The mines weren’t mining anything. The mines were there to break
clones. They were long underground tunnels with bad lights and cold
drafts; they made you do hard labor and treated you like dogs. The only
thing they did was keep you alive. The food tasted bad, but you got
enough. The work wasn’t hard enough to damage your body, just your spirit.
They were there to break your soul, not the merchandise.

I spent two years in the mines. Devin and I stayed together, and when
we turned 18 we got married in the only way clones could, just by telling
each other they loved each other and exchanging vows to each other, there
wasn’t a ceremony. However, you were legally bonded, and they could no
longer separate us.

The clones in our mine started a group, a rebellion of sorts. We made a
language of clicks and whistles that the guards didn’t understand. We
started making tunnels between the walls and into other cells during the
nights. We memorized guard paths and times, and who was on duty. We
studied everything mercilessly and learned fighting, hiding, and running.
We prepared to escape.

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