So this was the gloriously fabled land of the Warpzones. Clony had seen better, honestly. It felt like the other Lands were all smushed together in some rushed mess. Once it swore that it had returned to the Dropbox region, but instead of plummeting down for hours it instead was rising up through the very same obstacles. Clony hadn't paid it much thought until it had passed by those darn spikes. Clony had seen many other of itself impaled there, rotting, dying slowly - if not dead already.

Clony would rather not think of such things. Instead, silver eyes turn to the land beyond the Warpzones. It wasn’t certain if there was anything beyond the Warpzones. Perhaps the land would warp around. Perhaps it would reach the ocean. Perhaps it would wind back in the dense jungles where it’s journey had begun.

Did Clony want to leave? They were not certain. Their fight, their existence, it had all hung with simply moving forward, hating the color red, and destroying whatever it came into contact with. It was fleeing from danger, from certain death, from being slain the instance that the owners of the world could ever possibly manage to catch up. Clony had to be fast, it never had the time to think these things all the way through to their fullest extent.

Now, now in the Warpzones there was a brief lapse of stillness. Clony could plop down, take a breather. Those had been so rare since it had ventured into the deeper portions of the Badlands. What to wonder about? There was a lot to think about.

Ears flicked, their head raising. Something was behind them. They stand, pivoting, scruffing at the metal that they had seated themself on. Greeting Clony was something that looked quite like itself, and everything else that came from the Badlands. A charcoal colored creature with pearly eyes and silver disk around them. Feathered wings, a fluffy tail, it looked so similar to Clony. But that red beacon, that beacon bobbing around.

How Clony hated that putrid color. The second day that they had been alive - Clony was quite young, it still remembered that day - they had almost been killed. They had realized the dangers that came from the color red. The color had surged around it, a booming voice, danger, death. It all had come crashing down on them. Clony wasn’t sure how they’d lived.

"Hey,” the clony that was no clony said, tapping into Clony’s head. The beacon on their head flickered. Clony raised their wings, fluffing up their fur. “Really? We can’t even talk?”

We call that one Colono, Clony felt one of the many speak up. The hivemind, the greatest comfort of the clony. Never truly was one ever alone. Never alone in one location. There was always more. Perched above, below, flying in a group. Survival in the Badlands was a matter of strength in numbers for the clony. It’s a no, it’s not one of us.

Clever, Clony swiftly sends in reply. “I don’t want to talk to you. You work for them, and there’s nothing you could say that I want to hear.” Fluffy tail swings across the ground, ears lowering. Irritation prickles through their fur.

Its fur is like a prickle, Clony then heard. An ear twitched upon hearing such crucial information, a movement not lost to Colono. “You’re gossiping about me now? Is this how you treat an informant?” The fake clony, the Replicant said, stepping forward.

Clony remained stationary, raising up their head. “An informant? I don’t consider anything related to the Red Eye to be something I want to keep around. You should go, or you’ll be sorry.” They hiss, scraping their claws against the metal. An awful noise. Clony was used to metal on metal sounds, or metal on any other terribly scratchy surface. Colono flinched.

“Yes, I’m an informant. I, I uh. Kinda am trying to betray them, you know.” Colono speaks slowly, ears lowered from the scratching noise. For a moment, Clony almost considers to listen. The hivemind roars in protest, and swiftly a decision against listening to another dastardly word was made. When Clony begins to scratch more and more, the fake clone reals back. “Ugh! Can you not do that?”

Perhaps Clony would’ve smirked if they had actually possessed a mouth. Someone make a note that they aren’t used to sharp noises, Clony said. They took a step towards the fake Clony, again scraping their claws against the metal ground. “Make me then! Get the hell out of here!”

Colono hissed, scrambling back to the edge of the platform. White eyes narrowed at Clony. Anger, fury. Clony thought they saw a glint of sadness in their eyes. Desperation. For what, Clony was not certain. Only a glint, and a glint of something never counted. “Fine. You’ll regret this, you will.”

“Doubt it!” Clony chirped in reply. They watched as Colono fell off the platform, and listened to them fly away. Huffing a metaphorical breath, the clony turned on their heels to go back to their original spot.

There, lowered from the ceiling, was one of the Guardians. A gleaming and mechanical red eye, with eyelashes replaced with sharp and bendable spires. Called it, Clony groaned. A flap of their wings launched them off the ground, allowing them to avoid one of the spires. Clony couldn’t avoid the second. "Fuck."

They hated Guardians. How many had been killed by them alone? Fitted with lasers, fitted with spires, fitted with being almost invisible along the ground and ceiling. Clony never saw them coming until it was too late. So many had been lost to the latest advancement in the Red Eye's arsenal. Clony hadn't found a way to kill them, but the Guardians sure had found a way to mow down Clony in a manner most swift.

The impaling never killed them. No, it was the poison that all the spikes of the land seemed to be pumped full of. Not all of them, Clony hazily reminds itself of a time it used a spike in the land of Frozen. The poison fills their lungs, and the clony explodes into a sad pile of fuzz onto the metal ground when their small body can take the abuse no longer.

The Guardian reels up, gaze focusing on Colono. “Was that the one?” The machine roars, whirring and clicking as it continues to rise from the ground towards the Replicant. "That talk of being a traitor better have been false," The Guardian then adds. The spires twitch, flexing towards the Replicant.

An ear twitches, Colono’s gaze falling down to the pile of fur. “No,” they answer simplistically. "I'll keep looking. I'll prove my undying loyalty to the Red Eye. As I always have." They keep their gaze firm as the Guardian emits a low and rolling rumble, before curling back and disappearing behind the metallic ridge from where it had originated from.

Clony had the luxury of peering over a ridge from higher up, out of sight of the two dastardly metal bound creatures. It truly was grateful that all of its clones could share its name, the name of the species. It made it incredibly easy to trick all the Replicants that tried to hunt them down.

Poor Colosar, Clony bluntly thinks as it flies towards the edge of the Warpzone. Onwards and forward, as always. A sacrifice of one for the benefit of the many others. What was their purpose? Clony still wasn’t certain. Was it to slowly be killed off by their creators? Was it to survive like all the other endangered natives of the Badlands?

They shake their head, and let the next trash chute take them away.