Over the sound of twelve babies crying, Professor Drake could hear his colleague murmuring, “What the…?”
“What is it?” Drake asked.
His colleague turned to him, confusion in his eyes, holding something, a bundle, in his arms. “Take a look.” He said distantly.
Drake walked over and pulled at a flap of cloth in the bundle. He gasped and swore involuntarily. “Shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. There should only be twelve!”
“A thirteenth! This is inconceivable! And look!” the colleague took the infant out of its wrappings and held it up for Drake to see.
He saw a tuft of white-blonde hair, pale skin, grey eyes that would turn brown as the child matured, and a tattoo-like birthmark on her ankle which would stretch and grow with her, just like the others. “What am I looking at? She’s just like the others.” Drake said testily.
His colleague shook his head. “Look again, Professor.”

     So Drake looked again. What he saw there was astounding. She was somehow dissimilar to the others, her DNA had mutated in a way that they hadn’t foreseen – rather than pure white-blonde, her hair had a tiny, thin black streak through it, her eyes held minute flecks of gold, both of which Drake knew would not disappear, but instead become more and more prominent as she aged, and her tattoo…her tattoo was very different. Instead of a zodiac symbol like her siblings, this girl had a little six-pointed star on her ankle, on the inside. Upon closer scrutiny, the crimson dots forming the star almost looked like…pomegranate seeds. Drake was astonished – that was the tattoo he had on his own ankle, in the same spot.

     “Very fitting.” Drake murmured. “My star, Persephone.” He had always wanted to name his daughter Persephone, if he ever had one.

     At that, his associate raised the large pipe he had been holding onto and brought it down on the back of Drake’s head.
Drake collapsed, his vision clouding, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. “Why are you doing this?” he asked weakly.
“You’re nothing but a cliché, Drake.” His co-worker sneered. “We created these twelve beautiful, perfect clones, and you want them to be good? They will be used to do my bidding, and mine alone!” He looked maniacal. Persephone whimpered, and he looked down in surprise, as if he was only just realising that he held her in the crook of one arm. “This one, however…she has your mark. She will need extra training.”
Drake’s eyes closed, and a single tear escaped the corner of his eye. “Persephone.” He sighed, as the last breath, the final iota of his spirit, left his body and he died.