An unsatisfactory conclusion

There’s a small river that cuts through the jagged terrain of the Andes Mountains. I watched it for days sitting atop the hillside village with my army of lost Incan warriors. It was the only way into the barren valley. It was the only way out. When the North Koreans attack, so it was thought, they would do so there.

I accumulated an eclectic group of followers. One was a photojournalist who quoted Rudyard Kipling nonstop. Another was a fellow clone that was sent to kill me. These mountains do something weird to people; they all worshiped me like a god. Perhaps it’s the thin air that depletes oxygen to the brain. But they were all willing to die for me.

I’ve gained a lot of weight in those precious few days. I wore a black moo moo to conceal the fat. I also shaved my head completely bald.

Finally, after what felt like eons, a small boat was spotted floating down river. It didn’t appear to be a massive offensive like I was expecting. The boat slowly drifted ashore where it was greeted by a gaggle of Incan representatives. A US Army captain in full fatigues stepped out. He asked to be brought to their leader.

A ramp extended from the boat to the shore where other Army soldiers rolled a concealed figure in a wheelchair. The entourage approached headquarters and asked to speak with me. I granted them access and dispensed with pleasantries.

“It’s about time re-enforcements rode in!” I explained to the captain. “Do you really think that a band of tribal warriors can defend against modern North Korean mercenaries?!”

“I have bad news for you sir,” the captain replied, “the pentagon has deemed this mission over.”

“The fuck you talking about? I’ve been cloned many times over and they’ve all been brainwashed to infiltrate governments around the world! I didn’t sign up for this shit! You guys should be cleaning up this mess! Not me!”

“No sir, your facts are incorrect,” the captain sternly said.

I looked the officer up and down. “Are you an assassin?” I ask.

“There’s more to this mess than you can possibly imagine,” he replied.

Two army soldiers rolled forward the hooded figure in the wheelchair . The figure picked up a cain, stood up, and began to slowly uncloak himself. Finally he removed the shroud over his face.

“My god,” I uttered.

“You mother fucker,” the figure said to me. “Give me back the password and login to my WordPress account!”

“But but…how could this be?” I asked in awe.

“I’m the original Beau Montana! You’re my clone! You’re a knock off, a cheat, a hack, a total phony!” he kept screaming.

“I…I don’t understand,” I said.

“Well,” Beau explained, “many years ago, I ran out of money. So I donated sperm to a sketchy clinic in East Lansing that ended being a front for the CIA. Not the first time that’s happened to me. Anyway, the CIA ended up using the DNA to create clones of me for one of their many cockamamie plans. Unfortunately the CIA just plumb forgot about it and the clones ended up in the hands of the North Koreans. They wanted to use them for world domination. To add onto the pile of fuckups, the North Koreans didn’t know how to override the brainwashing of the CIA, so many of the clones went rogue and you killed most of them.”

“It wasn’t the most well thought out plan,” the captain added.

“So, with you being one of the last remaining clones, we need to rein you in and forget this entire incident happened,” Beau concluded.

“But this can’t be possible,” I pleaded. “I have a life, memories, a family for christsake!”

“No you don’t,” Beau said. “You don’t because I don’t. But ask yourself this Beau: do you remember anything before walking along the Korean DMZ?”

“Of course, I was…,” then I began to stutter.

Beau walked towards me and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Beau,” he said, “everything you think you feel, everything you think you know, it isn’t real. It was programmed into you by the CIA.”

I lowered my head and cried.

The captain pulled out a sidearm and held it by his side. “Now, you can come with us and be sent to an undisclosed location where you will be debriefed and studied. Or…,” he paused, “you will be shot.”

With no other option, I surrender myself to the captain. The two soldiers lock arms with me and I was escorted through a silent parade of Incan warriors readied in war paint. When I boarded the boat, I turned around to face the troops one last time. As the small ship drifted away, a loud piercing war chant echoed through the valley. I might’ve been nothing in the real world. But here, I was king.

THE END