3%
1045 Words
Dr. Frank POV
Eight years at the creation of Clone Sia.
"Ha!" I screamed, slamming the table as rage consumed me. My chest heaved with the frustration that clawed at my insides.
"Sir, it's plummeting again. I don't think this clone’s body can take it," the young resident doctor said, eyes wide with uncertainty.
"Increase the aptitude to 0.2 Iron Alpha!" I barked, trying to maintain control.
"Increasing subject body aptitude to 0.2 Iron Alpha," the resident doctor repeated nervously, hands trembling as he adjusted the machinery.
"Stabilize the C suction at gamma level," I ordered, pacing the room. My thoughts were racing.
"But sir—" the resident hesitated.
"Sara, just do it!" I snapped, my voice sharp, filling the cold, sterile room.
"Increasing subject body to C suction at gamma level," she said, removing the suction from the clone. We watched, holding our breath as the monitor's alarm quieted slightly. But the relief was short-lived.
The clone’s body twitched, but the monitor kept beeping ominously.
"Doc, we’re losing her!" Sara's voice was edged with panic.
"It’s a clone, for damn’s sake. It’s not… human," I said, though the words felt hollow. Confusion and doubt danced at the back of my mind.
"O-Zitone blood is leaking out, and the IC flesh is deteriorating," a resident doctor chimed in, his voice trembling.
"No… no, this can't be! What am I missing?!" Desperation flooded me, and I felt my grip on sanity begin to slip. "I’m not going back to prison. I won't!" My thoughts spiraled, memories colliding, and I acted erratically, mumbling as I spun around. "Iron Fetonal… Gamma… Sulfur… Mercury… Oi Acid… Bayflower, Mom—No! No! Mummy will be mad, Mummy will be mad if I don’t get it right… Yes! Yes! What does Flower think? Flower thinks you are cute… Uh! Uh! It is sweet…"
"Doc!" The voice broke through my haze, and I snapped back, my heart racing. My hands were clammy, and I swayed on my feet.
"Doc, are you okay?" Sara’s face was pale, eyes wide as she asked again. "Doc, what do we do?!" she screamed, her panic infecting the room.
"Shut up!" I yelled, frustration bubbling over. Every set of eyes in the room was on me, terrified, unsure. The beeping grew louder—no heartbeat.
All of them stared at the dead clone, their hope fading. I clenched my fists, trying to silence the chaos in my mind.
This is who I’ve become—a scientist on the brink of madness. My name is Dr. Frank Yota, a Russian scientist, researcher, and doctor. Once, I had dreams of saving the world, of creating immortality. But life, cruel and unrelenting, had other plans.
I was only eight when I lost my parents to an unknown viral infection. They were doctors too, trying to save a patient. I watched helplessly as they withered away, and no one had the knowledge to save them. That day, something inside me snapped. I vowed to make sure no one else would die from diseases we couldn’t cure. I dreamed of creating clones—perfect replicas of humans whose bodies could be reborn, disease-free.
But all of that hope was snuffed out when I fell in love. Kess Cruz, a brilliant doctor, and my wife. She gave me three beautiful children. We were happy, but then the same fate that took my parents claimed them. A viral attack on their flight from Africa ended it all. Kess, our kids—gone.
I couldn’t save them, but I tried. I altered my daughter’s DNA, desperate to bring her back. She became my first experiment, my first clone. But before I could finish, I was thrown into prison for eight years, my work burned to ashes. All my dreams—gone.
After serving time, a local hospital took pity on me, granting me a temporary medical license. But I was no longer the man I once was. The nightmares of my failure haunted me.
Then, another virus hit. A girl, Sophie—she reminded me of my daughter. I altered her DNA to save her, but the hospital fired me for daring to experiment. They didn’t understand. They’d rather let her die than embrace the future. Diagnosed with autism and psychosis, I became a pariah—a broken man. For five years, I drifted into oblivion until Nana Chandler found me.
She gave me purpose again. She asked me to create clones—clones that could express love, that could bear children. The next generation of cyrobreed. It was a chance to fix everything.
Now, here I stand, and this clone—this perfect creation—is slipping away.
"Sara, increase the room temperature to 0.1°C and decrease the clone’s body mass to 2.150°K," I commanded.
"Got it," Sara replied quickly.
"Dave, fill her with more O-Zitone blood. Make it four bags," I added, my voice tightening.
"On it," Dave responded, already preparing the infusion.
"Octane, begin the shock maneuver as soon as Dave fills her with blood," I ordered, my hands shaking slightly.
"Yes, sir," Octane replied, focused on the task.
"Sara, speak to me," I demanded.
"Room temperature increasing, body mass decreasing," she said, her voice steady.
"Dave, speak to me," I barked.
"Blood’s in—up to Octane now," he replied.
"Octane, speak!" I shouted.
"Preparing for shock in 3... 2... 1—shock," Octane said, but the clone remained lifeless.
"Talk to me!" I yelled, my patience unraveling.
"Clone tissue is weak, sir," Octane replied, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Sara, dose her with five shots of adrenaline!" I ordered.
"But sir—" Sara hesitated.
"Just do it!" I barked again, but she didn’t move.
"Damn it, I’ll do it myself!" I grabbed the syringe and injected the adrenaline myself, hands shaking. "Octane, now!"
"Shock in 5, 4, 3—"
I interrupted him. "We don’t have time for this!" I slammed the button, delivering the shock.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the monitor spiked—the clone’s heart was beating again.
"Yes!" The room erupted in a mix of relief and excitement. We finished stabilizing the body and placed the clone in the regeneration tube.
But deep down, I knew. Something wasn’t right.
- Writer
