The justification for why it was important for them to have new blood was straightforward enough. Fierce losses over the years, war attrition, general demoralization that came with any prolonged conflict. The truth was self evident. Their company would either intake more soldiers or die to stagnation.

Stagnation meant death today, unlike the days of the yesteryear.

The progression of that logic made sense to him as well. If there are no willing recruits simply remove willingness from the equation. If manpower is limited simply remove man from the picture.

Their commander had laughed when the idea was presented years ago at a senate hearing. He had said that all the past was leading up to this very moment. He was always a war hawk, bloodthirsty to a fault.

Cloning technology.

Few could replicate it. Far fewer still after the Brain Drain, but it still worked.

All they needed were willing donors of blood and bone marrow.

Willing soldiers grown from a can, ready to fight a war to the end of the earth.

Yet what difference did it make, a bomb dropped cannot be un-dropped. A building razed a field devastated. Destruction had no rewind mechanism. A big enough war, a large enough conflict. A world that will never be, not like it used to.

What did the world need for soldiers when there was no more world to begin with. Not anymore.

The event was prophesied for generations as 'Armageddon', and it occurred on the 15th of march just this year, a couple days ago.

And yet few things changed immediately for the private military company that he was employed in.

The sound of water hitting the ceramic sink that was installed near the door roused him from his stupor. The little medical bay came back to the forefront of his consciousness. The figure of 'Serge', washing his hands with his back turned. Everybody called him that, even if it was not his real rank.

"This," he spoke without prompt clarification. "Why do we do this anymore. There isn't any point"

His voice sounded beaten even to his own ears, and as he said it he regretted the tone. It is no brave thing to do to shove your weight onto others. Especially when they had their own.

"We are not in a position to choose, so we act."

The voice of the man emerged from the turned figure. Cool and steady as anytime he had heard the man speak. He was truly an excellent actor. Yet the truth of things could be penetrated with a simple observation.

He had already washed his hands trice now.

Yet he would say nothing to him. Not directly. The man himself was a rock for many soldiers of the platoon. Some of which had died. Others quit. Some were even still alive .

Unlike any other city.

Few times that the 'Serge' had spoken about his life he smiled, a gesture he had previously had not attributed to the older man. He spoke of his wife, him fixing the house up for her when she took a great big fall. His daughter who was going to an expensive collage and finding it a den of nepo-babies and slimy politicians. The man smiled whenever he spoke of them.

Now he wondered if the man ever would, again.

He was lucky enough for the fact that he was basically an orphan, his mother died long ago, and of natural causes. His father never materialized at his birth. So he had little to grieve over after Armageddon.

So he dared not say a single word to the older man as he still went through the motion of washing his hands.

"We are behind enemy lines," The voice of the older man continued. "We have nowhere left to return to, no way home. This..."

He gestured limply with his hand, spraying droplets of water across the tiled wall and floor.

"This is all that we have left," He finished.

"The people are innocent," He found himself saying, though he didn't know if he should have or not just a second later.

"Some are, the civilians. The others are not."

Stoked by his previous comment he continued.

"So we dedicate our lives to revenge, blow over what the governments missed?"

The older man leaned forward and rested some of his weight on the ceramic basin. James himself had felt instantly guilty.

"So," the older man responded. "We punish the guilty."

"The guilty are all dead."

"Along with the most of the innocent. Burned. All of them burned in the nuclear flame."

He could not bear making the old man sad again. He felt like a child for an instant as he went back to his brooding. Closing his eyes, he remembered the days of content when he was but a small child, adventuring in the forest, worrying his mother.

He remembered that it was because he wanted to make a family that that he became a soldier. Well to preserve family first, but his desire shifted after his mother died. From enlistment office to this day right now, sitting on a medical bed contemplating the future.

Yet they still did have future. It was not robbed from them completely.

The last city in the world hosted them, and many others. The world could be rebuild, if only you had the will for it. His dream was not extinguished, not truly.

"I remember why I joined this company, and it was not to punish the wicked," He said out loud, tasting the words more than fully believing them. "We are still alive, are we not."

The noise of running water stopped. A sound of rustling cloth. As he opened his eyes he saw the figure of Serge turning around, his eyes finding his own.

"We are, we ought to live it too. Listen James."

