Chapter Text
The thing about clones is that no one has ever truly managed to create a perfect one.
For years, humanity has tried. As they always do, they began with animals before inevitably turning to people. The theory itself is simple enough: to clone someone, the blueprint must be identical. The same DNA. The same forty-six chromosomes taken from the zygote and introduced into a new ovule, life reconstructed cell by cell until a new form begins to emerge.
But the real problem with cloning has never been creation.
It’s everything that follows.
One could say it’s nature and nurture that comes to play. While some may insist physical form is enough, that if the body is built exactly the same way, then you just have to artificially modify it to act the same way. Nevertheless, no one has ever been able to recreate the countless moments that shape a person into who they become. No scientist can replicate memory, or circumstance, or pain, nor every event that leaves a mark, that has got them to where they are. No machine can reproduce the exact mind born from a life that’s already lived.
A body can be copied.
A person cannot.
So it’s impossible to reach the most desired outcome of cloning, it’s impossible to duplicate a person that just by existing is inherently unique. And even beyond that lies the cellular problem, cellular reproduction is another thing that presents a big obstacle. How are you meant to clone someone from something that is never fully one thing? How are you even supposed to clone someone from their DNA when there’s hundreds of different cells containing different DNA? Altered constantly, carrying mutations, damaged, healing, ever-changing.
The thing about clones is that you can never truly reach perfection.
Only a God could master such a miracle. And what is Multi if not that.
The second he saw Quackity’s DNA, his whole body felt a thrill like none he has ever had or he could ever comprehend. Something inside him awakened with such intensity it nearly made him dizzy. His heartbeat drummed against his ribs, full body chills made him squirm for a millisecond. A sight so mysterious, a new puzzle to solve and marvel at.
It was fascinating. Beautiful, in a way he couldn’t fully explain.
It’s a Multi thing, the obsession. He’s always had it.
A structure he couldn’t immediately figure out. Something twisted where it shouldn’t (couldn’t?) be, unstable where it should’ve collapsed, yet somehow still existing. Still alive. A mystery sitting beneath glass, waiting for him to understand it.
He thinks it comes hand in hand with his perfectionist nature, those sudden fixations that start without warning and refuse to die. It begins small, almost harmless. Like an itch. Easy to ignore at first.
Until it isn’t.
Until every thought turns into it.
Until sleep feels like disturbance.
Until it consumes him completely.
When he first arrived here, it had been uranium. His first love, probably.
Finding it buried within the Polish Cave had felt like discovering treasure hidden specifically for him. A density like no other, he knew it when he found it, nothing could compare.
A nuclear reactor was the obvious next step.
People liked joking that he would blow up the island one day. Sometimes he encouraged it, mostly because he enjoyed watching their faces drop. But the truth was much less dramatic. The reactor, or uranium itself, wasn’t built to explode. If it ever overheated, it would simply melt through everything around it and become an unbearable inconvenience to clean.
Though admittedly, the concept of nuclear weapons remained entertaining. Who could truly object to a few nuclear bombs? Still, his interest had expanded far beyond destruction.
Radioactive Medicine, it would be more accurate to say radioisotopes. Radioactive materials that provide gamma radiation, which provide diagnosis and gamma sterilization. It can even aid with preservation of life itself.
It’s a bit tragically poetic, that a tool that helps so much can also destroy you from the inside.
And when people find themselves exposed to radiation, getting sick after facing it…
Well. It’s not really Multi’s fault.
But because he’s merciful, he’ll help a bit.
“I don’t get it.” The avian looks at him as if he had spoken in another language, which is not far from reality but Multi already checked and everything had been well translated.
Patience has never been his strongest quality, yet around Quackity it always seems to stretch further than expected. Not out of kindness, necessarily. While it may sound sweet, he suspects it’s more likely because they rarely spend enough time together for it to fully snap.
