#I feel so bad for my brother but I am going full Containment Protocol with this because you couldn't pay me to have COVID again

[mickstart]

Men will literally leave their used equipment from their positive COVID test laying around the bathroom for you to touch

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

My Sister's Best Friend -Ch.5

The Elementalists au

Beckett x Oriana

Words: 2497

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Katrina Harrington is only two years older than her younger brother Beckett. Her best friend, Oriana Miller, is practically part of the family. After spending one year abroad, Katrina and Oriana return home, and Beckett finds himself enchanted by the red-haired beauty. Something changed between them while she was gone and now that’s she’s back, can he summon the courage to tell her how he’s truly felt all these years, or will she continue to only be his sister’s best friend?

   Beckett spent the whole afternoon and evening with Katrina. He had a lot of fun, and it was so nice to spend time with her again…he missed her incredibly much whole she was gone. And as much as he loved catching up, especially since she finally started talking about her studies, his mind kept flitting back to Oriana. The way she would smile. The way she would look at him. It’s like the air between them was charged with electricity. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Would it be amazing to give in to his feelings and desires after all these years? Or it would be a crash course straight to disaster? He wasn’t sure, but one thing he did know…he wanted to find out. Just not at the expense of his sister, and he had no idea how to get around that.

Oriana’s phone number was practically burning a hole in his pocket, that little message with a heart. He’d practically stopped breathing when he originally saw it. After a long day with his sister, he finally went to bed around 11:30pm. He’d wanted to text her all day but refrained from doing so. He didn’t know what she was playing, if this was just a game to her. He decided it was too late to text her now, so he turned his back on his phone and closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to come. It didn’t, though, and he heard his phone vibrate. His heart pounded as he turned back around and grabbed his now lit up phone. He saw Oriana’s name and promptly dropped it in surprise. He glanced at the clock. 11:45. Hesitantly, he opened up the message:

Oriana: You had my number all day and didn’t use it? I’m hurt ☹

“What? Is she being serious?” He murmured aloud. He thought and thought about what to say back, but he was too stunned to say anything. Why is she suddenly talking to him? They’d never talked on the phone before, unless it had something to do with Katrina. And even then, it was never his phone. She never had his number, and he never had hers. What on earth are they going to talk about? Finally, he came up with what he thought was an appropriate response.

Beckett: It’s late. Why are you up?

The response was almost instantaneous.

Oriana: I’m thinking of you. Can you call me?

His breath caught in his throat and he ran his fingers through his hair. Talking to a girl so late at night didn’t seem like such a great idea. His thoughts about her always took a turn when he was surrounded by darkness. Before he could come up with an excuse, however, his phone vibrated again, this time with an incoming call under her name.

After a brief internal debate, he answered. “H…Hey, Ori. I thought you wanted me to call.”

There was a light laugh on the other end. “We both know you would have made up some lame excuse about why you couldn’t, so I thought I would save you some time. How was your day?”

“You…want to know about my day?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Beckett paused, then heard a sigh from the other end of the phone before Oriana started speaking again. “You’re really uncomfortable right now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He whispered. He didn’t know what else to say, how else to handle this. He literally never talks to girls on the phone. Ever. He was unfamiliar with the proper protocol, and that made him uneasy.

“Okay. Well…I don’t want that, so I’m just going to hang up now. We don’t have to hang out either, if you don’t want, it’s okay. I don’t want to put you in a bad spot.”

Oriana’s tone was light, but Beckett knew her better than that. “Wait, Ori…I’m not sleeping, and you’re not sleeping…there’s no reason we can’t have a conversation, right?”

“That’s what I was thinking, but clearly you don’t want to be doing this, so…”

“Yes, I do!” he blurted out. “I really do! I’m sorry, I’m just…”

“Confused?” She suggested.

“Yes. Very.”

“Do you want to see me tomorrow?” She asked.

“Yes, definitely. Absolutely.” He insisted.

“Any ideas?”

He shook his head, oblivious that she couldn’t tell what he was doing.

“Uh, Beck?”

“Oh! Sorry! No, I don’t have any ideas.”

“I guess it’s my choice then. I have the perfect spot. I’ll text it to you tomorrow though. Let’s say we meet around 10am?”

“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope! It’s a surprise. You’re going to love it.”

Beckett felt like he was in another dimension. “Well…don’t keep me waiting too long.”

“Oooh Beckett…you’re the impatient and demanding type, aren’t you? I guess I already knew that, but I haven’t heard it in awhile and now all sorts of thoughts are running through my head.”

His mouth fell open, and he felt boiling hot. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll keep my thoughts to myself for now.” She teased. “Goodnight, Beck.”

“Wait, Ori….” But she was gone, no longer on the phone. He threw his phone on the bed in frustration. Who the hell does she think she is? What is she thinking? Where are we going to go? God, what if she takes me somewhere awful? I don’t think I can handle that.

He lay awake for several more hours, at first being completely pissed off, then curious, and now, as he finally drifts to sleep, excited.

The next morning, he jumped out of bed, immediately looking at his phone. He grinned when he saw Oriana had text him an address. He quickly took a shower and dressed in his usual khakis, shirt, and blazer, then styled his hair. He wanted to look perfect for her. Finally putting on his black and gold watch, he realized if he didn’t leave right this second, he would be late. He dashed downstairs, quickly put his shoes on, grabbed his keys and ran to his car. He was so nervous during his fifteen-minute drive. Every traffic light he encountered he swore. He couldn’t believe he took so long to get ready that he was running behind. Beckett Harrington does not run behind. He’s never late.

He sighed in relief, seeing he was almost to his location, and now his nerves were on fire. She hadn’t told him where he was meeting her, just the address, hadn’t told him what was there…but as he drove, he began to recognize the scenery around him. He knew exactly where he was, and he came this way often. In fact, it was one of his favorite places! He was chastising himself for not realizing it sooner. He’d just been so nervous and in such a hurry, he didn’t even think. And sure enough, a couple minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of the Botanical Gardens.

He parked his car and walked to the big open entrance. As soon as he got to the sidewalk, he locked eyes with Oriana. She grinned when she saw him, and he couldn’t help but grin back.

“Beck! You made it!” She launched herself into him, holding him tightly. He took a brief moment to inhale her familiar scent. Her long locks smelled of honey, and she was wearing her signature perfume of warm amber. He loved this smell, but he forced himself to pull away.

“Of course I made it. And this is a wise choice. I always have a good time when I’m here, in fact I have a season pass but it just exp….” He trailed off as she stared at him. “What?”

She gave him a soft smile. “It’s just…nice to see you happy. You don’t smile much.”

“Yes, I do.” He defended. “I smile constantly.”.

“You blush constantly, or at least, you do a lot more than I remember you doing.”

Right on cue, the tips of his ears turned crimson. Oriana bit her lip, trying to contain her laughter, which just made the rest of his face turn the same shade as his ears.

“Come on, let’s go in.” She suggested. “I already got the tickets.”

“You didn’t have to buy my ticket.” He said incredulously. “In fact, I should be the one paying for both of us.”

Walking inside, she just raised an eyebrow. “Okay…noted. Next time you can pay then”

“Thank you.” He replied, walking in silence a few moments before registering what she said. “Wait, next time?”

She laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Just caught that, huh?”

“What about Katrina?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“What about her?”

“Well…I mean…you guys are best friends; don’t you want her to come?”

“Would you prefer if she came?” Oriana had stopped walking and was studying him. “I can call her right now if you want, but then you get to explain why we’re already here without her, and how we planned this without each other’s phone numbers.” She shrugged. “Up to you.”

“Scuse me!” A crowd of people suddenly emerged wanting to walk around them, but they were standing so far apart, Oriana was jostled and just as she was about to fall, Beckett dipped low and caught her, pulling her back up and into his arms. He wanted to yell at whoever had ran into her, even if by accident, but truthfully he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He loved the way she fit in his arms, it was as if she belonged there.

“You okay?” He murmured.

“I am now.” She whispered back. “Thank you.”

His nerves were on fire as her eyes dropped to his lips. She licked her own, glancing back up at him, clearly waiting for him to make a move. He leaned in, unable to help himself…

“Sorry, miss! I didn’t mean to run into you. I just wanted to apologize.”

Beckett and Oriana jumped apart as someone spoke right next to them. It felt like time had slowed down when she was in his arms, but now it was back to full speed.

“It’s no problem at all!” Oriana replied to the stranger brightly. “My boyfriend here caught me, so really you did us a favor.”

She smirked in Beckett’s direction as he turned bright red.

“Well, I’ll go back to my friends. Have fun.” The guy shuffled off, leaving Beckett and Oriana alone.

“Your boyfriend?” He asked skeptically.

She shrugged. “First thing that came to mind. Now, come on. I know you’re fascinated by this stuff, so give me the Beckett Harrington tour. I’m expecting it to be flawless, of course.” She joked.

He wanted to ask why it was the first thing to come to her mind. He wanted to go pin her against the wall and demand a kiss from her. But he did neither, instead, turning to the colorful path before them, filled with colorful flora and fauna. He led her through the gardens, different sections, describing each plant they saw. Oriana was hanging onto every word he was saying, and it completely thrilled him. He had no doubt if Katrina were here…well, they would have left by now. She has no interest in visiting gardens. It had never really occurred to him that Oriana would enjoy the same things he did. He found himself cracking jokes alongside her and having more fun than he has in a long time. Possibly even ever.

When they’d finally made it through the entire thing, they decided to stop at the café and grab dinner. Every time he looked at her, butterflies erupted in his stomach now. Each ordering a burger and fries, (and Beckett insisting on paying the bill), they sat in a corner booth by the window. Oriana told him what her favorite parts of her overseas journey were, and this time it was Beckett who hung onto every word. He was especially entranced by her description of the Louvre. It’s one of his dreams to go there someday. When she pulled out her phone and started showing pictures, he was elated. Finally, the day turned to evening, the evening into night, and before they knew it, the Botanical Gardens were closing.

“Beck, I had a lot of fun with you today. Thank you, this was great.” She told him as he walked her to her mom’s car. She didn’t have her own, and unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to park near her.

He shook his head, grinning. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. It was your choice, remember?”

“That’s true, isn’t it? I did do pretty good.” She teased, ruffling his hair.

He laughed, dodging out of her touch, before finally gathering the courage to ask her something he’d been thinking since she returned. “Hey, Ori…Why have we never done this before?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“I-I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer, it was a dumb…”

“I missed you a lot more than I thought I would.” She blurted out.

This time, it was Beckett’s eyebrows that were aimed at the heavens. Looking at him sheepishly she continued. “To be honest Beckett…I have thought about it a lot, and I have wanted to spend solo time with you. Before I left, even. I knew I’d miss you, but I figured it was because I think of you as family. I was…a bit confused when I left. I tried to put it out of my mind, rationalizing it as being homesick.”

She shrugged. “Anyways. I just thought it would be nice to catch up, and not be interrupted.”

Silence stretched between them as he wracked his brain looking for a response. She hadn’t exactly answered the question, but her response did intrigue him.

“Right! Okay, so…I’m gonna go. Thank you for dinner.” She unlocked her car and got inside before he finally found his voice.

“Wait!!”

She blinked, then burst out laughing as she rolled down her window. “There it is! Your delayed response. I guess if I want you to keep talking I just need to pretend to leave, and then you’ll step up.”

His face flushed. “We’re going to…catch up…again, right? Just us?”

She grinned. “As soon as you call me, absolutely. Goodnight, Beck.”

“Goodnight, Ori.”

He watched her pull out of the parking lot, her taillights disappearing into the night. He took a deep and shuddery breath, then broke into a huge smile. He smiled all the way home, managed to slip inside unnoticed, rushed up into his bedroom and pulled out his phone.

“Okay, Ori. You don’t want anymore delayed reactions. I can do this. Yes, easy peasy. I can most definitely call you.”

An hour later, after several of his own pep talks, some hyperventilating, deep breathing, then meditation, he finally dialed.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, and it made his heart race.

“Hey Beck. So, when are we going out again?”

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[letitrainathousandflames-archive]

Rating: Mature

Warnings: medical horror, torture, violence, blood, mutilation, angst, clone feels

Characters: Echo, Fives, Cutup, Droidbait, Hevy, Rex, 99, Grievous

Summary: Snippets of Echo's life as a trooper, from his birth to his rebirth in the bad batch arc. Commission fic for lovely @deepseacritter

(also, yes, I used a few bits of And It Echoes, an old fic of him too. This will be the official full fic from now on)

Fic under the cut if you don’t wanna go on Ao3:

Clones developed surprisingly fast. The development of their brain and sense of consciousness was accelerated as well, which could lead to experiences unique to these human forms. One of them was the ability to perceive the world around from a very early stage.

