Title: "The Doppelgänger Deception"
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The blinding sun cut through the dapples of shade as Lee’s boots thudded urgently on the baked dirt. She could hear every crunch of mica under Elle’s shoes, every whisper of their breaths, the precise pattern of dust motes swirling in the hot air around them. That was Lee’s curse and her edge—senses once unremarkable, now blindingly acute, forced upon her when they’d made her, dissected her, copied her, and then tried to bury her alive in her own flesh, in the form of her clone.
Elle jogged ahead, darting quick glances over her shoulder. Sweat gleamed against her temples, her heart pounding a rapid rhythm Lee could hear as clearly as wind chimes, even over the wavering hum of insects lost in their summer fugue. The world, and all its dangers, pressed close upon them, heavy as an iron shroud.
“They can’t be far,” Elle hissed, her eyes scanning the surrounding brush. In the sun, her shadow was sharp and twisted at the edge of the road.
Lee focused, listening for any echo of pursuit. The other Lees—the imperfect copies—moved differently, their breaths a hair too synchronized, footsteps off-rhythm, a predatory cadence Lee recognized instinctively. Their scent was close, sharp with the metallic tang of pharmaceuticals and terror.
But for now, all she smelled was sunburnt dirt and the green, bruised breath of wild grass.
“We’re almost there,” Elle said, barely moving her lips. She ducked beneath a fallen branch, her motions fluid, urgency held in check by practiced calm.
Lee trailed after her, heightening her senses now that every instant was peeled back and vivid: the dry stickiness of blood clinging to an elbow scrape, the subtle vibration of rotors hidden somewhere ahead, their low hum almost masked by the cicadas’ shrill drone. The dirt road sloped downward, skirting the edge where an old barbed wire fence gnawed at stands of goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace. A cloud of butterflies rose at her passing—yellow, white, brief explosions of color.
Suddenly, with a hand signal, Elle pulled Lee behind a tangle of sumac. “There,” Elle whispered, pointing.
Half-concealed under brown camouflage netting, in a broad clearing, crouched the helicopter. Its paint was scratched and faded—a surplus relic, its belly scored by old shrapnel—but the tail-number was new, scrubbed, probably falsified. A man slouched at its side, scanning a battered phone, oblivious.
Lee inhaled. Oil, old leather, aviation fuel—a scent she’d never forget.
They crept closer, the sunlight painting diamonds on Lee’s brow. Elle waved her forward, fingers flickering. In a blur, she snapped her hand into the air—a signal to the pilot. He jerked, surprise flashing across his features, but Elle’s pistol silenced any protest. In moments, she’d hustled him out, bound his wrists with plastic ties, and jammed him head-down behind a dead log.
“Ready?” Elle asked Lee.
Lee slid into the passenger seat. The glass glared, the cockpit was alive with switches and dials gone sticky from age. As Elle twisted the key, the engine coughed to life. Rotor blades shuddered, then thundered.
Lee buckled in. Through the canopy, the world spun, trees flattening with the upwash. Behind them, an echo—Lee caught it, the distant clamor of their pursuers, clones running, shouting, their voices maddeningly close.
She locked eyes with Elle, whose jaw worked as she pressed her headset against her ears, fingers flying over controls.
“Canada now?” Lee asked, voice deliberately neutral.
“Canada,” Elle confirmed, steady and bright.
They lifted away, carving a path through the hot morning air. The world fell away in a mulch of color: the black-green patchwork of trees, the purple bands of distant hills, the tan thread of the road unspooling below.
At first, the compass flicked true north. But within minutes, Lee felt her skin prickle with warning, her senses swirling. Tiny shifts in the engine’s whine, the subtle adjustments Elle made—none compatible with a northbound arc.
The sunlight shifted on Lee's skin as they banked left, northeast, then unmistakably east. She glimpsed the shadows of lakes she knew had no place on a Canadian vector.
Lee’s mind raced. She tasted a metallic tang at the back of her throat—rage, confusion, anticipation. Her jaw clenched.
But she spoke nothing.
She watched Elle’s hands work the stick, the careful glance at a paper with cryptic coordinates clutched beneath the altimeter. The truth unfolded in golden bars across the cockpit, and with her heightened perceptions, Lee saw memories flicker in Elle’s eyes—apprehension, calculation, guilt.
Lee stared ahead, tracking every minute deviation, cataloging every anomaly—the faint, stinging aroma of seawater rising as they flew further east, the flicker of unknown air traffic on the collision-avoidance radar. She parsed the data, cogs in her mind spinning.
Elle was taking her somewhere else.
Not Canada.
Betrayal stung, but curiosity, razor-bright, sliced through Lee’s anger. She composed herself, allowing silence to settle between them, the drone of the rotors their only song. Outside, the world stretched vast and blinding.
Where was Elle taking her, and why?
And what did Elle, her only living ally, know that Lee did not?
As the helicopter thundered higher, passing beneath the caravans of clouds, Lee resolved she would wait, observe, let every keening sense drink in the truth. Soon, she would know everything.
And when she did—Lee smiled thinly—she would act.
