The conference room was pitch black when they entered. Voices murmured in the darkness. Joe looked around but could only feel the presence of other warm bodies in the room.

Abruptly, orchestral music swelled to crescendo. The sound of a projector clicked on and the VirCorp logo flashed in glorious luminescence on the wall. A narrator spoke in a lifeless monotone.

"VirCorp proudly presents: Your Indoctrination into the Family! Voiced by Sherman Oates Version Four-Point-Oh." It was a training film narrated by AI. The projector clicked, displaying an image of a security guard and a pie chart of budget expenses. Joe found some empty seats at the back and guided Lawrence to sit down. The faceless mass of others was transfixed, captivated in the presentation's glow.

"Expense budgets are tight this year, but don't let that deter you from doing your best on the job! As the world's second largest multinational conglomerate, VirCorp welcomes you with open arms. Growth opportunities abound at our US Corporate Headquarters!" The projector clicked, the next image flashed on screen. Captain Tanzer smiled for the camera, insignia shining brightly on his lapels.

"Leadership! On the job you will need to take the initiative to prevent hostile intruders from stealing our corporate assets and secrets. Perseverance! Yes, the hours are long and the pay may be inadequate, but you must keep at it. Sobriety! Distractions abound on the job, but don't give in. At VirCorp, you're our first and last line of defense!

"Leadership, perseverance and sobriety. These are qualities we expect from each and every employee. Enact these each and every day and one day you too could be leading a team of your own!" The next slide showed a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes crossed out behind a sign. Joe felt cold wash all over him. He trembled, both in anticipation and in self-disgust. He reached for a cigarette and had nearly lit up before Lawrence slapped his hand down.

"But what if I give in to temptation and let slip a few corporate assets, you may very well ask? Well, take a look at this fellow." Suddenly an image of Joe flashed on the screen. It was video. He was tilting back the bottle of Frothing Scotsman.

"My God!" Joe couldn't help but exclaim. His jaw dropped and rose from his seat to point at the screen. Heads turned, but he couldn't make them out in dark. He cleared his throat, "Sorry." The heads turned back around, resuming their viewing. How did they get that footage? He controlled all the video feeds in his sector. His head swam. The narrator interrupted the derailment of his train of thought.

"This is your predecessor, Joseph Orson Noone. Caught drinking on the job many times. Let's see what happened to him, shall we?"

The next footage showed a defeated Joe on his knees begging for mercy as a brother security guard kicked him into a pit of hungry lions. Joe watched in horror as he heard his own voice pleading, "No! Agh! Give that back! I need that to live! No!"

The narrator's monotone droned over the carnage. "Joseph failed to do his job correctly, so he was summarily punished for it. And I'm not lion, either. Ha. Ha. Ha."

Great! Another wisecracking computer. AI has gone too far. Joe thought to himself, barely controlling his shaking. The cigarette was already in his mouth. His hands fumbled with the lighter, looking for stability. His mind began to slip. Or he was sane and the world had gone batty. He took a deep breath as the show played on. A white screen flashed with black bolded words:

DISOBEDIENCE = DEATH

It was all a rouse—it had to be. Some multimedia tech digitally altered stock footage of a mauling and placed Joe in the scene to convince this new batch of recruits to do their job sober. Still, it was too convincing for Joe. He bent double, cradling his head in his hands. Lawrence put a comforting hand on his back and looked on in astonishment. Joe lit the cigarette, took a few puffs then stubbed it out on the office carpeting. Just as he looked up the VirCorp logo flared up on the screen again, this time with the italicized Latin slogan:

DELEGATE ET IMPERA

Beneath it, the translation in bold:

DELEGATE AND CONQUER

"Now you know what must be done. So ends the first of our technical training sessions. I'm glad we could have this little chat. Now go out and make VirCorp proud. The narrator concluded. The overhead lights came on and Joe was left gaping in shock. The previously faceless mass now looked disconcertingly familiar.