Once, a clone baby distinctly perceived the world around him as he was placed in a crib, his small hands reaching up to the man in front of him, and the man chuckled.

“There, there, fourteen-oh-nine.” he had said to him, and although the baby of course couldn’t understand the actual meaning of words, he smiled at the soothing tone of the man’s voice “Oh, they said your batch is a fine one. I know we’ll see great things from you and your brothers.” The man placed his finger over the baby’s nose with a feather-light touch “You were the first one to push out of the tube.” He chuckled again “An eager little one, aren’t you?”

Another voice spoke echoing like waves, far from the crib, sounding rather dry:

“Stop talking to the clone and take the next one.” The man walked away from the crib and the baby reached for him anxiously as if he wished to keep him by his side with the strength of his small, chubby arms “Place them together and don’t forget to label all the products.”

“Yes, Madam Se.” the man’s voice said from afar in a revering tone “Will do. Leave it to Ninety-Nine here.” a door swung closed and the baby could hear the man’s voice approaching again as he grumbled “Don’t listen to her. You’re not a product. You’re not a number. None of you are.”

Funny how clones would remember some words they heard – before they could even understand words properly - until the day they died. The man was close to Fourteen-Oh-Nine again, but this time he had a small bundle on his hands; a baby just like little Fourteen-Oh-Nine. Ninety-Nine held him up closer to the other, and the baby in his arms, with outstretched arms and wide eyes looking everywhere in attention reached for Fourteen-Oh-Nine, brushing his small hand over his arm.

“Oh, look at that, Fourteen-Oh-Nine, I think he likes you. This is your batch brother Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five. I’m sure you’ll get along fine.” Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five then slapped a hand to Fourteen-Oh-Nine’s face and the other squirmed, trying to push him away; Ninety-Nine pulled him back a little “Well, you might quarrel every now and then, sure. But you’re brothers, and this is not a bond easily broken. We are one and the same, little ones. Vode an.”

-

In the dream – not a dream, really, but a memory – he saw then Twenty-Ten and Forty-Forty, small and all cuddled up in Ninety-Nine’s arms, the opposite of the eager, flapping-his-arms Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five. The last one to be shown before Fourteen-Oh-Nine and his brother’s eyes was Seven-Eight-Two. Even being just a  newborn, he was taking an attempt at babbling. Still, all he could manage was a weird sound, trying to imitate Ninety-Nine but not having the coordination to do so yet.

“waaaa…” he says “Waaa…”

Vod. Even being a newborn too, Fourteen-Oh-Nine somehow knew that was what he meant to say. He tried to say it too but then a voice interrupted him—

“Fourteen-Oh-Nine, get up!”

Then the same voice, coming from someone else.

“Let me just pinch his nose, that oughtta wake him up.”

“Shh, you guys!” then someone poked Fourteen-Oh-Nine and his eyes snapped open; there was a boy with the same face as his own, the same brown eyes and the black hair, like a mirror image that could talk to him “Hey, Fourteen, sorry to wake you up this early but there’s gonna be an early meeting with one of the supervisors and we need to be up and ready.”

Fourteen-Oh-Nine bolted up to his feet, getting to tidy his bed up like nobody had never slept there, changing to his day clothes like his brothers had already done.

“Meeting?” he asked, checking the time on the projector watch on the wall; Fourteen-Oh-Nine had developed this habit of repeating everything that he was told since he remembered having learned to talk “This early? How do you know?”

“Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five was out of bed when he shouldn’t.” Twenty-Ten glared at Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five “‘Exploring the base’ or whatever, with Forty-Forty, and they heard O’Niner and the other older cadets talking about some emergency meetings.”

Forty-Forty shrugged.

“What could they possibly want to talk to us? All we do is tend to the babies’ tubes, do cleaning jobs and such. The closest we ever get to training is the racing track. They don’t even let us lift weights.”

Seven-Eight-Two rolled his eyes.

“That’s because we’re three, silly. If we start the heavy training now, they fear we might not grow very tall. Wait for next year.”

Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five gave them a smug smile.

“Speak for yourself. I think I grew about a whole centimeter last month.”

Forty-Forty and Twenty-Ten were having none of it.

“Shut up, Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five, you’re making this up.”

“Yeah, Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five, nobody asked you nothing.”

Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five pouted, grumbling:

“Stop calling me that! I’m Fives! My name is Fives!”

At that, Fourteen-Oh-Nine glanced over to him.

“You can’t just pick a name. An older cadet has to give it to you on the same day they give you your trooper armor and ship you out.”

Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five glared at him.

“That’s not a rule!” he scrunched his nose “It’s just a stupid tradition for people who can’t come up with cool names for themselves, and I am not a number, I’m Fives! Now stop repeating everything the older cadets say to you.”

Fourteen-Oh-Nine had a hard time trying to get along with Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five. The kid was just too stubborn and full of himself.

“Listen, just because I care about following our brothers’ code, you don’t have to be all offended.”

“Ohhh!” Twenty-Ten howled, smiling at Forty-Forty “Here they go again.”

“You listen here, di’kut…!”

“Oi!” Seven-Eight-Two cut him off “Language!”

“Ah, don’t be a pain in the…”

But Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five couldn’t finish his sentence because the door slid open and a tall cadet on his sevens – two years from being able to take his final tests and being shipped off – walked in the room, his red set of clothes impeccable as his combed-back hair. Fourteen-Oh-Nine did his best to comb his own hair back with his hand as the boys scrambled to stand in attention, lined up in front of their beds.

“Good morning, cadets.” He said, carrying a datapad on him; they knew him for his distinctive whitening sideburns and eyebrows despite his young age, a genetic mutation of his particular strain “I see you’re already up. Very good.”

“Good morning, supervisor O’Niner.” They answered him in unison

O’Niner was one of the older cadets placed on training duty – he was the one to assign the smaller tasks to the boys too young to start their actual training. He was particularly fond of Fourteen-Oh-Nine because he would always try and follow the rules as best as he could. Usually he’d flash a small smile towards him, but today he seemed more serious than usual.

“The kaminoans have made a decision to lower the age for training.”

“Cool!” Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five blurted out before he could contain himself “Are we finally gonna hold a blaster?”

O’Niner might’ve almost flashed a smile, but he contained himself.

“No, cadet, not yet. But they’ve decided your age group are now old enough to start watching the older cadets’ simulations, and you’ll have to write detailed reports on those, you hear me? You’ll have to provide consistent comments on their strategy, their strengths and their weakness, alternate solutions to the situations they’ll face, everything. The details on these assignments are here.” He gave the datapad to Seven-Eight-Two and looked straight at Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five “There are deadlines to turn those in, so get on schedule, you hear me, Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five?”

Fifty-Five-Fify-Five swallowed and Fourteen-Oh-Nine fought to keep a straight face because his lips kept trying to curl into a smile. Everyone knew that Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five wasn’t very prone to respecting deadlines. Then Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five turned his head to look at O’Niner – disregarding protocol, but who would be surprised at that? – and stuttered out:

“M-My name is Fives, sir.”

O’Niner looked at him, and Fives squared his shoulders, standing in attention again, his eyes wide. O’Niner walked to him and folded his arms, looking at the younger cadet.

“So your brothers gave you a name even before you could pick your armor?” he paused, and the cadet didn’t answer “I asked you a question, cadet.”

Fives swallowed hard, blinking fast in his nervousness.

“I, uh. I picked it myself, sir.”

O’Niner stared at him for a few moments to then crack a smile at the corner of his lips.

“Well, it seems like you and I are stuck to our numbers, eh?” he lowered his voice “Better then end up like Zap because of that one time he stunned himself with his blaster.”

He smiled encouragingly, and the cadets laughed, even Fourteen-Oh-Nine. But as O’Niner saluted them and left, all his brothers gathered around Seven-Eight-Two, and as curious as Fourteen-Oh-Nine was to see the datapad instructions, he bolted after the supervisor.

“Sir!” he called out in the hallway, and O’Niner turned to him “I… I thought we had to be named on our name day, the day we receive our armor.”

O’Niner waved his head, without a hint of his official posture, looking down to Fourteen-Oh-Nine as he stood in attention in the hallway.

“Sometimes we find our names before that.” he scratched his head “It’s fine that we call each other by names, Fourteen-Oh-Nine, long as you don’t forget that for official matters and for addressing the Kaminoans, you have to introduce yourself by your number, do you understand?”

Fourteen-Oh-Nine licked his lips hesitating before he spoke:

“Fifty-Five-Fifty-Five says…” he refused to use that non-official name his brother had given himself “he says he is not a number, but it’s what we are, right, sir? It’s what we all are.”

O’Niner grimaced at that, walking closer to Fourteen-Oh-Nine and his voice was kind.

“We are more than numbers, cadet. We are the greatest strength of the republic.” He raised his hand and ruffled cadet’s hair in what was a small protocol breach but no one could blame O’Niner for being affectionate of the younger cadets; most clones placed on supervising duty were anyway “All you have to do is follow your orders and do your best. Now go back to your brothers.”

Fourteen-Oh-Nine was glowing with happiness as he got back to their room. Seven-Eight-Two gave him the datapad with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, vod, here are the instructions for the report we have to write later. I was surprised you didn’t ripped it off my fingers to be the first to read it.”

Fourteen-Oh-Nine got the datapad, looking at the projection of watch on the wall.

“First we need to have breakfast, then we tend to the babie’s tanks, and then we have the…”

Fives rolled his eyes.

“We know our schedule, Echo.”

At that, Fourteen-Oh-Nine frowned.

“What did you call me?”

Twenty-Ten giggled.

“Ah, right, because he keeps repeating stuff.”

Fourteen-Oh-Nine felt his face warm with embarrassment as they left their room and Seven-Eight-Two and the others laughed.

“This is not funny.” Fourteen-Oh-Nine grumbled “Stop calling me that.”

It was Forty-Forty’s turn to giggle.

“Stop repeating orders, then.”

-

“We need to analyze how coordinated they are.” Echo mumbled to himself; each of them had been provided with a datapad to take notes, but only Echo was doing so, as his brothers only watched in gleeful awe the older cadets running for cover from enemy fire down in the training facility.

“Shut up, Echo.” Fives said as he smiled at the young men training down there “Look how fast they are! This is so cool!”

Seven-Eight-Two clamped a hand over his own mouth to muffle his scream of excitement as he saw one of the men running to a metal crate and picking a Z-6 cannon from the weapons available there.

“That guy knows how to do it!” he laughed, as he balled his hands into fists, shaking them in excitement “Yes!”

“He’s not gonna be able to run very far with that massive gun, vod.” Twenty-Ten said, twisting his lips “It’s too heavy.”

“Seven-Eight-Two here loves the damn heavy cannons.” Fives piped cheerfuly “He says that ‘if there ain’t a heavy cannon…’”

“‘…There ain’t no fun!’” Seven-Eight-Two completed as the clone he cheered for cleared the path ahead with his successive shots “Just look at that beauty!”

“Yeah, I see it, Heavy-guy. Wait. Heav—Hevy. Hey, Hevy!” he poked Seven-Eight-Two on his ribs “That’s your name now.” He spoke louder so the other brothers could hear him “Seven-Eight-Two’s name is ‘Hevy’ now, everyone cool with that?”

Twenty-Ten giggled wholeheartedly and Seven-Eight-Two – Hevy – threw his head back and joined the laughter that erupted between the brothers. Echo lowered his head, hoping the group’s lack of professionalism wouldn’t be noticed by Bric and El-Es, the bounty hunters in charge of evaluating the training sessions.

“It’s perfect!” Hevy said breathless with laughter “Thank you, vod.”

“We’re not supposed to be picking names now guys,” Echo said, as he still typed on his datapad “We’re supposed to write down how he’s going against their instructions, marching ahead with nobody there to cover for him.”

The perfectly timed ‘shut up, Echo’ from his brothers was no surprise to the exasperated cadet.

-

Fives didn’t seem so pleased to see that Echo had had the best score on target practice, better then himself for a short few points.

“It’s because you never even read the reg manual.” Echo shugged at him while Twenty-Ten, Forty-Forty and Hevy finished their final laps on the race track

Fives drank water from a canteen and scoffed.

“I read it, I just don’t… don’t stroke the cover and kiss it goodnight like you do!”

