Chapter Text
Chapter 1
As always since his accident, he did not recognize the young face staring back at him in the mirror, and he stood there, looking with profound dismay, at his own features for answers to questions he did not even know.
It always infuriated him; this incomprehension of what had happened to him, and his ignorance of his past life. He understood nothing of this destroyed world where he had to live, and he didn’t recognize the strangers with whom he had to interact as if he was like them, a normal person.
James Mills was not a normal person.
James Mills was the only survivor of a traffic accident that stole his two best friends. Well, that was what he’d been told, as he had lost his memory due to said accident, and he had no recollection of it, or of his supposed best friends for that matter.
When James had woken up from a coma that lasted nearly eight months, he couldn't even walk. He was like a newborn and had to relearn everything, from walking to talking.
Three years had passed since he had woken up from the coma, and James had used every second of his waking time learning and training to fit in the society that he was soon to join.
Now that James had caught up on his education, he only needed to graduate high school, and he was eager to finally meet other young men and women his age once he was discharged from the facility.
James, who was playing on the windowsill a piece heard the day before during a concert broadcasted on television, went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. He then passed his hand over his pale face.
He had just celebrated his 18th birthday, but his life was just beginning... or it seemed so.
His jet-black hair concealed many scars crisscrossing his scalp, and his green eyes lacked radiance for the young man he was.
James managed a feeble smile, he had to be fare for himself, he looked good. During his stay at the center, he had built up some muscles, his shoulders were wide, and his abs were showing. He definitely looked good, far from the fragile thin boy that was brought to the center a couple of years ago.
If only he didn’t feel estranged from his reflection…
“Mr. Mills, your father has arrived.”, said a nurse behind the door of his room at the rehabilitation center.
“Bring him in please.” James said from the bathroom where he had lingered.
He sighed and went out to meet his father.
Maxwell Mills was a well-known politician in all secured domes. He had been among the first politicians to step up after the Great World War and claim that humanity would never recover from the losses it had suffered if it persisted in its resentments and isolation. In fact, the world's population had been reduced to its third before the war, and entire areas were infected and impossible to access. As governments had lost power over their people, militias had appeared everywhere to enforce order, according to their own criteria. Anarchy and chaos made life impossible for survivors of the Great World War.
Maxwell Mills was the visionary who came up with the idea of secured domes to protect people from the risks of radioactivity and biological weapons used en masse during the Great World War, as well as militias that plundered, stole and raped to their liking. He had been part of the group of men who had reorganized the world to bring it out of crisis.
Today, 25 years after the end of the war, the borders between countries had disappeared as resentments faded and there was less and less talk about the causes of the disaster. People were no longer trying to find a culprit. They were focusing on healing their wounds and resuming a normal life where arts, parties and laughter would once again have their place.
James joined his father in the small living room adjacent to his room. His father got up when he saw him coming.
“I still can't realize that I almost lost you, James, after all the effort it took to find you and convince you to come and live with me in Eden.”
James nodded as he sat in front of his father, near a window.
Eden was the name of the dome in which he now lived, the first dome created after the Great World War, which was meant to be a paradise in the midst of chaos.
He had been told that before the accident, he had lived in a refugee camp with his mother, who had left his father before he was even born.
She had been strongly against the very idea of domes, that left a large part of the population on the margins, and had left his father with great ideas about unity and mutual aid, head bursting with projects and dreams that she had not been able to realize.
Her failure, in contrast with the undeniable success of her former lover, had plunged her into a depression that had slowly killed her.
James had been alone at the tender age of 12 and had lived with a group of orphans like him in the camp. He had worked hard to survive, and it was an independent young man that Maxwell had found while looking for the child he had never met.
Maxwell had admitted to James that, at first, the young man didn’t want to be involved with his father, that Maxwell had put in a lot of effort to convince him to come to Eden with him. At the end, James had agreed.
James frowned. Where was he going when the car accident happened? If he had agreed to stay at Eden, why did he come back to the refugee camp? To say goodbye?
Short of a sudden return of his memories, he would never know.
“How are you feeling today?” asked him his father.
“As usual, I guess.”
His tone was flat and his father’s shoulders slumped.
He didn’t like being cold to his father, but still, after 3 years, he couldn’t feel any filial love toward the man. Yes, he respected him a lot, and yes, he felt very grateful, but there was no such love in his heart.
His father remained silent for a moment and then went on:
“I'm sure your memory will come back to you one day,” he said with hope.
He always said it, like it would be a good thing. James was not convinced.
“I'm not sure I want to, father,” he replied. “From what I was told, my life was not very cheerful back then at the camp. I’m not sure I want to remember that.”