“I’ve managed to separate the corrupted parts of your DNA,” Multi explains again, hands folded neatly behind his back. “Because you’re a hybrid, I’ve researched and discovered I can incubate a clone of you in order to use it for research, solely off of those pieces, since ducks incubate quicker. There’s no need for you to give out any more of your DNA in order to make the cure. I’m trying to determine which part of your biology is keeping you stable and if it is that corrupted part, to find treatment in case you need it in the future.” His gaze sharpens slightly. “Only for you. I’m not sharing it with anyone unless you ask me to.”
Quackity rubs his eyes, drowsy.
“I’m gonna be honest…That was a lot of words and I’m tired. Do you need me for anything else?”
They’ve already discussed clones before so one would hope he’s taking this seriously. Despite himself, Multi wonders if this is what trust looks like between them. Beneath the irritation of not being listened to seriously, there is something strangely reassuring in how casually Quackity says it.
“I’ll be needing your blood.” That earns a laugh, Multi doesn’t fall for it, though his head is starting to hurt.
Quackity shifts into his usual teasing mode immediately, copying Multi’s posture with exaggerated precision.
“May I ask why, Mr. NeedYourBlood?” As infuriating as he might be, it’s never enough to actually make him mad. How could Multi ever be mad? When, as he’s playfully asking, he’s also extending his arm toward his research table, surrendering his blood to Multi.
“You might be anemic,” he replies. “You’re sleeping too much. I need to check.” As if extracting blood was a normal occurrence, Quackity pushes up his sleeve and ties a tourniquet around his upper arm without hesitation, sitting next to the table like this is a normal interaction between them.
Multi chooses not to comment.
They both leave things unsaid.
Not because of distrust, truly. Some conversations are simply too long to have, and the hours they spend awake together are already too limited as they are.
Besides, Multi has already started working like a maniac. He’s not rushed by any kind of deadline, not really. He just wants to feel that familiar reward, that satisfaction that comes when an experiment works exactly as intended. He’s already been incubating a Quackity clone, after all.
What he doesn’t mention is that the corrupted DNA keeps moving under observation. Twitching. Shifting like something trying to free itself, to go beyond. As if it has begun building a mind of its own.
But this time he believes– no, scratch that.
This time he knows, he can control it.
There’s no need to worry Quackity with unnecessary details.
With his partner’s cooperation (or at least with the lack of refusal, which Multi considers close enough), the next step is transferring that consciousness into the vessel he created.
As he’s watching how the blood fills the vials, his stomach growls.
—
It takes twenty-eight days to complete the process.
The consciousness transfer happens on day twenty-one. By the end of the following week, Multi begins noticing differences. The vessel’s hair has grown longer, falling nearly to his shoulders. His wings appear thinner, more fragile. It’s…
Wrong?
Different.
“So if something happens…” After questioning everything carefully, more awake than he had been before, Quackity seems more than nervous. He’s fidgeting around with both hands, anxiously. Thankfully, Multi has prevented any real freak out he may have by telling him his backup plan.
“We can just disintegrate him with hydrogen peroxide.” Multi squeezes his shoulder in support, his tone remains casual and carefree. Comforting, in theory.
“Okay…” Quackity hunches inward, shoulders drawn tight. Unlike his usual self.
Multi bumps their shoulders together in silent reassurance, physical touch always seems to ground him.
“It’s okay,” Multi says. “My original plan was to leave him in an induced coma. We don’t need him awake to study him and create a cure.” He starts as always, monotone voice and avoiding the avian’s gaze. After the younger’s shoulders seem to relax, he continues. “But keeping him unconscious might mess with the results… neurological response, circulation, overall function. It would compromise too much.”
He pauses before continuing, making space between them while putting his hands on his lab pocket.
“As I told you before, I have a chip I can install. You continue living normally while I monitor everything. Being completely honest, it would be better for our research if we wake him up… But I want to do whatever you think is best.” His hand closes lightly around Quackity’s forearm. “I trust you. And I want you to trust me.” He’s putting on a pitiful show, making his words come out like vomit. He doesn’t overdo it physically, but he thinks it’s enough to achieve his goal.
Quackity says nothing for a long moment.