Echo rolled his eyes. Just because he had started to get used to Fives’ behavior it didn’t mean it was getting any easier throughout the years.

“You’re too eager to keep firing, so you don’t pull the trigger all the way down.”

“Yeah, that’s why I shoot faster than you!”

Echo pinched the bridge of his nose. They were six now, but sometimes Fives would make him think he was four.

“You’re also missing the center of the target. Since the blast doesn’t come out full-force, it goes lower than what you expect it to go.”

Fives seemed to be even more annoyed at the explanation.

“Okay, fine, I’m sure the reg manual will be the first thing to cross my mind when I’m surrounded by clankers.”

“Nobody calls them that.”

“The older cadets do!”

“Stop trying to be cool.”

Hevy finished his track, slowing down and walking towards his brothers.

“Are you two arguing again? Fives, give Echo a break.”

“Stop calling me that.” Echo mumbled for what seemed to be the hundredth time

-

On the day they’d receive their armor, Echo was nervous. The Cadet to hand it to him was about eight, one year shy of his final test to be a trooper and he introduced himself with an easy smile Echo did not expected.

“Hey there, Fourteen-Oh-Nine. At ease.” The older cadet said; Echo relaxed his shoulders despite him being absolutely tense everywhere else “I’m Bly. Are you ready to pick up your armor?”

He’d always heard that aside from O’Niner most of the oder cadets were a very serious bunch. Maybe this was a test, he thought nervously, deciding not to smile back.

“Yes, sir.”

On the table in front of Bly there was a white and green plastoid armor. Echo had been dreaming of wearing on of those ever since he could remember. Bly nodded at him grabbing the chest and back plate that, placed over each other, carried the remaining parts and the helmet perfectly balanced over it.

“Do you have a name of your choosing, future trooper?”

Future trooper. That made Echo’s heart skip a beat. But the truth was that no, he didn’t. He’d been so busy trying to study and learn the most he could while he was there that he’d never stopped to think of a name.

Well, any name other than the stupid nickname Fives had given him.

“M-My…” he cleared his throat, hesitating “My batch mates call me Echo.”

“‘Echo’?” Bly raised an eyebrow “Is there a reason for that?”

Echo lowered his eyes.

“They say I repeat everything I hear or read. Lines from the regulations manual, instructions, superior orders…”

Bly knitted his brows.

“Really? Are you saying you can quote the reg manual from heart?”

The wonder in his voice made Echo frown as he nodded. Of course he could. It had been very easy to memorize it. “This is good, cadet, a good memory is a quality much desired for ARC troopers and commanding officers.”

ARC Trooper. Echo’s breath hitched in his lungs and he swallowed hard.

“Really, sir?”

Bly nodded with a kind smile, handing Echo his armor. Echo’s hands sunk down a little under the weight of it – it was way heavier than he expected it to be.

“I look forward to seeing your progress, Echo. The commanding officer of whatever squad you’ll be placed in the future would be lucky to have someone like you.” He saluted Echo “Now focus on your training for the next few years and become the very best trooper you can.”

Echo walked in his bedroom at night still repeating Bly’s words to himself for the tenth time, and Fives said  he was gonna punch him in the face if he repeated it once more. In the end, Hevy had to split the two of them up when Fives did and the two of them began to fight as usual.

And as their training started, things went just the way Echo had expected them to be. Hevy would always pick the heavy cannons, Forty-Forty would get too worried about the others to pay attention at his own progress, Echo would stick to the original orders and Fives would come up with some crazy idea that only would only work halfway through before blowing on their faces.

Fives had been so excited about finally being able to do simulations he’d want to sleep in his armor but he stopped trying to when he spent an entire day feeling pain on his lower back. Echo sighed; if only the fellow cadets used all that energy to follow the kriffing orders, maybe they’d have a chance.

-

“Y’know, things would’ve been better if Twenty-Ten here hadn’t played the droid bait last time. Stay out of my way this time maybe, eh vod?”

Of course Fives wouldn’t shut up about the simulations every waking moment of his. They were seven now, and things were getting tougher and tougher in their training. Echo needed to be the best, so that he could be placed in a platoon and shipped out of Kamino; the idea of being on cleaning duty forever with Ninety-Nine and the other rejects was just absolutely terrifying. He was ARC trooper material, he knew it. But as long as he was attached to those fools… Sometimes Echo had a hard time believing they were from the same batch, especially Fives.

Forty-Forty elbowed Fives on his ribs as they boarded the elevator for their new practice training.

“C’mon, leave Droidbait alone.”

“Don’t start this kark.” Twenty-Ten snarled in a warning “Don’t call me that.”

As they reached the top floor, Echo looked around the room. This time, they had a number of large, heavy crates scattered all over the place, even blocking their view like a labyrinth with many different paths, narrow and wide. As Echo squinted around, trying to see ahead between the crates, a voice came in the speaker:

“Attention cadets. Today’s assignment will be divided in two objectives: defend your position on the red corner, collect the intel and relay it to the communications line at the rendezvous point. Remember, cadets, the correct information must be handed to the higher command, or you’ll be dooming your brothers on the other side."

Fives’ eyes scanned the room up instead of down and between the crates like his brothers’ and he saw the red lamp dangling over an area ahead that was surrounded by three piles of crates that acted more or less like walls, making it a small square room.

“Okay, found the red corner.”, Fives said tensely, nodding ahead

“It’s where we need to defend our position.” Echo answered him

“They literally just said that, Echo, stop repeating stuff!”

“Easy, boys.” Hevy said, taking a step ahead slowly because of the heavy gun “Don’t we usually just walk out of the elevator and there’s clankers shooting us everywhere?”

“Ah, yeah.” Droidbait agreed “It’s too kriffing quiet.”

“Let’s advance slowly then?” Forty-Forty suggested

So they started walking on duos, Fives and Hevy scouting ahead, Droidbait and Forty-Forty behind them and Echo farther back, studying their situation. This was strange. No enemies? They’d just easily complete the first step of the test just like that? They walked into a larger hall between the crates, and it was funny how oppressive the wide training room felt now. Echo kept his hand steady on the grip of his blaster. They kept walking, until someone caught the corner of his eye. Echo turned his head to look and nearly choked.

Between each and every lined up crates along their path were droids, unmoving and with their menacing eyes unlit. Echo gave a sharp poke to Droidbait’s back between his back plate and his codpiece.

“Ow! What the hell, Echo?” he turned to his brother and his eyes went wide as Echo silently pointed out the hidden enemies “Oh. Oh no.”

Droidbait grabbed Forty-Forty by his back piece, and the clone seemed confused until his brother pointed at the droids. Forty-forty whispered a long string of swear words. Fives and Hevy kept moving forward without noticing anything just yet. Then…

“Attack!” one of the droids piped out in its metallic voice, and all the other ones seemed to activate, their backlit eyes coming to life as they walked out of their hiding, surrounding the clones. Hevy pulled the trigger and his cannon began to spin, spitting out blast charges.

“Fives, Echo, the flanks!” he screamed, and Echo turned to the left side of them as Fives did the same to the left, and they both started shooting “Forty-Forty, Cutup, our rear! Let’s cover each other and advance!”

“On you, vod!” Fives screamed back as he fired on the clankers as they tried to reach them, making the deactivated ones block the path of the ones farther in the back

“No, no, no, this is a bad idea” Echo screamed back under the heavy fire, “we don’t know how to get to the red area, we need to scout first or we’ll walk into a trap!”

“Do you see a way for us to scout in this mess, di’kut?!” Fives snarled as Hevy advanced, cleaning the path ahead and the group followed behind “We go and plan along the way!”

“That’s not a strategy, that’s suicide!”

Echo looked at the remaining droids on his side – ten of them! Ten! These simulations were exaggerated, no trooper would ever face ten droids alone, right? He probably would have his platoon’s support in such a situation. He tried to even his breathing, remember that this was just a simulation and his life wasn’t at stake, but the constant yells of ‘blast them!’ and ‘roger roger’ from the enemy droids were really scary. That was when Droidbait left position and began to try and scale one of the crates.

“What in the stars are you doing?!” Forty-Forty yelled, still firing on the clankers at their backs

“Cover for me, vod!” he screamed back “I just had an idea!”

And he scaled the pile of crates now able to see through the labyrinth’s path from above, and he started to run on top of the crates, moving ahead faster than his brothers could for being busy returning enemy fire.

“Okay, I see it! I see it!” he yelled farther ahead “move straight ahead, then left, straight, left again on the narrower path and you’re there!”

Droidbait then settled for firing on the enemy droids from above, providing them a vital cover that helped them advance much farther. The group was almost reaching him when there was a shift of attention on the droids and they turned to fire at Droidbait instead. Dridbait knelt down to make a smaller target out of himself, but the enemy fire was just overwhelming. Hevy fired on the clankers ahead, Fives and Echo kept covering the flanks and Forty-Forty kept firing on the ones at their tails. Then…

One of the the enemies’ blast charges hit Droidbait right on his armored shoulder and he screamed, tumbling to the edge of the crates and falling into what was most likely the red area with a loud, pained scream.

“No!” Hevy screamed “Droidbait.”

They rushed forward, covering for each other until they reached the red area and were met with the fallen form of Droidbait under the red light closer to the crates and a datapad placed right in the middle of the space. Echo reached for it but Fives rushed past him and got it first.

“This must be the intel.” Fives said with a victorious laugh that was interrupted by a groan

Hevy covered the area entrance with his canon while Forty-Forty reached for Droidbait. The clone seemed to be unable to get back to his feet.

“Hey, don’t worry.” He grunted out “I did my job, didn’t I? I was up there, being droid bait.”

His head dropped back and Forty-Forty waved his head.

“He’s unconscious. They zapped him good.”

Echo swallowed down, letting his imagination go wild. If this was the real world outside, and not just a silly simulation… Droidbait would be dead. Killed by some kriffing separatist clanker. That made Echo look at this brother under a sudden rush of affection. As much as they were a bunch of di’kuts, those boys - men? when did they really cross that line? - were his squad. He had to do his best for them.

Fives pressed the button and a soft voice spoke, as the face of a Jedi – General Shaak Ti – was floating up in projection out of it.

“Attention, cadets” she said “We have word of an approaching enemy fleet consisting of two separatist supply ships, a large carrier vessel, eighty-five gunships and one hundred and thirty-two small Starfighters. You need to deliver these numbers correctly to General Kenobi, but the only place with enough signal is in the blue area. Remember, troopers, our forces are spread thin. Any miscount might lead to troops being pulled unnecessarily from other battles, leading to defeat on those, or to a shortage of troops and the failure of this very mission.”

There was silence and then Fives let out a whistle.

“I… did not get all that. Lemme try it again.” He pressed the replay button but the recording was jammed now “Oh. Oh no. It was… It was Two seppie ships and a hundred… no, two hundred… Forty-Forty, did you get that?”

Forty-Forty grimaced at Fives, leaving the unconscious Droidbait on the ground to then mind the only other way in – a small space between the crates, very narrow but wide enough for a clanker to pass through.

“No, vod. Sorry. She talked too much, I got lost.”

Fives snarled, despair staining his voice.

“Kark, we’re fucked. How would we possibly relay the intel…”

Then Echo spoke over him:

“two separatist supply ships, a large carrier vessel, eighty-five gunships and one hundred and thirty-two small Starfighters.” He gave Fives and Forty-Forty a small smile as they gaped at him in utter shock “It… It was easy.”

Fives grabbed Echo’s arm and dragged him closer to a crate.

“Hevy, Forty-Forty, defend position while Echo and I run to the relay station! We finally got use for Echo!”

Echo snarled as the other cadet pulled him down the narrow labyrinth between the crates.

“Stop calling me that!”

Along the way they met quite a few droids, but managed to reach what would be their communications room for that mission, and while Echo was sending the message, Fives defended him bravely until a blast hit him in the chest and he dropped unconscious. Echo kept typing through his fear and, as his entire body spasmed under the shock of the stun blast that hit him on his back, he still pressed the “send” button on the holographic keyboard, sending the message.

 “But we sent the message!” Forty-Forty argued later to Bric and El-Es.

The bounty hunters were not amused, Bric especially.

“But your entire squad died, meaning the position you were meant to defend had fallen.” He explained dryly “Your fellow soldiers would arrive with reinforcements expecting to be met with at least one base defended by clones only to be met with bloodthirsty droids. You were not supposed to die, but to stand your ground.”

Echo lowered his head, nodding. These were their orders and they failed to abide to them. Fives, however, was on edge as usual.

