Cloning - Tumblr Posts

X-23: The First Clone

The origin story of Laura Kinney was first published in 2005. Although a version of the same story was summarized at in X-23′s first appearance in X-Men: Evolution in 2003, when we first meet her in the books in NYX, the story spends almost no time on her background. All we’re introduced to is a virtually mute young girl sharing Wolverine’s powers who was forced into prostitution, and we’re given no context for how she got there. It would be two years before the story of her creation was told in full in the comics.

In it, Dr. Sarah Kinney proudly proclaims that the process of cloning a mutant is something akin to godhood. Right from the very start, there seems to be a problem with this statement, as by the time Laura made her first appearance, and her origins were told, comics were positively brimming with clones.

Among the most famous is Madelyne Pryor, the Goblin Queen, created by Mister Sinister to further his obsession with the Summers/Grey bloodline after the (apparent) death of Jean Grey.

And of course, no conversation about clones in the Marvel universe is complete without Ben Reilly and the Clone Saga.

Which begs the question: How can Sarah Kinney be breaking such new ground, if it was already so well-trodden by the time she came on the scene?

The answer is: It wasn’t.

Marvel’s continuity is built around the Sliding Time Scale, which basically freezes the entire universe in a sort of stasis where no matter when characters first appear, they more or less don’t age (or if they do so, it’s very slowly, very generally working out to approximately 1 year in Marvel = 4 years in real life). And that time scale begins in the 1960s, with Fantastic Four #1, with X-Men #1 occurring roughly around the same time. And, according to Marvel, only between 10-15 years have passed since the Fantastic Four made their famous space flight.

So how is that relevant to Sarah Kinney’s hubris?

In All-New Wolverine #27, Daken reveals that Laura was cloned “20 years ago,” and it’s since been established that Laura is approximately 21 years old in the present day (her interactions on Krakoa and in X-Terminators suggest she is of legal drinking age).

Which means that if only 10-15 years have passed since the Fantastic Four’s flight, Laura was born anywhere between 5-10 years before the events of Fantastic Four and X-Men #1.

Almost every other clone we’ve seen in the main Marvel universe, whether Maddie, Ben, the Stepford Cuckoos, or even Sinister’s own many clones of himself, are known to be created after these two comics.

As a consequence, the Sliding Time Scale makes X-23 one of, if not the, first clones in the Marvel universe.

Sarah Kinney’s hubris was well-justified. She truly was breaking scientific ground that not even Mr. Sinister himself had not yet touched — in fact, even Madelyne herself was a failure until a fragment of the Phoenix brought her to life.

For all we know, her work to create Laura is now retroactively the foundation of all human cloning in the Marvel universe. Welcome to godhood indeed.

Huh....

New theory:

Dr. Brenner cloned Jane Ives, Eleven isn't the real Jane, and because of Eleven's powers, he wanted to create an army of superpowered Elle soldiers.

The Russians have an Eleven clone and Brenner knows it because he sold her to them along with the cloning technology.

In His Father's Shoes

With bated breath, Timothy tiptoed into the family's home office. Hoping to find his stashed birthday present, but instead found his father, Tim. Tim's smug expression made it clear Timothy's entrance was expected.

"Don't even bother pretending to be surprised this time, Jr. I catch you every year trying to sneak a peek at your birthday present." Tim snickered.

Timothy laughed. "Fine. Fine. So, what's the punishment, old man?"

"No punishment," Tim said plainly. "In fact, I'm going to reward your childishly devious behavior. You can have your present early this year."

Timothy beamed with surprise. "What!? Really!?"

Tim's expression got even smugger. With one foot, he gently pushed his kicked-off and well-polished dress shoes in front of his son. "Happy birthday, Jr."

Timothy's expression quickly went from joyous anticipation to disappointed confusion. "Your… shoes? That's my present?! You're joking, right!?"

"Try them on." Tim teased, pushing the shoes closer to Timothy.

Timothy's confusion only grew as he looked down at his father's, well, his new shoes.

"Where's the enthusiasm? Where's the gratitude?" Tim teased even further.

Timothy sighed, slightly smirking and jokingly rolling his eyes. "Fine, I'll humor you, old man. But I better get my real present after!"