The tone of the man caught his off guard.

"Yes?"

"I knew for a long time now that you were trying to quit. Oh don't look at me like that we aren't conscripted. I needed to bring your medical material to the main man himself. So how about this."

He picked up the small case that lie on the floor next to his legs, and with two swift steps go in front and placed them in the sitting man's lap.

"You bring this to him. State your case, and I am sure he will understand."

----------------------------------------

His mind set on honorable discharge, he gladly took on the offer of his superior officer.

The medical room was connected by a longer hallway to a large, almost cavernous hall that housed twenty seven machines that were used for the purposes of creating artificial human beings. The machines were suspended from the ceiling, a sturdy piece of metal along which ran electrical and liquid cables. Presumably feeding the machines the necessary materials and fuel for the process.

It was in this room that their commander had secluded himself after yesterday.

Conventionally the reason for why a person might seclude himself after such a horrendous tragedy as the near extinction of the human race would be obvious. Not so much for the old dog himself. James had seen that man whether any and every tragedy and crisis with an air of detached impatience. Like the world itself was inconveniencing him slightly and he had work to do.

It was far more likely that he was crafting a plan of some sort.

Encouraging this idea, was the fact they were mandated to 'donate' their biological samples for testing. To immediately test for any radioactive poisoning.

It was possible that he was in the minority of the people who connected the dots of their sudden retreat to 'safe hiding spot' until the most recent tragedy is weathered, and their sudden health test.

Their situation was obvious to him, yet he resigned in a Private military company. Obedience and lack of questioning were more desirable traits than snooping and curiosity.

Though no skin off his nose, it wouldn't even be the first time clones were used in warfare.

It was in the mood of contemplation that he arrived at the hall.

"Sir."

He received no response.

"I've brought my blood samples sir, as requested."

"I ordered Stevens to bring any."

It took him a second to connect The first name 'Stevens' with the figure of Segre, as everyone used that name instead.

"I had a matter to bring up, sir. He gave it to me."

The old dog glanced at him over his shoulder, the sound of keys typing paused for a second then resumed, and only then did his head straighten back.

"Speak."

"Sir. What are we fighting for anymore?"

The sound of typing continued without pause, only stopping for the older bearded man to grab a hold of the mouse and select something else on the screen. James cringed at the start of his query. He had meant to say that HE had nothing to fight for anymore, but the meaning ran away from him as he said it.

"The world, sir, it..."

But he was interrupted.

"You mean to say: That with the likely death of majority of civilians there is no one left to fight for."

"Yes, sir," He responded, and now he only had to say that he himself was looking at settling down, even with the death of most of the world.

"Then we fight for their memory."

The meaning had elapsed from him yet again and as he contemplated how to reassert his main desire into the conversation he found that the silence had reigned in over the two of them. The typing of the keyboard was echoing slightly in the very large room.

"But against who, sir?" He found himself asking, even if it did not bear any burden on his desire.

"The enemy responsible for this catastrophe had themselves very many private military companies like our own..." He paused slightly , quite rare for the man and maintained a strange tone of voice even when he continued. "Some theorize that the PMC's in question may possess a remote activation code, or even a dirty bomb directly."

"But sir, that is absurd."

Much was known of the force that called itself 'The Alliance' in the own propaganda. The knowledge of them and their many crimes has not painted them as trusting. Especially to their mercenaries.

"The theory does sound a bit overblown."

It was with the conclusion of his superior officers comment that he realized the rude tone he used in his last statement. His only saving grace being his officers nonpluses reaction and general disinterest in finding him a suitable punishment. This whole affair had gone awry long enough.

"Sir," he began. "Considering the situation, and the circumstances...I mean to sat, one less soldier could not be..."

"Express yourself properly, James!" The man rumbled out. The sounds of typing ceased as the man looked over his shoulder directly into his eyes.

The command, quite contrary, made him feel more at ease. He continued in a calm and slower tone.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"I want out, sir. Out of the mercenary lifestyle."

The older man did not resume his typing. He turned very slowly to face him and leaned against the table somewhat.

"You alluded before that you wouldn't be missed?"

"Yes, sir."

He felt slightly childish that he needed a excuse to be able to quit the company, when membership was quite voluntary. Only the regard of military secrets was mentioned, and half heatedly then.