Twenty-five copies of himself stared back at him. His heart and mind raced. The faces kept staring. He slowly pulled himself together and staggered to his feet, steadying himself on Lawrence. He glanced straight ahead where two men in lab coats stood abreast of a black-haired man in a pinstripe suit at the head of the conference table. The suit was smoking a huge cigar. One of the doctors, a rotund gentleman with a snow-white beard spoke first:

"I see you found out about our dirty little secret, Joseph," he smiled. Lawrence's eyes grew wide in recognition.

"What do you mean...doctor?" Joe didn't know what to say or think. His brain was fried.

"We've cloned you twenty-five times," interrupted the other doctor, "engineered your death for the big screen, and authorized your capture by Corporate Police to keep it under wraps. What part of 'dirty little secret' do you not comprehend?"

"That's enough, Arnie." Klaus waved his hand dismissively. "But you see what we mean, do you not, Joseph?"

"Why did you do this? I mean, I've had a bad year but I've always been a good employee! Always worked extra hours when you needed me. I buckled down during the Purges, took one for the team! I'll change. I'm cleaning up. What more do you expect?"

"Tsk, tsk, Mister Noone." The suit exhaled a giant cloud of smoke and stubbed out the cigar. "In this ever increasingly-competitive market you've got to differentiate yourself from the competition. I would say you're taking this whole affair way too personally! Why don't you have a drink and relax?" He pressed a button and a Collins glass filled with whiskey rose up from the table before Joe. Lawrence eyed Joe worriedly. He was shaking. One more drink. If he was really going mad, what did it matter?

Joe reached for the glass. It was the perfect temperature. He brought it under his nose and inhaled. It smelled marvelous. It would take the edge off. Just a taste. Just one taste. No. What was he thinking? This was negative reinforcement; they were trying to break him. He dropped the glass on the floor. The clones raised their eyebrows in surprise. Lawrence clapped him on the back.

"What seems to be the problem, Mister Noone?" The suit snickered. You prefer stronger spirits?"

"I demand to speak to the head of personnel. What you're doing is not only against company policy, it's illegal!"

"Oh, I'm afraid I am he, Mister Noone. My name is Oliver Falcon, Vice President of Human Resources. And what we are doing is perfectly legal. You signed away your rights to exclusive ownership of your DNA when you took out your student loans from one of our subsidiaries. As they say, the big print giveth, the small print taketh away." Falcon waggled his eyebrows.

Joe collapsed into his seat. This was too much. Complete failure. His life signed away for an education he was never able to put to use. It couldn't be true, could it? He knew if he could just escape, he could probably find one of the remaining left wing advocates to plead his case. It would blow the top off this whole ugliness. But escape was impossible. He was in the lion's den, too far behind enemy lines. He screwed up his eyes, blinking back welling tears.

"Why?" he croaked.

"Why not?" replied Falcon. "Like I said, it's an increasingly-competitive economy. Labor isn't cheap. Then it hit me. An epiphany. Clone existing personnel and brainwash them under control. The government, thank God, has yet to pass the bill classifying whether or not clones are individuals with rights. The market is ready for this type of breakthrough.

"And like you said, you were a good employee. Truly one of the best at your job until you crawled into a bottle. Even until lately. So, why not have ten of you? Fifty? A hundred? A thousand?Do you see where I'm going with this? You were selected, along with Sector Chief Lemuel Z. Kabar and Constable Jorge X. Variables for the program. All three of you went to Metropolitan Business College; all three of you took out loans. It's most convenient, really. A ripe crop ready to have their minds and hearts molded to be the new citizens of VirCorp, just as you once were. Once the prototypes are complete, we hope to alter and trademark their appearances just enough to diversify the product line to our prospective clients. The Armed Forces for one. Maybe you've heard of them?" Joe stared at Falcon not saying a word.

"Clones are the perfect foot soldiers, and wonderful fodder for the front lines. No more war-widows, no bereaved families. All at one-tenth the cost! A brilliant cash cow. If this works out, we have been promised that the government will completely subcontract the military to VirCorp. These are exciting times, Mister Noone. Do you not share in our optimism?" He cleared his throat and shuffled some papers, before looking squarely at Joe with his cold steel eyes.