With a raised eyebrow of suspicion, Timothy slipped his bare size 9 feet into his father's size 12 dress shoes. The shoes clearly hadn't been off his father's feet long - warm like a heated blanket. Oddly, the warmth was comforting to Timothy.

"How are they, Jr?" Tim teased.

Timothy exaggerated the look of confusion on his face. "Strange… they're a little too big for me."

"You can't fool me, Jr." Tim teased, slightly less playful this time. "You love them."

"Okay, Dad. No more fooling around. Where's my real-" Timothy lost all thought, silenced by a faint voice suddenly popping into his head. "He's right. You do love them. You could easily spend all day standing here in your father's shoes… your shoes."

"You look a little tense all of a sudden, Jr." Tim teased. "You're hanging out with your old man. Nothing stressful about that. Just relax."

"He's right. Your father is always right. Relax. Relax. Relax." the voice droned, this time louder than before. The word "Relax" echoed through Timothy's mind, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. Suddenly, Timothy felt as if he had just gotten done having a full body massage - every inch of him utterly relaxed.

"There, much better." Tim relished in his son's newly calm expression. "You feel nothing but relaxed. Too relaxed to think. Too relaxed to do anything but stand there. Let all thought dissipate. Let it all evaporate. Clear your mind completely. Let my words be the only thing that resides within your mind."

"No thoughts of your own. Only fathers. Only fathers. Only fathers." the voice rang throughout Timothy's head, erasing all apprehension. He felt blank. Empty and still, like a statue.

Tim maliciously smirked. "My words are truth. My words are your reality. Do you know why, Jr? Because I'm your father. I made you. I'm your creator, your god."

"He made you. He created you. You're his son, his creation. He owns you. Owns your body. Owns your mind." the voice droned, no longer resembling a stranger but his very own inner voice. Suddenly, Timothy was washed over by a wave of faith, deifying his father in his mind.

Tim looked his unmoving son up and down, grinning like a supervillain, enjoying every second of his son's blank expression. Trying to contain his laughter as Timothy began to drool. "You know, those shoes are a little big on you." he teased, his eyes now on the perfectly-polished dress shoes. "Big shoes require big feet. Size 12 feet."

"Size 12 feet. Size 12 feet. Size 12 feet." Timothy's new inner voice droned. His feet vibrated, slowly expanding and widening, stopping only when his feet fit perfectly into the shoes.

"Much, much better." Tim smiled, but his satisfied smile only lasted for a moment. "Hmm, now your feet are almost too big for your body, Jr! Big feet belong on a tall, meaty body."

"Tall. Meaty. Tall. Meaty. Tall. Meaty." Timothy's inner voice droned. His ankles pulsed, spreading up through his entire body. His clothes tore as his legs stretched and thickened; torso broadened; butt swelled; chest expanded; neck and arms bulked. Timothy was now as tall and wide as his father.

"Perfect. Simply perfect." Tim was beyond thrilled with his son's new and improved physique. "Hmm, that baby face of yours doesn't quite match your new masculine physique, does it, Jr? A strong, masculine face is what a masculine body requires. A face like mine. My face."

"Father's face. Father's face. Father's face." Timothy's inner voice droned. His face pulsed, losing all sense of boyishness as it morphed into chiseled statuesque perfection. His wavy hair receded, leaving it short and more mature. His face now resembled his father's exactly - a mirror image.

"Perfect. However, Do you know what should come from such a manly face? A deep, manly voice. A voice like mine. My voice." Tim scoffed.

"Father's voice. Father's voice. Father's voice." Timothy's inner voice droned. His newly thickened neck vibrated, significantly jutting his Adam's apple.

"Let's hear that new manly voice in action, shall we, Jr?" Tim teased. "Speak, boy."

"Sir, yes, Sir." Timothy expressionlessly stated. His voice now identically resembled his father's - deep, rugged, and undoubtedly manly.

Tim's satisfactory smirk returned. "Perfection." He got up from his chair and walked up to his son. He softly caressed his son's newly chiseled jawline with his index finger, examining him like a freshly chiseled statue. He then looked directly into his son's eyes. "You may look empty, but I know you're still in there, Jr."