"That was an incorrect assumption. The quality of the squad would suffer, and consequently the safety of the platoon."

"But sir, aren't we making soldiers right now. Close to thirty of them"

The man clicked his tongue lightly, probably unimpressed he brought the matter up.

"It isn't confirmed how well they would fare. They would need training, and would require logistical demands. They would be useless for a long while."

"Would it be possible for me to be discarded after their training, I wouldn't want to endanger anyone."

His response was peculiar, he muttered a word out, almost talking to himself.

"Expected, might need to demoralize with an example."

"Sir?"

It did not even occur to James that his commander could be talking to him.

It was then that a change flowed over the face of the man, and his entire demeanor changed, Where previously his stance was stiff and his eyes darted out around the room looking for unknown threats, now his eyes lay half shut looking at him kindly. His face changed too, a second after his eyes did his mouth contorted to an almost politician smile. The change bled over into his voice as well.

All this took no more than three seconds to occur. It was then that he spoke.

"Assuming so, what would you even do, we have no civilian connection in the city. I cannot procure employment for you."

"There are bound to be jobs, with supply lines cut."

"But would you not just drift back, military was the only job you ever had. Remind me James, when did you enlist?"

The patient strained smile still stuck to his commander's lips.

"Eighteen sir, discarded from military at twenty three, floated around in security 'till I got into private. You know the rest sir."

"I still remember the joint operation that we scouted you from, that company you were employed in was a right mess."

"Yes sir, I remember," and a tone of longing passed though his lips.

"Why don't you stay for a little while longer, then."

"Sir? I..."

The strangeness of this situation still unnerved him, yet he felt that the veteran did it for good purpose. It must be that the man must be looking to educate him like father to son. The complete falseness of it still brought a terrible weigh to his chest.

"The time that we invested for world peace might be entirely wasted , but we can still have peace in this city."

"But, sir. I want to have a family, and even with the world in this state. I could still..."

The older man looked momentarily annoyed, but the impression passed and was replaced with his fake plastic smile.

"James, this city was one of the worst on the planet before it became the last. With hooligans and gangs , and now enemy PMC's roaming around. The extremist elements of the city would certainly hinder you. With that I will leave the choice up to you. Think this through soldier, I will not accept an immediate answer. "

He understood the worry. It would be a cold day in hell if he let some jumped upped novice to wander the city in these circumstances. Yet, they were no green forestry boy's making cooking and rising tents.

While in the employ as a certified mercenary he took some of the most outrageous risks any human could possibly imagine. Where the military lacked the people, or the permission from the government to invade they were sent. They had raided deep in enemy lines, passed off as civilians, and even bombed a convoy containing an enemy general. All that and more.

Even in these circumstances many of the soldiers would be expected to rough it alone in the urban environment, considering the state of the world.

His commander was most likely worrying for the fate of his men, and the unit efficiency when he tried his best to dissuade him from leaving. He would need to make a solid genuine statement conveying his desire.

"For the longest time I had wanted a wife, sir. hopefully one day that would expand to me having children, too. I always liked taking care of neighbor's children growing up. I... don't know if I can still have it. With the world tree fourths destroyed. But I have to try, sir. I have to."

"You want to become a civilian," He said in a cold voice, though his smile never slipped his face. "There is nothing more in this world that I hate than a civilian."

He had nothing he could say to that.

"I had hoped that your father abandoning you. Your mother dying unfairly to leukemia. Your suffering under incompetents would have cured you of civilian mindset. I was wrong."

"What!?"

The reaction was more similar to an outpouring of air than any coherent word. The words that came out his commander's mouth made no sense to him for several long seconds. Told in that cold voice that he was hearing from him for the first time, but with a sly gentle grin.

None of it made sense to him.

"You were always too stable for your own good, not pliable enough."

"Sir?"

"Do you think you would be allowed to quit one of the PMC's employed by the enemy?"

The whiplash of the topic change, of the change in tone would have startled him any other time. Now he fully embraced it.

"They are evil , Sir! Of course I wouldn't be!"

"Waste," The man muttered. "And we must be more evil than them if we want to win."

"Win!? The war is over sir!"

"It is mealy waiting for a proper continuation. When has war ever truly ceased. Soon it will ignite once more, destined endless war."