“It doesn’t matter if we live or die! We finished the mission!”

Bric snarled, poking a finger to Fives’ chest.

“Stars know that it really doesn’t matter if you clones live or die, but when you are given a task, it’s expected of you to follow it through!”

Fives chlenched his fist and drew in a breath when Hevy bumped on his shoulder, whispering.

“No, vod! Shh!”

El-Es wasn’t as short-tempered as his colleague, and he looked over to the cadets.

“Don’t worry, cadets. These are only trials. When the true test comes, I believe you will have no problems.”

Bric gave a spiteful laugh.

“Yeah, or you can get used to the idea of joining Ninety-Nine and the other rejects.”

 After that day, Echo and Fives began to work amazingly well together during simulations, although they remained as different from each other as it was possible on their free time.

The nights were rough on Echo and his brothers. Their bodies would hurt terribly because of the brutal trainings and the aching bones that grew twice as fast as a normal human’s, and Echo would find himself constantly stretching his legs under his blankets, trying to ease the pain even as he’d grow over three centimeters in a month – if he wasn’t a clone, he would’ve grown but only a single centimeter. He and his brothers would be constantly being measured for new fittings on their clothes and armor, and their faces turned from young boys’ to men’s far too quick.

The day of their final test came far too quick too. Fives had only recently tattooed his right temple with a number five – really creative, Echo had said with an eyeroll while Droidbait laughed, but the vod couldn’t give less of a damn. He was all obsessed over  being unique, apart from the other clones. Echo just wanted to be the best soldier he could be, like Bly had told him. Echo had heard that Bly had made it to commander of Jedi master Secura’s battalion. To know that such an excellent soldier believed in him… Echo knew he would be a superb soldier at some point. He looked at Hevy as he laughed his ass off, teasing Fives over the ridiculous goatee he’d been trying to pull ever since the smallest hint of facial hair had begun to show and sighed when this caused a whole speech from Fives’ over how much more handsome than the others he was, despite the fact that they literally had the same face.

Well, Echo thought as he reopened his reg manual, not everyone here is ARC trooper material, right?

-

When Echo saw Droidbait’s body down the stairs of the Rishi Moon outpost, shot by clankers, he could only think of the way he’d be always cursing too much and would get reprimanded by O’Niner – only to then curse on a lower tone, much to Fives’ and Hevy’s amusement. When he saw the clankers shoot O’Niner dead in front of him, Echo felt a cold dread setting in his guts. It was the first time he had seen death in the face. It was the first time he had actually been scared for his own life and his brothers’.

When the giant eel ate Cutup in front of him and the others, he thought of his smile when he said that Bric had given him a name, making him the last brother of the batch to get one before leaving Kamino. And when he heard Hevy telling them to go, and exploding the Rishi outpost and himself with it.

“Hevy always did hate that place.” The sardonic comment left his lips before Echo could stop himself. There was a need to make a joke out of it – like he knew hevy would – just to pretend that maybe he wasn’t a nine-year old man-boy, but a tough soldier ready to face his losses and move on.

-

Captain Rex had admitted them to the 501st – General Skywalker’s battalion, and never had Echo felt so proud of himself, and of Fives for that matter. When the two of them sat down to paint the blue lines on their armors, Fives didn’t stop smiling for a single minute. Next stop, ARC trooper, he kept saying it since Kamino.

“Why two lines, vod?” Fives had asked as he saw Echo’s design for his helmet

“They’re echoing each other.” Echo answered looking deadpan at Fives “For a man who thinks to be so funny, I thought you’d get the pun.” And as Fives snorted, Echo smiled, still painting over the white plastoid “What’s more, you gave me this stupid name. You should be proud.”

Fives placed perfectly symmetric red dots on his own helmet, and Echo wasn’t still sure of what in the moons he was trying to draw.

“I’m always proud of you, di’kut.”

Echo hummed. Fives’ name-calling was his most unbashed display of affection. It had taken Rex a long while to understand that ‘you are one kriffing Captain, sir!’ had actually been a compliment. That was good ol’ Fives.

-

When Ninety-Nine died in front of him and Fives, fighting like a clone trooper, brave to the very end, none of his brothers saw Echo’s tears under his helmet. He still remembered his words from the day he was born. He still remembered the feather-light touch to his nose and the warm feeling of being in someone’s arms. Every time a vode died it would feel like part of Echo had died too, but this time… This time it felt like those clankers had reached into his chest and ripped a piece of his heart.

And as months passed after their promotion to ARC troopers, Echo’s tough act fooled everyone but Fives. His last batch brother would always know when he was hurting, and he would pat him on his back, place a head on his shoulder, tell some dumb story about Rex being tossed off a wall by Skywalker or Commander Tano joining the General to tease Kenobi and Cody. And Echo would laugh with Fives, and the line between man and boy would blur; they would be kids for a few moments, laughing and teasing one another and joking like their life meant something and they hadn’t been made with the sole purpose of fighting and dying.

-

Lola Sayu. The Citadel. Something about that mission made Echo’s stomach churn, and for some reason it reminded him of finding Droidbait’s body down the stairs of the Rishi Moon outpost, shot by clankers. O’Niner had died there too, and Hevy, and Cutup. Being an ARC trooper, Echo had a lot of men under his command, and he had lost quite a few of them too. It would always hurt. It would always leave a scar in his heart.

Echo stared at the twin blue lines on the helmet in his hands, dressed of his armor and pauldrons, seeing his reflection in the dark visor. Clones. They were all echoes of each other. Echo didn’t like mirrors. It would always seem like a dear brother would be right there on his reach, behind the glass and all he had to do was pull them back into the world.

Fives’ hand over his shoulder startled Echo out of his conjectures.

“Echo, we leave in fives. I mean, Five. Hehe. Five minutes. Get ready, I’ll even let you recite your regulations on the way there. Always helps me to shoot faster, how fed up you get me with that crap.”

Echo rolled his eyes at that. Sometimes it felt like Fives was the same cadet even after all those years. All those nine years and a half. They were so young and somehow felt so old. Sometimes Fives would ask Echo of his plans to the future and his only concrete plan was to not let anyone die under his charge again.

“You look spooked, vod.” Fives said in a quieter voice ‘You okay?”

Echo turned to Fives and swallowed.

“Fives, you know I give you a hard time with all the regulations and codes and ‘oh no, the general’s plan is gonna get us killed’” Fives chuckled at that, and so did Echo even if he didn’t mean to “But you know that I have the highest respect for you, right?”

Fives frowned at that, his hand still on his brother’s shoulder.

“I’ll ask again, Echo, are you okay?”

Echo nodded, looking down to the helmet under Fives’ other arm.

“Back then I didn’t understand why would you want to paint that kriffing thing on your helmet but I get it now.” Fives looked down to his helmet on instinct, letting go of Echo “Eight months. It feel like Rishi Moon was only yesterday.”

Fives was silent for a moment, then he scoffed.

“You sound like General Kenobi, talking like an old man.” He seemed concerned for a moment “Echo, are you… are you worried about the mission?”

“No.” Echo’s lie was quick and he brushed Fives’ off “No, I was just remembering things.”

Fives nodded at him and the two brothers looked at each other without uttering a word for a while. Echo wondered if in his mad need for individuality and personality Fives would be happy that Echo made a conscious effort to remember their batch brothers. He opened his mouth to speak, but Fives’ comlink rang.

“Fives, get Echo, gather the men and meet me and Snips… Uh, commander Tano by the shuttle.”

“Yessir, General.” Fives answered, looking at Echo to then wink “C’mon, vod, I can hold your hand throughout the whole flight if you’re scared.” he teased, almost singing the words, and Echo snorted

“Yeah, no need for that, di’kut.” Fives had started walking out when Echo called for him “Ner vod. Be careful out there. Don’t go and be stupid.”

Fives turned to him with that same dumb smile he’d always have since they were just kids.

They were still kids, in a sense.

“Vod’ika, ‘going and being stupid’ is part of my charm.”

“Fives.” Echo’s voice was tense now; almost afraid; he didn’t know what was causing this sense of dread in him, and he hated it “Listen…” Fives waited, his smile fading into the long silence, and Echo tried to push the mando’a words that meant his undying love for his dear brother, his last batch brother and his best friend, but he felt far too self-conscious to do it then and there; Echo shook his head “Nevermind. I’ll tell you later.”

There would be time later. The two brothers would always be together.

-

When he saw how each and every droid was aiming for the shuttle, their only way out of that nightmare, Echo knew that he needed to secure it before those clankers managed to blow it to scrap. So Echo ran ignoring Fives that for once was the one to scream for him not to go. For once, Fives obeyed protocol when Echo didn’t.

The gunfire was deafening. Echo kept shooting at each and every clanker on sight. He aimed at that metallic little bastard at the cannon. If he managed to kill it, everything would be fine. He  fired several times against the droid, but the thick plating of the tank held any damage he’d try to inflict. The canon turned its aim towards the shuttle, towards Echo. He drew in a deep breath as he looked into the dark barrel of the weapon as it got ready to spit fire and death at him.

Fives… Brother…

The impact of the blast knocked Echo back into the shuttle with such violence his helmet slipped out of his head; his body hit the back wall hard, so hard all the air left his lungs as the explosion rang in his ears loud enough for him to believe he’d never be able to hear anything again – not that it would be an issue, for Echo was pretty sure he would die then and there. There was pain, and then, suddenly there was darkness.

Echo woke up in so much pain he thought he was dead. Even if he wasn’t, he was sure he had to be dying. He heard the faint voice of a droid. Everything sounded distant, as if he was underwater. The blast had made his hearing like that, muffled and most likely permanently ruined.

“…won’t survive, boss.”

Then he heard an equally metallic-sounding voice but deeper; a voice that carried a certain darkness within itself as his eardrums grew slowly more sensible to the sounds around him, although they never stopped ringing. He had heard that voice in person only once, in a joined mission with Rex, Commander Cody and General Kenobi, but he’d heard it many times in transmissions and datapads. That was General Grievous.

“I survived on less. He will make it. Prep him for surgery and get rid of these meat stumps before they get infected. We need this clone alive.”

“Roger roger.”

Echo tried to talk, but it was like his tongue was made of lead. Everything hurt so much, every inch of his body burning and aching so much he’d only realize then that he was letting out small ragged grunts the whole time since he had woken up. He opened his eyes, flinching at the bright white light coming from the ceiling; he blinked a few times to adjust his sight and saw clankers all around him, plus two… No, three medical droids. What was going on? Had he been captured? But why would the enemy be concerned about a clone’s health? Why was he still alive?

He tried to piece everything together in his head. There had been the ambush, and the shuttle, and then an explosion, bright like a sun and almost as hot. There had been the taste of blood in his mouth, and the flames all around him…

Echo tried to move his arm, but agony ran all over his body and he gasped at the pain. He could feel tight straps restraining him to the table, over his chest and torso. In an effort that had almost made him faint again at the pain, he lifted his head up to see the extent of the damage he’d sustained at the blast. Breathing was very painful, and he believed at least two of his ribs to be broken.

When his gaze fell on the bloody, mutilated stump of his right arm, he gasped and his eyes went wide. His breathing grew ragged, and he coughed on his own spit. He looked further, at his kicking legs—No. There were… There were no legs. He could feel himself kicking but… His right leg had been crushed into a nauseating sight of exposed bones, scorched flesh and blood, while his left one… there was nothing below the knee.

Echo’s head fell back violently against the table, a ragged scream ripping through his throat in a long, horrifying sound. He trashed and screamed, no matter how much it would hurt him even further. The only way to convey what he was feeling on what was left of his limbs would be the sensation of needles piercing him all the way to his bone, in every inch of his skin. That was a nightmare, had to be… He should be back at the GAR with Fives, should be safe, not with these goddamn clankers, mutilated and almost dead. It couldn’t be real. No.

Four large metallic fingers held his head down in place, and the upside-down vision of Grievous’ yellow eyes came into sight, adding to the nightmarish atmosphere.

“No anesthesia.” the General said in his metallic-sounding voice “I handled it just fine back in my time. I’m sure you clones are tough enough to handle a little cutting and burning, aren’t you?”

Echo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not as he heard the electrical saw powering up and filling the room with a sound similar to a drill’s. He was breathing so fast his sight was getting hazy, only Grievous’ yellow eyes remaining in the blur of shiny metal and white light.

“What are you gonna do to me?” he gasped

Grievous’ eyes lit up with excitement.