Timothy looked like he checked out long ago, but, in reality, he'd been watching from afar. Locked away in the empty darkness. Trapped in his own mind - a helpless observer. Forced to watch himself be converted into his father's likeness.

Tim maniacally grinned, once aging, gazing back down at the perfectly polished dress shoes his new and improved son was wearing. "You know what they say about big feet, Jr.: Big feet. Big meat."

"Big feet. Big meat. Big feet. Big meat. Big feet. Big meat." Timothy's inner voice droned. His crotch vibrated, swelling and growing. His already torn pants tore more as his cock released itself. He now had a thick, juicy member between his legs: just like his father - exactly like his father.

"Perfect!" Tim sat back down in his chair. He looked his son up and down once more, prideful in his work. "Now, you resemble me completely. However, the body must match the mind, Jr. My body. My mind."

"Father's body. Father's mind. Father's body. Father's mind. Father's body. Father's mind." Timothy's inner voice droned. Suddenly, he has flooded with his father's interests and personality. Far back in the darkness, Timothy felt himself disappearing - not evaporating but sinking. Falling further into darker nothingness as his father's mind replaced his own.

"Sink, boy," Tim commanded. "Lose yourself to me. Feel yourself drain into your balls. Fill them. Swell them with your essence."

Timothy sunk further, now melting into his balls. Losing all sense of humanity as he morphed into thick, hot cum. Timothy's cock stiffened as his balls swelled with his old self. A small part of himself still hung on by a thread.

"Let go, boy," Tim commanded, his malicious grin beaming ear to ear.

Timothy's newly low-hanging swelled balls pulsed. The small part of Timothy that remained filled with dread, as he knew his time was soon up. His newly-thick member stiffened to an uncomfortable degree, ready to fire off at any moment.

"Cum!" Tim demanded.

With that came a massive load. What was left of Timothy's mind jettisoned out onto the floor. Timothy was now nothing but a sticky mess on the home office carpet. With a moan of gleeful satisfaction, Tim pressed his beautifully shaped, perfectly adorned foot into the puddle of his son's expelled essence. He wiggled his toes around, absorbing his son into his warm, sweaty dress socks - enriching the masculine scent of his godly size 12 feet. Timothy was gone. All that remained was Tim.

I Guess I Have Two Dads Now

It was just supposed to be a silly picture, nothing more. Why? Why did it have to change him!

But, I guess I'm getting ahead of myself.

A few days ago, my younger brother and I decided to pay our dad a visit. It was so nice being together again in our childhood home, after all these years. Late one night, while our dad was out cold, we decided to throw back a few. It did start as a few, I swear, but you know men, we seldom can control ourselves. A few quickly became a lot, with our father's good stuff no less. I don't know why we thought it was so funny, but we got the biggest kick out of going through our dad's things. You could chalk it up to nostalgia, but I think it was the alcohol.

My younger brother thought it'd be hilarious to take a pic of him wearing our dad's infamous cowboy hat. I also thought it was a funny idea and took out my phone. He was simply supposed to put it on and take it off, after a short pic. However, that's not what happened.

The mere moment after I took the picture, something changed in him. It was instant, frighteningly fast. His voice abruptly dropped significantly, exactly in the middle of laughing. His voice suddenly sounded exactly like our father's, a deep masculine pitch with a hint of rugged smoker husk. Just thinking about that moment still gives me a chill. I still find it odd how he didn't react to it, or my reaction of utter confusion. He just kept on laughing, like he was in his own hysterical bubble.

Seconds later, his body started to change. First, it was his feet, shooting out and expanding. They became meaty, resembling a middle-aged man—exactly like our father's. Next, the transformation moved up his lower limbs, turning his already masculine legs into two muscle logs covered in thick hair. Once again, identical to our father. It traveled up him further, hitting his crotch. I felt like the biggest pervert, watching my little bro's cock and balls expand and grow in his shorts. I don't know if it was his new massive pecker or the new bubble butt or both but his former loose shorts were suddenly in danger of ripping. Next was his entire midsection. In a flash, his frame tripled in size, going from average-toned to muscle beast. His new biceps were the size of my head—exactly like our father's. At that point, I horrifically realized what was happening to him. He was becoming our father. I know it must have seemed obvious from the start, but I didn't realize it till then. I think I was too scared to accept it. Finally, was his head. Watching it morph and grow into an exact copy of our father's was pure horror.

