There's a place in the tank where your mind is truly free to wander. A place where you're conscious enough to hold some version of a thought, but sedated and stagnant enough that you aren't bound to logical, conscious patterns. It's brief, but it occurs every time you're in the tank, right before waking. You ride the crest of a wave of awareness, and sometimes you think something interesting.

This time, you realize you don't know your name.

There's no major emotional response to that, other than a bit of wonderment. That's significant, isn't it? Losing something so integral and personal. You can't remember the last time you thought of yourself by name. More than that, you can't remember the last time Julia said it.

Is it possible that she's forgotten it, too?

If you don't know it, and Julia doesn't know it, what does that mean? She's the only one who knows you still exist - to the extent that you do exist, here in the playroom, jettisoned from the real world. If neither of you know your name, do you have one? Are you anyone?

You stomach flutters, loose and hot, like flapping wings or leaves rustling before a storm. It's a pleasant feeling, bright and resonant deep inside of you. You've managed to forget something indescribably crucial, and that somehow feels like an achievement. Like you accomplished something you've worked at for years. Dedicated your self to, if you still have a self.

You press the tank door open, eager to see Julia. Eager to tell her. You feel like she'll be proud. 

She's right there, waiting for you. Could there be anything better than that? Your favorite person in the world - the only person in the world - right there, ready for you, Wanting you. Needing you. She takes you by the hand as you emerge, guiding you out of the tank safely, making sure you don't trip or hurt yourself. So careful, so caring.

She's wearing gloves, you notice. Simple disposable medical gloves. That's interesting. You start to look at her curiously, and she slips a syringe into your forearm and depresses the plunger.

"That's it," she says. Her expression is so full of love that she looks like she could split open. Her voice is thick with emotion and arousal and relief. "It's already over. Can you feel it?"

You can. A sting from the injection itself, and then, slightly delayed, a burn. Like insects gnawing the insides of your veins. Like thin roots of fire crawling up and down your arm. You gasp as it rapidly spreads, searing. It's shockingly painful, and you clutch a hand over the small red dot showing where she's killed you.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. Look at me," Julia says. She takes your cheek in her palm. Both cheeks, both hands. She kisses you softly on the lips. "You're OK. You're with me. It's already done. You understand? It's over. We can just be here now. C'mere." She nestles you to her and slowly guides you to the ground. Gently, so gently, so impossibly gently. Both of you sitting there, on the rough floor, right in front of the other chamber of the tank. Still sealed. Your clone, still waiting to be born, waiting for its chance to accept Julia's gifts.

Your arm feels heavy now. It doesn't hurt as much. It's less of a hot pain now, and more something achy and thick. Like Julia's hollowed out your arm and packed it with lead, too much lead to fit. You can't move it, so it just hands limply at your side. Ironically, the tank lethargy is starting to wear off, and the rest of your body feels loose and capable. Not for long, you're sure, but you savor what you can get. You lift your working hand and take Julia's. Bold, perhaps - Julia's the leader in these games, always. But you want to feel her in this moment, and you can tell she needs that. Her smile grows as she twines her fingers into yours.

The tank behind you hisses, and the left-side chamber opens. You're furious for a moment - now? Really? Your fucking clone has to emerge now, stepping on this moment? You've had to watch this so many times. So many times you've been made to sit aside and wait and watch and be ignored while Julia performs that day's rituals on the clone she's shedding from you. So many, so many, so very very many. An endless list. And she's finally closing the loop, finally turning her beautiful eyes on you, the original, and the damn clone has to interrupt? It isn't fair.

But of course Julia makes it alright. "Hi, baby," she says to the emerging clone, whose eyes are darting around the scene, trying to make sense of it. "Come here and join us." She pats the floor near you both, and the clone dumbly nods and sits down. Its knee brushes yours, and the skin there seems dull, as though you can't feel as vibrantly as you should. The heaviness in your arm is spreading, you realize. It's making all of your muscles feel clogged. Rusted into place. You flex your jaw, try to swallow, and it's all wrong. Your throat makes a noise, horrid and froglike. Julia inhales with surprise and delight. She squeezes your hand. It's harder to feel that now.

"Does it hurt?" she asks you, and you nod, stiffly. It does. It's a different pain than you've ever felt before, like your nerves are calcifying. It's the pain of clenching a muscle for too long and trying to work the cramp out. Julia lifts her hand out of your grip, and your hand drops to your side like a felled tree. You can't move it at all. She traces a nail across your shoulder, across your chest. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a thin pink welt trailing behind. "Can you feel that?" 

You try to shake your head, but those muscles are too stiff. You grunt out something like a 'no'. She understands. She always does. 

Julia reaches over, wrapping the hand you were just holding around the back of your clone's neck. Without looking away from you, she tugs them down, face into her lap. You can't quite see - you can't angle your head to look down - but you can spot enough of the motion to realize she's placing the clone's mouth over her cock. Letting it suck her off while she watches you fade.

Your lungs are too tight to work. Your heart's struggling to pump around the lockjaw of your chest muscles. "That's perfect, sweetheart," Julia says to you. You can't blink, and you're grateful for that. When Julia says "You're perfect," the shape of those words on her lips are the last thing you see.

THE END.