“Oh, clone trooper. We are going to turn you into a fine machine of our own.”

Echo wanted to spit at Grievous’ face, to throw every single curse he knew in Mando’ and Basic (and a few others he knew in Huttese and Twi’lek, because he was Echo from the 501st, he knew a little bit of everything he’d ever came across), but when the vibroblade saw touched the skin of his right thigh, all he could do was scream between his clenched teeth.

He held Grievous’ gaze. He wouldn’t go down whining and crying, he was an ARC trooper, a 501st, he was a decorated soldier of the Republic. He was Echo of Kamino, he was the Rishi Moon survivor, he was Fives’ brother, he was…

The ragged shriek that ripped through his throat sounded like a child’s, and for the first time Echo grew brutally conscious that he was only nine and a half years old.

Griveous was laughing. Laughing in delighted amusement, his hand holding Echo’s head down in place and almost breaking the skin of his forehead with its sharp metallic digits. By the time they had seared a prosthetic leg in place, Echo wasn’t feeling much coherent anymore. He wanted, needed, to rest - to sleep - to die. That was when Grievous said:

“The left one now. Hurry up. He’s bleeding out, and this clone is worth fifty of you. Move on.”

“No…” Echo huffed out, and he hated the begging in his own voice “No… No, please, let me…!”

The power saw was on again, and Echo swallowed hard, tears welling up in his eyes to then run down the sides of his face, into his still-ringing ears. He had believed he was numb to the pain after the first procedure. He had believed his senses would be unable to process any new discomfort. Kix had told him something like that before, that the human brain could only process so much pain.

Echo had always hated being wrong, but he’d never hated it so much as he did now. He stopped putting up a brave face. He sobbed and cried and begged for them to stop. He felt faint and weak and wished he’d bleed out enough to faint or die – neither happened. When the smell of burning flesh subsided after the connections to another prosthetic leg were made, Grievous ordered absently:

“The arm now.”

Droll was oozing free out of Echo’s half-open mouth. There was snot running down his nose and his urine wetted his blacks. He raised his brown eyes to Grievous’ cold, yellow irises and he whispered weakly as cold sweat dribbled down his face:

“You have… no use for me… I won’t say a word… so you might as well just kill me… kill me now… kill me…”

Grievous blinked lazily to then pet Echo’s head almost kindly.

“Oh, but you will say it. You will tell us everything. I wouldn’t discard an ARC trooper, not with all the strategies and schematics this little head of yours must hold.”

The electric saw started to buzz again, and Echo turned his head away not to face whatever they would do to his right arm. The tears out of his wide-open eyes were now running over the bridge of his nose and he held back a sob.

“Kill me. I’m begging you, kill me. Strike a victory to the Separatists, kill me now.”

Grievous was still petting Echo’s head.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he purred “Becoming one with a machine?”

He grabbed hold of Echo’s head in a vicious grip, forcing him to look at the saw diving into the flesh of his mutilated, bleeding arm. And as Echo screamed in utter, endless agony, Grievous’ continued:

“I will enjoy witnessing a prized clone of the republic becoming no more than a machine, with his mind wide open for me to explore, to ravish. And when all your friends are dead, I will wake your mind from its slumber just to show you what’s left of their corpses. Ah, yes, do imagine… Kenobi and Skywalker’s  lightsabers as part of my collection, and all thanks to you.”

By the time the medical droid cut off the broken, charred stump of flesh out of him, Echo felt suddenly very distantly to himself, as if he was out of his body and yet tethered to it. The pain subsided and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He gasped one last time as unconsciousness wrapped its hands on him and he begged, as his mind shut down, for this to be the end of him.

-

It wasn’t. He couldn’t understand exactly how, but he could feel them. Probing and digging through his mind, through his knowledge. There was nothing he could to. The pain and fear of the many previous surgeries had nothing similar to the disgusting sense of violation as they scavenged through the data in his head. He hated himself. Hated himself for being such an obsessed idiot – he knew more than the average clone, and for that, he could provide the separatists with so much more than any other would; schematics, strategies, codes, all out in the open for them to see and use, and there was nothing Echo could do as they invaded his mind over and over, much like Grievous himself had said, ravishing him. He wanted to die, all he wanted was to die and not even that they would give him. Instead, he’d float in that forgotten tank, losing sense of time and digging deeper into insanity. And then it came to him - a plan. A way out.

But they wouldn’t come for him. Nobody would, except for… Fives. Fives would come back to him.

When they broke him out of the bacta tank, it felt like being born. For some reason, Echo could still distinctly remember the large, pale hands scooping him out of the warm, sticky liquid into a cold room of lights too bright and sound too loud and all was new, terrified awe. No wonder babies cried as they were born – pushed out of peace and quiet into a world of war and death.

Especially them, especially clones, bred to die and nothing else.

Echo blinked several times until Rex’s face came into focus and for the first time in… he didn’t actually have a clue of how long, but he smiled, weak and shaking, and it felt like his face hadn’t done this in forever.

“You came for me, Rex…”

“Of course I did.” Rex’s eyes ran over his broken body, and Echo knew what was in his mind; wild thoughts of what would the captain have to say in order to beg the republic not to decommission the broken clone “We’ll take you home, Echo. You’ll be fine.”

Relief washed over Echo and he curled up closer to Rex despite the pain in his body, unused to moving around out of the tank. He had missed seeing a brother’s face. He had missed the white armor. He had missed it all so much. And he missed…

“Fives.” he mumbled as tranquility lured him into sleep faster than any drug could “I can’t wait to see… Fives…”

[ktley1986]

My husband isn’t nerdy, at all.  Which is okay because I happen to be nerdy enough for both of us-I love comics, video games, Star Wars, Harry Potter, Battlestar Galactica, etc.  I love all of it, mainly because I happen to know a lot about history and world events and the main theme of history is that people are super shitty to each other, all the time, usually without very good reason.  And once you know that, sometimes the only way to stay sane is to find solace in imaginary worlds-maybe that’s not always the healthiest thing, but at least if someone is cruel in one of those worlds they usually get a satisfying comeuppance, which sadly, rarely happens in the real world.   Now that we’re all suitably depressed, Mike and I were watching The Phantom Menace the other day and he made the grave error in judgement to remark that he “didn’t remember this movie being that bad.  People like it when it came out!” I mean, is that technically true? Yes.  I definitely enjoyed these movies when they came out as a teenager (I was also afflicted with a debilitating crush on Hayden Christensen, which has since died a death of natural causes) and I will stand by that, because I didn’t know any better.  Now with the benefit of experience and foresight I realize the serious damage done to the Star Wars universe and the overwhelmingly potential of what could have been.  Because it’s fresh in my mind after having given an impromptu mini-lecture to my husband earlier, I will explain my problems with Episodes 1-3 of the Star Wars film franchise. The whole Space Jesus thing You know what I’m talking about-the fact that Anakin Skywalker doesn’t have a dad, but is basically just the product of the Force and his long suffering, cipher of a mother figure.  That doesn’t even kind of make sense and it’s so lazy and shitty as to be actually insulting.  Let’s also remember that he’ll eventually become Darth Vader, the ultimate bad guy (and if you’re currently feeling the soft and fuzzies for him, remember he did kill a whole temple full of children.)  He’s such a special snowflake, he’s totally selfless, he’s the most amazing pod racer or whatever, he’s basically Valentina from Season 9 of Drag Race, and she turned out crazy too.  He just needs to compare himself to Selena to make the transformation complete.

Obi Wan to Anakin, honestly.

My problem with that is this could have been a much more interesting story, in the hands of someone who gave a shit about storytelling or the emotional arc of a character.  What if he was just a regular person, who had a dad and a mother who wasn’t window dressing for made up emotional issues later, but maybe he was kind of a reckless dick, then they could have made a more interesting story about how some people aren’t fit to have power, even if they are technically proficient.  It could have been an interesting twist on the idea that all Jedi are totally perfect peace keeping good guys, but what if he was able to convince them he was, but in reality, he was actually a dick?  At least that would make more sense later when he in fact does turn out to be a dick.   The whole Jango/Boba Fett story arc Famously George Lucas had this whole series written out back in the 70’s but the studio was only interested in making episodes 4-6, since the storyline was more cohesive.  I believe that’s true, and I even believe that a lot of the nonsense he put into the first 3 episodes was present in those early drafts, but I can’t be expected to believe that the basis for the clones was Jango Fett, and that his clone son would grow up to be Boba Fett, kick ass bounty hunter extraordinaire.  I get that Boba Fett was a wildly popular character, despite having zero lines as far as I can recall, and getting knocked into the pit of Sarlacc to be digested slowly over a thousand years, he’s my brother’s favorite character, so by default one of mine too, but honestly?  This is endemic of a wider problem in the first three movies in my opinion which is shoe-horning in fan favorite characters rather than making new and interesting ones which serve the story.  Why the everloving fuck is young Anakin making his dirt farmer slave mom a protocol droid?  Does she have a lot of use for translations of over 6 million forms of communication?  Lucas just wanted to take what worked from the original movies and force it into the new ones, although to be fair his stab at original characters did give us Jar Jar Binks, so maybe it’s a good call after all.   Darth Vader’s reasoning for becoming Darth Vader This is where it really hits home for me how much cooler this story could have been-the transformation into one of the most iconic villains of all time was just so lame in these movies.  For one thing, the romance between Padme and Anakin is painful and embarrassing, and this is coming from someone with a fairly comprehensive crush on Anakin.  So much cringe though, seriously.  But making it about him thinking that his wife might potentially die, is just stupid, especially because he ends up choking the fuck out of her.  Again, this is where the story could have been served by establishing him as a bit of a dick from the beginning, instead of a heroic space Jesus type character.  I mean, I am very much in love with my husband, probably irrationally so, but it would take a lot more than the premonition that he might, maybe, potentially die to make me murder an entire Jedi Temple full of younglings. And I don’t even like kids.  And then he just hates Obi Wan for not letting him live his best life or whatever, I mean they could have gone the route of him thinking there was a relationship between him and Padme, although I find the whole turning into an evil warlord over a lady to be one of the tired-est tropes on the planet.  It could have been so much better! Midi-chlorians Just no. So much politics and talk about trade negotiations. Oy! I get that George Lucas doesn’t really get how to write strong female characters, and I guess it’s kind of flattering that he thinks women’s strength is in the political arena, but man I do not give a fuck about trade embargos in the real world, so I definitely don’t give a fuck about trade negotiations in space.  I watched these movies for the first time as a young person and I could not have told you one thing about why the Nemoidians were doing, or what exactly was going on in the space Senate.  The beauty of the original trilogy is that things were simple, motivations were clear and no one had to put anything to a vote.

I don’t think the whole thing is awful-Darth Maul is pretty sick, General Grievous is cool, Christopher Lee is always a welcome addition to any movie, now that I’m older I can definitely appreciate young Ewan McGregor

I need to resolve my feelings about bearded Ewan McGregor

Now I’ve stalled out. Huh.  I know there are probably parts of it that are redeemable, but I can’t remember any, and I can’t be bothered to actually watch it again.  My point being is that it could have been so much better, if they were interested in telling a great story instead of making millions of dollars in merch.  Does anyone else remember all the merch associated with this, you couldn’t even buy a bag of chips without Jar Jar Binks dumb face looking at you.  While this isn’t something I would normally say, but I’m glad that Disney has the reins now, and they’ve already made some great Star Wars movies, sans mention of midi-chlorians which personally leaves me excited again to visit a galaxy far, far away.

My Epic Retcon of Darth Vader’s Backstory

Okay, so he’s just a normal kid, who has a mother AND a father, both of which are fleshed out characters, and he gets selected for Jedi training in a normal, non-mystical space Jesus way.  He turns out to be super great, a special snowflake, blah blah but then (plot twist!) he falls in love with another Jedi, and they have a clandestine affair until she gets pregnant with their baby.  Now, we all know Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments blah blah, but they never explore what happens if you did, so it could be an interesting way to explore that idea.  So, the female Jedi (which really shouldn’t we get some female Jedis by now? Seriously?) refuses to tell the council who the father is, and she gets banished, without Anakin being aware of it until it’s already over.  She dies in childbirth, totally not the Jedi’s fault, but Anakin doesn’t know that, and that’s why her children are taken away and given to other families.  Anakin either finds out that Obi Wan took his children and that’s why they have their big battle where Obi chops his legs off and roasts the rest of him once he realizes that Anakin is the father and he’s so pissed at this point that he is going to try to kill him.  See, I literally just pulled that out of nowhere and managed to shoe horn a lady Jedi (which this series badly needs, come on!) and no mention of midi-chlorians! Is it a perfect story, no, but does it contain no mention of trade negotiations and Jar Jar binks, yes!

