I was helping a woman get her registration done. She was well-fed, but her clothes were shabby, grimy, and somewhat torn. Why would she land herself in a place like this, I did not know, nor was I instructed to care.

  I tidied up her ID, birth certificate and printed out her death certificate. She fidgeted around impatiently as if her life depended on it - not that she would have any afterward.

  "Alright, here's your ID, your death certificate, and your clone bay number, go to the second room on the left for your brain imaging. Remember that you will slowly cease to be Noelle Peters after the cloning process. Next!"

  I watched as the woman scurried over to the exit. Just as I turned my head back to the front, a washed up, seedy man materialized in the void. He seemed familiar to me, though I didn't know where I might've seen this guy.

  For as long as I can remember, I've been stationed in this infinite room, a pearly white limbo that stretched out to nowhere.

  The printer next to me quietly hummed as it spat out a sheet of paper, filled to the edges with information about the guy in front of me.

  Unlike most newcomers, you strode through the void with great confidence. I was pleasantly surprised, but I still repeated the same protocol all over again. "Morning there, welcome to The Hexagone, please show me your ID and birth certificate so we can get the registration process going."

  "Miguel? You're Miguel, aren't you? What are you doing, working for those psychopaths? What happened to you? What happened to the rest of them?" You demanded while slamming your hands onto my counter, and stared at me with visible rage and concern in your eyes.

  I was puzzled. Them? Who's them? Hazy faces surfaced within my mind, much against will. Maybe I knew these faces, in a past perhaps best left forgotten.

  However, an instinctual sort of uneasiness crept within me, telling me that I should've recognized them, that I've had my memories and personality tampered with. Then again, why should that matter?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, would you mind giving me your ID and birth certificate? Time is of the essence…” I took a brief glance at the info page. “...Mr Navis Wan.”

  Immediately, the name triggered something hidden deep within my mind. For a moment, memories flashed through my eyes, memories of us running through snow, through deserts, through marshes, dodging gunfire while dishing some back. Building a base for the squad, squashing aliens...

  Yet, still, I didn't remember ever seeing you before. Hallucinations? Maybe I was falling asleep, I hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep since a week ago, as applications continued to pile onwards.

  "Miguel, listen to me, these people ain't saints, they're filthy demons who get off of clones dying for their entertainment. It's the Ancient Roman colosseum all over again, but instead of Julius Caesar it's a jerk-off ring of sadistic scientists. You're not testing experimental weaponry over here, these guns are specifically engineered for this, never to be made public." You pressed on relentlessly. By then, even my patience - The one thing I was programmed to be - Was waning.

  "ID and birth certificate, " I repeated myself, "there are people after you, please don't make this process longer than it should be." Maybe you realized that rambling on was futile, you finally pursed your lips and calmed down a bit. With a furrowed brow, you reached into your pockets and pulled out the documents.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "I'd advise against spouting so much nonsense against us again, take back your ID and birth certificate, here's your death certificate and your clone bay number. Go to the third room on the right for your brain imaging. Remember that after the cloning process, you will slowly cease to be Navis Wan. Next!" I hastily shoved your documents back at you, you did already take quite a considerable amount of time spewing your baseless theories and accusations.

  You looked as if you wanted to argue against me again, but instead you hesitated for a while, before letting out a long and heavy sigh. You stared at me one last time, this time with a tinge of sorrow and regret, before trudging out to the imaging room.

  Despite trying as hard as I could, your words still managed to burrow deep into my brain. It felt wrong to ponder about it, but it also felt wrong to think about it, just a little bit, I figured, wouldn't hurt.

  I couldn't make head or tails of the memories. None of those, I felt, were events I partook in. But still, they were presented to me in a first-person perspective, through the eyes of "Miguel Smith", as if I there after all.

  I found "myself" strategizing for some sort of coup, alongside groups of men, women, even children. We huddled over a long wooden table, you stood at the opposite end of it, spread over the table were maps of different floors and phases of the Hexagone. Some were printed, official maps, others were crude, hand-drawn maps of areas forbidden to outsiders. "Down with the Emperor!" We shouted before we each carried out our missions.

  I watched as "I" got held up high in the air by Him, corpses were strewn all over the floor, pools of blood stained the red carpet in an even deeper crimson. Among all the bodies, though, I couldn't find your face. "So this is it." He said. "All of this, against one of me." He threw "me" to the side of the room. "And you guys still failed." Barely conscious, I watched as He walked over to "me". "I take it you're one of the masterminds behind this? I might just trap you alive in here after all." He smirked, before knocking "me" unconscious.

  I jolted awake, back in this ghastly white room. The printer hummed once again, as it spat out another page filled with personal information. Right, I have work to do. This is no time to be dozing off.

  I brushed off the incident as just another crazed man's rambling. After all, the Hexagone is a particularly strong magnet for nutjobs and hobos. Yet, your words continued to echo inside my head over and over, as if trying to resonate more memories inside my soul.

  I am E-032224. My job is to screen applicants. Nothing more, nothing less. What happened beforehand doesn't matter.

  I let in the next applicant, a hulking figure clad in a three-piece suit strode towards my counter. Still unaware, I repeated the same sentence I've been repeating since I could remember.

  "Morning there, welcome to The Hexagone, please show me your ID and birth certificate so we can get the registration process going."

  "There will be no need for that, Miguel." His voice echoed around the room. Surprised, I instantly turned my head upwards to find none other than .

  "He's come again, didn't he." He asked about you. I nodded my head.

  "He's going to need his trusty strategist again now, isn't he?" He asked again. I did not answer.

  "What about... I give you back your memories... And you go help him again, won't you? Make it interesting again, the audience yearns for another revolt." He reached out his hand to me, inside laid a small cerebral implant. A Memory Recorder.

  I knew I had no choice but to comply. He was the one who gave the order, I cannot refuse that. I took the Memory Recorder, and slotted it in the back of my head.

  "I look forward to your performance, Miguel. Can you two save her this time, I wonder." He waved me off with a sinister smile. My memories slowly came back to me, I'm Miguel again.

  Right, we've got to put an end to this tomfoolery, ain't we?

  I ran past the lab rooms, slipped back into the main complex, and prepared myself in the common room again.

  Eventually, you emerged from your room.

  "Ope, there comes the last of us!" I said to you with a grin.

  "Name's Miguel, Texas. Let's work together, what'cha say?"

  is set after the end of this story, I guess.