Maxwell Mills sighed; James knew he felt guilt over the hardship that James went through in the camp.
His father fidgeted with his gloves, placed in front of him on a low table, then straightened.
“You have a second chance for a better life, and I have a second chance to be a good father to you. I’m grateful that…”
James didn’t want to have this conversation… again.
“Father, aren’t you supposed to be at work at this hour?”
“I am my own boss” he said with a smile.
Of course he was.
His father then narrowed his eyes and James knew exactly what he was about to say.
“Mentioning second chances, I wish you could reconsider the cloning.”
“Father, you're wasting your time,” James snapped.
He knew that his father meant well but he was tired of the conversation… too.
He took deep breaths and continued, more calmly.
“I have already offered my perspective on this subject; I can’t understand why you insist.”
Maxwell Mills sighed.
“But what if you ever had another accident and died?” he insisted.
“Father, I don't want to prolong my life, nor do I wish to leave in my place a replica of myself that would not really be me. It would not be your son!”
His father pinched his lips, not convinced.
“He wouldn't be me, father!” insisted James. “I know that you care about me, but you cannot possibly want to transform another being into a replica of me just to ease the pain of losing me again. It’s selfish!”
His father looked properly hurt and ashamed. But James had to make him understand.
“Believe me, father, I read a lot about cloning in order to make an educated decision: how cloning was used during the war to create replicas of the perfect soldier and how it degenerated... how clones who fell into depression and took their own lives... the cloning process that I consider inhumane!”
“If you are talking about neutral matrices, you have to know that they have no conscience before the transfer of identity. They are simply clones of a perfect human being created by man and destined to receive the physical characteristics and memory of an Original.”
“I know this, father, and I also believe that these matrices, if allowed to evolve naturally, can become humans like you and me! They are beings who have their own entity, their own soul, and whose evolution will stop to satisfy the desire for immortality of greedy and selfish people!”
James had let himself get carried away, he had raised his voice and his father now looked upset.
James gave them both time to calm down.
After a couple of minutes, his father sighed heavily and seemed to relax.
“I must admit, you have made some good points there, son. I don’t like you calling me selfish, but you might be right. For some people, cloning is a way to live forever, but for others, especially those who don’t choose it, cloning might be only for the sake of those left behind when one dies.”
“I didn’t mean to disrespect you.”
“I know. Good, it will be as you wish, I will no longer insist.”
James still felt a little ashamed to have raised his voice.
“I apologize…”
“Don’t. You don’t need to apologize when you fight for what you believe in, son.”
Maxwell Mills got up to leave. James had his build, his wide shoulders and his thin waist, like a swimmer; but as for the features, he was his mother’s son.
“We'll see each other tomorrow, won't we?” asked James, also rising.
“I'm afraid not, James. I am leaving Eden for about a month. I should have left months ago actually, so I can’t delay my departure further.”
“I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll be ok,” said James. “May I ask where are you going?”
“North America.”
“It's a dangerous territory,” James pointed out.
“Do not worry for me, son, the level of radioactivity has dropped to a safe level. It’s past time for us to go and help the survivors there. They’ve been living under the yoke of militiamen enough already.”
“Are you going to build domes there?”
“Yes, in the midterm . For the time being, we are going there to negotiate with the leaders of the main gatherings of civilians and refugee camps to determine an action plan.”
“I wish you good luck, safe travel and that you return quickly among us, father.”
“Thank you, son. Melissa Vasquez, my assistant, will pick you up in the morning and help you settle in at home. Don't hesitate to ask her anything, she's at your disposal.”
“Thank you.”
Maxwell Mills went to the door and James made a move to accompany him, but his father raised his hand to stop him:
“Don't bother, I know the way.”
“Take care of yourself and contact me as soon as you can!”
The father smiled warmly, nodded, and left.
After his father left, James settled down again by the window and looked outside. He began to piano the air heard the day before, as if it were a familiar air. Maybe he should try learning piano!
His window overlooked a park in front of the main gate of the facility, and he found her easily, his mysterious and regular visitor.
It had started a year earlier. At first, it had not crossed James's mind that the young woman who spent an hour each day in front of the rehabilitation center gate was an acquaintance of his. Logically, if she was, she would have come in and talked to him.
But the young woman, who looked and dressed so differently from the other inhabitants of the dome, had never crossed the gate.
One day, she had seen him out the window and, recognizing him, had buried her face in her hands and ran away.
The next day, she was there again, same time as the previous days, under the same tree.
She stared at the portal with beautiful honey-colored eyes, the wind making her black hair dance.
Yes, she came everyday for him. But who was she?
For a long time, James had thought of going to her to simply set things straight. Did she know him? What was their relationship?
