CORI125

Another beer can drops to the dark brown carpet of Apartment 2C of Ridgemont Estates, the four walls around me seemingly closing in as I rot alone in my recliner for the 25th hour of the day, the 8th day of the week, the 32nd day of the month. At this point, it seems like my ass has a permanent residence on this lumpy thrifted maroon cushion. Hell, after five years of spending my days rotting away in a sterile cubicle and coming home to sink into a life of T.V. dinners and cheap beer, I wouldn’t be shocked if my asscheeks were concaving. It was all downhill after college, my diploma staring at me through its frame on the wall as a constant reminder of what I could’ve become. The blinding glow of the television takes up my line of sight, now flashing scenes of a family dinner with the words “Host Thanksgiving for 8 for $30! Only at Milo’s Family Market! Everything tastes better together!” dancing around the screen. Damn you, Milo.

In a frustrated flash of a second I chuck my unfinished can to the wall above the television stand – colliding with the land-lord-special paintjob with a thump – and leave to occupy the linen closet sized bathroom. Why this innocence of marketing meal assistance enraged me is beyond my understanding, but as I left the room I felt myself slumping over and my vision blurring. Each step felt heavier and heavier - as if my feet gained a boulder shackled to my ankles every time I touched the carpet.

The lightbulb hanging above flickered while I composed myself enough to ditch the hallway as a crutch and find the toilet, a skill I never lose, even while slightly– who am I kidding – very inebriated. My hand finally meets the bathroom door handle, an icy sensation traveling up my fingertips as I turn it with a melting grip. My body sank to the ground; it felt as if I absorbed all gravity within a five-mile radius. The room suddenly started spinning and a piercing screeech filled my eardrums. From that moment on, everything became a daze; it was almost like a dream sequence. At first I thought it was because I had one too many beers, but the events that followed told me that something much more heinous than a hangover awaited me when I came to my senses.

Through the confusion in my vision and swirling shrills in my ears, a clear thundering BANG came from the direction of the front door. Following it was – from what I could make out through the flashes of light – a herd of men dressed in combat gear and face coverings resembling a cross between a gas mask and a fly. The fly-guys spoke in a code that seemed faintly familiar; I could make out few and far between against the shrills.

“Confirm… Targ…Cor..125..Poses… En Rout…” said the fly-guys, I think.

“Who… areyou peopl..?” I mustered.

Without a firm answer, or any answer at all, the cold kiss of metal locked around my neck, wrists, and feet, and a pinch at the nape of my neck abruptly ended my stream of consciousness.

*************************************

My eyes opened to a white beam of light violating my corneas, I could feel a metal mask, similar to the fly-guys, but only the top half of my face was exposed. The only thing I had resembling clothing was an array of chains and wires covering me like a poorly made mankini. Very appropriate, I thought, considering I was submerged in a cylindrical tank of water. I awoke thrashing, clawing, and screaming, “HEELLLP. SOMEONE HELP ME.”

No Response.

Kicking the glass, I finally calmed myself enough to take in my surroundings: the kind of lab you’d expect to see straight out of a cliche mad-scientist movie with a spread of what seemed to be hundreds of screens carrying security camera footage. On the right side of the room, there was a group of people wearing white lab coats, carrying clipboards.

This has to be some type of fever dream, I thought to myself. I’m going to wake up soon with a monster hangover and regrets from the night before.

“Tell yourself whatever you need, 125. This is as real as it can be… well for you at least,” A faintly familiar voice boomed.

I anxiously flailed like a goldfish and looked around me, the science groupies remaining motionless in the corner except for the scribbling of their pens, and the security cameras, though hard to make out what exactly they were monitoring, remained vacant.

Almost abruptly as the voice arose, a face to go with it emerged from what seemed like thin air. A tall balding man with a gaunt face and an uneven, graying Van Dyke beard was standing in front of my enclosure with a serious stare piercing through the glass.

“Hello 125. You may be wondering what’s going on, but don’t panic, I will explain everything shortly,” he took a step towards me. “Don’t make any sudden movements.”

Who does this guy think he is, I thought to myself.

“You may be wondering who I am,” he responded in a monotone voice, as if he could hear me loud and clear. “My name is Dr. Milo Ridgemont, renowned scientist, inventor, and visionary. The laboratory you find yourself in today is a state-of-the-art research center meant for an experiment called Cloning Operation Research Integrity, or CORI.”

THAT’S MY NAME! CLONING? RESEARCH? WHAT IS THIS PLACE? I grew more agitated with each thought swirling through my USB hard drive of a brain.

There’s no way he didn't notice my agitation, but ignoring my reaction he continued on, “Twenty-eight years ago, I was assigned to research what aspects and actions can create the perfect life outcome. To go about this, my team and I decided to create two hundred clones and subject their consciousness into separate dimensions, as seen on the screens behind me. Our dedicated analytics and data can predict who to narrow down as our successors, and terminations. You, 125, unfortunately fall on the lower end of the spectrum.”

I was speechless as I tried to wrap my head around the fact that my entire life, my entire miserable life, had been some kind of lab-rat simulation. Every morning I dragged myself out of bed. Every wearing shift at work. Every time I would tell myself it would get better someday; that I would be better someday. It was all for nothing. It was always going to be for nothing.

