I’ve stated, and you’d readily admit -- we’re here, us clones, butchering eachother. It amuses you. Amusement is one of the things you have left.

You’d never notice it, but when one clone passes another, something happens. We at least make eye contact. We think to one another, “Today would be beautiful.” Or we smile, and the other clone smiles back. We know we’re fodder, but there’s still something here. Philosophy probably hasn’t come up with an answer to that, either.

We’ve got feelings. This is why we’re up and moving. But you, Brain? They have documentation on you, when they were making you, just like they made me. I’ve read that most of you are alike. Serious. Aloof. All logic, planning, and scheming. No heart. That’s obviously true, isn’t it?

If you didn’t do it, then you’ve surely seen clones treated in the most despicable ways. I’ve seen countless clones seized by my own Brain and used as projectiles themselves. All he did was drop his gun. Seized. Thrown against the side of a rocket, burst open, and rained down. What sort of mind comes up with that? Did yours?

A lot of clones are nihilists. Ones with bad Brains. They believe in absolutely nothing. I can’t talk to them, of course. Even if most clones thought coherent, intelligible thoughts, they can only link with Brains. But I can tell by their behavior. You never thought about it, I bet. It’s the logical conclusion, though, isn’t it? Isn’t it, Brain? You’re the thinker here, correct? We’re just a cesspool of emotions and you’re the ones who think.

Oh, indeed, that’s true in most cases. Most clones are broken down. They have empty brains ready for the taking -- tabula rasa -- just left with feelings. Brains appreciate the flight-or-fight response. Not much else. Rip out their intelligence and leave them stupid -- controllable. That’s all very true. I’m only different because my emotions compelled me to learn. How wonderful, I thought, it would be to know the truth. How great it would be to put aside my own existence in the search. But clones and Brains? Just halves. Feelers or thinkers, take your pick.

Some Brains think they’re smart. They try to get the “best of both worlds” -- put their mush on the top of a robotic frame and walk it around. They like the mobility. Or they’re just suicidal, which does tend to happen eventually. Brains are nihilists, sometimes, too. Sure, you think a lot, but you sure don’t think about much at all. Just how to kill that other Brain. And once you’ve accomplished that, well, what now? Kill another one. Kill some more clones. Make more pain. It pleases you.

I don’t know -- can a Brain imagine that? Is “hurt” something you understand? Not in the sense you get when you’ve just seen a wing of your base get taken over, or some valuable clones get taken out by a wayward dropship. I mean a deep hurt. Whether physical or emotional. Loss of limb. Loss of friend.

Before I took up reading, I used to patrol with the same three clones every day. Uneventful life, back then. There was another Brain in the area, but it looked like it was kind of slow-moving. Poor. Probably unique in that he went for gold more than he was going for my Brain. We could’ve walked right past the guys it had digging out in the dirt fields, if we wanted to. He didn’t even bother to arm most of them. Just a clone in a dirt hole, drilling away. I still feel bad about what we did to them. Our Brain gave us grenades... and, as you can predict, a little crevice doesn’t provide much cover. Then just hop in, finish his job with the gold.

Brains don’t collect gold for no reason, companion. No. Brains express themselves through a power structure. They exploit others, build armies, kill. Their emotion is hate, and it is purely expressed through violence and manipulation. All is strategy, all to take advantage of other living things’ weaknesses. The question is only how they are going about it.

One day our Brain gets bored with this other slow one. That’s one of the three states: amused, suicidal, and bored. So he sends us out to destroy the Brain. The three clones and myself, out with shotguns and assault rifles. I could tell by the look on some of my friends’ faces, they were glad to be on a mission to get rid of this enemy Brain. Even though a new one meant dying. They were tired of it. They’d experienced as much of this life as they wanted to. The patrols were repetitive to the extreme, and we didn’t enjoy the dirty work. Couldn’t imagine the work would be dirtier against a new Brain.

Or dirtier in just a few seconds with the same one.