[6four1-blog]

June 20th, 2017 (Kavousi, Crete, Greece)

This week’s hours have been arduously long and I’ve been desperately trying to get more sleep without missing out on too much. The culture shock has been a bit overwhelming and the surplus of experiences is inundating my mental dam and overtaking my writing speed’s capacity. We had to work six days last week, which comprised of nine hours of physical labor everyday, seven hours on site and two hours in the gym. This crazy schedule is pushing my body to its limits but I am slowly growing accustomed to it. My mornings have become as rigid as a science experiment protocol. I unconsciously begin to take out $5.20 every morning at the bakery for my pastries. For these past six days, only three out of five trench members were on site, and the low numbers have blessed me with some extra digging practice and has allowed me to bond with a fewer number of people on a deeper level. There were rumors about negative drama pervading some trenches, and I really didn’t want my trench to develop that kind of culture. Thus, I attempted to make jokes in the morning as an effort to wake others up and lift the mood, even though I was dead exhausted inside. Alex and I have begun giving each other gifts every once in a while. Since Azoria is located in the mountains, any sea stone found on site must have climb there with some form of ancient human assistance. Because there’s no useful analytical data that could be obtained from these sea stones, they are the perfect, and only, ancient objects that we are allowed to keep. I would find a few round pebbles in the sieve every day and I would give them to Alex as presents. He keeps them all in the side pocket of cargo pants, which I find very cute. As the excavation progresses, I intend to build him a large collection; by the end of the trip, I hope he can look back on them as a metaphor for a wonderful third year at Azoria.

Before this week and due to the rain days, our longest streak of site work was three days. This week jumped to a dramatic six days of full-fledged plowing in 27 degrees Celsius weather. It was the physical equivalent of transitioning from Compsci 101 to Compsci 201. The sun literally cooks us like human-sized pieces of Kobe steak and our metal skaliskiris became so hot that our callouses were no less tender than sunny-side up eggs on a frying pan. Today, I woke up unable to completely close my hands, and it’s a miracle that I am still typing right now. I have probably consumed more than two grams of ibuprofen this week alone, a portion that would have probably lasted me a whole month of Ultimate Frisbee at Duke. But at some point in the middle of this week, a mental shell cracked and I entered a new state of mind about excavating, finding myself no longer afraid of the heat, the blisters, and the dirt. I was wearing work gloves for the previous two weeks but I have almost completely given up on them at this point. The clay surfaces and cobble packing require a lot of feeling and touch with certain tools, and while being able to discern certain layers of earth from others sounds like a fictitious ability, understand where clay floors exist is indeed an acquired skill and grasping it has been oddly gratifying. Since it was just Lexi, Kate, and I digging for a while, we have also begun to develop an affinity for certain skaliskiris. Tucker had marked his with the blue twist tie, I had marked mine with a black one, and I helped Lexi mark hers with a green-yellow one. In the end, interestingly, not only have I become attached to my team and the B-trenches, but I have also become clingy to the tools I work with.

On that note, I would like to emphasize I love working with the people in my trench. I love the atmosphere that we’re building, one filled with support, compliments, and, most importantly, sarcastic jokes. Even though Lexi sat behind me on the plane ride from Athens to Heraklion, I, until this week, never really had a full on conversation and quality time with her. She turned out to be a religiously committed volleyball player, practicing almost every day back at Trent University. That was something I could relate to very sincerely because I have lived, and I still continue to live, that lifestyle at Duke. Part of my conscience picked up on that aspect of her character from prior short interactions. There was a determination, sense of self, and mental toughness that is forged almost exclusively through intense participation in and commitment to a physical activity. I am just beginning to know Kate and talk to her more. She seems wholly wonderful like a book just waiting to be read. Later on in the week, she was really sick for a few days, and it was unfortunate that she couldn’t join me and Lexi on site. One of her fellow Iowa State friends’ grandmother passed away, and, even when she was getting sick, Kate sacrificed her entire night’s time and sleep to make sure that Jasmine booked the right flights and would have a safe and worry-free trip home. Her effort impressed me and after witnessing her concern and care, I will definitely make a conscious effort to talk to her more and get to know her better. Overall, in conclusion, working in Alex’s trench is truly a pleasure and I hope we continue to grow and maintain a positive culture for the remaining four weeks.

In addition to bonding with the people in my trench, I am slowly getting to know Alex a lot better as well. After long days on site, we have begun working out in this small makeshift garage gym owned by a local Greek man named Tosos. One can easily tell that Alex is a studious and incredibly kind man just by his demeanor, which radiated from the very timbre of his voice and the form in which he carries himself. However, there is an implacable beast in the man that awakens when the weights start clanking and the music starts beating. His rest intervals are short and he loves to pack his exercises into supersets, which, painfully, tore through all the ATP reserves I had in less than half an hour. His choices of lifts are forcefully dynamic and the pace is unforgivingly quick. The Cretan sun cooks the building we workout in, making it a furnace by the time we arrived at around 5:30 p.m. The oven pushes your exhaustion and blood flow to its absolute limit and every rep gave a pump I that was as novel to me as this island was itself. For the rest of the summer, I am going to put my trust in Alex and I will strive to continue following his workout regime. Having been an athlete all my life, I believe one’s attitude in athletics often translates to his or her work habits in other aspects of life. Now I have no doubt how hard he works at UNC, and I am super glad to have met a principled and persevering man like him.

If you didn’t know before, the two things in the world that I am the most afraid of and the worst at are dancing and singing. If I had to dance and sing in front of a large crowd alone on stage to save my life, I think I would prefer death. This past Tuesday was one of those days when I felt adventurous and bold. So, when David came downstairs and asked me to attend a traditional Cretan dance lesson with him, I said yes and walked out the door with slight hesitation.

The classroom was this mistakenly abandoned building that we’d walk by every day after excavating. The space was overwhelmingly green, and, in a mercurial flashback, I knew that my brother, whose favorite color is green, would have loved it here. The building was a large space converted into a classroom around fifteen or twenty years ago. Two bookshelves and blackboards were haphazardly placed on either sides of the room and both lengths had windows like that of a Gothic church. The blackboards seemed long out of use and parts of the chalk have been stuck on the board for so long that it could have easily juxtaposed some graffiti on a tunnel wall in Durham, North Carolina. One of the bookcases contained beautiful ancient tomes that consisted of, if I recall correctly, almost 20 volumes. The books seemed to be much older than the classroom, as if they were heirlooms of an old family of Kavousi that contained all of this villages’ ancient histories and bloodlines. The other bookshelf was a dramatic contrast, filled top to bottom with children’s books. David and I could not read the Greek, but the images were hilariously entertaining, depicting people of different cultures from around the world. Its depiction of Chinese people was this old, wise, Confucius doppelgänger, which is not a bad image of my people at all. We were halfway through exploring that bookshelf when the dance lesson started. The mid-age man taught us a six step dance that rotated in a circle. I was so nervous trying to learn and coordinate the steps that I grappled the shoulder of the people next to me as if I was hanging on for dear life. Afterwards, the Greek workman beside me, Stellos, introduced himself and apparently remarked to his friend that I was gripping his shoulder really tightly. The trench master Irini, who was on my other side, politely asked me to hold her hand with less anxiety and force.

Eventually, I did loosen up and really began to enjoy myself. Until then, the two indirect non-vocal ways I felt connected to someone was reading their writing and listening to their music. For me, reading another’s writing was both seeing the world from their point of view, as well as seeing into their soul with my own eyes; I get an opportunity to understand how their minds function and exploit a lucky occasion to imagine their perception of the world. Listening to their music connects me with their emotions, and I think one would be surprised by how much we can learn about each other from sharing playlists and songs. In my first revolutionary dance lesson, I discovered another way through which we feel connected to our peers. The beat of the song drowned out all of our howling cultural, academic, physical, and personality differences and served as an united pounding heart for everyone in the circle. Each of our feet were individual muscle fibers of this powerful beating organ, working together in unison with the rhythm and moving in absolute homogeneity and flowing grace. No one was the hero of the stage, and that was what I loved about this traditional Cretan dance. It was done as a group and was meant to connect you with others, rather than for you to show off and isolate yourself. Afterwards, as we walked back to Tholos, I thanked David for inviting me to dance. It was a barrier that I desperately needed to break, and I finally did it here on Crete.

Being confined in a small village allowed me, David, and Weston to grow very close in a short period of time. On a Thursday after working in sizzling conditions that put the Tuscan sun to shame, David, Weston, a bunch of the girls, and I trekked down to the Tholos beach villas. We attempted to check out an herb farm that, very unfortunately, was closed. David and I had worked on site that day and had grabbed a few beers before heading to the beach. After eating almost nothing up at Azoria, the alcohol flowed straight into our systems and had us tipsy in less than ten minutes. We proceeded to drink more beer as we walked and, by the time we found a table down at the beach café, the conversation was flowing like the Yangtze and words were just spilling out of our mouths. I always seem to express myself quite emotionally and very thoroughly every time I am tipsy. Being the only noticeable Asian person in this area, it was a time for me to reflect on what it meant to be a minority in the society that I live in. In the United States and Canada, I have always managed to find myself a bubble of friends who are also Asian and have the same values and life outlooks as I do. Being stuck in these bubbles curtains the fact that I am part of a minority and that, outside of these wealthy and educated spheres, being a minority plays a huge role in one’s identity. Among the local Greeks, I had to disprove the stereotype that all Asian people practice Kung Fu, since the main exposure that these Europeans have had to Asian culture is its popular Kung Fu movies. My physique didn’t really help prove my point; apparently, before they got to know me, they were referencing me as the “Karate Kid” in Greek.

As for my fellow Americans, I tried my best to explain the Asian-American experience. It was difficult because, previously, I never had to pry my mind and think so deeply about my Asian identity in America. I found my inspiration and preferred choice of diction in a Humans of New York post about a young African-American man and his experiences growing up in the suburbs of Miami. For Asian-Americans, oppression and inequality are not necessarily our biggest problems, and neither is socioeconomic status. Personally, I think the most pressing matter is a lack of recognition entrenchment in the collective American identity. For Asian-Americans, there is a barrier that makes it difficult for us to become the leaders and politicians of important institutions and almost anything to do with the general public. As a result, we resort to pursuing careers that either earn us the most money or the most respect. Our immigrant identity is still so young and fragile that we attempt to compensate by obtaining immense amounts of wealth and chasing after the most prestigious occupations, as if we are almost trying to bribe and prove our way into the collective melting pot. Being here in Greece lifted those weighty, ominous clouds off my back. It was as if Atlas had been finally freed from his eternal damnation, finally able to unwind and look upon this world with awe and appreciation for its beauty once again.

In my three short weeks here on Crete, I realized that the locals were always absolutely delighted to learn about my Asian background. They seemed to have had their fair share of American tourists and finally got the chance to spend time with someone who looks completely different. Instead of telling the Asian-American narrative that I have been building for the past twelve years, the anecdotes I shared and the mannerisms I described were as uniquely Chinese as possible, filled with experiences and memories that I pushed away and suppressed so that I could assimilate into Vancouver and fit in at Duke. Maria and I talked for two hours one night, and she told me to never forget where I came from. That “Chinese people, like Greeks, have a long history and a strong sense of ταυτότητα (taftótita; a rough Greek translation for ‘identity’).” As I rode back to the Tholos hotel in Katis’ car that night, I realized I had found myself in a community with an unapologetic and unconditional appreciation for my visible cultural diversity. I couldn’t help but beam as we sped down the road in the clear night. I looked out of the window at the faint outline of the Cretan mountains and at the constellations in the distant universe, finding the Big Dipper and the North Star. These constellations have guided ancient and modern sailors, both Greek and Chinese, away from and back to their homes for thousands of years. Staring at the North Star that night in the car, I decided that, after Crete and Austria, it was time to pay China a visit.

[occupyscifi]

The Franchise

The franchise

 It’s one thing to learn that you’re a clone, but it’s quite another to learn that you’re going to be held liable for your clonefather’s debts.