"Against who, fought by which side."

"Any that takes up its mantle, war needs no logic, no explanation."

"The war is over, the whole world paid a price for its evil. Our enemy's evil."

"Do you mean to say that the enemy launched the first missile?"

"Of course they did!"

The man simply smiled wider, his eyes locked to his own. With three steps he slowly sauntered over to stand in front of him.

"It was our side that launched the first strike."

"That's impossible."

He vaguely heard heavy breathing emanating from somewhere, but it couldn't be the older man. He was still standing relaxed with a patient smile still on his lip. He couldn't tear his eyes away from him.

When only silence greeted his claim he repeated it.

"That can't be true."

"But it is. The whole fiasco of two months ago wiped out the enemy's satellite and communication's grid. The nuclear strike was planned around that time. It would have succeeded too, were it not for a single complication. The enemy had engineered automatic retaliation. So instead of a few cut off enclaves doubting themselves whether they should fire the payload or not we got, well, this."

He could only see those creased smiling eyes now, so close to his own. One brown, one blue.

"What would have that even accomplished. Even if it succeeded the destruction would have been calamitous."

"It would have won the war... and freed up resources for another war.

"You're insane!"

"No, James," He said in a warm tone for the first time recently, "This has always been the core of my belief."

It was this statement that brought him to action. In one instant he could feel himself grabbing for his pistol, almost as if looking though the eyes of another, then in the next the firearm was wrestled from his grasp and he was one the floor.

His commander's reflexes were faster than he own, but they were more. Almost like they were expected, prepared. In a split second of lucidity his mind theorized that he was provoked into assault.

But his mind could not come up with a motive.

He found himself looking at the metal floor of the walkway, his breath taken from his by a choke hold. He flailed his limb out but it was no use.

One second, followed by another was when he realized that the pressure would not stop.

"A...video." He just managed to spit out, " They...see."

"If you are referring to the recording that your company mates will see, they will observe me defending myself. Will they not? The audio, of course, will be left out of the viewing experience, James."

It was with these words, and a burning lack of oxygen that blackness overtook him. And James Maxwell was no more.

----------------------------------------

"You were made to lead the world by example as a blank slate."

It was the first second of his birth, and he was falling towards a large body of water.

Before he could comprehend anything, his body crashed into the pool. Preprogrammed response, an instinct preinstalled in him, guided him as he pushed against the water with his feet. He realized then that he had clothes by the drag that they created against the water.

Second later he inhaled a mouthful of air, relishing the capability as he steadied himself on the metal.

Above him hung a machine that he emerged from. He knew this past the logical derivation that it created him. The metallic body hung by a spine like piece of metal, that the whole machine was run along. The polished surface shone, and in the canter a circular shape lit by a LED light glared from above. The red glowing circle looked like a great big eye.

"I can speak." He tested his voice for the first time, flexing his hand to the straining point then back. "I can move, also. I am aware of being aware. I am alive."

He looked elsewhere on the ceiling, it was filled with similar machines, all hanging from the ceiling. HE realized that he was near the middle of the room. He looked around curious for what he would find.

Two men were approaching him.

But for him they looked strange. He expected scientists clad in white, long lab coats. He expected anything other than a soldier. And two were slowly making their way to him. Long rifles strapped to their chest and hanging limply. Uniforms were an excess of pockets and halfhearted attempt at concealment with camouflage print. One was walking with a smile waving at him.

He waved back.

These were most likely his creators, he realized, and embedded knowledge spoke to him that he was a clone. An artificial human made for the betterment of the whole. 'A new hope for the world, and perhaps the last'. Echoed in his mind, but he knew the phrase to be referencing 'tabula rasa' more than any catastrophe.

"Hello!"

"Well, Hello, Hello. You are certainly more chipper than the last."

"Should I be more reserved..." His mind searched for synonyms for the word creator, "Pops?"

"Whoa, did you hear what he called me 'Gorgeous'?"

The other man was standing a few paces behind the first, seemingly waiting for the conversation to elapse. The clone understood the name to be 'nickname', and a well deserved one since the man's features were aesthetically pleasing. The second man stared disinterestedly in their direction then said.

"Yes. He thinks you are his mother, Sepia" The man said with a rough, choppy pronunciation.

