Cloning Democracy

"Why can't you believe it? You believe anything they say."
X0-87 became furious. He stared into the eyes of his life long best friend, 76-BTX.
"You must have hit your..." 76 began to explain, but stopped. There was nothing he could say. He had just recently learned that they were different. They had lived for the government, controlled by the government, but without knowing. They were real humans.
The room they sat in was quite modern. A dark blue paint covered the walls. They had everything a typical house had: a family room, bedrooms, bathrooms and a kitchen. But some things didn't quite fit. In the downstairs of this house was an artillery of weaponry. The room, which was activated by voice commands only X0 and 76 could enter, was filled with any kind of weapon you could want. And they both knew how to use everyone one. However, neither of them knew how they knew.
"They control us! We have no god damn thoughts! We don't have any names, we don't have real ID, or money. It's all a sham, and I'm so fucking tired of living it. We aren't supposed to know; we aren't supposed to think!" X0 was pacing around the room.
"Well, X, you ---"
"How the fuck can you back them up?! What the hell is wrong with you if you think that's ok at all!" He screamed. "We are the equivalent of slaves. We are slaves to them. And you, seem to be just fine with that fact."
Only during recent times had X begun to discover what he felt was truth. He was on a mission to deliver a package and stopped at a convenience store. He ran his "ID" through, and it came up as a non-existent person. It was all a basic snowball effect; he started researching on the internet his family history, but he had none. He had no family, no roots, no...information. However, all his life he had believed and known of things that now seemed to not exist. X0 stared off into a daze for a minute, while waiting for 76's answer. He thought of the convenience store clerk's face when he told him, "Who are you really man, cause you ain't no fucking Thomas Dalcon".
Thomas Dalcon, he thought. The name his boss had given him to go by in the world. He was an agent of the government. He knew that it was his job. But there was more than a job in his life to them. He was a pawn, a puppet, and it had begun to bug him.
"Well, we've had a good life," 76 finally said.
"We...haven't had a life at all. We have had their life. Their jobs, their success. We live life for them. Just because they believe they are higher then us. I don't think so." X0 ran into the next room, while 76 sat, almost at a complete silence. He was lost for words to say. Their life had seemed so great. They made about ten million a year, and lived in a great house in Washington DC, and they had no enemies.
"What are you doing?" he yelled. X came out of the room with a suitcase.
"I'm finding the answers."
"Hell if I'm going to let you leave." He stood up, blocking his path. Almost immediately, his arm was twisted back and he was flung into a nearby wall. A loud crack sent shivers through X's spine. He had hurt his only friend. Well, perhaps a friend.
"If they need me, tell them to fuck off."
The door slammed and 76 stood up, almost in no pain. He dusted his shoulder off and glared out the window. He heard the loud roar of X's car drive out of the driveway, and he saw it drive into the horizon.
"...You dumb ass."
He turned towards the door, and with one deep breath, he left his home for the first time not because of any mission.

The traffic was terrible. It was hell, actually. X mouthed a few swear words to himself as he weaved through the traffic on the highway. He rubbed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the tiredness and stress that had been bothering him now for some time, but it was to no avail. A sign that was ahead read "Construction - Prepare To Stop". X's eyes glanced at it, and it was just enough to send him over the edge.
"I don't need this shit right now..." He faded out into a mumble. No one was there, but he talked as if the whole world was listening. "Why...why me?! WHY ME?!?" He screamed at the top of his lungs. His heart began to pump so fast it was almost inhuman. His pulse shot so high that it would kill any normal man.
His right hand gripped the steering wheel tightly in both anger and depression. Had his entire life been that of a puppet on strings working for someone of a higher stature? He hoped not. The pain of knowing that nothing you have ever done was for yourself, or for any of your own needs, was just unbearable.
X had always known he was different. Besides the fact of living the life of a government agent, he knew he was not like any other person in the world. He had...gifts. But he couldn't explain them. Others acted as if they knew, but the answer still remained unclear. What was wrong with him? It couldn't be a gift, he always thought. It was a curse. The car in front of him came to a halt. X closed his eyes tightly.
Within a second, the worst and best day of his life flashed before his eyes.