I found out at the after-after-party of a 3rd gen Kardashiclone’s new artesenal dildo brand launch. I was on workation at a trustafarian retreat in what had once been London’s trendy Shoreditch till it had been bought by some anonymous celeb who now rented it out for her fellow members of the 1% so they could pretend they were creatives in a vibrant new media economy. I had been servicing the needs of those much wealthier than me, which mostly involved installing VPN’s on their neural implants to get around their anti bad behaviour mods. This enabled them to eat, fuck, drink and ingest whatever they wanted. Mostly it was carbs, as these were kids who’d been on ultra restrictive diets since birth to ensure their continued their parents good looks. I’d invested heavily in the samizdat underground takeaway railroad, shipping in fried goods from as far afield as Margate.

It had been a good day, I’d earned good lolcoin installing a new VPN code on a couple of clones of an A-lister made famous by her family’s fundamentalist Christian clothing brand. The fact that the church she owned were vehemently against cloning and she’d pretended her daughters were twins only sweetened the sense of natural justice I got from shilling my wares to the super rich.

In fact I had already swooped in on Brandy2 at the after-after party, buying her a couple of ice cold methtails from the narco bar in the corner with the excuse I was just testing if her VPN was working. She had downed both of them and I was on my way to get a third. I was ruminating on how ‘d get into her pants, thinking of a cheesy shit line about wanting to test all the things the VPN could do. I was just approaching the bar when in my digital mind’s eye a banking notification flared red. Still walking I pulled it up, thinking it was just another stupid warning about not investing in Nano scale medicine. I nearly shit myself when I saw what it contained.

However I didn’t have time even for that because the next thing I knew an apparition of a man in his late forties blossomed in front of me. Full contact protocols, able to appear in my visual cortex without even needing to ask my permission. The kind of access I am very careful to restrict to precisely no one.

‘Hi there’ said the guy ‘now, I am sorry to interrupt but I got something to say’ he grinned, his face eerily familiar ‘first the good news. I’m You, only older and more successful. So successful in fact I can afford to have a clone. That’s you. Now, the bad news. I’ve been declared bankrupt and unfortunately since we’re genetically identical all your assets have been seized to pay off my debts’ his grin widened further ‘guess this wasn’t the way you wanted to find out you were a clone, right?’

 At first it had been only celebrities and models who had cloned themselves. They had pretended, of course, that these were children they’d had with as yet un named other halves, but since most celebrities had been famous since birth it was incredibly easy to compare the supposed child with the parent and call bullshit on the whole thing. Besides everyone knew that the average A-lister was too in love with themselves to raise anyone but a 100% copy of themselves. But people expected that kind of narcissism from the terminally famous, the fact that most celebs never married for any other purpose than self promotion had lead to a rash of self weddings. This meant that cloning instead of having children was the next logical step for anyone with a modicum of fame.

Unfortunately in our late 21st century world everyone is famous to one degree or other, engaged from the moment of birth in a race to develop their own personal brand and to incessantly post content that was never more than narcissistic naval gazing, or snarky comment on other people’s narcissistic naval gazing.

So cloning yourself became a normal everyday thing, because much as people loved kids the thing they loved even more was themselves. And what could be more wonderful than having a tiny version of yourself to cherish and cover with affection? Well for my clonefather apparently using them as collateral to prevent himself from being declared bankrupt.

‘What can I say?’ He grinned at me sheepishly. Or rather the software he’d sent to do his dirty work did. He couldn’t even be bothered to contact me personally, either he was too shit scared or else he had god knew how many clone sons and it was easier to send some office script to tell them all he’d gone bankrupt. I’d never even known I was a clone before but I knew myself well enough to know what I was capable of ‘it’s been a bad season. I’ve made some calls that haven’t quite panned out. That’s life’

‘That’s my life, you arsehole’ I retorted, watching in my mind’s eye as the student loan I’d been living off vanished into thin air, along with all the money I’d been stashing away ready to start my killer startup with ‘how can you do that to me? How can you have fucked things up so badly?’

‘can’t we, I dunno, have an understanding?’ he replied, the ghost in my vision wavering as another partygoer wandered past, zoned out in exactly the way I’d hoped to be. Now I didn’t even have enough credit to get the third methtail I’d promised Brandy2 ‘‘We’re the same person after all’

‘Pre fucking cicely’ I threw back, trying not to feel creeped out by the sight of a version of myself, older in the way of people with access to expensive credit are. Credit that bought genetic cosmetic work and the wisdom not to try and look young. Craggy, that was the word for it. Doucehbaggy, perhaps that was more accurate ‘I thought maybe you’d have a little respect for yourself. You just fucked me over completely. All my plans for the future, hell all my plans for right now. All burned because, what you can’t manage an investment portfolio? You put all your cash into crypto memory?’

‘Hey, like I said it’s just business’ the software version of the older me shrugged ‘why the fuck do you think I have clones in the first place?’

‘Well until about five minutes ago I thought I was a normal kid. With normal parents’

‘Seriously? How was I that naïve?’ He said, shaking his head ‘come on man, no one has parents any more. Everyone in the room with you is a clone of some rich asshole. You go to college for fucks’ sake. Hasn’t been a natural born kid gone to college for like twenty years. People who have their kids naturally are either Jesus freaks or just fucking poor, and I’m neither of those things’

‘Yeah, I’m getting an idea of the kind of guy you are’ I replied. I looked about the party, seeing Brandy2 already having lost interest in me and was now finger deep in some girl who was the third gen clone of a celebrity chef ‘so what the fuck? Did you implant me with a real family with a set of instructions to make sure I had the same emotional and cultural inputs you did, or were you so cheap ass you just fleshprinted me off as an eighteen year old with a bunch of false memories ready for my first day at college?’

‘Hey, I’ve always been cost effective when it comes to reproducing’ said my clonefather, half heartedly avoiding the question

‘Meaning, you’re a cheap fuck’ I retorted

‘Hey, why do you think I made you?’

‘To ensure immortality?’ I replied. It wasn’t something I’d thought much about. The idea of cloning yourself is kinda creepy, I couldn’t think of anything clones were useful for but weird murder stuff and even weirder sex stuff. Then again I was only twenty. Or at least I had thought I was until about two minutes earlier. Right then I realised I was probably younger than the bottle of diet water in my hand. Who knew what kind of person I’d be when I was older? Well, clearly I was the asshole standing right there, having just mortgaged his own clones to pay off some stupid debt.

But I’d always thought the reason people cloned themselves in order to avoid death. To have a young version for themselves that they could raise the right way, shelter from the harshness of the world. To support where they felt they had been let down, to nurture where they had felt abandoned. Hell, there were enough sob stories from my own adolescence that I could use as grounds for raising a new me. The time in sixth grade I’d been picked on for liking some outdated old beat ‘em up. The girls who’d laughed at me for not knowing what an iambic pentameter was. Things that event at the grand old age of twenty I knew were not exactly world shattering levels of suffering. Except those were false memories. Fucking asshole clonefather.

‘Really?” Said my software double ‘listen kid, there are two reasons people get cloned. First is cause they’re messed up in the head. Want to make another them that isn’t so messed up. That never works because, you know, they’re fucked up in the head so their clone is always gonna be the same. Don’t matter what they try and do there’s always something to get shitty about’

‘So what’s the other reason?’ I asked, holding my fury in check just because I had nothing to do with it. You can’t punch a hologram that only exists in your own visual cortex.

‘Simple’ he said, grinning in a way I knew I did and that I also knew annoyed the shit out of people around me ‘to make money. You see, I am…or rather was, a pretty rich dude. Self made rich, not like most of those assholes I see you’ve surrounded yourself with’

‘Hey, I earned my way onto this workation’ I said hotly

‘Precisely’ said my clone father ‘you and your clone brothers exist as my insurance policy. I know, cause you’re all me, that you are gonna be out there making money. If you do I can use that as collateral against my debts. If you don’t and one of you fails, well, that’s not my problem. Benefits of running you guys like a franchise’ he did that grin again. A grin that barely wavered as my fist went through it, to impact painfully against the paper mache walls that some robo printer had faithfully spewed out to some trustfarians painfully earnest impression of what a noughties frat house party should look like.

‘See? You’re feeling better already’ said my alter ego, before vanishing along with my life savings.

 ‘Could you have been hacked? I mean, this is kinda life altering news. Feels like a scam to me’

It was half an hour later and I was pouring out my emotions and cooling my bruised knuckles with aid of my NBGBFF Calypso. I’d told ur my story and ee’d made the right kind of noises. Sensible noises. calypso was clone of the first kind, ur copyparent was desperately trying to make up for some past childhood trauma by printing out a new version of urself. Calypso had turned out pretty well, if pretty well meant someone who was managing about fifteen different personality disorders. However ee was mellow that night and in listening mode.

‘that’s what I thought’ I replied as we sat on a ripped-to-pieces settee as various stoned clones tried to jump from the roof to the swimming pool. There had been several near misses, but the nearest fleshprinter was only down at what had once been Moorgate hospital and it was as easy to order in a new body as it was too get pizza. Easier, in fact, anything with a flour base was a controlled substance ‘or, you know, hoped. But I checked it out. My clone father is a solid gold asshole. He registered a whole bunch of us under a franchise agreement. I can’t find anything about him being bankrupt but I guess that’s the sort of thing you can keep from the public’ I shook my head ‘damn, are all cloneparents this big assholes?’

‘Yup’ said calypso, gesturing around the room. Several identical clones were bare-backing each other to the cheers of onlookers and the mock shock of several more ‘Says a lot about a person if rather than having a natural kid with another human being they’d rather hive off a little version of themselves. Says a lot about our society. I mean, shit how vain are we? That’s we’d rather fill the world with little copies of ourselves than fall in love with another human being and create a whole new person to represent that love. What is wrong with our culture that the only offspring we could bear to love is a genetically identical copy of ourselves. What has happened to us that….’

‘Woah there cal’ I cautioned ‘you were full on monoblogging. I was kinda hoping we could focus on my problems for a while, okay?’

‘Sure. Okay’ said calypso, taking a breath. Ee had been raised a strict Social Media Evangelical, forced to express all ur feelings into tweets and livestreams until there was nothing left of her inner self. Ee still slipped into overshare mode sometimes when ee wasn’t paying attention ‘so, how the fuck are you gonna deal with this? I mean, if it were me I could get back at my cloneparent by refusing to send ur a daily update of all my thoughts in chunks of two fifty characters or less. For you. I dunno’ Ee looked despondently around, passing me a contraband ketacocktail ee’d scored. Ur credit was tuned so ee couldn’t give gifts to others, but like most things there was always a way around it ‘can you kill the fucker? You must be able to inherit, right?’

‘Probably’ I replied ‘cause that was why he didn’t show in the flesh. Fucker knows me too well’

‘He’s you’ shrugged calypso ‘or rather, he’s you, I you were a fucking asshole’

‘He’s me with all the same memories up to the age of eighteen’ I said. I’d researched this quickly while Calypso had bound my injured hand and offset the costs of the ice against her charitable deeds tariff. As I was a bankrupt I was now eligible for charity. No wonder the other clone kids were avoiding me. No one liked a freeloader, not unless they happened to be super rich ‘Because that’s the age someone can legally earn money. All the things I’d thought were really happening really happened to him. I’m not some twenty year old with a whole bunch of experience, I’m physically about two years old and I’m fucking washed up. Shit, I got about two hours before my credit on this party runs out. Hell, you won’t even be able to see me then’

“I’m sure you’ll think of something” said Calypso, like all people with neural implants anyone with a zero credit rating is literally invisible. It was originally a mechanism so rich people didn’t have to feel guilty about not helping the homeless “you’re a resourceful guy”

“nothings coming up. I’m sure that asshole would know what to do if it was him”

‘Hey, if you have his memories then there must be something you can use. Think about what he would do in your situation’

‘He’d fuck someone like me over’ I sighed dramatically ‘and I’m just not that kind of guy’

That, however, wasn’t quite true.

 I hit rock bottom twelve hours later after sleeping the night in the boathouse of the frat party. Sleep hadn’t been easy, what with the boathouse basically being the fuck house. That most of the people doing the fucking were using my VPN software to work around the blocks their parents had put in didn’t help matters. I managed about two hours sleep in between the prone bodies of those too shagged out to protest that I had a poor credit rating. However someone must have reported me.

Security are a funny thing, invisible when you have money, incredibly visible when you don’t.

‘Hands where I can see them, sonny’ the voice hissed in my ear and just in case that wasn’t enough to wake me the cold press of a high quality printed taser in my ribs. My eyes flew open to see a girl I was sure the night before had been an innocent little slip of a thing suddenly metamorphose into a deadly serious security agent.

