Luke looked down at the thin stack of papers in his hand. They had been shoved into an envelope which read: Isle of Feres Replica Facility; Undine-Redecan 51, ND2018.

"Jade, what're these?"

"Those were discovered in the lab Van built on the replica Isle of Feres. They're for you." The Colonel didn't look up from sorting through a stack of papers on his desk. "We've already analysed and made copies of them, so you're free to take them."

Nodding slowly, Luke poked a finger inside the envelope, feeling several sheets of paper inside. He looked up as Jade began to speak again.

"Although... if you choose not to read them, that might be more beneficial."

"Why?"

"You may not like what you read."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Like I can put them down after hearing that." He paused for a moment, glancing at the now doubly mysterious parcel in his hands. "But what are they?"

Jade finally looked up, crimson eyes shielded behind the glare that reflected off his glasses. "It will be quicker if you just read them."

"Yeah, but, you just said-"

"Go on now," Jade cut him off. "You haven't forgotten how to read since I last saw you, have you?"

The streets of Grand Chokmah were quiet, apart from a few people moving about on errands or business. One with think a city as large as the Malkuth capital would be more crowded, but the lack of people made it easier for Luke to move about the streets. He clutched the envelope in one hand, still wondering what could be inside it. Jade hadn't given him any details; the Colonel had merely sent word saying that there was something for him to pick up at the Malkuth Military Headquarters.

The air in the city was cool, a breeze blowing in off of the sea. The leaves of a nearby tree rustled and swayed as the wind played with its boughs. Luke looked up. The sun was still high over head; it wasn't far past noon. Finding a bench, conveniently located in the shade of the tree, Luke sat, still looking at the pack of papers in his hand.

Well, he would never find out what they were by just staring at the envelope. Sliding one finger under the packet's seal, he pulled out the first sheet nestled inside. A quick glance confirmed that it was letter, dated three years ago. Curious, Luke shifted though the rest of the papers, running his eyes over the dates in their corners. They were all letters, he could tell, and they were all addressed to the same person.

Paper crinkled as he slid all but one of the letters back into the envelope. The wind tugged slightly at the the corners of the sheet he now held in his hands, but not strong enough to blow it away. Squinting his eyes, Luke peered down at the tight lines of script crawling across the page, and began to read.

Dear Number Two,

I guess this is kind of weird, right? Me, writing a letter that will never make it to you. But I think that's okay. Even if it doesn't ever get to you, I'll still be able to see it and read it for myself. I guess it's kind of like a diary, a diary that's meant to be read by someone else, even though it never will be.

I'm sorry. I should probably introduce myself before I start rambling. My name in Number Three. At least, that's what they all call me. I don't really have anything else to go by, except, of course, 1-034, so I guess that's where I'll be staying.

I decided to write to you (even though I know that you'll never be reading this) because I'm thinking you'd understand where I was coming from, more than the people around here, anyways. After all, we're sort of in the same boat, even though our lives are completely different.

If the others knew about this, they'd think it was a stupid idea, for me to write weird letters to you, because you don't even know you're a replica. That must be really nice. You can think you're the original, and no one will tell you different because they don't know any different.

I often wonder what you're like. I've been told that replicas have different personalities than their originals, even if they look exactly the same. I wonder if you're a lot like the original, personality wise, I mean. I wonder that about myself too.

Sorry. I haven't really said anything all that important or special in this thing, but I'm running out of paper, so I guess that'll wait until next time, if I even write a next time.

- Number Three

What is this? Luke wondered, looking up from the letter as he finished. It felt a lot like journal entry, but in the form of a letter. A strange and rambling letter. And, according to Jade, it had been written for him.

He shoved the letter back in the envelope, making sure to keep them in order. Pulling out the next, he saw that the date on this sheet was only a few days after the previous one.

Dear Number Two,

I'm starting to get bored already. They didn't tell me how long I'd be in this place, but it could be for the rest of my life, I guess. They said I was dangerous, which was why I had to be locked up here. That doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me; after all, they let me be free for five years.

