The lull of the tank fades and you find alertness returning to your body. Julia's voice echoes in your ears, like the afterimage on your eyes after staring into the sun. The words themselves are swallowed up and inaccessible, but you can still taste the pattern of them.

You press the release button and watch as the glass lifts itself away. You're feeling warm, wired. Electric. Your body is ready for whatever's to come. You step out onto the rough floor, the cool air prickling your skin with anticipation.

Motion to your side catches your eye. The left-side chamber has opened at the same time. Stepping out of the tank in almost perfect sync with you is, well, you. Your clone looks at you exactly as you look at them. Your heart thuds, deep and rich, seeing how perfectly mirrored you are. Julia loves when you're symmetrical for her. You watch your clone's chest rise and fall with breaths that are perfectly matched to your own, and think about the complex web you two weave. Breathing the same air, in and out. You, Julia's original toy, and your clone, the part of yourself that you offer for her destruction again and again and again.

Your clone looks back at you with the same thoughts written across their face.

"Oh, you two look just perfect," Julia says with unalloyed delight. Both of you snap out of your contemplations, whirling eagerly to face the sound of her voice. "Utterly identical! That's what I like to see. You're so good for me when you're this attuned." Her voice glows with praise and satisfaction, and you stand straighter, proud. Your simple existence is earning Julia's approval, and what could be better than that?

"When you're identical, though... that means somebody has to stand out," Julia says, already nibbling at her lower lip with keen eagerness. Your body vibrates in conjunction with Julia's excitement, her desire stoking your own. "And you know what I always want to do when I see something perfect, right?" You do. Of course you do. You already know what's coming next. You've known since you stepped out of the tank. These things can't be rushed, though. 

"I want to see it break," Julia says, and her grin is so, so wide.

You spin without hesitation, your hand balling into a fist. You put all of your weight behind it, swinging from the shoulder, making yourself a wrecking ball. Your clone is darting forward already, lifting their arm to protect their face, but momentum wins the day. You fist blooms with ragged red pain as you impact the side of their skull. You've almost certainly broken a fingerbone or two, but that's alright. Worth it. You see the clone sag as they step up towards you and you know you've got the upper hand. Only one thing to do with that advantage - press it. Hard. 

Julia laughs with delight, crying out "Oh, what a strong start!", and you swell with pride. Her enthusiasm rouses something savage in you, and you attack your clone again before they can get their bearings back. An arcing open-handed slap, a series of rapid-fire jabs, even clawing for their eyes. You're not trained for this. You don't know how to fight. Neither does your clone, though, and so this naked, rank violence is fair footing. You've killed many clones for Julia's entertainment before this one. You'll do it again now. 

The clone is retreating into their shell. Fists by their ears, chin down, elbows up. You lash them with blows but they absorb them, weathering your storm. You hear them angrily gulping breaths, greedily trying to regain equilibrium. You can't let them do that. You're on top right now. You can't lose that by allowing them to steady themselves. Their defenses are too strong, though, and you begin to worry you're going to tire yourself out trying to break them.

"Come on," Julia shouts, her bloodlust nakedly clear, "Don't hold back. Who's going to impress me?" Shame hits you like a splash of cold water, jarring you out of your fear about growing tired. Don't you want to impress Julia? What does it matter if you're tired?

Your clone is faster to react than you are. They drop to an aggressive crouch and hurl themselves at your midsection. You're too slow to see it coming and while you try and lift your knee, splitting their face with it, you're a step too slow. You crash together and your feet scrabble for purchase on the playroom floor, futilely. You're driven backwards rapidly. You slam fists down on the clone's spine, but they ignore you, and they haul you back and upwards. Your back crashes horribly against the wall. Your lungs are compressed. Something feels hot and sharp in your chest. Your rib must be broken. Your stomach is lurching, and you manage not to vomit, but only barely. You can't pull in a breath like you normally would. This might be it.

But Julia wanted you to impress her. You've lost the upper hand now, and that's so humiliating that you can't bring yourself to look at her. Your clone is pulling themselves free from the violent tangle your bodies have made, and the ground-glass pain in your chest makes it clear that if they do, you won't be able to fight them off any further. They'll kill you. Plain and simple.

It's less of a will to live that motivates you in that moment, and more of the need to give Julia a good show.

You lift one arm as high as you can, ribs screaming, and you slam your elbow downward with all your might.

It's not a perfect hit. You're exhausted, and your target's moving too much. But your clone's already been struck hard in the head once, and you connect enough that their grip on you goes spongy and weak. You don't hesitate. As soon as the first shot lands you're already working on a second. It crashes down on the same spot, and they're too dazed to even move and try and dodge the third. That reduces them to a sprawled mess on the floor.

Still breathing, though. You take a moment to glance at Julia, who's wild-eyed with the spectacle of your violence. She's sitting up in her chair, pitched forward, cock out and engorged. She's stroking quickly, obviously close. Just like the end of this battle is close.

"That's it," Julia croaks, "that's it. It's almost done now. Go on. You know what I want."

You grab the clone by the neck and the hair, groaning and wheezing as you heft them to their feet. They don't seem to be able to walk. That's alright. You don't have to go far. There's an operating table a few strides away, and the chrome edge gleams readily. 

"You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you." Julia's breath is so fast. You want to hyperventilate for her, lock your breathing to hers, but your weak and broken lungs won't allow it. "You know what I want. You know. Give me what I need. Give me all of it."

You do know. You use all the strength you've got left to pull your limp, battered clone upright. Then you slam their face down on the table's edge. Something crucial snaps, loud, and the remains of them crumple to the floor at your feet.

Julia cums.

You could collapse too, both from the physical exhaustion of the fight and from the relief of seeing her pleased. Instead, you simply drop to your knees. Julia erupts one thick, ropy strand of cum after another, each spraying onto the floor in front of her. You move to your hands and knees and begin crawling to her.

You've done it. Again. You've destroyed something of yourself, sacrificed an aspect for the sake of Julia's pleasure. And you'll do it again, you know. And again, and again, until there's nothing left. 

She doesn't look at you as you crawl to her. Her eyes are locked on the clone. She sits back in her chair, and cocks one foot towards the mess before her. "Clean that up," she says, dismissive. Paying you no mind whatsoever.

You start to lower your face to the floor, tongue out. It's not much, lapping up her issue, but it's a form of contact with her and that means it's divine. But before you can start, Julia makes a noise of disapproval, and you freeze. She looks at you with a cruel grin and points one finger at your tongue. She tilts the finger up, and you understand. Back in your mouth it goes. Instead, you lower your cheek to the rough floor and scrape it across the cum she's deposited there. You grind your chin and cheeks and forehead and nose over it until you've smeared it all onto yourself.

"Up," Julia says, perfunctory, and you sit up on your knees, gazing at her. You're a mess, you know. Your face is abraded and filthy. She smiles at you, indulgent, then pats you twice on the cheek. The second is more of a slap. 

"That was very good," she says, and your core warms with pride, but her tone is dispassionate. Her expression doesn't have any of the galvanized intensity of when she stared at the clone you destroyed for her. As she gets up, gesturing for you to follow, you glance back at the body with a knot of jealous anger.

"It's time for a rest," Julia says at the tank. "I'm going to give you a nice long period to enjoy my words. Won't that be nice?" Your head bobs in a nod that makes you lightheaded and nauseous with its fervor. Julia grins. She lifts a hand, inviting you to enter.

You get into the left side.

You get into the right side.