It has been 10 years since Dylan was born. No one knew where he was, no one knew that he was the 17th and final clone of The most famous Theif on the planet. No one except his host mother, who has hidden him from the world and his fellow clones. Of course they knew where he was, Dylan was a part of them, no matter how distant they get.
Dylan placed his stuffed animals in a row, he stared into their lifeless eyes. Filled with anger, Dylan knocked them over. He needed a real human to talk to, not another abiotic toy.
"Dylan." The Host mother stood behind the small door, that lead to the closet he stayed in. "Lunch." The Host walked down the hall quickly, she always treated Dylan like an animal.
Dylan quickly opened the flap at the bottom of the door, where he found a PBJ and yogurt, again. This had been his lunch for years, never changing. He bit into the sandwich, studying his closet.
It was a walk-in closet, with just enough room for a 10 year old. His cot was shoved in the back and his belongings were scattered about the enclosure.
"Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!" Dylan screamed, throwing his yogurt towards the window, or a small hole covered ceran-wrap. He looked towards the window to find a person standing in front of it, clad in black.
"Who the hell are you?" Dylan demanded.
"That's a silly question, because, technically I am you."