But an unwarranted fear had held him back. If he was important to her, she should have come to him, unless she was hiding something…
A headache started behind his eyes. He was so confused and angry.
James looked again from the window, observing her pace under the same tree. It was his last day at the rehabilitation center, it was now or never if he wanted to talk to her. He might never have the opportunity again.
James put on his coat and left his room.
The nurses on the floor immediately went to him.
“Is there something wrong, Mr. Mills?”
“No, I’ll just go for a walk in the park.”
“Would you like someone to accompany you?”
“No, I want to be alone.”
James left the nurses and went out through the main gate.
It was a beautiful day. The sun flooded the dome with its rays, as if to welcome James among his fellows.
Seeing him coming towards her, the young woman swung on her heels, ready to bolt.
“Please, wait!” said James.
The young woman stopped but did not turn around. James could see with ease that she had started to shake at the sound of his voice.
“We know each other, don't we?”
She turned slowly, as if a movement too fast would shorten her life.
“Are we siblings?”
The question surprised her so fully that she began to cough.
“NO!” she said, looking almost outraged.
After a brief moment, she added:
“Jimmy…I'm Nebraska...”
She looked at a loss for words, and she just blurted:
“I’m your partner.”
It was James' turn to be at a loss for words.
“Jimmy…” she sounded worried.
“You..You mean like a girlfriend? That’s impossible, no one told me about a girlfriend.”
“That’s hardly surprising, I'm just a poor girl from a refugee camp, I don't even have a last name. It is obvious that the son of the highly respected Maxwell Mills would not be told of me.”
Now she sounded bitter, obviously upset that he didn’t recognized her.
“I was told about Jay and Pete!” James argued.
“They're dead... they cannot be a threat to your new existence.”
“Unlike you...”
“Yes, unlike me,” she admitted.
The young woman clutched in her hands a medallion and showed it to him.
“This is the only thing I have left of you… you gave it to me…”
It was a medallion in silver, the shape of an eagle. The black string that kept it hanging from her delicate neck was not worth much, but the medallion cost a small fortune. James had to have worked hard to buy it to Nebraska... he must have loved her very much.
James observed Nebraska for a moment, it was the first time he saw her up close. She wore men's clothes, and her bangs was badly cut. Despite her young age -no more than18 years old as far as he could tell - she looked very mature and independent. She was really beautiful, but surprisingly, James felt nothing about her that could come close to love.
… Like with his father. Was he just incapable of loving anymore? Was something wrong with him?
And, as if she had followed his line of thoughts, Nebraska said to him:
“It’s ok, you don’t remember me anymore. But one day, you'll get your memory back and I'll be there for you. You're worth waiting for.”
She looked confident and hopeful.
“Nebraska, I'm leaving this facility tomorrow,” James told her.
“And I'm going back to the camp,” she said.
“We no longer have a future together.”
“You don't know that! And if this hope that we will one day be together again is an illusion, well, I would rather live in a world of illusions than survive in a world where you are no longer mine.”
She reached out and stroked James' cheek.
“Jimmy, I love you so much, never forget it.”
“I'm not your Jimmy,” James said, taking the young woman's hand in his. “I am James Mills, and my life is now here, in Eden. It's a new life that begins for me and...”
Tears poured into Nebraska's eyes, but she didn’t cry. She beat her eyelids furiously to fight back the tears.
“... Nebraska, I’m really sorry, but I can’t return your feelings.” James continued. “I'm sure you'll find someone who will love you like you deserve. If I was once that man, I am not anymore.”
He paused for a moment, thinking of how old they were when they fell in love. It must have been their first love, a love that was hard to forget...
“I don't want to drag behind me a past that I've forgotten, and I'll probably never remember,” he continued. “Please, move forward and forget about me. Goodbye, Nebraska.”
He gave her a last smile and left.
As he was going back to the center, he felt her eyes on him, warm like the sun on a very bright day.
He could feel her sadness.
But he had to move forward.
Reno landed with a thud on the cold floor of the basement, barely conscious and
freshly out of the conservation box – called the incubator- in which he has lived until this day as a matrix. He was cold and disoriented and felt extreme pain in his head. The identity transfer had been done too quickly. Diego Maldini did not have time to properly take care of his son's new clone. After all, he wasn't the first and wouldn’t be the last.
Reno saw his father’s boots and his blood froze in his veins. He was terrified by the man. He feared him with the same nameless horror someone would fear monsters or the devil himself.
He shook Reno roughly with his foot.
“You know what you have to do!” he said in a frosty tone.
Reno nodded obediently.
“Yes father,” he replied.
“I'M NOT YOUR FUNKING FATHER!” yelled Diego Maldini.
