Chapter 8 - The Boy Who Looked Like MeI watched the video eight times.
Every time I saw something different.
The boy wasn't simply similar to me.
He was me.
Six years old.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
Same left cheek dimple.
Same scar beneath the collarbone.
He even tilted his head the way I did when I was confused.
Mara whispered the word.
"Prototype."
My father shut his eyes.
"You don't understand."
"Then explain."
"The original project was built around replication."
"Human cloning?"
He nodded.
I laughed.
"This is insane."
"Yes."
"Illegal."
"Yes."
"Impossible."
My father looked at me.
"Not anymore."
I drove to the abandoned Whitaker estate that night.
We took a private helicopter.
The estate sat hours outside New York, surrounded by forest and a rusted fence.
No lights.
No guards.
No signs.
But underground, everything was alive.
Power generators hummed.
Security cameras tracked us.
Steel doors unlocked one after another.
At the bottom of the facility, we found a corridor lined with observation windows.
Behind the first glass room sat four boys.
Milo.
Mason.
Max.
Micah.
They were safe.
Alive.
But beside them were four more children.
Each one identical.
Micah saw me.
"Daddy!"
I ran into the room.
Mara followed.
The boys wrapped their arms around me.
Micah was crying.
"I knew you'd come."
I held him so tightly he struggled to breathe.
Then I looked at the other boys.
They stood in silence.
One of them approached.
He looked exactly like me.
"What's your name?" I asked.
He smiled.
"Alexander."
The same answer as the video.
I looked at my father.
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
"How many?"
"Eight."
"Eight?"
"Four were born naturally."
"And the others?"
"Lab-grown."
The word made my skin crawl.
Mara stared through the glass.
"How old are they?"
"Six."
"All of them?"
My father nodded.
"Created at different times. Same genetic sequence."
I looked at the second set of boys.
They weren't aggressive.
They were terrified.
One of them whispered.
"Are you our daddy?"
I had no answer.
Then alarms began ringing.
Red lights flashed.
A woman's voice announced:
"Unauthorized genetic subject detected."
My father looked at me.
"What does that mean?"
He whispered:
"The system recognized you."
The doors slammed shut.
A voice came over the speakers.
My grandfather.
Alive.
"Alexander."
I froze.
Mara grabbed my arm.
"He's here."
The voice continued.
"You finally found the children."
I shouted at the ceiling.
"Where is Micah?"
"With you."
"Then what do you want?"
A laugh echoed through the corridor.
"I want my son back."
My father stepped forward.
"Arthur..."
"Don't call me that."
A monitor flickered on.
My grandfather appeared.
Not dead.
Not injured.
Sitting calmly in a laboratory chair.
He looked older than before.
But alive.
"Grandfather."
"Hello, Alexander."
"You killed someone pretending to be you."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I needed the world to believe I was dead."
"Who did you kill?"
He smiled.
"Someone who had already been dead for twenty years."
My father looked confused.
I felt sick.
"Then who was the man in the library?"
My grandfather leaned toward the camera.
"Your twin."
The room went silent.
"What?"
"Did you really think he died as an infant?"
He smiled.
"No, Alexander."
"He grew up."
My knees weakened.
My father whispered:
"That's impossible."
My grandfather's eyes hardened.
"He grew up believing he was you."
Then the doors behind us opened.
A man walked into the corridor.
Same face.
Same body.
Older.
Twenty years older than the boys.
May you like
He looked exactly like me.
And he raised a gun.
