“I'm your father!”
Luke Skywalker, I understand your pain.
The miscellaneous thought darted through Vladik's head (or Vrytaz, as he had been named at creation, in
honor of an old myth from a forgotten moon) as yet another chrostellite door crumpled before his telekinetic rage. He had chosen the name Vladik soon
after his arrival on Earth, wanting to erase any reminder of his past before he had learned of his "siblings" and decided that the slimy scientist
behind his own birth was too much trouble to leave alone. He whirled at superspeed around the globs of gelatinous incandescence that floated casually
through the air toward where he'd been standing an instant before. But plasma fire was no match for a genetically enhanced clone, and one made from
Omnarti DNA at that. The soldiers in their techy armor (somewhere between Halo and Tron – thanks, Earth culture, for that perspective) hadn't even
begun to track his movement when some basic jujitsu put them on the floor. His creator continued to berate him in the background as he straightened
and turned to confront two presences whose power was significantly greater than the drones he had been plowing through since his arrival.
He stepped over the soldiers and kept pace with their advance, step for step, every second bringing him closer to the dark reflections of himself.
This was a joke, he thought, forcing him to confront his own countenance, possessed by a dark soul that he himself only narrowly avoided, and tempting
him to self-destruct by embracing the paradox of killing what he himself might yet be. And yet, he determined to complete the mission and bury the
engine that had given him life. The man who called himself his father had indeed created him, but his destiny was his own.
“You are a miracle, a god!” The words echoed through the corridor as all three came to a stand still. The clones listening to their master, the
prodigal son to his rabid father. “You were to be the salvation of this universe!”
“A pawn of genocide, you mean,” Vladik said. “I was your personal Little Boy.”
“...what is – nevermind. Get this foolishness out of your head and stand down before – ”
He didn't wait for the madman to finish. He was in motion, light itself in awe of his speed as he lunged forward and took the clone on the left with a
solid uppercut. He rotated his body and assisted gravity with his leg in bringing the facsimile creature to the floor with a painful-sounding thump.
His arm was already sweeping out to knock the other off balance, before whirling and delivering a perfectly timed punch straight to its temple. He
stood, his breath even and muscles relaxed. It had taken a fraction of a second to eliminate his kin, those who had never really lived at all. There
had never even been a “them” - it had always been him
. The man upstairs, literally and (until lately) figuratively. The head cheese. He was
in their heads, controlling their thoughts and feelings and movements. They were extensions of him, like bipedal fingers, doing his dirty work while
he stayed safely ensconced in his little lab. The perfect security, and Vladik had been reserved for the head of the table, directly next to the head
of the house. While more challenging than the conventional security, or even your average augmented interstellar bounty hunter, these clones were
inferior models. He was the perfect child of them all, and it only infuriated Dr. Metamat that his greatest success should now prove to be his
Or so he hoped.
He marched down the corridor, glancing up and using his extrasensory gifts to locate the man he most wanted to put his hands on. The glittering glass,
plastic, and metal of the compound faded into a matrix of light and smoke, the varying energies that comprised electrical and biological systems. He
detected the scientist within seconds, still several floors away, but he would be able to detect him escaping and he was very capable of making a
short cut, even if it went through a few floors and more than a few walls. Or people. But he had to take care of the clones. As long as they existed,
the doctor had what he needed to make another Vladik. And that one might not shirk from wanton destruction. As his vigilante buddies on Earth had
said, it was best to leave absolutely nothing behind. A clean cut, they had called it. A quick scan showed that as expected, Metamat was deathly
afraid of his creation and had deployed what appeared to be his entire stock of clones. Vladik smiled and gathered himself.
Several leaps took him through four walls and two floors in a shower of torn wires, shattered glass and mangled chrostellite, where he intercepted
three clones dashing through an intersection between research cells. Cuts and bruises healed instantaneously, leaving him unmarred and ready to face
his copies. Maybe it wasn't right to call them copies, considering he was the youngest of them all. He was their copy, an amalgamation of everything
they had that was useful. According to “daddy”, anyway.
“Sorry, guys,” he said in the shocking silence that followed his unorthodox entry. “But I gotta put you to bed.” Their eyes were blank accept
for the vague hostility that reflected their inner Metamat channel. They barely reacted except to curl their lips, a surly nonverbal communication
from their master straight to Vladik. He was helpless and he was resentful, for every second of the two seconds it took to dispatch the obsolete
models and resume his journey upward. His didn't care about the damage, he didn't care about the people, he cared about proving to everyone – to
himself – that what he had been created for didn't define him. His purpose was his to decide. The Star Wars parallel nearly overwhelmed him again,
and he snorted as he landed with the grace of a cannonball in the middle of an office room. Lights were blinking spastically as he gave the
monitor-glazed desk jockeys a cursory examination. No threats to be found here. But that wouldn't be the case in ten seconds, as the majority of the
remaining clones were closing in, his gift revealed the second he activated it.
“It is not too late, my son...” His voice floated through the air again. “We can still stand together and reclaim what they stole from us. They
stand in the way of my glorious vision, my vision for both of us. We are the rightful champions, the rightful protectors! You must not let the scum
take that from us!”
“The same scum you used to make me.” Vladik said it softly, hopping onto the floor as the last of grunts fled the wreckage of his landing. Silence
followed his statement. “You thought I didn't know? I met him. The Omnarti renegade. The man whose genetic material you...improved on, to make me.
He told me how you did it, and why. Your whole sick plan for me.”
“My plan was – is, to protect our family. The family I made, for you, for all of us.”
“But why did you make this little family, father?” The last word practically dripped acid as it hung in the air. He slowly strode to the door, the
same door the grunts an left by, and entered an offshoot from a vast room, lit brightly. Perfect for what he imagined lay ahead. “Because it wasn't
us you wanted to protect. Not in the beginning.” Leaving the room, he approached the blazing lights, his gifts preventing blindness and revealing
the dozens of shapes that awaited beyond. “You wanted to protect yourself.”
edit on 30-4-2015 by TzarChasm because: (no reason given)