But that doesn't really matter now. Here I am, staring at the same four walls I did yesterday, and am likely to do tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. I'm pretty sure I'm never getting out of here, now that they know that my fonon frequency is wrong.

I didn't tell you that, did I? That's why they locked me up in here, even though I'm a perfectly good replica. I'm just not perfect enough. My fonon frequency is one digit off, somewheres way back, so it took them awhile to figure it out, though I think Van might've had his suspicions.

You know Van, right? I don't know a lot about you, or what you have to do with their plans. I think sometime in the future they're planning to do something big, but I don't quite know what it is, so I can't really know how you're involved. But one thing I do know is this: Now that they know my frequency is wrong, whatever part I had in their plans won't be happening.

I wonder if I'm the first replica to not be an isofon. Usually, replicas that have problems like this die, quickly, but I'm still here. They did lock me though, so that might mean something.

- Number Three

The next letter was dated a whole week after the second one, but Luke was already starting to get confused. This replica had known Van, but that really wasn't all that surprising. And this replica had a different fonon frequency than its original. Did that happen often? He'd have to asked Jade to find out.

Dear Number Two,

Me again. I hope they don't stop supplying me with paper and ink, or else this imprisonment might kill me with just boredom. Today I asked the replica that brings me food how long I'd be in here, but he just grunted and shrugged. I didn't really expect an answer from him anyway.

Sometimes I wonder why they just don't kill me. I guess that's a fairly kind of morbid thought, but that's what usually happens when a replica is defective. Maybe it's because I'm "special," whatever that means. I had been under the assumption that I wasn't needed anymore because I was broken, so to speak, but if that was the case, why waste all of the time and energy keeping me alive? Maybe it's because I'm, well, me.

I just realized that I never told you who I am. I mean, I told you that my name is Number Three, and I'm one of the first replicas that was ever made by Van (or maybe I didn't tell you that), but I never told you who my original is or anything like that.

Well, I was made about six years ago. I wasn't really very important, even when I was made. That's because I was the second replica to be made from my original. I was just insurance, really. I was made in case something happened to you. I am Number Three, the second replica of Luke fon Fabre.

Wide-eyed, Luke stared at the letter in shock and disbelief. Van had made two replicas of Asch? And this second replica had been kept as backup in case he, Luke, failed somehow. But this replica, this Number Three, had a different fonon frequency than the original's. So his fonon frequency was different from Lorelei's, which meant he wouldn't have heard voices in his head, and he wouldn't be able to use hyperresonance alone.

But still... Luke thought, feeling the letter crumple slightly as be gripped it in his shaking hands. Wasn't one replica of Asch good enough? That means that there were three of us - three Luke fon Fabres!

Forcing himself to continue, Luke read the conclusion of the letter.

I assume that'd be a little be shocking; not the part about me - though I guess that'd be a little strange too - but when you first found out you were a replica. I mean, I was brought up knowing I was a replica who was going to a used a pawn in one of Van's schemes as soon as it was profitable, but you must've thought you were a real, unique, human being, and being told that you're not... I can't imagine what that felt like.

Or will feel like, I guess I should say. If the others are to be believed, then you don't even know you're a replica yet. I don't pity what you'll feel when you find out.

- Number Three

Luke burst back into Jade's room at the Military Headquarters, breathing hard; he'd run all the way from the bench in the park.

"Jade... have you read these?" He asked, waving the papers in the Colonel's face.

Jade nodded. "I have, though not very thoroughly. It appears that Van had Dist create two replicas of Asch, presumably in case one failed." He shoved his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "Although Dist may have just wanted to experiment on an isofon of Lorelei, and Van wouldn't let him have Asch, and they needed you." Shrugging, he continued. "It's just idle speculation now."

Luke found his way back to the bench, slowly, uncertain. It was hard to comprehend that there was a second replica of Asch; it just didn't feel right.