"Of course, no one had to know about this until you and your half-witted comrade slipped through the cracks. Now, the three of us have agreed that we are going to offer you an opportunity to change your life for the better. We debated killing you, you know. It would be too easy. You should feel honored."

"Well I don't!" Joe stood up, bristling with rage and whipped out the tranquilizer gun. "I've had it up to here with all this talk of the bottom line! You fire hard-working people, play god and expect me to cop to some sort of third-rate contract with you?"

"You're a useless drunk, you imbecile!" Klingel growled before Klaus could silence him. "This is your only way out! Listen carefully, because you are playing with your life!"

"My life isn't threatened, Doctor. Who's got the gun?" Joe smiled childishly. The smile vanished as soon as suddenly the two guards from outside burst in and put their guns to his head. He dropped the pistol and raised his hands. "I understand."

"We are prepared to offer you and your companion new lives with one of our satellite offices. You will have to sign a non-disclosure-on-pain-of-death agreement, of course. But the key to resolving this dispute involves your leaving the country. You are to never speak of this again. Don't think for a moment that you can ever hide from us." Falcon paused dramatically. "Now, what do you have to say?"

"Otherwise," Klingel butted in, "you'll leave us an ugly mess on the carpet that will certainly give Lawrence's coworkers a challenge." He grinned like a viper.

"Where will we go?" Lawrence asked, dejectedly.

"Australia, my dear boy. We recently struck a rather lucrative contract with their government and are building a second international headquarters." Klaus smiled and nodded to Falcon who picked up the pitch.

"You and Lawrence will be given management positions in your respective fields." Falcon pressed another button and a monitor raised up from the desk in front of them. On the screen flashed images of the new location and salary details. Beneath it were two open boxes for their signatures. Lawrence leaned over and, seeing the numbers nearly fainted. "Once you have trained the new staff, you will essentially be running the show. Living quarters, excellent pay. All in all this is the best settlement we have ever offered anyone."

"What do you boys think?" Klaus smiled. "Do we have a deal?"

Klingel punched Klaus hard in the arm and glowered. "I told you in the canteen that I wanted to say that!"

"Forgive me, Arnie, but you were not hired for your verbal acuity."

"Fine, be that way. Hog the limelight. But what do you say, Joseph? Simon?" He smirked evilly at Lawrence who squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. Klaus slapped the smirk off Klingel's face and into the nearby wastepaper basket.

"Decorum, my dear colleague." Klingel rubbed his jaw and the three men watched their prey hungrily.

Joe looked to Lawrence, then back at the three men and sighed. "I guess so. There's...there's nothing for us here. We don't have much choice. I'll sign." Joe took a stylus from the side of the monitor and scribbled, passing it over to Lawrence. Lawrence almost felt giddy and sloppily signed the screen. Joe looked up into the cold gaze of Mister Falcon.

"I just wish I could swing by my apartment one last time to get a few things. You know, essentials."

"That has already been taken care of. Ah," Falcon smiled widely as he looked up past Joe and Lawrence to the door. "As apparently have you. Impeccable timing, Captain!"

"Goodnight, assholes!"

Joe and Lawrence turned around just in time to be slammed in the face by the butts of two giant pistols. They slumped in their chairs, unconscious. Tanzer twirled then holstered his guns, all the while shining a bright smile to Falcon. The outsourced guards turned and left. Situation normal.

"Bravo, Captain. Bravo indeed." Falcon and the doctors applauded. The clones watched on in a semi-catatonic trance.

"Just doing my duty. Do you want me to do them out back where there'll be no witnesses?"

"No," Falcon stood up and reclaimed his cigar butt from the ashtray. He re-lit it, taking long thoughtful puffs as he paced closer to where the two captured men lay slumped against each other. "This truly is most convenient. I think we've found our first volunteers for Mademoiselle Omega's little experiment. Doctors, would you be so kind as to continue with the training while Captain Tanzer and I have a little heart to heart?"