The worst part though, of the entire experience, was my brother's laughing. Not once did it stop. He just kept laughing like it was the funniest thing ever, from beginning to end.

I guess I have two dads now.

Beneath

I never thought about what Aunt Lily did in her basement, or why she went down their so often. You’d be surprised what you don’t notice when you’re young and there’s a big sprawling tv screen clear as any window and you’re up in the countryside with ponds to splash in, woods to play in. You don’t notice when the adult your with—especially someone as lovely and kind and fun as Aunt Lily—disappears for several hours at time. You just don’t notice.

Then I got a little older. While now I had a phone, and a game system I could carry in my backpack, I started to get a little.. bored. The pond seemed dinky and tiny. The woods were hot, filled with too many bugs too eager to nip and bite.

And I started to notice Aunt Lily disappearing. I noticed how bare her lovely country home seemed. Few pictures or artworks, just a bit furniture.. It was like Aunt Lily didn’t really do much other than spend time in her basement. And by the time she finished it was only an hour of tv or so with me before she was snoring away.

It’d be always been a kind of unspoken rule between us to not go into the basement. I wasn’t a fussy kid, and didn’t break rules: so why would I just barge down there? Aunt Lily was obviously busy on something, so by right could I go on and barge in, disrupt her? As a kid, the thought seemed impossibly rude, nearly sacrilegious.

Now, things seemed different. I noticed how Aunt Lily had numerous solar panels on the roof and even three churning turbines like odd, white trees on the hillside. I noticed how sometimes the power seemed to fluctuate, oddly. I noticed how far away Lily lived from everything, even in the country; easily a four hour drive, two of which seemed only dirt roads deep in redwood country..

By the time I was eighteen and spending a last summer there before college; I couldn’t contain my curiosity.

What the fuck was Aunt Lily doing down there?

One night she went to bed. Tired as always after our of tv and some supper, she kissed my cheek and ruffled my hair before climbing the steps. As soon as I heard her door close my heart began to race. My skin tingled. Thoughts raced. I waited fifteen, twenty minutes. Just to be sure.

The basement door was colossal, and heavy. Metal like something out of a laboratory or security room, not a dainty little wood entrance. The stairs went down into a hallway, and onward.

To where?

I descended. Heart thrumming with intensity. The hallway seemed to go on for moments, smoothly carved black rock with soft but discernible lights carved at equal distance. I noticed how strangely tall the ceiling was, how wide the walls were from another. Almost like a hospital..?

I waked for five, ten minutes. It seemed longer.

The room was large. Larger than the entire house above it, easily twice or double that, maybe more. Dark electric blue-black light played over the slick, sterile surfaces. Bulbous machines seemed to line the walls in rows, like twisted glassy-synthetic plants from some otherworldly oasis. Scientifc instruments and mechanisms sprawled along the tables and islands, files in open piles.

What the fuck was she doing down here?

I noticed the hatchery.

A singular, bowl-shaped placement the width and breadth of a dinner table covered by a glass top. Within was a bedding of grass or moss, and a thin fog seemed to trail within.

There were eggs. Easily twenty, thirty eggs. Maybe more. The smallest were seemingly normal chicken-sized eggs, ovular and grey. Then.. there were the others. Eggs thin and lengthy, with leathery coatings, which seemed to softly breathe. Round, ball-shaped eggs with dark splotched coverings in bizarre patterns. Skinny almost tubular eggs tinted a rich, almost creepy bluish purple.

A singular camera or watching device dangled from the glass dome, gently swiveling, ever observant.

Was Aunt Lily some kind of farmer..? A really weird, underground chicken breeder?

When my hand touched the cool glass, a digital printout sprang to life under my fingertips, outlining the egg in a soft virtual outline. Temperature readings, internal diagnostics, likelihood of hatching within a certain timeframe..

But what caught my attention were the species names.

Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Triceratops Horridus.

Allosaurus Fragilis.

They were dinosaurs. And in that moment, I understood.