The Rewritten Memory

CHAPTER 2: I am you, Wyatt!

"Is this Wyatt Calloway's apartment?" The policeman asked, his tone professional.

Another policeman nearby had already assessed the open doorway.

"Yes, sir...I am Wyatt," Wyatt answered, his fingers automatically knotting together.

"We got a message from your email. Is everything okay, Mr. Calloway?" Another police officer inquired as he was stepping inside the modern apartment.

"An unknown man got inside my house," Wyatt explained, turning quickly and pointing in the direction of the room. "I locked him in my guest room. Please, come in," he urged, almost jogging as he led the way.

"This room?" the first policeman asked, standing in front of the guest room. He is already pulling out his licensed gun from his holster and getting into action. His gaze focused on the wooden door, and he indicated his two fingers, instructing Wyatt to unlock the door.

Wyatt gave a firm nod in a confirming manner. With a soft click, the door unlocked. Both police officers immediately snapped to attention, straightened their posture, and pointed their guns like soldiers on a thrilling mission.

They stood one by one. The first policeman gave a single nod, silently commanding the second policeman to follow. They move inside with a defined focus and take silent steps.

The first police officer gave an unspoken signal to another police officer to cover the right side of the room. Then the second man gave a quick nod in concord and scanned the entire right side, pointing the gun straight and alert in every single move.

He moved slowly, his gaze sweeping over the empty cupboard side and toward the curtains. He gently pulled them back, but no one was there. "This side clear..." the second police officer whispered as he lowered his gun, and the first police officer also put his weapon down after confirming both sides were clear.

"Everything clear?" the first officer reported as his focus shifted to the restroom after hearing a metallic clinking sound.

"What?" the second policeman replied in a hushed voice.

"Shh!" The first police officer placed a finger to his lips to signal him to stop talking and pointed his finger towards the bathroom.

The second policeman understood the silent command, nodding in agreement.

The first policeman silently proceeded, pointing the gun towards the restroom. He smoothly twisted the handle and pulled the door open. He scanned every corner of the room in a rapid, practiced professional sweep. But it remains empty, broken only by the movement of the curtain that fills the window air. "Clear," he commanded, a relieved sigh escaped his mouth.

Then both walked outside the room to the hall. "No one was there, Mr. Wyatt.... Maybe you're mistaken about something...." The policeman declared, his voice softer as he glanced again to confirm his assessment.

Mistake! I am sure he was inside my room, Wyatt thought as he stood silently as a statue. He watched the officers, who were already discussing their next cases between them, showing a tablet.

"If you have any emergency, please contact us," another officer assured, in a hopeful tone. He then extended a file for Wyatt to sign, a routine formality.

Wyatt tapped the pen nervously on the file before he handed it back. He forced a smile as he said, "Okay... sir. Thanks for your arrival."

After obtaining a signature, both policemen left the place. Wyatt immediately went back to the guest room, and he scanned every inch again, but no one was there. His pupil fixed on the particular place as his mind replayed the last scene, trying to reconcile it with the empty room. "How did the clone escape... But I locked the room with my hands," he questioned himself aloud, glancing down at his hands, then to the doorknob. Did this person even exist, or am I just imagining things? How did he escape without a trace?"A ton of questions swirled in his mind, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Beep."

A sudden sound of the electric stove jolted him awake from the doubt to reality.

Then, his mind still processing the incident, he unfocusedly watched the table with blurred vision as his hand scooped the pasta, and chewed the creamy pasta, without any expression on his face. "I am you, Wyatt..." the deep voice reeled in his mind again and again. "His tone and his behaviour are opposite to mine. Why does it still feel strange to me? But he looks energetic and smart," he questioned himself as he placed a plate in the dishwasher.

After a few minutes, in the dim room, Wyatt lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling above, designed star-like dots sparkling light in the dark, a pleasant, mild sleeping vibration playing in the background. "He resembles me exactly... exactly?" His brows furrowed in disorientation. "The way he talks and his confidence in everything-- that doesn't fit cloning.... Even he said he wouldn't hurt me... Why I felt, something is fishy!" his mind processed his every expression as he squeezed his eyes shut.

The lights and music went off automatically when he drifted off.

---

 The next day, on a bright morning, people moved through the streets like automatons, their faces devoid of expression; their lips were sealed and dry, their faces devoid of a smile. They took every step with precision, defined and calculated, and made a few spaces between them as lined, without disturbing others. Even the silence was occupied, and the streets and footpaths, stores, and roads—cars and buses glided by in a hushed procession.

Wyatt, posture rigidly straight in an office suit and black coat, strode into a vast hall with glass walls reflecting the muted cityscape. His eyes were fixed on the lift as he approached, but the door started to close, with no one, not even the lift attendants, pausing the lift. Even then, there was no fury or disappointment on his face. He glanced at his digital watch, which showed 8:55 am. Still, his expression remained calm, with no sign of urgency. He thought and remained silent, "Still, I have five more minutes."

Finally, the lift opened with a single click before him. He stepped inside, joining the handful of others already present. Still, no one opened their mouth and not even flicked their eyes at nearby colleagues. They exited the lift on their designated floor. Then the lift stopped at the twenty-fourth floor and automatically opened as he stepped out, walking directly towards his company-allocated room.

He stood in front of his room entrance door, scanning his eyes using the biometric method. After checking the process, the room unlocked with a single beep, and an automatic voice announced in a cold, mechanical tone."Welcome, Wyatt Calloway... Have a good day...."

Wyatt stepped inside; the light automatically turned on, and the air conditioner hummed to life by sensor. Without glancing at anything, he walked towards his seat, placed his files on the desk, switched on his laptop, and started working. His eyes were glued to the screen, and his hands were flying across the keyboard. His face looked bright and energetic while doing his job, without any disturbance.

Meanwhile, Dominion 0, a man dressed in a high-quality suit, sat coldly and comfortably in a leather chair. The office is located on the 100th floor of a sleek, modern building with innovative architectural design. The large glass windows behind him offered a stunning view of the high-class modern city sprawled out below. A drone flying in the sky like a bird, and a man in his 50s scanned the file and documents.

His assistant, standing respectfully in front of his boss, his hands clasped, watched him closely, waiting for Arthur Huxley's next move.

"Mr. Huxley, sir, " Arthur, the assistant manager, started, adjusting his tie and standing straight. "The cloning technology is getting worse than before. We got reported; hundreds of members were killed by clones just yesterday." He reported, his voice deep and determined, and was waiting for Arthur's reply.

Arthur tapped his tablet, watching the victim's faces and information labelled in blue text.

Victim name: Manson Wrister

Age: 38

Cause of death: Brain blood clot with neck broken.

"How did they confirm they were clones?" he questioned, gently placing the tablet on the table and leaning against the seat.

"In previous cases, one of them, the victim, accidentally recorded the video before his death. The killer looks similar to the victim, and he lived in Dominion 69, sir." The assistant manager explained as he submitted the video proof in front of him.

The tablet screen blared footage with broken audio, "Die!!!! Die...." A killer voice roared in a cold and guttural tone. "We're going to rule this entire world.... Humans are trash...." A killer slapped him hard until the victim's cheek became a red handprint. Then the killer folded his knuckles and brutally punched with the same force as if it were a punching bag, and the blood splattered from his mouth and covered his entire face, and his eyes were smashed and out with his hand.