“I think there’s been some kind of mistake….” I began lamely. In my mind’s eye I was paging through all my social networlds and credit accounts. It didn’t take long, since anything of any monetary worth, including my person history had been taken to be sold to advertisers. The Zuckerburg privacy act no longer applied to me, since my copyfather had defaulted on his debt I was legally public property.

“damn right” said the girl, her accent surprisingly gravelly “you aren’t meant to be here. This here party’s only for people with bank accounts with lots of zeroes in them. Far as I can see you’ve only gone one zero in yours and nowt else”

“ah, I can explain, you see….”

The taser, it seemed, wasn’t just for show.

 When I regained consciousness I was on a train, the grimy walls showing me I was in the non person’s cabin, where adverts for things I couldn’t afford roared loudly at me. when I’d come to Shoreditch I’d ridden the same overground train, but the executive carriage was cleaner and didn’t have adverts. Ironic that adverts were most present for those who could least afford it.

However irony was low on my list of priorities, what with being effectively in a foreign country with no source of wealth and only a matter of time before my copyfather’s creditors would come and collect my body and rent it out for whatever desires motivated their perverse minds. If I was lucky they’d just employ me in some astroturfing sweatshop, if I was unlucky I’d be a liveaction sock puppet for some celeb whose need for adulation outstripped their actual fanbase. Id’ seen poor indebted fools like that before, forced to cheer and wail and pretend to love some swollen former idol. That wasn’t really how I saw my future, so I had to act fast.

“so what the fuck do I do?” I muttered to myself, cursing because even my internal monoblog had been taken from me, meaning the other people on the carriage – various drone workers going to or from Shoreditch – could hear me. Did they know that just twelve hours earlier I had been one of their overlords? That the only interaction I would have had with them would have been either to order them around or else hit them up for some illegal substance or other. In fact as I looked around the exhausted faces I was sure I recognised at least one person who’d helped me score fried chicken at 1am or help remove some hapless cloneboy’s penis from someone else’s orifice.

“and exactly what help is that to me now?” I muttered, still unable to form proper thoughts and instead speaking out loud “all my friends literally cannot see me because I’ve got no money. Only people I know are shady fucking characters” then, in a burst of strange clarity I had it. I knew how to get my life back, and how I could escape my clonefather’s debts at the same time. All I would need, I thought, staring sightlessly out the window of the driverless train, would be a complete and total lack of morals. And as the train wound its way around the guts of the south London bonded labour belt the ins and outs of the plan came into my head.

 The first part was easy. The very fact that the one percent couldn’t see me in my current guise could be turned to my advantage. That and the other fact I had a good knowledge of the tunnels and abandoned underground malls that lead into Shoreditch through my various connections meant I had something a lot of shady characters wanted.

“so I’m your man” I explained to a dealer in illicit fried chicken I knew from the underground takeaway trade “I can get your wares in under the fence and to the right people no problem”

“yeah, I got a bunch of guys like” explained the tired looking middle aged woman in her iconic KFC hat and complexion that bored a startling resemblance to her own product. The takeaway underground is filled with tired romantics, people who got into the full fat trade because they believed that a food tradition was being stamped out by health Nazis but after spending a decade feeding trustafarians and the terminally fat addicted saw nothing but pound signs “all of ‘em can get in. all of ‘em are so piss poor the one percent couldn’t see ‘em even if they was spread out all over the pavement. What makes you so special?”

“well for one thing you owe me pretty much your entire last weeks profits” I said evenly “I saw the vital stats of the rich kids I VPN’d. There wasn’t one of them didn’t put on a bunch of kilos and that hadda be down to me. But more importantly” I leaned in over a fat fryer, the fumes almost turning my stomach. I’d never been one for the colonel’s produce. They always say to never get high on your own supply “I know who’s running security up there”

“okay, well that’s something worth knowing” agreed the woman, chewing on some fried monstrosity the colour of melted gold “I lost three good guys the last few weeks. Security’s cracking down hard on our trade. We used to bribe em with mcnuggets but they got wise to that and contracted in a bunch of hardcore vegan types. Bastards” she narrowed her eyes “now, I can’t promise you no more than our regular lads get. I can see your used to something a little better but I don’t think your route to riches lies through us, know what I mean?”

“look, I’m just trying to keep the wolf from the door” I admitted “like, its either this or I’m gonna get repossessed. My clonedad burned a bunch of people and they’re after my arse to pay for it”

“nasty business” muttered the lady, then grabbed a greasy piece of paper from a greasy board. The underground takeaway business likes to keep everything old school, and not just because its traditional. What with us living in a digital world there’s a hefty minority of people who can’t even read, let alone understand that other people might still communicate by little scratches on a piece of paper “you can get going right away. Get this delivery right and we might get a profitable business going”

It wasn’t easy sneaking into Shoreditch. Hitherto I had been on the other end of the deal, and the worst treatment I could have expected would be a half hearted telling off by a security guard shit scared by my bank account balance. Now I could be murdered and dropped in the Thames and the only people that might raise the slightest protest were the creditors who hoped to pimp me out for my clonedaddy’s debts.

However for those who know how to look for it there are routes through London’s privatised zones. Places that are interstitial, borders between the turf owned by this billionaire or that semi sentient corporate giant enjoying a tax holiday. I skirted the Lloyds boundaries, cutting through an old drug running tunnel built originally in the days of the ill fated anti Brexit London independence movement. It took time, but I had the food in a heat sealed bag on my back and I knew I had just one chance to get this right.

So I emerged I to the fake retro hipsterish world of Shoreditch just as it was getting dark and the streetlights were illuminating the carefully restored street art and the one percenters sipping on their artfully fake lattes and deciding which 100% organic street food stand to be photographed beside. I knew I was in the right place. I just had to find the address scrawled on the piece of paper. Luckily it was one I knew all too well.

 The party itself was a thriving dance orgy in an old new warehouse conversion off Brick Lane. Rather conservative but it was the last night and a lot of people’s cloneparents were in attendance. Most of the guests were in various states of nudity and it was quite hard to tell who were the clones and who were the parents but I suppose that was the point. I had hoped that I’d be able to attend this and network my way to a bonded internship with some big A-lister that would tide me over not just for the summer but hook me up for life. Now I was a guy so low down most people couldn’t even see him and with a backpack full of samizdat fried chicken. But I still had a mission to do, and through the dancing bodies I spied the customer I needed to find.

“chicken dude” said the person who greeted me, unable to perceive me but sure as shit able to see the fried goods hovering in the air “man am I glad to see…..”

That was when I struck. The delivery cover had been just that, something that would get me in and unnoticed to the party. Despite what my takeaway contact said delivery folk were never molested on the wharf itself, the security agents knew to turn a blind eye to the fried chicken just as they did the drugs and the parties. However had I simply walked back in they’d have sniffed me out as a former one percenter and figured I was out for revenge. As it turned out I wasn’t, I was out for something worse.

As the innocent billionaire’s clonechild reached out to take the delivery I accessed the VPN I’d installed in them a week earlier, cutting through the back door that I’d left in just in case it was needed. At the time I thought the need might be that I’d forgotten something or if I needed to erase the whole thing in case of getting caught. As it turned out the back door was just as easy to use for obvious criminal intent. Who’d have thought? So at lightning speed and before the one percenter could fall to the floor I blazed through the VPN and into the implant mainframe proper. There I overrode the charity giving protocol and made myself a major recipient of aid. I paused for a nanosecond to infect the contacts list and then I was out. In the real world a little over a second passed. The one percenter, however, was out of it.

“sorry calypso” I said as my former NBGBFF crumpled into my arms. I funnelled her into a nearby chair “but I had to do this to you first. Could only be someone on my friends list. Irony’s an absolute bastard, right? Hope you understand I didn’t have much of a choi…..”

“you little thieving fooking bastard” came a voice in my ear, startling me so much I nearly dropped Calypso on the floor “I bet you thought you were dead clever, sneaking in her cos none of these rich twats could see you. Well I can see you, and this time I int gonna just stun you”

I placed Calypso in the chair, turned around slowly to face the security girl, nude except for her glow in the dark body tattooes. I slowly raised my hands “oh, that in’t gonna save you” she stepped forward to whisper in a voice that carried even over the thumping dance beat “you made a bloody great big mistake coming back here sonny. I’m gonna….”

“do nothing” I said, as the funds I’d stolen from Calypso and the viral worm I’d insinuated into her social networld contacts did their job. I felt my bank account swell and with it the sweet music of my neural implants reconnecting to the social networlds I had been rudely evicted from. I felt a new emotion rising in me as my old life rushed back, added to it a power I’d never realised I had “because otherwise” now I stepped close to the security guard as she shrank back. A taste in my mouth, a scent in my nostrils. “I’ll have you dropped in the Thames, you and your nearest and dearest. Got me? I’m one of them again, you see” I said, pointing to the writhing shapes “and we own you”

Now I realised what the emotion was.

“revulsion” I said to myself as the guard turned and stumbled away “that’s what it is”

“oh no” said a voice behind me “its success, trust me”

I whirled around, expecting to see another security guard behind me and instead saw the last person I either wanted or expected to see.

‘Well played, son’ said my clone father, sat in an armchair clapping slowly behind him the one percenters ground away, oblivious to all that was going on ‘well played. I never thought you’d have it in you’

‘The fuck you doing here?’ I said warily. The last thing I needed after committing a crime was to have my copyfather as a witness. He’d sell me out quicker than I could breath. Hell, he was the kind of guy who’d keep clones around just to pin his own crimes on.

‘I’m here to congratulate you’

‘On what?’ I said, gesturing at my handiwork. At the friend I’d ripped off just for a few lolcoin to keep myself going. At the woman I’d threatened just because she was trying to do a good job protecting her clients.

‘On doing what had to be done’ he said, pointing at my comatose former friend ‘you showed you had what it took. To do what was needed at the right moment. You should enjoy this moment’

“enjoy it?” I asked, my face twisting in disgust ‘Look, I just fucked over my very best friend to commit a crime. All because I have to pay off debts you dropped me into. I should kill you for what you did. Your fucking bankruptcy did this to me. You made me behave this way’

‘Well, confession time’ grinned my clonefather ‘ that whole bankruptcy thing? well it wasn’t real. I just made it up’

“made it up?” I replied “what the fuck do you mean?” then it dawned on me. Surely he could still technically access my assets. Including what I had stolen from Calypso. That had to mean…

‘You fuckjing scammed me’ I said, incredulous at the fact he was even lower than I thought ‘cal was right…’

‘Wasn’t a scam’ he said, winking ‘it was a test’

‘test? What the living fuck?’ I exclaimed, not sure I was hearing right. If there was anything worse than finding your life has been ruined is that finding out that it’s all some great big joke.

‘I told you, I’ve got a bunch of clones”he explained, lounging back in his seat “And this isn’t some charitable outing. I need to make sure that people who carry my name also carry a certain…set of skills’

‘What, those of fucking criminals?’

‘business skills’ he said, that nasty grin on his face again ‘half these fuckers you pall around with haven’t got a single go getting bone in their body” he gestured at the oblvious faces of the trustafarins still grinding all around us. Despite my new wealth I was keeping a low profile, shame being my motivating factor “I need to make sure you do. You can’t clone grit and determination, you see. I need to know that you can make a good earning, especially when the chips are down. You should thank me really, I’ve made you realise some truths about yorusefl you wouldn’t have done otherwise’

“so you’re saying that you delvietaely shafted me over just to give me the inner strength to be a better businessman?” my forehead creased “this is some next level boy named sue bullshit”

‘It’s business’ he said, spreading his arms wide ‘and welcome to the firm, by the way’ in minds eye a whole new set of protocols all opened up, giving me privileged access to data beyond my wildest dreams. The little piece of software I’d used to pry open the brain of poor calypso looked like nothing in comparison.

‘You can hug me now, if you like’ he said, as if expecting me to punch him in the face. For one golden second I almost did, but stopped myself for two reasons. The first was that he was, in his way, correct. I was prepared to do whatever it took to keep myself afloat. I was glad he had shown me that I had it in me to succeed. The second reason was that I kept half an eye on that digital protocol I’d used on calypso. Because I didn’t like that person I would become who stood in front of me, that arrogant manipulator who would cheerfully pit his younger self against certain annihilation just to see if he was up to standard. I didn’t think he should be having any more clones, or doing much of anything to anyone. And thanks to the software I had stolen, and the realisation of my nefarious talents he had awoken I knew I could.

‘Sure thing, dad’ I said, giving him the hug.