His brows pull together as he thinks, lips pressed into an unhappy pout like he resents being the one forced to choose, as if he’d be the one taking responsibility if anything happens. Multi wonders if he knows that he’d never blame him, he’s the only one he cares about enough to beg.
He’d take responsibility for everything, as long as he stays.
When a resigned sigh escapes his lips, Multi knows he has the approval. There’s no need for him to say it out loud, it’s all written plainly across his face. The pole’s barely restrained excitement earns a quiet laugh from his partner in crime.
“Will you do the honors?” The scientist holds a controller towards the younger man. They stand below the containment chamber, surrounded by machines keeping the clone stable, inside a tube. “We stop the sedatives first.” Quackity carefully presses the button of the controller Multi’s grabbing. “The body needs to function by itself, breathe by itself, get used to staying alive without being connected. It might take some days, even weeks before–” he stops in his tracks, as both of them look up.
Something is wrong.
The lab flickers.
Then darkness.
Every light cuts out at once except for the faint radioactive glow spilling from the uranium tubes along the walls. His systems remain connected to the main reactor, but something has malfunctioned.
Suddenly, their communicators begin pinging nonstop, messages flood in through their main channel.
Multi only catches the word “rain” before he hears the biggest thunder he’s ever experienced yet.
His stomach drops instantly.
Rain always feels like a bad omen.
It reminds him too much of Quackity's disappearance, of searching in the storm and finding nothing but the sound of rainfall filling empty space.
He forces himself back to the present. He needs to get it together, anyway.
“Don’t worry, it’s just…” The second he looks up from his communicator to see Quackity, he knows something is really wrong. One hand gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles have gone white, the other moving slowly toward his sword. His breathing is uneven and ragged, chest moving relentlessly.
Multi turns his gaze towards the chamber.
Prepared for disaster. Prepared for failure.
Multi reminds himself that science is a sacrifice.
Then he sees him, really sees him.
He looks nothing like Quackity. And yet, he is undeniably made from him.
His first thought is that everything about him feels muted, as though someone has taken Quackity’s features and dimmed them. Quackity has always looked bright to Multi, he’s always resembled a star in his eyes. Shiny and bright but away from his reach, in a way, it’s still like this.
He’s always been good looking enough, that stays the same. Longer hair resting against his shoulders. Wings tucked close. Eyes tired despite being newly born.
And something deeper unsettles the room around him. Something feels off, as though reality itself resists his existence. As though space and time know instinctively that he should not be here.
Quackity is always smiling. Sometimes is fake and sometimes is not, but he’s always kept that facade up.
Multi likes to believe he is the only one who has seen him drop the act completely. He’s the only one who’s got him to be even remotely serious. It takes time to get him to that state, still Multi has never been a quitter. Working towards his goals is never a sacrifice, but a step to getting what he wants.
This clone wears none of it.
No warmth.
No mask.
No performance.
In fact, he looks like someone who hasn’t smiled in years.
He’s half laying on the stretcher, his wings barely peeking out, his back straight even while sitting. Bags under his eyes that make no sense, as if he had been born with them. He seems to be taking in the new space, slowly trying to make sense of it. Then he lifts his gaze and his eyes lock onto Quackity’s.
And after what feels like an eternity, his blank expression shifts.
A smile slowly curves across his mouth.
Mocking.
Measured.
Like he’s studying him, examining him.
Multi can’t explain it, but this clone is not Quackity’s.
Only then does Multi feel Quackity clutching at his lab coat beside him. Besides him, brown eyes silently ask for help. Multi tries to keep his face neutral.
Without either of them noticing, the clone follows the movement and finally poses his sight on Multi. His head tilts slightly.
When he speaks, his voice is low and smooth, deeper than Quackity’s playful usual tone.
“Did you bring me here?” He asks.
Outside the reactor, thunder rolls across the island. Lightning tears through the sky. And somewhere beyond the reactor's walls, the island’s inhabitants look toward the storm and wonder who the rain is for.
The sky seems to know before anyone else.
This is the end of the world as they know it.