"Don't worry about him," The first man, sepia, whimpered theatrically. Though the loudness of the action betrayed it humorous intention. " He lost his funny bone in the war."

The man grinned expectantly and only continued when he forced a few chuckles past his lips.

"Though , we don't want to keep the machine waiting. You need to be off for inspection."

The man guided him past the pods and their respective pools with a slow gait. They emerged onto the stairs and then on the metal walkway. It was filled to the brim with people going about their tasks. His guide even conversed with a few people, though they only shared a few sentences until they went back to their task.

Soon they were at the middle of the walkway, where only two people stood in front of a large computer. The others kept their distance. But even those approaching did so with halting step and a quiet word.

His guide, with his hand now on his shoulder slowed his pace, forcing him to do the same.

The two people in this 'clearing' of sort were both striking. They were bearded and older.

The second man, who stood slightly behind the other had a fully white beard, shaped in a goatee. His hair, which was shaved almost to null, was white as well. Only his olive colored face and green eyes brought any contrast to his appearance. The man seemingly waited for the other to act, since he only stared at them quietly.

The other man, though older, did not have graying hair. His was midnight black, with a long black bared to match. Though both were unquestionably in charge they both lacked any obvious weapons. The bearded man took a few more seconds typing on a computer until he turned to address them.

He did not speak then, and only looked briefly at him and then over his shoulder, to 'Sepia' presumably.

"Here boss," the voice of the man came from over his shoulder, "a healthy looking baby boy, just as you requested. Even has a little spunk, 'da bastardo'."

"He is lucid the, insofar that he is reacting to his environment," The man's voice was unusually deep, unlike anything he had heard up to that point. He had noticed then that though one of his blue, the other was brown. Heterochromia his embedded memories supplied, an innocuous condition.

"Oh yea, very reactive, joked around just after he got out of that pool of his." The man put a hand on his shoulder in a gregarious fashion.

"Good." And even to his socially unaware ears that sounded like a dismissal.

"Just one word, if I may?"

He spoke quickly, and the man turned to look at him in the eye. That being the only cue to continue.

"For what purpose was I born, sir? I ask so that I can better accomplish whichever task lies before me." Only a shiver of anxiety crawled up his spine aided by the fact that an arm on his shoulder tightened a little, but the anxiety was gone as soon as he started talking. Indeed, he did not know either the man's name or a proper way to address him he had just called him sir.

"Hmm, you will understand the full scope in time, though until then I will say this. We are at the precipice of the greatest calamity ever to face mankind. You were made to protect that peaceful future that is uncertain. Make no mistake, you were made for war. You will kill in the name of war, and for it you may even die. All in the pursuit of that future." He looked over his shoulder, and nodded to the man. He would not interrupt his dismissal a second time.

They walked a little while off when the man behind him spoke up.

"You sure have some balls on you, kid. The first time I spoke to the old dog," And he said that last part more quietly," I almost pissed myself, but don't spread that around."

"I won't," He looked back at the man to reassure him, but he saw many people who could have overheard him. The man himself looked relaxed enough sill, silently laughing with a smile on his face, "What's your name, anyways. You never introduced yourself, you know."

"What's yours." The man answered in a strange cadence.

"Don't got one. just got born, you were there for the occasion."

"Well I ain't giving you mine, until you can give one back."

"All right, Sepia", And that produced a chuckle out of the man, but no name followed.

They did pass a placard on the wall saying 'Welcome to the world. This is what you look like.' but the mirror that it was pointed to was sadly moved. He would not know his own appearance for a little while longer.

When they arrived in front of a particular door they stopped.

"Well, here we are, socialize, have fun, stop anyone if they're licking the carpets. Come on, Come on."

The man only stopped when he grasped the handle of the door.

The other room was larger than the hallway, certainly smaller then the first one. It was filled almost to the brim with people all wearing the same outfit. A kind of elastic, rubbery suit that he saw on himself.

He was in a room with other clones, and before a feeling of uncertainty for the future could manifest.

The door behind him produced a noise and opened.

"Just a bit of attention, please. I forgot to mention that you need pick a leader by the time the final clone gets here. Thank you."

And with that, the door closed, and the man left. Though the whole room was now staring at him instead. Joy.