Mich Me Michael

Part 6: I

Mich shook his head in the sink, covered in hair. He finished shaving and admired himself in the mirror. In a short time, he was full of gray hair and small wrinkles like Michael. Now, with his hair short, the difference between them was imperceptible. This would exasperate Michael. It was very easy to manipulate him, being so paranoid. As long as he had control over his thoughts, everything would be fine.

He brushed his teeth and left the towel tossed to the side, hair scattered all over the floor. Mrs. Birgit would clean it up later, as always. What a strange and grumpy woman; he never understood why she hated them so much. He left the bathroom, leaving the floor wet in his wake.

—A mystery I'll never solve.

As expected, the reactions were by the book. Sophie was happy and sad since the short hair suited him better; she had no issues. And Michael, Michael's reaction was delightful: his pupils contracted, his face pale to the extreme. He looked like he had seen a ghost, the ghost of his nightmares. They were identical, exactly identical. Michael's paranoia would reach its limit now, just thinking he was trying to replace him. He didn't need to poison him; he would destroy himself.

—The pill results are in. There are some isolated cases we need to review, Mich said, focused on his work as if nothing had happened. 

—Sure —Michael replied with total composure, pretending stability.

They worked side by side, each at their station, talking about their work and tests, using the equipment, ignoring the palpable tension between them. Michael, in the lab's silence, reviewed every interaction, every word, looking for signs of a hidden plan. Paranoia had become his constant companion, feeding on every suspicion, whispering dark possibilities that took over his mind. Mich knew it; that was all he needed to know.

—I've noticed you spend a lot of time near our great-grandfather's lab, Michael said, pretending to be unconcerned. 

—Merely a renewed interest in past mysteries. Nothing that should worry you... unless you have reasons to be, Mich replied. 

—No, of course not. Sometimes, science requires difficult decisions. Don't you think so, Mich? After all, our ancestors were despicable villains who ended countless valuable lives, and thanks to them, humanity can be saved. 

—Of course, but that never justifies their atrocities. 

—No, it doesn't justify them, but without them, we wouldn't be where we are today. We wouldn't even exist, you and me. 

—What's bothering you, Michael? What's your real question? Do you fear becoming a villain too? 

—No, I wouldn't fear that. Moral dilemmas never kept me awake, to be honest. They were just fears I learned from my parents. Now that I know the truth, that I'm also a clone, I don't feel any more or less human. 

—You're still you, or me. 

—That's the only thing that worries me, that you are me. Michael couldn't stand it any longer; he had to end it now.

Mich looked up, his expression calm in contrast to Michael's agitation, who quickly moved towards the reagent shelf. His steps were firm and determined. Mich, anticipating his intentions, closed his notebook and stood up with agility. Just as Michael reached for a bottle of sodium acetate, Mich lunged at him. Michael turned, the bottle in hand, and threw it to the ground, away from both of them.

The impact not only shattered the glass but also unleashed a small but impressive exothermic explosion, releasing a cloud of white smoke and sudden heat.

—Seriously, Michael? Could you be more dramatic? 

—Mich dodged to the left, avoiding the smoke, and crouched under a workbench to grab a fire extinguisher. 

—Me, dramatic? You tried to poison my tea! I feel you watching me from a distance, calculating, thinking about how to kill me! 

—Michael, coughing from the smoke, recovered and moved towards Mich with determination—. Dramatic, you son of a bitch! —he shouted, lunging under the table. 

—So it was true? You planned to kill me all this time? 

—You're the one who hasn't stopped looking at me like I'm about to stab you in the back!

Mich, holding the extinguisher, waited until Michael was close enough and then released a stream of carbon dioxide foam. The white cloud engulfed Michael, leaving him slipping on the now slippery floor.

—Ah, CO2! Cold and efficient, Mich commented, relaxed, as Michael struggled to keep his balance.

Michael, soaked and cold, got up with difficulty.

—This isn't over, Mich.

Mich nodded, adjusting his lab coat like a general realigning his uniform.

—Science never ends, Michael. It never will.

Mich and Michael, reflected in each other in a mirror fractured by their own hands, were stranded in time. They couldn't hear or feel, only focused on the other's next move.

Michael had turned a spectrophotometer into a low-power laser, trying to blind Mich or at least distract him enough to gain an advantage. Using it was effective; Mich didn't expect it. Feeling a heavy weight on top, Michael had him trapped, his neck squeezed by the lab cables. Mich clumsily defended himself, and Michael clumsily strangled him. In a desperate kick, Mich knocked over a table of chemicals that spilled all over the lab. Both suffered burns from what they thought was spilled acid.

Amid screams and pulls, the cables and pipettes lay broken all over. Mich began to lose consciousness, and Michael became the people he had hated all his life. With his burning hands gripping the cable, and his mind lost in madness, he heard a voice in his head that brought him back to humanity for a second.

—I'm back, Miches! —Sophie said through the communicator, her voice sweet and happy.

What was he doing? Was all this chaos really necessary? Couldn't they pretend to be brothers and share the credit? Couldn't they talk it out? Why did that damn paranoia drive him to madness?

He loosened his grip, and Mich, engulfed in pain, breathed and regained consciousness. Michael extended his hand to help him up. Mich hesitated but extended his hand to accept the truce.

The lab exploded.