This story was generated by user jess.jessie0 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a long story about Lee's who had enhanced senses. She and her ally Elle escaped from their own clones who were trying to kill them. Describe how Elle led Lee through the dirt roads to a hidden helicopter. Describe how Lee followed Elle down the sunny dirt road. They planned to fly to Canada, but as soon as Elle took the controls of the helicopter, it flew in a different direction. Lee, with her heightened senses, immediately sensed that they were not going to Canada and felt cheated, but she kept quiet because she was curious about where Elle would take her.
Response: The blinding sun cut through the dapples of shade as Lee’s boots thudded urgently on the baked dirt. She could hear every crunch of mica under Elle’s shoes, every whisper of their breaths, the precise pattern of dust motes swirling in the hot air around them. That was Lee’s curse and her edge—senses once unremarkable, now blindingly acute, forced upon her when they’d made her, dissected her, copied her, and then tried to bury her alive in her own flesh, in the form of her clone. Elle jogged ahead, darting quick glances over her shoulder. Sweat gleamed against her temples, her heart pounding a rapid rhythm Lee could hear as clearly as wind chimes, even over the wavering hum of insects lost in their summer fugue. The world, and all its dangers, pressed close upon them, heavy as an iron shroud. “They can’t be far,” Elle hissed, her eyes scanning the surrounding brush. In the sun, her shadow was sharp and twisted at the edge of the road. Lee focused, listening for any echo of pursuit. The other Lees—the imperfect copies—moved differently, their breaths a hair too synchronized, footsteps off-rhythm, a predatory cadence Lee recognized instinctively. Their scent was close, sharp with the metallic tang of pharmaceuticals and terror. But for now, all she smelled was sunburnt dirt and the green, bruised breath of wild grass. “We’re almost there,” Elle said, barely moving her lips. She ducked beneath a fallen branch, her motions fluid, urgency held in check by practiced calm. Lee trailed after her, heightening her senses now that every instant was peeled back and vivid: the dry stickiness of blood clinging to an elbow scrape, the subtle vibration of rotors hidden somewhere ahead, their low hum almost masked by the cicadas’ shrill drone. The dirt road sloped downward, skirting the edge where an old barbed wire fence gnawed at stands of goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace. A cloud of butterflies rose at her passing—yellow, white, brief explosions of color. Suddenly, with a hand signal, Elle pulled Lee behind a tangle of sumac. “There,” Elle whispered, pointing. Half-concealed under brown camouflage netting, in a broad clearing, crouched the helicopter. Its paint was scratched and faded—a surplus relic, its belly scored by old shrapnel—but the tail-number was new, scrubbed, probably falsified. A man slouched at its side, scanning a battered phone, oblivious. Lee inhaled. Oil, old leather, aviation fuel—a scent she’d never forget. They crept closer, the sunlight painting diamonds on Lee’s brow. Elle waved her forward, fingers flickering. In a blur, she snapped her hand into the air—a signal to the pilot. He jerked, surprise flashing across his features, but Elle’s pistol silenced any protest. In moments, she’d hustled him out, bound his wrists with plastic ties, and jammed him head-down behind a dead log. “Ready?” Elle asked Lee. Lee slid into the passenger seat. The glass glared, the cockpit was alive with switches and dials gone sticky from age. As Elle twisted the key, the engine coughed to life. Rotor blades shuddered, then thundered. Lee buckled in. Through the canopy, the world spun, trees flattening with the upwash. Behind them, an echo—Lee caught it, the distant clamor of their pursuers, clones running, shouting, their voices maddeningly close. She locked eyes with Elle, whose jaw worked as she pressed her headset against her ears, fingers flying over controls. “Canada now?” Lee asked, voice deliberately neutral. “Canada,” Elle confirmed, steady and bright. They lifted away, carving a path through the hot morning air. The world fell away in a mulch of color: the black-green patchwork of trees, the purple bands of distant hills, the tan thread of the road unspooling below. At first, the compass flicked true north. But within minutes, Lee felt her skin prickle with warning, her senses swirling. Tiny shifts in the engine’s whine, the subtle adjustments Elle made—none compatible with a northbound arc. The sunlight shifted on Lee's skin as they banked left, northeast, then unmistakably east. She glimpsed the shadows of lakes she knew had no place on a Canadian vector. Lee’s mind raced. She tasted a metallic tang at the back of her throat—rage, confusion, anticipation. Her jaw clenched. But she spoke nothing. She watched Elle’s hands work the stick, the careful glance at a paper with cryptic coordinates clutched beneath the altimeter. The truth unfolded in golden bars across the cockpit, and with her heightened perceptions, Lee saw memories flicker in Elle’s eyes—apprehension, calculation, guilt. Lee stared ahead, tracking every minute deviation, cataloging every anomaly—the faint, stinging aroma of seawater rising as they flew further east, the flicker of unknown air traffic on the collision-avoidance radar. She parsed the data, cogs in her mind spinning. Elle was taking her somewhere else. Not Canada. Betrayal stung, but curiosity, razor-bright, sliced through Lee’s anger. She composed herself, allowing silence to settle between them, the drone of the rotors their only song. Outside, the world stretched vast and blinding. Where was Elle taking her, and why? And what did Elle, her only living ally, know that Lee did not? As the helicopter thundered higher, passing beneath the caravans of clouds, Lee resolved she would wait, observe, let every keening sense drink in the truth. Soon, she would know everything. And when she did—Lee smiled thinly—she would act.
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