[ WP ] Whenever a felony is committed , a clone of the perpetrator is created using DNA left at the crime scene . The original goes to jail , while the clone takes his/her place in society .

“ Another day, another arrival of Fresh meat. ” Butch said as he tightly gripped my shoulder. As the tips of his fingers forcefully kneaded away at my muscle, I thought the same though I had every morning the new arrivals showed up. How could being in the wrong place at the wrong time put me here? 
 
 It had become ritual here, watching the “ originals ” file in, whooping at them in the way you see in movies. Crime had become an unseen evil, ever since the cloning initiative had taken place. Brilliant if you think about it, if nobody ever “ goes ” to jail, who knows that there are any crimes taking place? The criminals knew of course. But their replacements were conditioned well enough to keep the flow of society moving. Murderous Fathers went home to their children. It isn ’ t even to say they ’ re in short supply though, the criminals. It ’ s all another smoke and mirrors thing. Like diet soda. 
 
 As my cell-mate drives his pelvis into my back, pushing me up against the bars to “ show ” the new crop of degenerates what they ’ re in for, an officer hits the bars, 
 making his presence known. 
 
 “ Ay, Butch. Put it back in your pants. Warden wants this one. ” 
 
 I slide out through the open bars, not giving a second though as to why the warden wants to see me. I ’ ve heard it before, guys being escorted out to see the warden, but I ’ d never figured out why. Things were pretty tight here. 
 
 The guard, whose badge reads Smith, silently pushes his baton into my spine. “ This way bud. ” As I ’ m prodded away from the new recruits. “ Warden needs to see you now, or it ’ s my ass that ’ ll be getting the Butch treatment. 
 “ So, Smith… ” I ask keeping my eyes forward for fear of another pound of force between my vertebrae “ … did the Warden say why he needed me? ” Smith didn ’ t break his gait, his obedient pace keeping time. “ Warden took a look at the manifest and sent me to you. That ’ s all you need to know. ” Our time together was coming to a close. Something about this walk was familiar, and I felt it was almost over. 
 
 The large ornate door was before us at the end of the march. It ’ s frame, a beautifully stained and treated Oak, the handles brass with a bold golden embellishment. Stark, silver letters on the top read “ Scientia et Silentium illius pacificae ”. Something about it is hauntingly familiar. A real different feel from the rest of this place. That medicinal pallid blue coating the walls, with the occasional sliding steel doors created a real feeling of warmth and hospitality. Seemingly un-aided, the door opened outward. Smith and I stepped inside. 
 
 Sitting behind a large Oak desk, no doubt purposefully matching the door to its opposite sat a finely dressed man, thinning up top and a bit rounder about the face than average. Around him were set a number of plaques, trophies, certificates and other accolades given form. “ You can go Smith. ” The man said, in a soft and slight falsetto. Smith, as dutiful as ever, silently nodded as he sheathed his club turning to leave. His footsteps were made as silent as his gesture by the lush olive carpet beneath. “ Mister…oh who are we kidding here. Let ’ s do away with such formalities ” he chuckled to himself as an unsettling smile crept across his wide face. “ It ’ s Rod, right? Rodney Ballick? Oh Rod, it warms the cockles of my clogged arteries to see you again. We had a running bet, and here you are again! Looks like this old dog gets another bone. ” He begins to chuckle and bow his head. 
 
 I wonder to myself who this asshole thinks he is. How does he know…Rod is what my “ ….mother used to call me? ” he says, as his teeth explode from behind his lips, revealing a self-assured shit eating grin. “ You know, you said that maybe two times ago? ” What the hell…how did he… ” Listen Rodney, we could do this ad-nauseum, but I ’ m going to let you in on a little secret. ” He gets up, checking his reflection in one of the many reflective surfaces lining his office. “ You are home to one of the laughably most unlucky set of genes in modern history, my friend. ” My stomach turns, as I desperately try to make sense of what he ’ s saying. He straightens his tie, musses his hair and makes for a Lab Coat, hanging in the corner of the room. “ It ’ s not as simple as it was 20 years ago, when I was in corrections, Rod ” he furrows his brow, confiding in me like we ’ re old friends. “ Ever since this whole cloning business started, well, let ’ s just say repeat offenders are the real bear of running a prison. ” He places his hand onto one of the plaques adorning the room, which causes the floor of the room to sink. 
 The ride down is mostly silent. For me anyways. My mind and stomach are running circles around each other, getting worse with each pass. The Warden continues on, about the energy shortage, science fiction and crisis management. 
 
 We hit the obvious bottom with a light shake, only to be greeted by the exact same ornate doors. “ Funny isn ’ t it, these damn doors seem to be everywhere important. ” They open, inward to a large annex. A long, white hallway, seemingly coated in linoleum with a sickeningly sterile scent in the air. The warden forcefully locked arms with me. “ Now Rodney, as I had mentioned earlier, repeat offenders were a problem when we first started here… ” he prattled on, moving me like a parent moves their child down the hallway. I gave little resistance, but my legs weren ’ t responding as actively as I had liked. Instead, my focus was on the doors that lined the hallway. Each one, marked with a different name than the last. “ …the skeptics say its coincidence, while the mystics prattle on about destiny…in my experience ” his tone becoming more and more droning as we proceed forward. “ …until ” He cuts short. “ Ah, here we are. See the name on this door Rod? ” I did. 
 
 Bold, black letters read Rodney J. Ballick. “ Do you know why you ’ re here this time? ” The warden ’ s arm untangling itself with mine, as his fingertips found my shoulder. “ It was eavesdropping. There are non-violent felonies, Rod, and your rap sheet lists like a textbook on them. ” The door opened inward, and inside were capsules, large enough to fit, well…me. 
 
 As the tips of his fingers forcefully kneaded away at my muscle, he continued “ First, you accidentally got stuck in traffic caused by a religious gathering. You just happened to be the one charged with disrupting a religious gathering in the first. ” Caught completely unaware, two large men appeared at my side, fastening me into restraints. “ The other times, well let ’ s just say, you were a great way to hone the process we used to deal with…repeat offenders. ” 
 
 The last thing I saw before being submerged into the liquid was the warden wiping his brow as he let out a heaving sigh. 

