Keon’s back slammed into the brick wall, bones cracking under the pressure as a groan escaped his lips. He bit the inside of his cheek on impact, the taste of iron spreading out onto his tongue. His chest struggled to take in any air as his vision blurred momentarily. Behind him, his fingers traced the rough texture of the stone, desperately searching for a grip to hold himself up.

Blood trickled out of his mouth, largely ignored as he glared up at the individual towering over him. The stranger’s black eyes appeared to be swirling in the light, gazing back at him with determination. Something Keon didn’t have and didn’t understand. Although impossible to know who this man was, he got the feeling they had met before. Lately, the resistance factions had become more insistent in their attempts to recruit him, probably because of the reputation of his current master.

One can try to avoid the hell that is man, but one cannot escape their own fate.

Keon pushed himself up from the wall. “For the last time, I don’t give a shit about your cause, asshole.”

He stood up straighter despite the ache surging up his spine. He prayed nothing had broken, hoping he wouldn’t vomit his guts out and show weakness in front of the man before him.

The guy cocked an eyebrow but did not advance. “You should. This affects you just as much as it does me. You and I, we’re the same.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Keon would never associate himself with the likes of them. With how short their lives already are, what’s the point of resisting the masses for an even shorter one? People are disappeared for smaller infractions.

Since moving to the city’s edge last year, local gangs and resistance factions eager to enlist him had persistently hounded him in the streets. Feeling the law’s grip tighten, it was natural that they would retaliate, dedicating all their energy to the struggle. Despite that, he had absolutely no desire to be involved.

“You know what this makes you? A traitor to your own kind.” The words sounded muffled behind his black mask. Too scared to show his face.

Uncontrollable anger rushed through Keon at those carelessly thrown-out words, embarrassment heating his face. “Fuck you.”

He spat the remaining blood out next to him before shoving his way past the resistance member. Though he didn’t get far, as the guy grabbed his shoulder and dug his fingers in, eliciting a slight moan from Keon. His teeth ground together, eyes briefly shut in pain.

Faint words were then whispered into his ear. “We won’t give up.”

“And neither will I,” said Keon. The pain in shoulder was becoming too much to bear, but fuck if he would show it. “Now let me go!”

He pushed the guy away with all the strength he could muster, a sigh of relief escaping him as the pain started to numb. Without looking back, limp and all, he staggered away while feeling the stranger’s eyes on him until he was out of sight.

The fact that anyone would ask him to bear arms for their cause seemed utterly nonsensical; the very thought felt alien and unsettling. Did no one realize the position he was in, or who would get in trouble if he opened his mouth either way?

Keon sought to fade into the background and remain buried in the shadows, making himself as unnoticeable as possible. It was not the government’s goal to allow clones any sort of real freedom or purpose, so why would he get involved?

A violent coughing fit hit him just then, and pain shot through his ribs like a knife. He cursed his frail body wracked with pain more in that moment than any other.

Keon’s whole life he had let others push him around. When words became powerless, what hope could he cling to? He couldn’t help but exhale.

Keon glanced over his shoulder one last time before continuing on his way to his original destination—home.

Although one final thought lingered in his mind, words that someone had told him years ago, although more had been added to the original meaning over time. It was something these resistance groups didn’t seem to comprehend.

A clone has no voice, and if they did, they were silenced.