Clone

Chapter 70 - Clone

The side door of the warehouse opened slowly, making only a faint metallic sound as the clone slipped inside. It paused for a moment and looked across the large open floor. The warehouse was mostly empty, with old equipment pushed against the walls and several tall windows letting weak morning light spill across the concrete. Dust floated through the beams of sunlight, and the only sound was the low hum of the building and the occasional creak of metal somewhere above.

A few meters ahead, Sam stood with his back turned toward the entrance. He was still wearing the same joggers he had worn during his run, and the dark patches of sweat around his shirt showed that he had not been resting for long. He stood casually in the middle of the warehouse, completely unaware of the figure that had entered behind him.

Outside the window, Mike kept his eyes fixed on the clone. His hand rested on the mouse, and every small movement of his fingers translated into a movement from the body inside. He carefully guided the clone forward, keeping its steps slow and natural. He did not want Sam to hear anything unusual. The last thing he needed was for Sam to turn around before he was ready.

The connection between them felt steady. Mike could feel the clone responding exactly as he wanted. He moved it another step closer, then another, watching Sam's back through the window.

Then Sam suddenly turned around. His eyes immediately landed on the figure standing in the middle of the warehouse.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Sam's face tightened with confusion. His eyes moved over the clone from head to toe, as if trying to understand how someone had appeared inside the warehouse without him hearing a thing.

"What the fuck? Who are you?" he shouted.

His voice echoed through the empty building, bouncing off the concrete walls.

The clone remained silent.

Sam took a step forward, his confusion quickly turning into suspicion. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded again. "Why are you not saying anything?"

Mike watched him through the window and tightened his grip around the mouse. He had been waiting for this moment.

His finger pressed the left button.

Inside the warehouse, the clone changed its stance immediately. Its feet moved apart, its knees bent slightly, and both hands came up to protect its face. Its chin lowered while its weight shifted onto the balls of its feet.

Sam saw the change.

He did not wait for the clone to make the first move.

He rushed forward.

His first jab came straight toward the clone's face, fast enough that an ordinary person might not have even seen it coming. The clone raised its arm just in time, and Sam's fist crashed against the guard with a sharp smack.

"Who are you, bitch?" Sam shouted as he pulled his hand back. "Why are you not speaking?"

He threw another punch.

Mike moved the mouse.

The clone slipped its head to the side, allowing the punch to pass just beside its cheek. Mike immediately shifted its weight and sent a short counter toward Sam's face.

The punch connected with the side of Sam's jaw. Sam's head snapped slightly to the side, and he took a step backward.

Mike's eyes widened for a moment. He had landed the hit cleanly.

But Sam recovered almost immediately.

There was no hesitation in his movements. He adjusted his stance and came forward again. Mike moved the clone backward, trying to keep distance between them, but Sam followed without giving it much room.

The clone threw another combination. Mike controlled every movement carefully, changing its angle and shifting its weight whenever Sam attacked. The movements were clean and precise, almost like watching someone play a fighting game with perfect timing.

But Sam was not an easy opponent.

He had spent years learning how to read movements like these.

When Mike lowered the clone's guard, Sam immediately attacked the opening. When Mike tried to move around him, Sam stepped sideways and cut off the angle. When the clone tried to create distance, Sam followed and forced it back toward the center of the warehouse.

Mike changed the clone's stance again.

Sam noticed.

He threw a quick punch toward its body, followed by a hook toward its head. The clone blocked the first attack and moved away from the second, but Sam was already closing the distance again.

Mike's fingers moved faster. The clone stepped to the side and tried to counter.

Sam ducked under the punch.

He was getting used to it. Mike could see it happening.

At first, Sam had been reacting to the clone's movements. Now he was beginning to predict them.

Mike tried a wider angle, hoping to catch him off guard.

Sam immediately stepped across and closed it.

The clone attacked again.

Sam blocked.

Another punch came.

Sam slipped it.

The clone tried to retreat.

Sam followed.

Mike clenched his jaw.

The problem was not the controls. The problem was the clone itself.

It had the same strength and speed that Mike possessed. No matter how perfectly Mike controlled it, he could not make it stronger than himself. He could make it move more efficiently, but he could not give it abilities that he did not have.

And Sam was simply better.

Sam suddenly stepped inside the clone's guard.

Mike reacted quickly and tried to pull the clone backward, but Sam's hand shot forward and caught its wrist.

Mike moved the mouse sharply.

The clone tried to pull away. Sam twisted its wrist.

The clone's body turned with the movement, and before Mike could recover, Sam stepped across and used its momentum against it.

The clone was thrown to the ground. Its back slammed against the concrete with a heavy crack.

Mike's eyes widened.

Sam immediately followed it down. He climbed on top of the clone and began throwing punches.

The first one struck the clone's raised forearm. The second hit its shoulder. The third slipped through and caught the side of its head.

Mike frantically moved the mouse.

The clone tried to protect itself, raising its arms and turning its head away from the blows, but there was no room for it to escape.

Sam kept punching.

"What the fuck are you?" he demanded between strikes.

Another punch crashed down.

"Who sent you?"

Another.

"Why won't you fucking talk?"

The clone's movements became slower.

Mike stared at the screen, trying to find an opening. He moved the mouse again, attempting to make the clone shift its weight and escape from underneath Sam.

Nothing happened.

Sam had pinned it too tightly. Mike looked through the window.

Sam was completely focused on the clone. He had not noticed Mike.

That was enough.

Mike released the mouse.

He quickly looked around the area beside him until his eyes landed on the metal bucket he had found earlier near the loading dock.

He grabbed it and ran toward the warehouse door. Inside, Sam continued hitting the clone.

Then the body beneath him stopped moving.

Sam threw another punch, but this time there was no attempt to block it.

He paused.

His chest rose and fell heavily as he stared down at the figure.

The clone's arms had fallen to its sides.

Its head rested against the concrete.

It did not move.

Sam frowned.

He waited for a reaction.

There was none.

He slowly pulled himself off the clone and crouched beside it.

"Hey."

The figure remained completely still.

Sam's expression hardened.

Something felt wrong.

He reached down and grabbed the edge of the handkerchief covering the lower half of the clone's face. He pulled it away slowly, expecting to find the face of a stranger.

Instead, he saw Mike.

Sam froze.

His fingers remained wrapped around the handkerchief.

For several seconds, he simply stared at the face beneath him.

It was unmistakable.

The same face he had seen countless times.

Mike.

Sam's mouth opened slightly.

"What the..."

Before he could finish the sentence, something heavy slammed into the back of his head.

The impact made a deep metallic boom. Sam's body lurched forward.

His vision blurred instantly, and his hands reached toward the floor to keep himself from falling. A sharp ringing filled his ears as he struggled to understand what had just happened.

He turned around.

Mike stood behind him. The metal bucket was still in his hand.

Sam stared at him.

Then his eyes dropped toward the body lying on the floor.

His face changed. He looked back at the man standing in front of him.

Then at the body.

Then back again.

Two Mikes.

One was standing.

One was lying unconscious on the concrete.

Sam's breathing became uneven.

His mind seemed unable to accept what his eyes were showing him. The face was the same. The body was the same. Even the clothes looked the same.

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