Kieran's pulse pounded in his ears. His body was still catching up, his nervous system struggling to process the weight of what had just happened. His memories had flooded back—but they were still fragmented. Some sharp as a blade, others slipping like sand through his fingers.
Dr. Calloway.
Kieran recognized him. Not just in a vague, I've-seen-this-man-before way.
No.
It was deeper. Personal.
This was the man who had reset him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Calloway stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back, the very picture of calm control. "I was hoping this day wouldn't come," he mused. "But I suppose inevitability is a difficult thing to escape."
Kieran's wrists strained against the steel restraints.
They didn't budge.
He forced his breathing to steady, pushing past the disorientation. "You knew I'd wake up." His voice came out rougher than he expected.
Calloway gave a small, almost indulgent nod. "Of course." He tilted his head, studying Kieran like a failed experiment. "Though I will admit, you lasted longer than the others."
Kieran's gut twisted.
The others.
How many times had this played out before?
"How long?" His voice was tight. "How many times have you reset me?"
Calloway's lips quirked, as if debating whether or not to answer. Then he sighed. "That depends on how you define 'you.'"
A chill crawled down Kieran's spine. "What the hell does that mean?"
Calloway took another step forward. The hum of unseen machines pulsed through the walls, steady, rhythmic. Like a heartbeat.
"Tell me, Kieran," he said. "How do you define identity?"
Kieran didn't answer.
Calloway continued. "Is it memory? Consciousness? A collection of experiences? Or is it something more… fundamental?"
He walked slowly, circling Kieran like a predator.
"You assume you've been reset dozens of times. That each version of you was simply wiped and rewritten." He gave a slight shake of his head. "But that's not entirely accurate."
Kieran clenched his jaw. "Then enlighten me."
Calloway smiled. "We didn't just erase you. We replaced you."
Silence.
The words sank in like a slow-acting poison.
Kieran's breath hitched. "What?"
Calloway stopped in front of him, his gaze sharp. Waiting for Kieran to put the pieces together.
"You weren't just reset, Kieran." His voice was soft now, almost sympathetic. "You were copied."
Kieran's mind fractured—again.
Flashes.
A machine.
A cold, sterile lab.
A body on a table—his body.
A voice, distant, clinical: "Begin the overwrite."
A life that wasn't his, yet was.
His stomach lurched. "You're telling me… I'm not even real?"
Calloway let out a quiet chuckle. "Oh, you're real enough," he said. "But you're not the first."
Kieran's hands curled into fists. "How many?"
Calloway met his gaze. And for the first time, he answered honestly.
"Seventy-three."
A cold wave of nausea rolled through Kieran's body.
Seventy-three.
He wasn't just some reset soldier with erased memories.
He was the seventy-third version of himself.
The original Kieran?
Long gone.
A part of him wanted to reject it. To deny it outright. But deep down, in the tangled wreckage of his returning memories, he knew it was true.
He had felt it—the disconnect.
That sensation that something wasn't right inside him. The flickers. The glitches. The way his memories never fully aligned.
He wasn't a man who had lost his past.
He was a copy searching for something he never truly had.
His breath came out unsteady. His vision blurred for a moment, and he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to stay present.
When he opened them, Calloway was still there. Still watching.
Waiting.
For what? For Kieran to break? To fall apart under the weight of this truth?
Kieran swallowed down the rising storm in his chest and forced his voice to stay even. "Why?"
Calloway clasped his hands behind his back. "Because you were useful."
That single sentence was so casual, so dismissive, that something inside Kieran snapped.
His muscles coiled, rage surging through him like fire.
"You used me?" His voice was low, venomous.
Calloway exhaled, almost as if he pitied him. "We needed you. Your original self—he figured out too much. He tried to destroy everything. We couldn't allow that. But we couldn't just erase you, either."
He gestured around them. "So, we did what we do best. We adapted."
Kieran's jaw locked. "You cloned me."
Calloway's gaze didn't waver. "We perfected you."
Kieran yanked at the restraints again, harder this time. His anger sharpened him, steadied him.
Calloway let out a soft sigh. "You're struggling with this, I understand. But does it really change anything?"
Kieran laughed. A cold, bitter sound. "You just told me I'm nothing more than a copy of a copy. And you think that doesn't change anything?"
Calloway tilted his head. "You're missing the point. You may not be the first Kieran, but tell me this—"
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering.
"Does that make you any less real?"
Kieran's breath caught in his throat.
The question burrowed into his mind like a splinter.
He had spent so long trying to remember—trying to find out who he was. But now, with the answer staring him in the face, another thought rose from the depths.
If he wasn't the original… did it even matter?
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
It didn't matter.
Because right now—**this moment—**he was here.
He was real.
And he was done playing their game.
Kieran's body tensed. His mind sharpened. The restraints were strong—but not indestructible. He just needed the right moment.
Calloway smiled. "You're thinking of trying something, aren't you?"
Kieran didn't answer.
Because he didn't need to.
Because he wasn't the first.
But he damn well was going to be the last.