"Get your hands up!" X yelled, his semi-automatic handgun gripped tightly pointed in the direction of the criminal. His hands trembled as they slowly began to raise up. The thug was scared. X felt the heartbeat of the man quicken, but it slowly started to decrease in speed. The thug's eyes slowly turned back, towards X.
X gripped his gun more tightly, firing a couple rounds in the air.
"I said, get your fucking hands up now or I''ll kill you!" X screamed.
"No you won't." The thug turned around; he was calm and collected. No fear, just...a weird emotion that X could not explain.
"Don't tempt me," he replied.
"Come on. You're no different than me. Well, yes you are. I take that back. You're way different then me," he said.
"Explain." X slowly willed his muscles to lower the gun, but it rose again quickly. He couldn't let his guard down.
"Well, I shot you nine fucking times in the chest, yo! You ain't even scratched! I mean, my first thought, of course, was 'what the hell is this guy?', but then I realized. You are just like me. You got nowhere to go. You're different. You don't fit in. So this is what you do? Kill your own people?" The man tried to get inside the mind of X. It seemed to be working.
"I'm not like you...I'm no criminal."
"Ha! You're no criminal? If you're not a criminal, then I'm Albert Einstein. Face it buddy, you're just a thug posed as a hero." The man's words punctured X like a knife directly in the heart.
"You mother fucking c---" His words were cut off by the loud roar of the machine gun firing rounds into the man's chest. He screamed in pain before he slid down the wall, into his death. X tossed aside the gun. He never liked killing anyone.
X took a step back and sat down. Was this man right? He was different. He never realized it before. How could he take such attacks and not feel the pain? Two shots to that man killed him, and yet, nine shots to X barely grazed his skin. This was the first day that X realized that something was wrong in his life. If it was a life.
His eyes quickly re-opened. Just in time, too; the cars in front of him had just begun moving forward slowly, but nevertheless moving. The traffic was heavy, and it was expected. It was a Monday, around six o'clock. He was actually surprised there weren't more cars. In fact, he had only seen six accidents this month, which was quite odd due to the fact that he predicted about thirty accidents to happen in the month of December. But he was wrong. Odd. X had never been wrong before. Not about something like this. No matter what he usually predicted, it was always correct. Most people asked him why he didn't use the gifts to predict lottery numbers or steal money from banks when he knew no one would be looking. X asked himself that sometimes, too. No matter how many times he had wanted to jump at that opportunity, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was too..."pure." He couldn't dream of hurting anybody that didn't have it coming. He was an honest man, raised that way. Maybe. X slammed his head down on the dashboard. Nothing made sense anymore. He started to slowly drift into sleep when a loud RING! was heard throughout his car. X flipped open his cell phone, revealing 76's number. Jesus Christ, he said to himself. I don't want to talk to him. Not now.
"What?" X answered the phone in a sadistic tone. One of sarcasm with a hint of devilish delight.
"You might want to take your next left turn here," 76 replied. X turned around quickly in his car and saw 76's truck right on his tail.
"Damn it. Stop fucking following me. I don't need your help. I'll be fine by myself," he screamed. There was a moment of uneasy silence. X didn't want to be mean, but he was so ticked off at the life he had lived.
"I'm not going to stop. What's wrong in your messed up head?" 76 yelled.
"I don't know! I don't know what's normal or if my thinking's messed up. I don't know now because I never knew!"
"Says who? What makes that true?" 76 asked. Shit. X was stumped for a moment. He had nothing to say; 76 actually had a point. Well, he'd be damned if he'd let him know it. A quick thought passed through his mind, which of course made sense. They almost always did.
"No one said so. But what gives someone the power to say what is right and wrong? What gives someone the ability to say that this is wrong, or that is right? Who's to say they aren't insane, and I'm normal? You can't say it. So that is why I take no one's advice, not anymore. I'm not going to go back down my old path of being a government zombie. So leave your advice to yourself; I'm not fucking taking it," X exclaimed. He shut the cell phone and threw in this seat next to him.
The sign ahead of him read, "Leaving Washington, DC."