The words are stark and bloodless, but Tommy knows what it means. This Evan Buckley, cloned from cells from its donors for whatever reason, was unable to fulfill its function; returning it to Manufacturer means it will be terminated, the cells repurposed as feed or maybe as mulch.
Not an "it", Kinard. A "he". A "him".
Not just a cloned product. A person. That will be murdered and chopped into bloody bits.
It has taken Tommy several years to deprogram himself from the language used by the Firm, but now and again he slips into old patterns, even though he's no longer working for the Firm.
Sal drops into the seat next to Tommy. "Found our next rescue?"
Tommy points to the waybill.
"Sweet. Let's go steal us a clone." Sal claps him on his shoulder and squeezes.
It isn't difficult to lift a defective clone. It is near impossible to steal a new clone; the security at the warehouses rival the battalion armory down at Glint Street 77. But one that's returned and marked for destruction? No one looks at it closely enough.
Him. No one looks at him.
Tommy follows Sal into the dispatch center, both of them fully geared up, complete with the oh-so-helpful helmet covering their faces and gloving their hands.
The defective product is in his assigned room, curled up in the corner. It is a small room, so it is basically all corners.
"Up you get," Sal orders, snapping out the stun baton. "Defective product Evan Buckley."
Evan Buckley unfurls from his protective roll and struggles to his feet. His eyes are bloodshot and the skin around them puffy and pink, the tear stains on his face evident in his pallor. He is tall, as tall as Tommy, and his long legs almost buckle as he straightens.
"I'm sorry," Evan croaks. "I tried. I don't know why I didn't work."
Tommy has to stop himself from reaching out to take the clone's hand to comfort him. "Come along. We need to take you back."
"Will it hurt?" Evan asks quietly. He sounds so much like a child.
In terms of the actual number of years, Evan Buckley is a child. Less than two years of existence. Everything he knows was planted into his head with a chip. It will be several more years before he is considered a legal human being.
But he knows enough to be afraid.
Tommy clears his throat. "No," he lies.
Sal prods the clone. "Come on, don't make me use this thing. This thing will hurt you."
Evan Buckley hugs himself and comes over to them to be cuffed to Tommy. He is so withdrawn and docile that Tommy aches to assure him and tell him that he'll be okay.
"Help me pass a message?" Evan's eyes are very blue. "To my parents."
They're not your parents, Tommy wants to say. They're heartless bastards who placed an order for you and are returning you like you're a toy. Like you don't feel.
"What do you want to tell them?" is what comes out if his mouth.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save Daniel. I really tried."
Sal hurries them along to the waiting van. The clone tenses as he is dragged forward, but Sal pushes him into the van, locks the door, and gets into the passenger seat.
"Take us home, Jeeves," Sal tells Howie. "Got a clone to re-home."
Tommy unshackles Evan from himself, and the clone stares at him in astonishment. The astonishment gives way to... shyness? when Tommy removes the helmet and gloves.
"Hey," says Tommy, finally reaching out to take Evan's hand and squeezing. The clone squeezes back, his hand warm and his grip strong. "Don't be scared. We're not taking you to the Manufacturer. You're safe with us, I promise. You're leaving the city with us."
"Leaving? How?"
Howie cackles from the front. "You won't like the next part of our escape, kid. But the great thing is, you'll be alive to bitch about it!"
The old school lack of transparency on tumblr is amazing because you assume the people you follow must all be equivalent to you and then you see someone write “I brought my youngest to college today” and someone else write “my mom wouldn’t let me listen to Ariana Grande when I was a kid” and then your head explodes
honestly one of the best things we can do for ourselves is realize that people of different ages than us can still be the same kind of person as us. it's humbling and it gives everyone involved a sense of continuity, and it busts those stupid generational stereotypes media is so fond of.
theartofmadeline
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