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identityformationsTrivial Negative - Miles coming to bail him out with backup (M, MD 394-398)
Regained - Game #73, Rumpelstiltskin, testing our moral fiber (first team to finish)
Shareable - Yes, golden necklace, four extra uses
So this is the first memory that comes with the disclaimer that this passage is from Miles' POV, not Mark's. So I'm sort of doing some adjusting and filling in the blanks. And of course any excerpts are from the wrong POV, and would be there purely for dialogue.
On the mental age-and-weight timeline, this comes around the same time as the mercenary fleet infiltration--clearly a bit afterwards, from actual memory content.
I'm in military armor, helmet and all, in the middle of...a battle? Soldiers around me, some vaguely familiar from that troop inspection. We're hunkered down in a building's lobby, behind a barricade made from torn-down metal doors. Behind us are a batch of teenaged kids in their pajamas, most of them sitting in a scared pile on the floor, a few helping out the soldiers defending the barricade. In front of us are more soldiers coming in, matching uniforms, and amongst them is...somebody my height. We're being rescued, relieved, something along those lines. By Miles, the real commander, who I'd impersonated. Great.
And then we're interrupted by an order to move out. So...I wanted to save baby clones, presumably from being used for brain transplants and other nefarious purposes. I am a clone. Apparently along with Miles. Who I don't get along with nearly as well as my first memory of him implied.
The memory goes on for a few pages, but really, that's the heart of it. A whole lot of running and squeezing our way out, under fire from sonic grenades and plasma arcs. Miles is using the clones as a hostage shield; whoever is firing at us clearly doesn't want to hurt them. I'm following behind and following orders, generally stressed and miserable and a ball of angry impotent fail. Amongst all the churning emotions, it's pretty easy to tell that I don't have any experience in military combat. I'm a spy, not a soldier. But at least we're rescuing some clones, safe from getting their brains cut out, even if Miles would only take them along as hostages.
The memory ends as we break through into huge open concrete-floored room.
+ Welp I sure am a clone. Miles'? Or are we both clones? Who'd make a clone with deformities, anyway?
+ Names: Bharaputra, Vasa Luigi.
+ Appearances: Bel Thorne, Elli Quinn, Maree.
+15 Miles is a jerk.
+20 insecurity and envy towards Miles.
+20 desire to rescue clones in need.
+30 FAIL.
Regained - Game #73, Rumpelstiltskin, testing our moral fiber (first team to finish)
Shareable - Yes, golden necklace, four extra uses
So this is the first memory that comes with the disclaimer that this passage is from Miles' POV, not Mark's. So I'm sort of doing some adjusting and filling in the blanks. And of course any excerpts are from the wrong POV, and would be there purely for dialogue.
On the mental age-and-weight timeline, this comes around the same time as the mercenary fleet infiltration--clearly a bit afterwards, from actual memory content.
I'm in military armor, helmet and all, in the middle of...a battle? Soldiers around me, some vaguely familiar from that troop inspection. We're hunkered down in a building's lobby, behind a barricade made from torn-down metal doors. Behind us are a batch of teenaged kids in their pajamas, most of them sitting in a scared pile on the floor, a few helping out the soldiers defending the barricade. In front of us are more soldiers coming in, matching uniforms, and amongst them is...somebody my height. We're being rescued, relieved, something along those lines. By Miles, the real commander, who I'd impersonated. Great.
"You--" Miles's voice cracked, and he found he had to stop and swallow. "Later, you and I are going to have a long talk. There's a lot you don't seem to understand."
Mark's chin came up, defiantly.... "What about these kids?" said Mark. "These clones." [...] "We've--you've got to take them along. Or I'm not going." Mark's teeth were set, but Miles saw him swallow.
"Don't tempt me," snarled Miles. "Of course we're taking them along, how the hell else would we get out of here alive?"
Mark's face lit, torn between hope and hatred. "And then what?" he demanded suspiciously.
"Oh," Miles caroled sarcastically, "we're just going to waltz right over to Bharaputra Station and drop them off, and thank Vasa Luigi kindly for the loan. Idiot! What d'you think? We load up and run like hell. The only place to put them would be out the airlock, and I guarantee you'd go first!"
Mark flinched, but took a deep breath and nodded. "All right, then."
"It is not. All. Right," Miles bit out. "It is merely...merely..." he could not come up with a word to describe what it merely was, aside from the most screwed-up mess he'd ever encountered. "If you were going to try to pull a stupid stunt like this, you might at least have consulted the expert in the family!"
"You? Come to you for help? D'you think I'm crazy?" demanded Mark furiously.
"Yes--" They were interrupted by a staring blond clone boy, who'd walked up to them open-mouthed.
"You really are clones," he said in wonderment.
"No, we're twins born six years apart," snapped Miles. "Yes, we're just as much clones as you are, that's right, go back and sit down and obey orders, dammit."
The boy retreated hastily, whispering, "It's true!"
"Dammit," Mark howled under his breath, if that squeezed sotto voce could be so described, "how come they believe you and not me? It's not fair!"
And then we're interrupted by an order to move out. So...I wanted to save baby clones, presumably from being used for brain transplants and other nefarious purposes. I am a clone. Apparently along with Miles. Who I don't get along with nearly as well as my first memory of him implied.
The memory goes on for a few pages, but really, that's the heart of it. A whole lot of running and squeezing our way out, under fire from sonic grenades and plasma arcs. Miles is using the clones as a hostage shield; whoever is firing at us clearly doesn't want to hurt them. I'm following behind and following orders, generally stressed and miserable and a ball of angry impotent fail. Amongst all the churning emotions, it's pretty easy to tell that I don't have any experience in military combat. I'm a spy, not a soldier. But at least we're rescuing some clones, safe from getting their brains cut out, even if Miles would only take them along as hostages.
The memory ends as we break through into huge open concrete-floored room.
+ Welp I sure am a clone. Miles'? Or are we both clones? Who'd make a clone with deformities, anyway?
+ Names: Bharaputra, Vasa Luigi.
+ Appearances: Bel Thorne, Elli Quinn, Maree.
+15 Miles is a jerk.
+20 insecurity and envy towards Miles.
+20 desire to rescue clones in need.
+30 FAIL.