Subject 3033...(BWAM, Sci-fi Romance, 18+)

Chapter Thirteen

Siobhan's p.o.v

I am sat inside my office staring upon  hovering stereoscopic image of my most prized chattel, Subject 3033. Yes, my replica, the perfect duplicate. From I came she. I am the original. She is but the copy. I am the master. She is but the slave. From my body came the egg cells that birthed her. That was back when I was only eighteen, back when my mother had passed and I had to take up her mantle, had to take up her position in the institute. So now, at forty one years, she -Subject 3033- is only but two hundred and seventy six years of age.

I am as much her mother even though she'd been birthed by a surrogate.
Yes, it has been a period of over eight weeks yet none of my intellects have managed to pinpoint her exact whereabouts. The tracking chip that had been engrained into her system seems to have been discarded from her venation, destroyed entirely.

The very thought causes my jaw to tick in exasperation. I take in a deep breath, fold one leg over the other whilst looking upon videos of all her stages of growth. From when she was simply a zygote, to when she advanced into an embryo and further into a foetus, to the very first breath she'd taken on this earth, to the very first steps and stumbles she'd taken and made.

Yes, my team worked restlessly, relentlessly to formulate and breathe life into this perfect little human. And after numerous failed attempts, a door finally glided open. A scientific success. The mere thought of her having succumbed to this new deathly world, the thought of her having been fed on or gnawed upon by mutated blood-thirsty scavenging humans causes these unpleasant little chills to scrape ruthlessly at the spine of my backside.

She was supposed to remain here at the institute, under my umbrella. Fed and clothed and sheltered and trained. Yet she chose escape instead. How so utterly foolish. How witless and rush of her. The hefty doors behind me glide open but my concentration remains faithfully fixated upon each recording that plays and replays before my eyes.
"Any news on Subject 3033, Detective Euphrasia?" Come those words that I have repetitively chanted on several different occasions like some mantra.

"My team and I are still working on it, Miss Siobhan. After portions of the antivirus were administered to the upper-class society as per your instruction, only a total of one hundred and fifty thousand individuals remain. One hundred and forty seven thousand being the wealthy, we, your employees, and you madam. Two thousand being individuals in hiding and in countries no longer recognized on the global map. The one thousand remnants are mutated creatures."

"So, simply put, because these two thousand individuals remain in hiding, you have no word, no information, no knowledge pertaining to the clone's presence or absence?"
"None, madam. She could be dead, could be mutated, could be anywhere on this planet."
My jaw clenches as this new revelation etches and embeds, as it imprints itself in my box of memories. I fight to dominate the rage that boils my blood, battle to keep my sanity in grip.

"Get out before I regret my actions. You are still very much a valuable asset, a useful tool. Out of my sight this instant, Euphrasia."
The command is one cool. My voice maintains grip on the tranquility as I keep eyes seared upon screen before me. The female turns, exits the office entirely, shuts doors behind without uttering another word.

Rising from leathery seat, I stare intently into finely-polished desk, glower into the nothingness as a million and three queries and conclusions cross the front of my mind. And suddenly, too quickly for my mind to register, my arms slither on their own accord. My palms swipe against smooth surface of mahogany desk and all electronic gadgets and glass trophies and books and pen holders topple and collide with marble floors.

I scream and tag at the strands of hairs perched neatly atop my head as the exasperation chokes the little serenity that clung to my mind only seconds ago. I will seek you out, Subject 3033, even if it kills me. I drag in one long whiff of the much needed oxygen, exhale a slow sharp breath in attempts to self soothe. I feel softly for the scar of my face, the one she'd given me in her moment of weakness and anger.