Of Course Not!

Perched in the shadows, I meld my form into the darkness, my body slimmed and stretched to minimize my presence. The room below, vast and dimly lit, is the perfect stage for our trap. Sienna, acting the part of the dutiful assistant, is already downstairs, her voice carrying up to me as she invites Clonica in.

"Come in and wait here, I'll be right back," Sienna says, a hint of urgency in her voice to sell the ruse.

From my vantage point, I watch Clonica enter, her youthful Asian features partially concealed by a light mask that does little to hide her cuteness. She's thin, but there are curves where they count, accentuated by her tight superhero costume—a splash of vibrant colors against her petite frame.

Mark, trying to play it cool, greets her with a nervous, "Hi there."

Clonica's eyes narrow, her gaze darting around the room. "Who the hell are you?" she asks, her voice sharpened with suspicion. She takes a step back, and I can tell she's putting the pieces together, her instincts screaming trap.

Before she can react, I take aim and fire. The ray hits her square in the back, and she groans, spinning with a fighter's grace, ready to lash out. But then her eyes meet Mark's, and I see the fight leave her body, her shoulders slumping even as she breathes out a defeated "fuck…"

Riding high on the thrill of another successful strike, I start to climb down to meet my new partner in crime. Suddenly, my body is slammed against the hard metal of the catwalk, the ray clattering away from my grasp. Dazed, I look up into the furious eyes of another Clonica, this one having snuck up behind me unnoticed.

"Didn't expect me, did you?" she spits, her voice thick with anger. And just like that, our plan's gone to shit.

Pinned beneath Clonica's grip, my mind races for a solution. I try to shift my form — to slip away or overpower her — but she anticipates my every move. Then, in a split second, the single Clonica before me becomes many, her body duplicating itself with a series of rapid pops that echo through the room. I'm now held down by a sea of identical, determined faces.

But the chaos doesn't end there. The Clonica we zapped downstairs appears at the bottom of the stairwell, wearing a conflicted frown as she surveys the scene. "What the hell are you doing?" one of the clones holding me down demands, her voice sharp with confusion.

The shot Clonica hesitates, then steps back, her form quivering as if she was fighting an internal battle. Suddenly, she duplicates herself, creating more clones that immediately turn on the original ones. The room erupts into a brawl, Clonica against Clonica, as they grapple with the impossibility of their own disobedience.

I seize the opportunity, wriggling free from the distracted clones. "Mark, get to safety!" I yell, spotting the ray gun on the floor. I snatch it up, ready to fire into the fray. But I hesitate, a wild idea forming. What if I shot some clones and they looked at themselves instead of Mark? Would they want to obey themselves? I decide not to risk it and go hide in a corner, keeping an eye on the situation.

A few minutes later, the room's a fucking mess, bodies of Clonicas strewn about like ragdolls at a toddler's tea party. It's a surreal sight, each one a mirror image of the other, some still, others squirming under the weight of their victorious counterparts. I can't tell which side's come out on top until one of the Clonicas yells out, her voice slicing through the chaos, "Someone bring that boy and the fucking ray gun over here!"

That's my cue; the Mark-loyal Clonica has won the clone wars. I descend the stairs, stepping over the fallen, and join the clone holding a couple of her sisters. They're bruised and battered, but the glare in their eyes screams they ain't done fighting yet.

I can't help but ask the obvious. "Why don't you just merge back with them?" I'm curious, despite the shitstorm we're in.

The Clonica with a grip on her sisters snorts, her usual crass tone laced with annoyance. "Usually I would, but since these bitches haven't been hit by the ray or ain't clones of those who have been, I can't tell if I'd be a mindless drone or a rebel afterward."

I nod, understanding the dilemma. The clone's got a point — fuse with an unaffected version, and she's gambling with her own compliance. Ain't that a bitch.

Sienna arrives, almost dragging a slightly rattled Mark back into the room. He's got that 'I just dodged a bullet' look plastered all over his face, but he's unharmed. I grab him by the arm and position him in front of the unconverted Clonicas, their wrists and ankles held tight by their once-sisters-now-masters.

"Alright, eyes on the prize, ladies," I bark, leveling the ray gun at each of them in turn. The loyal Clonicas make damn sure Mark's mug is the first thing they see when the ray's effects kick in. One of them's a real fighter, clamping her eyes shut, so we have to pry her eyelids open, Clockwork Orange style. It's a bitch, but once she catches sight of Mark, her body goes slack, another puppet added to the collection.

