A/N:We all know that Helen (cough, cough, hag!) had her army of evil clones, including one of everyone's favourite professor, Cutter. What if she made clones of the rest of the team? What happened to them? Questions like these wouldn't stop bugging me until I relinquished and wrote this fic. Read, enjoy, and please review.

Chapter I: Theta

The clone of Nick Cutter was not a stone-dumb photocopy.

That was something that Mistress Cutter was wrong about. He was starting to understand that she was wrong about a lot of things. He was not stupid, he did have baser feelings, and he was really starting to get annoyed by this whole 'it' business. He was not an 'it'! He was not the real Nick Cutter, but he was still male. Therefore, he was not an 'it', he was a 'he', correct? Correct. These thoughts were in his head as he pointed the gun point-blank at Nick Cutter's head, counting to ten. However, the professor looked surprisingly calm, considering there was a deadly weapon aimed at his skull. "You don't have to do what she says. You have a choice," said Nick in a low murmur.

A choice? Since when did he ever have a choice? Obedience was all that he knew. Mistress gave the orders, and he obeyed them. That was how it was supposed to be. But...maybe...Mistress Cutter was wrong about that too. Why did he have to obey her? He had a mind of his own, fully capable of making a decision. He'd already made a decision, though Mistress didn't know it. He was proud of it, but also terribly guilty. He was aware that Mistress and Nick were speaking, arguing, and then Mistress was speaking to him once again: he focused.

"Listen to my voice. Complete your mission," she said firmly, and he moved away from her, headed towards the table, and opened the case with a very powerful explosive device inside. He took the detonator into his hand. Were he to trigger the mechanism, almost the entire ARC would be destroyed, he was certain of it.

Just as quickly, though, Nick came around to stand beside him. "Look, I know that you can hear me, I know that you can understand. You don't have to obey her."

"She made me," murmured the clone quietly.

"You're a human being, you have a choice," insisted Nick.

"Don't listen to him. Follow your instructions," barked Mistress.

Unheeding of the Mistress's words, Nick continued speaking in that same lowered voice, almost soothing. "You're not a machine. You're a free man. You don't want to die."

"I don't know what death is," admitted the clone. He didn't know what it meant to die, but he had a vague sense that it was bad because Mistress often threatened people with it. It had to be bad if it was used to threaten, didn't it?

"Trust me. Life's better," replied Nick.

"Don't listen to him!" repeated Mistress in a shout as she ran down a hallway, artefact in hand.

Abandoning him. Leaving him - them - to die, whatever that was. The clone knew for a fact now that Mistress did not care about him, had probably never cared about him or anyone except for herself. And she thought that he had no baser feelings? He looked at the detonator in his hand. It could transmit the signal from up to 75 feet away. Mistress thought he never paid attention to things, but he liked to watch as she worked and built the explosive device, so he knew that they could be far away from the bomb when it went off. His gaze lifted to Nick; in all the time the professor could have run away, he stood there, awaiting a reaction, a response. "I will detonate this - " he said quietly; Nick closed his eyes. Feeling a slight smile curl his lips, the clone finished his sentence. " - once we are far enough away to avoid injury."

Nick's eyes flew open as he stared, mouth dropping open. Then the clone turned and ran down a hallway, fleeing away from the explosive device; he heard the pounding of footsteps on the floor and knew that the professor was following him. "You made the right choice," said Nick as they rounded a corner. Have I? the clone wondered as he pressed down on the detonator.

The initial shockwave of the explosion made him stagger, closely followed by a press of hot air against his back that forewarned a wall of fire close behind. So he ran faster, already tasting smoke in the air. "Move!" he shouted, hearing the roar of flame, and he shoved the professor into the nearest empty office, slamming the door behind them just as the fire bellowed past, the heat bringing sweat to his forehead. They lay on the poor carpeting, staring at the door, smoke oozing from beneath it, and he remembered his decision, the first one he'd ever made for himself. He looked at the professor. "My name is Theta."

To come face-to-face with oneself was most certainly a disconcerting experience. When Connor had said it was him, Cutter was truly baffled. Then he felt that hair-raising feeling where he knew someone stood behind him; he'd turned around and ended up inches away from a perfect copy of himself, a genetic replica of his DNA. It was definitely one of those 'you had to be there' moments to understand.

Helen had said the clone was only physically the same, that mentally, he was essentially dumb as a stump. That was where Cutter drew the line. Who was she to say that the clone had no intelligence? When the clone pointed a gun at his head and counted to ten, Cutter tried to talk to him, convince him that there was another path for taking, right there. Though Helen said the clone had no baser feelings, he could see the faintest glimmer of a response in the clone's eyes - his eyes.

Shortly after came the bomb. Cutter did not like anything that exploded, except for fireworks. Sometimes not even those. Again, he'd tried to convince the clone to make a different choice, to not follow orders. Helen took the artefact and ran, but his focus was currently on the explosive device on the table in front of him. At last, the clone looked at him directly. "I will detonate this," said the clone in Cutter's voice; with a sigh, he closed his eyes, hoping their death would be swift and painless. "Once we are far enough away to avoid injury," added the clone suddenly, and Cutter's head lifted, eyes snapping open wide. The clone was smiling slightly; then he turned and ran down a hallway. Cutter ran after him.

"You made the right choice," Cutter said as they ran, glancing over at the clone.

Without speaking, the clone lifted the small remote and pressed the button. The shockwave of the explosion made Cutter's stride falter, nearly falling over on his face. A wall of heated air ruffled the back of his hair, rushing past him, and heard the faint roar of flame. "Move!" shouted the clone, suddenly veering to the side, tackling him around the middle and knocking them both into an empty office, kicking the door shut. Cutter caught a glimpse of flames rushing past before the door shut. For a minute, all he could do was lie there, breathing hard, smelling smoke. He'd just been rescued by his clone. God, his bizarre life was getting more and more warped by the minute. The clone looked back at him. It was strange to look upon himself and see his face as others would, not backwards in a mirror. "My name is Theta," said the clone suddenly.

"What?" Cutter said brilliantly.

"Theta. My name is Theta."

"Like the Greek letter, Theta?" he asked.

The clone - Theta - nodded. "I chose my name, not Mistress. It is my name," he said, his voice not quite smug but almost. He seemed to be exceedingly proud of the fact that he'd chosen his own name, not one that Helen had given to him.

"Well, in that case...thank you, Theta," he said, sitting up gingerly. His shoulder throbbed from hitting the ground hard. "What made you decide not to listen to her?"

Theta's expression didn't change. "I am not an 'it'," he said last.

Cutter couldn't even pretend to understand, but he nodded anyways. Then he looked at the closed door of the office. The stench of smoke was getting stronger, the heat in the building rising. "Let's get out of here, Theta."