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 a zygote and introduced into a new ovule, life is reconstructed cell by cell until a new form begins to emerge.
But the real problem with cloning had never been the act of creation.
It was everything that followed.
One could say it came down to nature versus nurture. While some insisted that physical form was enough, that if the body was built in the exact same way, you could simply engineer it to act the same. Nevertheless, no scientist could recreate the infinite moments that shape a soul, those who shape a person into what they become. You cannot replicate memory, circumstance, or pain, nor every event that may have left a mark, everything that has gotten them to where they are now. No machine can reproduce a mind forged by a life already lived.
A body can be copied.
A person cannot.
So the ultimate goal of cloning remained an impossibility: you cannot duplicate a human being who is, just by existing, inherently unique. Beyond that lay the cellular problem; cellular reproduction is another thing that presents a big obstacle. How do you clone someone from material that is never fully ‘one thing’? How are you even supposed to clone someone from their DNA when there are 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 had seen Quackity’s DNA, his whole body had felt a thrill like none he had ever had or that 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 put into words.
It’s a ‘Multi thing’, the obsession. He’s always had it.
He stared at a cellular structure he couldn’t immediately figure out, something twisted where it shouldn’t be, unstable where it should’ve collapsed, yet somehow thriving. Alive. A mystery resting behind glass, waiting for him to unravel it.
It went hand in hand with his perfectionism, those sudden fixations that start as a subtle itch before consuming him completely, refusing to die, making sleep feel like a disruption.
When he first arrived on the island, his fixation had been uranium. His first true love, probably. Finding it buried deep within the Polish Cave felt like discovering a secret meant only for him. A density like no other, he knew it when he found it, nothing could compare.
Building a nuclear reactor was simply the logical 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 an entertaining thought. Who could truly object to a few nuclear bombs? Still, his interest had expanded far beyond destruction.
Radioactive Medicine, maybe it would be more accurate to say radioisotopes. Radioactive materials that provide gamma radiation, which provide medical diagnosis and gamma sterilization. It could even aid with preservation of life itself.
It was a bit tragically poetic that a tool that helped so much could also destroy you from the inside.
And when people were exposed to that radiation inevitably fell ill…
Well, that wasn't really Multi's fault.
But because he was merciful, he would lend a hand.
“I don’t get it.” The avian looked at him as though he were speaking in another language, which wasn’t entirely wrong, but Multi had already checked, and everything had been well translated.
Patience had never been Multi’s strongest virtue, yet around Quackity, it stretched further than expected.
Not out of kindness, necessarily. While it may sound sweet, he suspected it was more likely given the fact that they rarely spent enough time together for him to fully snap.
“I’ve managed to separate the corrupted parts of your DNA,” Multi explained, folding his hands neatly behind his back. “Because you’re a hybrid, my research shows I can incubate a clone using solely those corrupted fragments, 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 sharpened. “Only for you. I’m not sharing this with anyone unless you explicitly ask.”
Quackity rubbed his eyes, looking drowsy. “I’m gonna be honest…That was a lot of words, and I’m tired. Do you need me for anything else?”
They had discussed clones before, so Multi had hoped he would take the matter seriously. Yet beneath the minor irritation of being brushed off, Multi felt a strange reassurance in Quackity’s casual dismissiveness.
It felt like he trusted him.
“I’ll be needing your blood,” the scientist said.
That earned a light laugh. Quackity shifted effortlessly into his usual teasing mode, while Multi did his best not to roll his eyes. “May I ask why, Mr. NeedYourBlood?”
How could Multi ever stay annoyed? When, as he’s playfully asking, he’s also extending his arm towards his research table, surrendering his blood to Multi.
“You might be anemic,” Multi replied, keeping his voice steady. “You’re sleeping too much, I need to check.”
Without another word, Quackity pushed up his sleeve and secured a tourniquet around his bicep, settling into the chair as if blood extraction was second nature to him. Multi chose not to comment. They both left things unsaid, not out of distrust, truly. Some conversations were simply too long to have, and the hours they spent awake together were already too limited as they were.
Besides, Multi was already working like a maniac. He wasn't rushed by any deadline, he just wanted to feel that familiar reward, that satisfaction that came when an experiment worked exactly as intended. He had already begun incubating the vessel, after all.
What he deliberately omitted was that the corrupted DNA kept moving under observation. Twitching. Shifting like a trapped entity trying to claw its way free, to go beyond, as if it were cultivating a mind of its own.
But this time he believes—
This time he knows, he can control it.
There was no need to burden Quackity with unnecessary details.
With his partner’s cooperation (or at least with the lack of refusal, which Multi considered close enough), the next step was transferring that consciousness into the vessel he had created.
As he’s watching how the blood fills the vials, his stomach growls.
—
Twenty-eight days. That was all it took.
The consciousness transfer happened on day twenty-one, and over the following week, Multi noticed subtle changes. The clone’s dark hair grew longer, brushing his shoulders. His wings appeared frail, the feathers thin.
It wasn’t wrong, per se.
It was just different.
“So if something happens…” Quackity began, fidgeting anxiously with his hands. Fully awake now, the gravity of the situation was finally settling in.
“We can just disintegrate him with hydrogen peroxide.” Multi squeezed his shoulder, his tone remained casual and carefree. Comforting, in theory.