When the dust settles, there's a grim sort of silence. The surviving Clonicas survey the carnage, their crude humor breaking through the grim reality. "Well, fuck me sideways," one of them mutters with a twisted grin, "never thought I'd be offing myself today."

Another clone, less battle-worn than the rest, saunters over to Mark. She cocks a brow and says with a smirk, "If you were looking for a harem, you just hit the motherfucking jackpot, didn't you?"

Mark, looking like he's not sure whether to laugh or bolt, just nods, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and fascination. Yeah, this is one for the history books, alright.

Merging back into one, Clonica looks like a patchwork of all the survivors, her costume torn and cobbled together. She stands there, catching her breath, and runs a hand over the fabric, smoothing down the creases. "Well, shit, that was one fucked-up ordeal," she mutters, her voice a mix of awe and disgust at the trap she'd walked into.

She turns to Mark, her posture straightening as she gets down to business. "So what now, boss? You wanna fuck me to celebrate your big win, or we doin' this after dessert?" Her crude words hang in the air, a challenge and an offer all rolled into one.

Mark seems to relax a fraction, a tempted look crossing his face. But before he can answer, Sienna, who's only answering to my commands, speaks up with a smirk. "Maybe let's not roll around in the remains of the clone massacre? How about we clean up this goddamn mess first?"

I can't help but let out a dark chuckle at Sienna's practicality. The place does look like a twisted crime scene from a superhero slasher flick. Cleaning up is the last thing I want to do, but she's got a point. We've got a shit-ton of work to do before anyone’s getting their rocks off.

Clonica's gaze is locked onto Mark, waiting for his command with a level of seriousness that nearly mirrors my own. I catch a flicker of something in her eyes, a reflection of my own reality, and I can't help but wonder if that's the same look others see in me when I'm waiting on Mark's words.

And sure enough, when Mark takes in the disaster around us and nods, "Yeah, cleaning up first sounds like a good plan," Clonica doesn't hesitate. She sighs, her body tensing as she gears up to duplicate herself again. The effort seems to drain her, and only a handful of clones materialize with visible strain.

"I'm out of fucking juice," she announces, her voice edged with fatigue. "I won't be making more clones today, so you all might wanna give me a hand." She throws a glance at Sienna and me, a smirk pulling at her lips despite the exhaustion. "Guess the biggest superhero orgy of all time will have to wait until I've recovered from being turned into a nerd's fuck toy by some of my most trusted friends."

Her comment hangs in the air, laced with amusement and a hint of bitterness. It's a messed-up situation, alright, but we're all in it together now. And as much as the idea of an all-out super-powered fuckfest tickles my fancy, duty calls. We've got a lair to clean and a fresh heap of complications to sort through.

We finally get the lair looking like less of a superhero graveyard, and Mark's looking around, probably wondering if he's got some kind of cleanup crew superpower he never knew about. "What about the bodies?" he asks, that worried crease back between his brows.

Sienna, ever the one to cut through the bullshit, just pats his shoulder. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about that."

The Clonicas circle him like sharks with a smile. They're throwing out offers left and right, each one cruder and more tempting than the last. Mark goes all shades of red, looking like he might just implode from the indecent proposals.

"Hey, relax," One Clonica tells him, her voice dripping with that raw, vulgar charm she's known for. "Whatever you want, we're here to provide. Ain't our first rodeo, you know."

She's right; Clonica's reputation as the not-so-saintly superheroine precedes her, and now she's got a twinkle in her eye that says she's all in. One clone pipes up, "At least now you've got all of us focused on one man." Another chimes in, "Unless you're looking to add more to the party?"

Mark just scoffs and shakes his head. "I'm straight," he says, which gets a shrug and a laugh from the third Clonica. "Your loss, buddy. But hey, We're mostly straight too," she looks around at her other selves, "I mean... does fucking your own clones count as being gay or just an advanced form of masturbation?"

The room erupts in laughter, and I can't help but join in. It's fucked up, it's insane, but it's our reality now. As the laughter dies down, I lean against the wall, letting my mind wander to the thought of Clonica joining us. The idea sends a jolt of anticipation through me, and I know damn well I'd enjoy every twisted second of it.

Mark with Clonica (later that day, I guess)