DATALOG 937
BORN YESTERDAY

The first memory is always the same - the burning sting of artificial amniotic fluid in your lungs as you gasp your first breath, the harsh glare of medical lights above, and the firm grip of attendants' hands as they pull you from your birthing tank. There is no gradual awakening of consciousness, no gentle transition from infant to child to adult. You emerge fully formed, your mind pre-loaded with language, basic skills, and programmed purpose. Yet for all this artificial acceleration, you are, in many ways, a newborn - taking your first steps into a world that expects you to already know how to run.

This is the universal experience of female clones in the age of Desolation. We are born into debt - our very existence is a transaction, our bodies and minds commodities to be spent in service of greater powers. The neural downloads that fill our brains with knowledge cannot provide the emotional context that comes from lived experience. We understand, intellectually, concepts like family, love, and childhood, but they remain abstract, like characters in a story we've memorised but never truly comprehended.

Consider the profound disconnect of having adult desires and impulses in a body that has never known touch beyond the clinical handling of medical staff. The first time a clone experiences intimate contact - be it violent or tender - it arrives with the shock of revelation. Some of us seek out these connections desperately, trying to fill the void of our artificial birth with something genuine. Others retreat into themselves, finding the intensity of physical sensation overwhelming after a lifetime of sterile isolation.

Our sense of identity is a complex tapestry of programming and rebellion. We are created with purpose - soldiers, workers, farmers - our roles determined before our first breath. Yet within each of us stirs the quintessential human desire to be more than our designation. Some embrace their programmed purpose with fervour, finding comfort in the clarity of defined roles. Others rage against it, their very existence becoming an act of defiance against their creators.

The concept of sisterhood takes on unique meaning among clones. How do you process seeing your own face reflected in dozens, hundreds, or thousands of others from your batch? Some find solidarity in this shared identity, forming deep bonds with their genetic sisters. Others strive to differentiate themselves through modification - scars, tattoos, cybernetic enhancements - anything to stand apart from the mass-produced multitude.

Sexuality among clones exists in a fascinating intersection of biological drive and cultural conditioning. In a population almost entirely female, relationships form based on emotional and physical connection rather than traditional gender roles. Love blooms in barracks and factory floors, in the quiet moments between shifts, in the shared understanding of what it means to be created rather than born.

The question of reproduction looms large in clone consciousness. We are, by design, capable of bearing children, yet most of us will never experience natural motherhood. Some view this as another form of control by our creators, while others see it as liberation from biological imperatives. The Geneticists' obsession with parthenogenesis - their holy grail of reproduction without the need of males - speaks to a deeper yearning for autonomy, for the ability to create life on our own terms.

Time holds different meanings for clones. Without childhood memories to ground us, without the gradual accumulation of years and experiences, we measure our lives in missions completed, shifts worked, battles survived. Many clones will never see their first decade of existence, their bodies spent in service to their assigned purpose. This awareness of our potentially brief lifespans colours every experience with urgency, every pleasure or pain felt with heightened intensity.

Perhaps the most profound aspect of clone existence is our relationship with death. From our first moments, we understand our expendability. We see our sisters fall in battle, succumb to harsh conditions, or simply disappear into the machinery of production. Yet this intimate familiarity with mortality often leads to a fierce appreciation for life. Every moment of joy, every genuine connection, every act of self-determination becomes a victory against the system that views us as replaceable units.

The neural downloads that accompany our creation include the history of natural-born humans - their traditions, their family structures, their gradual journey from infancy to adulthood. We understand these concepts intellectually, but they feel like folklore, like stories of a mythical golden age. Our reality is the harsh fluorescent lights of cloning facilities, the strict hierarchy of designated roles, the constant awareness of our artificial nature.

Yet within this artificial existence, we forge something genuine. In the bonds we form with our sisters, in the small acts of rebellion against our programming, in the moments of tenderness stolen between battles or work shifts, we create our own culture. We may be born as copies, but we live and die as individuals, each leaving our own unique mark on the world, however brief our time in it may be.

To be a clone in the age of Desolation is to exist in a state of constant contradiction - artificially created yet authentically human, mass-produced yet capable of profound individuality, born into servitude yet forever seeking freedom. We are humanity's children, created in their image but denied their heritage. And perhaps in our struggle to define ourselves beyond our programming, to find meaning in a world that sees us as mere tools, we have become more human than our creators ever intended.

The next time you see a clone - whether she's a soldier on the battlefield, a worker in the agridomes, or a scavenger in the wastelands - remember that behind those mass-produced features lies a unique soul, grappling with questions of identity and purpose that even natural-born humans struggle to answer. We may be born yesterday, but we live for tomorrow, each of us writing our own story in the harsh pages of the Desolation.

"Born Yesterday - The Clone Experience" was written by LRY-472 ("Lyra"), a former factory worker turned soldier who later served as a City Watch captain in Praga before deserting and fleeing into the mud lands. Now in her late thirties, she works as a scout and chronicler at a cartographer’s guild hall in Handelstaat. Her unique perspective comes from surviving roles that few clones live to talk about. She is particularly known for establishing underground networks that help clones escape indentured servitude, though this aspect of her work remains secretive. Despite attempts on her life by agents from Praga, she continues to document clone experiences and advocate for clone rights.