It was a while before he could convince himself to continue reading. Removing the next paper from the envelope, he stared down at the short letter, realizing that the handwriting did indeed slightly resemble his own.

Dear Number Two,

I'm here. Still. It feels like it's been ages since I was out. I miss the taste of air, and the feel of the wind. It's so dark in here; the only light is from a lantern down the corridor. I never see anyone except for whoever it is that brings me food, and he just comes and goes, usually without a word. I just want to talk to someone. I just want to see someone. It's getting so lonely in here, with just you to write to. Sometimes I'm afraid I'm going mad. More and more often, it seems like.

I think about you a lot. I wonder if you've found out that you're a replica yet. I wonder if Van's started using you yet. Things are stirring around here; I hear things going on outside and upstairs, even if I can't see them. No one will tell me what's going on, though. After all, I'm just Number Three, destined to die here. Alone.

Do you think I'll be here until I die, all alone? I hope not. I hope not. I hope not...

-Number Three

The next letter was dated a year after the previous one, and was written in nothing more than a shaky scrawl.

Why? Why? WHY? Why is it that you are the one who was the isofon? Why is it that you are the one that got let out? Why wasn't it me? Why couldn't it have been me?

It's not fair. IT'S NOT FAIR. I don't deserve to die here. I don't deserve to live like this! So what? So what if Van used me? So what if I'm a pawn? I don't care anymore. I want to get out. LET ME OUT!

I can't stand this. I'm going mad. I'm really going mad. I need to see someone, anyone. I need to touch them. I need to let them touch me. I just need to know that someone cares whether I live or die. But no one does. NO ONE DOES!

I'm scared. I'm scared of myself; I'm scared of everyone else. I'm scared that I'll never see the light of day ever again. I'm scared that one day they'll stop bringing me food, and that they'll just let me die here alone. I can't be alone anymore. I need to get out. I have to!

Why? Why couldn't you be here instead of me? Why couldn't I be the one out there? I know Van just wants to use you, wanted to use me, but if I could just taste the air one more time, I'd never want anything else ever again. I can't live here like this!

I'm running out of paper. They don't bring me any anymore. Soon, I won't even be able to write to you. Soon, I'll be truly mad.

I can't. I can't! I CAN'T! I can't do this anymore. I'm dead. I'm dead, I'm as good as dead. I wish they would just kill me. WHY WON'T THEY LET ME DIE? If they're going to make me live like this, WHY CAN'T THEY JUST KILL ME?

It took Luke a long time to peel his eyes away from that letter. It was as though he could feel the pain of Number Three flowing out through his words. No matter where you went, it seemed, the replicas would never have peace. There was only one more letter in the stack. Luke wasn't sure he wanted to read it. He wasn't sure he wanted to do anything, really.

Why was it? Why had it been him that had been the perfect isofon? Had it had to do with the Score? It didn't really matter now, but it didn't quite seem fair. But, then again, nothing about the replicas had ever seemed fair. Not Ion, not himself, and not this.

Ion had said that he had used to think that it didn't matter if he died, because they could just make another replica of him. But that wasn't right. Number Three had called himself "insurance." He had known from the start that he wasn't needed. Sync had talked about being needed and being considered trash, especially compared to Ion.

It was, in a sense, a lot like the Fon Master. The best had been chosen; the others had been destroyed. Number Three hadn't been destroyed, but he'd been locked up, and slowly started to go mad with the loneliness. It just wasn't right.

Hesitating, Luke drew out the final letter. It was the least he could do to read it, so that someone would remember, so that someone would care.

Dear Number Two,

I think this is going to be my last letter. I guess I should have been more careful about what I wished for. Fate has a funny way of playing around with people, even replicas.

They came. They told me I could take the poison, or they'd just take me out with their swords. I told them I'd drink and go peacefully, if they'd just let me write for a minute or two. I don't know why they said yes; after all, it'd be quicker and a lot less of a hassle for them to end it now. But at least they'll give a condemned replica his last request.