“I’m sorry, sir,” rectified Reno quickly.
Diego Maldini left and let the newly born clone clean the basement.
Beside the incubator room, the basement housed another room: with no windows and a bare light bulb that casted a faint light, a faucet with a hose on one wall to clean the blood and a floor drain, a single metal chair in the middle with straps and a table where bloody tools were scattered. He didn’t need to see it to know that there was a lifeless body in there, someone who used to be him.
Reno got up painfully, his body still feeling foreign to him.
His father was a well-known scientist in the field of genetics. He had made his fortune by developing a cloning method based on the use of neutral matrices.
When a matrix was created, a chip was installed inside its brain in order to receive the memory of an Original.
The cloning candidates, called originals, also had chips in their brains that stored their memories.
Originals had to carry an identification card with their registration number in the Cloning Registrar and the name of the laboratory that would handle the cloning.
In the event of the death of the original, a neutral matrix was physically programmed according to the DNA of the Original that the laboratory had previously analyzed and stored. All that was left to do was to remove the chip from the Original and synchronize it with that of the programmed matrix in order to proceed with the transfer of memory, more commonly called identity transfer.
While people fell into poverty and misery following the Great World War, Diego Maldini had become one of the richest men in the world.
Reno had no recollection of his mother, as she had died soon after giving birth to him.
Diego’s friends and relatives were very surprised that the man, over forty years old back then, and very busy with work, didn’t remarry. Instead, Diego had established an office at home and only went to work a couple of times a month. He had decided to take care of his son himself.
What a very considerate and loving father he was!
But that loving and caring appearance was just that, an appearance. Diego Maldini was a psychopath and a sadistic man. Reno knew that all too well. As far as he could remember, it was the forty-fifth time he had been cloned.
In order to do with his son what he wanted, Diego Maldini had secured a stock of neutral matrices and had set up an operating room in the basement of his house.
When he would beat his son to death, he would simply clone him.
The original was burned in the incinerator of the house and the clone took the place of the original.
Reno knew what he had to do, he also knew he shouldn't slack off.
He got rid of the body and his bloody clothes as his father had taught him, in the incinerator, then he scrubbed the basement free of blood.
When finished, he went upstairs, showered to get rid of the preservative liquid that still covered his entire body, changed into clean clothes, and went down to the dining room.
“What took you so long?” Diego whistled after taking a quick look at his son.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Reno's heart began to beat erratically as Diego got up and walked towards him. The young man wanted to flee and hide, but years of beating had taught him to not move an inch unless told otherwise. So he stood there, frozen, listening to his own heartbeat; massive and deafening.
The old scientist grabbed him by his red hair and pulled his head back.
“School resumes tomorrow, right?”
“Yes sir,” Reno replied.
“You're not going to tell anyone about our little secret, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“You know anyway that if you do it, as you were created illegally, they will get rid of you like the spoiled commodity that you are!”
Reno swallowed with difficulty as Diego brought his fork very close to his blue-grey eyes.
“I would never betray you, sir.”
Diego smiled and his eyes shone behind his heavy eyelids.
He let go of Reno's hair and spat at him:
“Clear the table!”
So no dinner tonight. Well, Reno wasn't hungry anyway. Who could develop an appetite after being killed?
He could still see Diego's face distorted by excitement, he still felt the pain, anguish and fear of the nightmare he had experienced just a couple of hours ago.
No, definitely no appetite at all.
Reno cleared the table and did the dishes. There were no servants in the Maldini household as Diego didn’t want to have witnesses to the abuse he inflicted on his son.
So yes, Reno had to take care of all the household chores, he was the perfect slave, servicing his father anyway he saw fit, with no restraint and no consequences.
After wiping the kitchen clear, Reno went up to his bedroom.
He had no door to his room, Diego had it removed after Reno had once tried to lock himself inside to escape a punishment.
Another reason was that, in Diego's eyes, his son's clones were nothing but things he had created and could dispose of as at will; things that had no right to privacy and did not deserve respect or consideration of any kind. What would a slave do with privacy anyway?
Reno had become accustomed to this kind of life. He was past the stage of revolt for a long time. Now he didn't even have the strength to be angry anymore.
Reno went to his closet and took out his navy blue uniform.
He loved the academy very much. There, Diego Maldini was not; he could then pretend to be a 17-year-old like the others and have fun with his friends.
He could forget that he was an illegal clone, forget the horror that awaited him at home.
At the academy, he was free.
But this would be his last year at the academy. After his graduation, what was he to do with his life?
A disillusioned smile stretched his lips. He never had a life of his own to begin with.
Maybe it was time to end this masquerade…