“Now, I remember you 125,” Ridgemont started, “I remember viewing your progress only to see it decline. I remember your teen years watching you waste away your life with the partying, thinking you’d turn yourself around. I remember seeing you go off to college, having some hope for you, but no. Then comes the ever-growing criminal record and bar tab.”

His words are like knives, penetrating me to the core with every reminder of my failure.

“You were never meant to be anything, but alas that’s the luck of the draw when it comes to countless outcomes playing out before my eyes.” With another breath he continues, “There’s always a bad egg in every batch. Fortunately we have what we like to call damage control.”

He pulls out a transparent tablet and taps a few buttons, triggering strobing lights and alarms to sound off around the lab. My breathing became frantic as I began to tear at the wired cocoon engulfing me.

“Goodbye, 125. We had a good ru-”

Suddenly the wall behind me bursts to smithereens with a deafening roar, causing my heart to race even faster.

What is up with these flashy entrances, I humored to myself.

The culprits behind the blast revealed themselves, stepping out of the smoke embracing their valiancy. The masked figures were dressed in an all black ensemble, the kind I’d mistake for another group of captors if I wasn’t desperate for rescue, with artillery ranging from rifles to crossbows. Each of them were strapped with a fully loaded utility belt carrying contraptions I could only imagine.

My saviors scattered around like a group of hungry mountain lions in a butcher shop, throwing small explosives from across the room with steady arms. The gadgets boomeranged from person to person, somehow disarming every being in the room. This bought them enough time to begin hand-to-hand combat against their opposition. The scientists, including Dr. Ridgemont, frantically rushed around, some attempting to escape and some attempting to fight back; some even resorting to whipping out pocket knives to defend against the unexpected visitors.

Two of the heroes had Dr. Crazy in a chokehold, beating him silly, leaving him no room to retaliate.

The leader, or at least I presumed, finally approached my tank. Amidst all the chaos, I almost forgot that my life was about to cease. My savior strapped an earbud-like device onto each side of the cylinder and pushed a few buttons on their watch. They held up a “shh” sign to me, signaling me to stay calm.

BOOM. The glass around me shattered, freeing me from my mer-man prison. Stumbling from the platform around the stray glass and falling into my captors arms, I felt like a newborn baby giraffe seeing the world for the first time.

Without a second thought, I was scooped up by the hero piggy-back style. We were now joined by more of their teammates and rushed out of the lab dodging stray debris through the new door they generously installed. We weaved through the labyrinth of metal walls, all adorning doors that leave you wondering what lies behind each of them. I am still frozen with shock while the troops continued on their mission like this was just another Saturday.

Finally, we reached the end of one of the millions of lingering hallways. Two troops dragged a pattern on one of the floor tiles through their gloved hands, like preschoolers in a sandbox, and the tile flew off in a whoosh.

“Brace for impact,” The leader finally spoke to me in a low, robotic voice.

We hopped through the passageway one by one, me still slung over the leader’s shoulder. The journey down was a black hole, being overtaken with gravity on a joyride, it was almost the highlight of my day.

Reaching the bottom took what felt like an eternity, in reality a few seconds, but we landed on a soft, deliberately placed safety mat that my face immediately smashed into due to my piggy-backed position over my skilled captor. The room we landed in resembled a parking garage; however, the darkness that consumed the space made it hard to decipher my surroundings. Through a large rectangular opening about 100 feet away, daylight shone through revealing a dark maroon party bus with the word RORI in white spray paint loud and clear.

In one swift move, we – well, they – sprinted our final stretch, reaching home base to the bus. The doors opened swiftly as everyone piled in, me and the leader being the first. I was then slammed down onto a bench-style seat and the leader slumping next to me in exhaustion while the rest of the crew took their respective seats. As soon as the doors opened, they shut and the bus took off without a second thought.

I glanced behind me, taking in the daunting tower that seemed to reach the heavens. It all started to sink in that the life I had, or rather hated, was all gone. It was all a lie.

What broke me from my trance was a tap on the shoulder from my strong-willed savior. With a jump, another panic took over me – WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE. My breathing became frantic yet again and I leaned into my seat like it was my life force.

“Calm down, Killer, you’re safe now,” The leader says in their computerized tone after noticing my alarm. “Here,” they reach into a lumpy duffle bag, pulling out a black sweater and sweatpants, “put these on. If I’ve gotta stare at your bits for another second I’m gonna hurl.”

My hysteria came to a halt, embarrassment replacing it. I completely forgot I was nude.

“Who… who are you guys, and how did you find me,” I spit out.

The leader responded quickly, “We call ourselves RORI, a rebellion group against project CORI, and we tracked you down because we’ve all know predicament all too well.”

Sharing a laugh, the team took off their masks one by one, revealing familiar faces: my face. The leader took off their mask last, and what I saw shocked me, almost underwhelming the rest of the day’s events.

Slipping off the disguise, a pool of brown hair flowed out, and another face met my gaze. My jaw seemed to unhinge as I realized they shared the same face as the rest of the clan before me, just one stark difference: it was feminized.

A smirk found its way to replace her stone-cold expression, as she spoke in a soft voice, “Call me Tori.”