AFTER ALL

A figure cloaked in a shuffle suit moved through the industrial outskirts of the city. The suit obscured the wearer from head to toe, its randomly displayed patterns constantly shifting.

The person came to a desolate house, nestled between two factories. They entered through the back door and met the middle-aged Dillon in the kitchen.

“Here's the evidence, Sarge,” the disguised individual reported, their voice distorted by the suit.

They handed over a flash drive, which Dillon inserted into a handheld device.

“What’s our next move?” the suited figure inquired.

“Nothing for now,” Dillon replied, putting away the device. “Take some time off.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” the person replied, as they turned to leave.

“Actually,” Dillon added. “There’s one more thing…”

The figure paused, turning back to face Dillon.

“You know, it’s funny,” Dillon contemplated. “I can’t find any record of an officer in a shuffle suit working this case.”

The person stood motionless, their face undulating slightly under the suit.

“What do you mean, Sarge?” they asked, unease creeping into their voice.

“It’s my fault really,” Dillon explained. “I assumed since you were bringing me shit to do with the investigation, that you were filed and monitored. But there’s no log, no file, nothing.”

“That’s... strange,” the figure admitted, their tone carefully neutral.

“Strange doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Dillon countered.

A quiet thickened the air, broken only by the distant hum of machinery.

Dillon’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

The individual hesitated. “You know I can't tell you that.”

“You think this is a game?!” Dillon questioned.

“I can’t divulge that while I’m undercov—” the person attempted.

However, they were interrupted by Dillon pulling a gun out of his jacket.

“Tell me who you are!” Dillon demanded, pointing his service weapon at the individual.

The figure slowly raised their hands, the shuffle suit's patterns still swirling. “Put the gun down, Sarge. You're making a mistake!”

“No more fuckin’ around!” Dillon declared. “Turn that shit off!”

“Alright, Sargent,” the figure agreed, as he motioned to deactivate the suit. “Just take it easy…”

However, instead of turning the suit off, the person quickly drew a concealed gun from inside it.

As they aimed it at Dillon, the air crackled with tension.

Before either could act, the adjoining door swung open. Another figure in a shuffle suit burst in, gun already drawn.

The second person fired, hitting a stunned Dillon directly in the forehead. Dillon collapsed, a pool of blood immediately forming underneath him.

The first figure turned to the second.

“Who the hell are you?!” the first figure demanded.

“I’ve been watching your back,” the second person revealed, their voice also distorted. “Guess Dillon’s records didn’t show there’s two suits on the case.”

The first individual raised their gun and pointed it at the second. “My records don’t show that either.”

The second figure remained still, their shuffle suit’s patterns mirroring the tension between them.

“Let’s not do anything rash,” they advised. “I’m here to help you.”

The first figure’s grip on their weapon tightened. “If that’s true, why didn’t you make yourself known earlier?”

“I was ordered to keep a low profile,” the second figure explained. “To be a backup in case things went south, which they clearly have.”

“Prove it,” the first figure demanded. “Give me something to show you’re on my side.”

“OK,” the second person agreed. “But, you might be in for a surprise.”

The second figure raised their hand to their neck and deactivated their suit.

The patterns dissipated, revealing Dillon’s exact doppelgänger.

“What the fuck?!” the first figure exclaimed.

“You didn’t know Dillon was a clone?” the second man asked.

“I did,” the first person replied as they reached up to their neck. “But, they said they cloned him from me!”

The figure turned off their suit, showing that he too looked exactly the same as Dillon.

“Oh, fuck…” the second clone uttered, totally taken aback.

Both men stared at each other in complete shock, unsure what to do.

“Do you wanna get a drink?” the first clone finally offered.

“Sure,” the second clone responded. “But you’re buying.”

* * *

Both clones sat in a booth in a grotty dive bar. The first clone had his shuffle suit turned on, while the second kept his deactivated.

“So,” the second clone began, pouring beer from a pitcher. “Who’s in charge of the case now?”

“No fucking clue” the first clone replied. “Was hoping you’d tell me.”

Just then, another person in a shuffle suit walked into the bar. They looked around and then approached the clones’ booth.

“I don’t want this to become a scene,” the figure started, voice garbled. “But I gotta arrest both of you.”

“Why?!” the second clone exclaimed.

The third person in the suit sighed. “You know why.”

The first clone slipped his hand inside his suit and gripped the handle of his gun.

“And, what if we don’t wanna be arrested?” he questioned.

“Like I said,” the third figure offered. “That’s probably not the best idea. If you come outside, you’ll see why.”

The two clones looked at each other, the first’s shuffle suit continuing to scramble.

The second clone shrugged. “Fuck it, should we go see?”

The first clone let go of his gun and stood up. “After you guys.”

The two clones followed the third figure out of the bar.

They were met by six police cars, each with a shuffle-suit wearer and Dillon clone manning them. Everyone of them had their guns pointed at the clones.

The two clones raised their hands in surrender, knowing they had no other choice.

“Does it even matter that I don’t know who I am anymore?” the second clone asked the first.

“Do you think it even mattered in the first place?” the first clone retorted. “This is the future we were promised, after all.”