“Okay…” Quackity hunched inward, shoulders drawn tight. Unlike his usual self.
Multi bumped their shoulders together in silent reassurance, physical touch always seemed to ground him.
“It’s okay,” Multi said calmly, avoiding direct eye contact in his usual monotone. “My original plan was to keep him in an induced coma. We don’t need him awake to create the cure.”
He started, as always, with a monotone voice and avoided the avian’s gaze. After the younger’s shoulders seemed to relax, he continued.
“But keeping him unconscious might mess with the results… neurological response, circulation, overall function. It would compromise too much...”
Multi stepped back, slipping his hands into his lab coat pockets.
“As I told you before, I have a chip I can install. You continue living normally while I monitor everything. To be honest, it would be better for our research if we woke him up… But I want to do whatever you think is best.” He reached out, his fingers closing gently around Quackity’s forearm. “I trust you. And I want you to trust me.”
He was putting on a pitiful show, making his words come out like vomit. He hadn’t overdo it physically, but he thinks it’s enough to achieve his goal.
Quackity remained silent, His brows pulled together as he thought about it, lips pressed into an unhappy pout like he resented being the one forced to choose. Multi watched him, knowing that if anything went wrong, the scientist would take the fall entirely. He would never let the blame land on Quackity. Multi wondered if he knew that he’d never blame him, that he was the only one he cared about enough to beg.
He’d take responsibility for everything, as long as he stayed.
When a long, resigned sigh escaped Quackity’s lips, Multi knew had his answer. There was no need for him to say it out loud, it was all written plainly across his face. The scientist barely restrained excitement earned him a quiet laugh from his partner in crime.
They stood beneath the massive glass containment chamber, surrounded by the rhythmic hum of life-support machinery.
“Will you do the honors?” Multi held the controller towards the younger man. “We cut the sedatives first.” The scientist continued as Quackity extended a hand and carefully pressed the button. “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—”
Multi was cut off mid-sentence by a loud noise, both looked up.
Something went wrong.
The lab lights were flickering.
Then darkness followed.
Every light had cut out, the room illuminated by the green glow from the uranium tubes on the walls and the reactor itself. His main systems remained connected to the main reactor, but something had malfunctioned.
At the same time, their communicators burst into a frantic pinging, messages flooding the main server channel. Multi glanced down, catching the word ‘rain’ on his screen, before he heard the biggest thunder he’d ever experienced on this island.
His stomach dropped instantly.
Rain had always felt like a bad omen; it reminded him too much of Quackity's disappearance, of searching through the storm and finding nothing but the sound of rainfall filling empty space.
Quackity.
He forced his focus back to the present. He needed to get himself together.
“Don’t worry, it’s just—”
The second he looked up from his communicator to see Quackity, he knew something was really, truly wrong. One hand gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles had turned white, the other was moving slowly to reach his sword. His breathing was uneven and ragged, chest moving relentlessly.
Multi turned to the containment tube, preparing himself for the worst.
Prepared for disaster. Prepared for failure.
Multi reminds himself that science is a sacrifice.
Then he sees him, really sees him. And he looks nothing like Quackity.
And yet, he is undeniably made from him.
His first thought is that everything about him felt muted, as though someone had taken all of Quackity’s features and dimmed them. To Multi, Quackity had always burned like a star: blinding, brilliant, and forever slightly out of reach.
The clone shared his handsome features, but the resemblance ended there. Long, dark hair spilled over his shoulders. Thin wings were tight against his back. Eyes tired despite being newly born.
And something deeper unsettled the room around him. Something felt off, as though reality itself resisted his existence. As though space and time knew instinctively that he should not be here. His creation felt like an intruder.
Quackity was always smiling. Sometimes it was fake, and sometimes it wasn’t, but he had always kept that facade up.
Multi liked to believe he was the only one who had seen him drop the act completely; he prided himself on it. He was the only one who had gotten him to be even remotely serious. It took time to get him to that state; still, Multi had never been a quitter. Working towards his goals is never a sacrifice, but a step to getting what he wants.
This clone wore no mask. No warmth or performance.
In fact, he looked like someone who hadn’t smiled in a lifetime.
He sat, half-lying on the stretcher, his wings barely peeking out, his back straight even while sitting. Bags under his eyes that made no sense, as if he had been born with them.
He seemed to be taking in the new space, slowly trying to make sense of it. Then he lifted his gaze and his eyes locked onto Quackity’s.
And after what it felt like an eternity, his blank expression shifted.
A smile slowly curves across his mouth.
Mocking and measured. Like he was studying him, examining him.
This isn’t Quackity, Multi realized with a sudden, chilling certainty.
Beside him, Quackity reached out, his hand clutching tightly at Multi’s lab coat. Brown eyes silently begged for help. Multi kept his expression impassive, though his pulse raced.
The clone followed the movement, his eyes shifting away from Quackity to finally land directly on the scientist. He tilted his head slightly.
When he spoke, his voice was low, smooth, and imposing, deeper than Quackity’s lively cadence.
“Did you bring me here?” he asked.
Outside the reactor, thunder roared across the island, and lightning tore through the sky. And somewhere beyond the reactor's walls, the island’s inhabitants looked up at the sudden storm and wondered who the rain was for.
The sky seemed to know before anyone else.
It was the end of the world as they knew it.