This is my first post. I’m writing whatever I want for my own enjoyment. I’m not very learned, so the science in this near-future story is all over the place. There’s no erotic content in the main story; that’s in a separate work. It’s in the “Another Episode” of a work called “Clone Soldier’s Daily Life: Setting Collection & Another Episode.” In the main story, there’s only some breast talk in between the brutal war stories and some vulgar talk from characters who appear later. This work is also being posted simultaneously on “Narou.”
When I woke up, I was in a different world.
I’m a soldier, and apparently a test subject in a clone experiment.
Today, like every day, involved blood tests, brainwave measurements, and various other things. Finally freed, I’m in my private room, writing this journal, my only daily routine.
The reason I decided to write this journal, no joke, is because I was thrown into a life where I could die at any moment, and I felt like I should leave some kind of record while I’m alive.
It doesn’t matter to me if I die and this journal falls into someone’s hands.
To the people of this world, this journal, which describes my original world and things like that, would likely be considered insane, and no matter how they interpret it, there’s nothing they can do.
Besides, it’s none of my concern as a likely dead person.
Let me reflect on myself a bit.
Currently, I’m referred to as Test Subject Number 12 (I never imagined I’d be called something like a certain national anime’s android). In my original world, I was a second-year student at a third-rate private university named Namihei Amakake.
My father was a bureaucrat. He graduated from what was said to be the best university in Japan and seemed to be on the fast track for promotion even after becoming a bureaucrat.
My father wanted me to follow the same path he did, but I couldn’t.
I managed fine through junior high. I entered a first-rate junior high, but I stumbled in high school. I’ll never forget the look on my father’s face when I told him I failed the entrance exam for the first-rate high school he wanted and that I would be attending my second-choice school.
I don’t have telepathy, but I understood what my father, who looked down on me in silence, must have been thinking.
“Why is someone so inadequate like this my son?”
He seemed to want to say that. From that day on, my father lost interest in me, and I lost interest in my father.
It was the day my family ended. And even at the second-rate high school, I was a slacker, eventually leading to my enrollment in a third-rate private university.
I deliberately chose a university in the provinces. I wanted to live apart from my father.
My father probably also wanted to get rid of a failure like me somewhere quickly. He didn’t say anything in particular, and easily allowed me to live alone.
At university, I attended just enough to not fail classes, didn’t join any clubs or circles, didn’t make any friends, and spent my time on the internet and playing games.
Every day was boring, to say the least. As usual, I had classes in the morning, played games at an amusement park in the afternoon, and bought a lunch box from a convenience store on my way home in the evening.
I ate my lunch box while watching TV variety shows, and as I was considering having a drink, I must have fallen asleep on the sofa.
When I woke up, I was naked inside a cylindrical glass case.
It was filled with a slightly viscous, light purple liquid. I panicked, thinking I would suffocate, but that didn’t happen. What is this, like an entry plug?
Then I looked at my abdomen and was surprised. It was perfectly divided into six sections. I had no idea when I’d gotten such a ripped body.
And the face reflected in the glass case was someone else’s.
I didn’t think I was ugly, but this face was clearly that of a handsome man.
I tried stroking the handsome man’s face. Indeed, I was stroking the face reflected in the glass case.
I wondered if it was a dream, but I’ve never recognized that I was dreaming while dreaming.
I looked around from inside the glass case. It looked like a university’s science and engineering laboratory.
Several monitors, equipment of unknown purpose, a stark, unadorned space.
With a “pssh” sound, a man in a white coat entered from what turned out to be an automatic door.
He was a thin man in his late twenties, looking like a typical scientist, with messy hair, thick glasses, and stubble.
He was shouting something into a receiver near the door.
“Subject 12’s consciousness has awakened! You administered the sedative as usual, right!”
“…You should calm down first.”
I tried to say it coolly, but I was frothing at the mouth, so it wasn’t very cool.
The scientist-like man rushed to the glass case with a furious expression.
“Subject 12! Do you understand what I’m saying!”
“If you spoke a little slower, it would be easier to understand.”
The scientist-like man looked down, started to tremble slightly, then gave a double thumbs-up with both hands before starting to clap.
This guy’s got some serious energy…
“I did it! It’s a success! I really was a genius!”
“Genius, could you at least let me out of here? And bring me something to wear.”
“Ah, ah, right. I need to call everyone. Subject 12, you won’t suddenly go berserk, will you?”
“I’m a pacifist.”
“That’s problematic then. You’re a soldier.”
Haa? It doesn’t seem like a dream, and this is becoming a tough situation. However, it seems I’ve been freed from my boring daily life.
…Perhaps in the worst possible way.
Then, inside the glass case, I was surrounded by a group of people in white coats, led by the genius.
As I vaguely pondered what it must feel like to be a chimpanzee in a zoo, several soldiers with guns entered, and I was finally let out of the glass case at gunpoint.
They gave me clothes that looked like prison uniforms, so I put them on. While I’m not interested in fashion, these are far worse than the clothes I usually buy at discount stores.
They politely put handcuffs on me and escorted me to another room, which was exactly like a prison cell.
The only difference from a prison was a single monitor.
The monitor suddenly turned on. On it was the genius.
“Hey, Subject 12, how are you feeling?”
“If you were put in a solitary cell wearing prison clothes, how would you feel?”
“I apologize, the higher-ups are being loud. I am Dr. Shijima. I created you.”
So he’s the doctor. In any case, I need to extract as much information from him as possible right now.
“The question of where this is, is a foolish one, right?”
“I can only say it’s a secret military laboratory.”
…Military, huh. I thought it might be Japan since they’re speaking Japanese, but that might not be the case.
I can’t imagine such a secret laboratory operating in the Japan I lived in.
Besides, there’s no reason for a simple university student like me to suddenly be here. No, the doctor said the experiment was a success.
An experiment to transplant the consciousness of a university student into a test subject… that’s probably not it either. There’s no reason to make a simple university student into a soldier.
I’ll go along with what Dr. Shijima says for now. I need to keep my own information concealed.
“How was I made, and for what purpose?”
“You could say you’re a secret weapon to win the war against the Mechanist Army.”
“Mechanist Army?”
“The World Unification Organization Army. They are our enemies, and you are a soldier created to fight them.”
It’s confirmed this isn’t modern Japan. Is it the future, or a completely different parallel world?
“Since I’m Number 12, does that mean I’m the twelfth one?”
“That’s right. You are the 12th clone of a cloned soldier, created based on the genes of an excellent soldier who died in battle, and the first successful case. Oh, it was truly difficult to get this far.”
I don’t care about your struggles. In any case, I understand that this place is completely different from modern Japan in terms of time or space.
The doctor is joyfully celebrating, but the experiment probably isn’t a success.
It seems to be a coincidental event where a tremendous irregularity occurred. And I must not let him realize that.
Expecting a sense of human rights from people who create clones from the dead is ridiculous.
“I’ll listen to the detailed situation tomorrow. I’ll let you rest today.”
“Understood. Sleep well, Number 12, and sweet dreams.”
Yes, it’s from tomorrow. For now, I have to think about how to survive.
This seems like it’s going to be quite a long story.