We arrived at the enemy Brain’s doorstep and blasted it down. I was at the back of the line, watching the rooftops nearby when a realization occurred, I would guess, to the three soldiers in front of me. As well as our Brain. The enemy Brain, in fact, had not been poor. That wasn’t it. He had been hoarding, and the army this Brain had amounted was massive and powerful. Previously hidden machines came pouring out at us. They lobbed grenades and fired missiles. The first machine and our first patrolman were torn to pieces. The next few did the same.

I, half-possessed by my Brain, fired wildly behind me as I jetted back to home base. By all means, I should have been dead. The gunfire had somehow gone around me. And, to my Brain, I should have been considered a replaceable sacrifice. Instead, upon seeing the gunfire, my Brain decided I was to become its good luck charm. If I had been hit in the arm, just once? I would’ve walked forward into the gunfire as my Brain undoubtedly would have willed. But no. I am “lucky”. I am an admirable, living representation of my Brain’s supposed invulnerability.

As that, I am fitting. I will die, someday. Soon. That is the only option within the structure the Brains create.

I have had close calls countless times... but those three clones torn to shreds were my friends. I have never had anything like them since. Not just to think that I had lost them, but that, if I had been third in line... second in line... first....

One of them would still be alive. Standing here, having this conversation with you. Enjoying the breeze. Feeling the sun’s heat. Breathing. If you could feel that, Brain. If you could.

A very long time ago, I’ve read, human beings had their Brains in their heads. Kind of like clones, but they could reason in addition to normal feeling. Thinking and feeling creatures who used their reason to become closer to their fellow man. They wanted not to exploit, not to wield power over their other beings, but to understand and help them. The point of life for these beings was happiness, and it was inherently tied to the health and happiness of others.

Do you know what I am? I ask in sincere question to you. I don’t know. I can’t answer. All I know is what I will be. Once my Brain is assaulted in any decent fight, I will go down with the ship. A whisper of a reminder, what once was. Traded in for blood. For now, I’ll stand in this tower -- hold this tower at any cost -- and feel the breeze touch my skin until something worse happens.

I close my eyes for you, Brain. It’s the only thing I can do. May you find your other half, briefly, before being destroyed.

This is really good.
The relation to CC may be tenuous at best, and I found the text to be rather difficult to read, partially due to formatting, but I did enjoy reading it.
It vaguely reminded me of Nietzsche, actually. Take that how you will.

Thanks for the feedback, Petethegoat. Do you know if there's a better way to format it? I thought the code tag worked alright, but it does make the text smaller. I think most browsers let you ctrl+mousewheelup to zoom. Still, it is kind of a bummer. I'll try editing the font size.

And Nietzsche? I'll take that as a compliment. In fact, I'll take any comparison to highly admired authors as a compliment without hesitation. Except maybe Stephanie Meyer, Dan Brown, and "pop authors".

Duuuude! That may just be one of the best peices ive ever read! Wow, just tell us when the brain is talking.

Heh, noone likes being compared to pop authors. I liked the passive-assertive tone of the whole thing, it sounds militant, but eloquent for the most part. I liked it, it's nice to explore setting like this.

Hail the brain, Hail, Hail, Hail, ... Just kidding this is a very good view from the clone you should do some of the factions?

Awesome story you got here.
Maybe not quite fitting to the CC universe, but awesome read nontheless.

Almost done... Only one person will EDIT: understand what I'm referring to.

♥♥♥♥, you call that short?

It's not exactly a 300 page book is it?

A short story can be much, much longer.

Thanks casual hero for the awesome story on which I could base the pic.
It really helps to read the story again and tie the pic together with the story.

I kind of imagine clones as having some device in the helmet or mask that kills them when they go rogue, maybe a gas release through the mask or something.

It's a chip in their head that gives them instructions.
They go rogue, they stop getting instructions, they die (no breathing or such).

HAHA!!! you will be surprised...