The fragrance of mud after a fresh shower, the cool atmosphere—something that would gently rock a baby to sleep.
Alas, what Hayaat felt was only a chill breeze of emptiness.
Beep.
Beep.
The connection was lost.
"Noor," she screamed frantically.
"Noor… answer me!"
Her heart raced. She feared the worst.
She ran, the heavy rain soaking her from head to toe while her mind scrambled for a plan.
She stood in the rain for what felt like forever, time slipping through her fingers.
She yelled at the top of her lungs—
"Noor!"
"Astagfirullah…" she whispered, disappointed.
Not at the situation, but at herself—for handling it this way. The least she could have done was have a backup plan.
A long breath.
No time to lose.
Even if what she was about to do was reckless—
a half-baked plan was at least better than nothing.
In the research center
Fazil's morning seemed peaceful at first: the light breeze, the sunlight spreading across the garden, birds chirping, the morning sun greeting everyone. Yet, it wasn't what it seemed.
Not only was it an illusion, it was also a cage.
Fazil knew he had very little chance of escaping on his own, so he needed a plan.
First, he had to find his sister. He had to know if she was okay. How was she holding up?
And he knew one more thing: if he didn't return soon, things wouldn't end well.
What he didn't know was that Noor was already in the research center.
He racked his brain, trying to come up with a way to convince the clones. It was his first time trying to persuade anyone other than his sisters.
With his sisters, it had always been easy.
Food.
He remembered the saying—the easiest way to a person's heart is through their stomach.
Fasil had learned to cook at a young age. His mother had insisted on it, knowing he would one day leave home for hostels, where food wouldn't be as comforting as home-cooked meals. She taught him to cook—not just to eat, but to survive.
He wasn't a chef, but he was decent. Noor and Hayaat had approved, and that was enough.
But here, cooking wasn't an option. Their meals were controlled.
Monitored.
There was no freedom, not even for something as simple as a meal. That plan was useless.
The second option—the harder one—was to confront them. To talk. To understand their emotions and find a way forward without provoking them.
He already knew they were on edge. These weren't just clones. They were trapped. Any wrong move could make them snap.
He wanted to know more about their past attempts to escape—but he held back.
Pushing too hard could break whatever fragile trust existed.
Not all of them were the same.
1011206 was supportive, but guarded—she revealed nothing.
2100710 was more open, especially emotionally.
4180114 had helped the most in 5030511's escape… and was still shaken by what had happened.
6260818, however, was the biggest mystery.
She barely spoke.
When Fazil tried asking 1011206 about everything, she dismissed him, saying it wasn't important.
It was 6260818 who finally spoke. She had noticed how everyone brushed him aside.
"It's nothing big," she said quietly. "People just don't want to talk about it."
Then, after a pause, she continued—
"They think it's their fault."
Fazil listened carefully.
"It wasn't meant to happen," she said. "The guards only wanted to stop us… to slow us down. One of them aimed at 4180114's shoulder ."
Her voice dropped.
"But 5030511 thought he was aiming to kill."
"She jumped in."
"A direct shot… to the head."
Silence followed.
"She died instantly."
With that, Fasil understood a few things: these clones weren't just copies.
They felt.
They feared.
And they carried guilt.
What was more surprising was that, even after everything, security hadn't tightened.
It had loosened.
A caretaker was appointed, and the clones were allowed to roam freely—but only on specific days. The catch?
The day was never fixed. Each week, they would be informed at the last moment.
"This week—Friday."
Next week, it could be Monday. Or Sunday.
No pattern. Only one day per week—but completely unpredictable. The intention was clear: prevent them from planning an escape.
Fazil , with this new information, wanted to know which day it would be. To everyone's surprise, the announcement came—
"Tomorrow."
And coincidentally, it was the very same day Noor had decided to search for her brother.
Fazil had a plan of his own. Instead of trying to convince all the clones, he decided to focus on just one.
6260818
She already seemed… different. More receptive.
So he approached her.
"Do you want to check the area I came from?" he asked.
To his surprise, she agreed immediately. Too quickly. The others had been either dismissive or distrustful of him. But her? She didn't hesitate.
That unsettled him.
Still, he moved forward.
As they walked, the low hum of machines filled the air. Massive structures surrounded them—incubators, preservation chambers, and countless devices of varying complexity.
Everything had a purpose: to preserve. To cultivate. To study. To understand… the clones.
Then something surfaced.
A memory. Not his. Fouda's.
It came suddenly—
A face.
An identical one –at that .
Zara.
It wasn't a clone , she did not have the numbers on her neck like the others.
She looked directly at him and said—
"Run away."
Fazil froze.
He knew instantly—this wasn't his memory. It belonged to the body he now inhabited.
But why had she said that?
What had led to that moment?
Driven by Fawdaa's fragmented memories, Fazil continued forward—with 6260818 beside him, unaware of what awaited them.
And somewhere in the shadows, Zara watched.