I guess I should apologize. I realized something after I wrote that last letter. While I'm glad I did write it - it felt very good to get those feelings out - I'm sorry that I blamed you. I realized that I've always been blaming you, Number Two, for what happened to me, when it's not really your fault at all. It was just so painful to know that no one needed me. It was so painful to know that I was just trash to them, so I blamed you for being perfect when I should have been blaming Van, or maybe the Score, which drove him to do what he did, or the world, which depended so much on the Score.

But people make mistakes. I realize that now. It's not the world's fault, and it's not the Score's. Maybe the world would be better off without it, but what Van is doing is wrong. I get that now. I just wish there had been a way to make everyone happy without so much hurt and so much death.

They're getting impatient. I have to hurry. But I realized something else when I was in here, just thinking. I want to live. Maybe it's selfish. I know that me being a replica could throw off the Score, but if that's going to happen, it's already happened, so I want to be able to live in this world. I really, really do.

I'm going to try to escape. I'm going to try to run past them. It probably won't work, but if it does, and if I get free, I'll try to find you. I'll look for you, Number Two, replica Luke, and we can fight off Van together, and anyone else who would use innocent people for their own gain.

But if I don't make it, and if, by some providence, you find these letters, please try your best to make it so that nothing like us replicas will ever happen again. I'm glad I'm alive and I want to keep living, but no one should be made to suffer like we have.

- Number Three

Luke reread the letter twice before he was able to move. Then, he leaped up and run straight back to the Military Headquarters, bursting through the door of Jade's room once again, all but shouting, "Jade! Do you know? Did he... did he make it?"

The Colonel didn't look up. He didn't ask what Luke was talking about; he didn't need to. He merely said, "No. There was a record of it in some of the papers we found in the replica facility." He pulled a sheet from the stack on his desk, and slid it across to Luke. Peering down, he read the short report: Sylph-Decan 36, ND2018: Replica 1-034, aka Number Three, was eliminated while attempting to escape execution. No casualties were reported as a result of the incident.

Luke's fists balled at his sides, the papers in his hand crumpling slightly as he did so. He looked up, anger flashing in his eyes. "Why is it that they thought they could just throw us away like... like..."

"I didn't think it would surprise you," Jade said quietly. "Such incidents were quite common."

"I know that!" Luke snapped. "But this... this.." He stopped. He couldn't say anymore. He was shaking. Shaking with anger.

"I know, Luke. I'm sorry."

Luke stormed out of the Headquarters, fuming. He wasn't sure why he was so angry; after all, this was not the first time there had been reports like this.

He had thought that all of this was done with. He had thought that killing Van and sealing the miasma would fix all that, and it had, mostly. But every once in a while something would come up. A report, an instance of injustice, a time when someone thought that the replicas just weren't good enough.

Slamming his fists down into a stone railing, Luke stared long and hard into the clear sea. The current's ebb and flow distorted his reflection, and it stared back at him, looking as though it had been twisted violently. It just wasn't fair, but there was nothing he could do. Number Three had been dead for almost two years now.

He took a deep breath; then, unfolding the last letter, he read again the final paragraph.

But if I don't make it, and if, by some providence, you find these letters, please try your best to make it so that nothing like us replicas will ever happen again. I'm glad I'm alive and I want to keep living, but no one should be made to suffer like we have.

That was Number Three's legacy. It was one more reminder, Luke knew, looking up into the clear blue sky. One more reason for him, Luke fon Fabre, to do whatever it took to make sure that no one abused replicas, or any other person, ever again.

Because it wasn't just about the replicas, it was about the entire world. No one, not replica or original, should have to suffer. He knew that he wouldn't be able to save everyone in the whole world from all pain or sadness. But he was going to try. He was going to help people, and use the rest of his life to make them happy. It was the least he could do.