710 There's Still Someone

Far from the battlefield, in an austere room with virtually no light except for a foul-smelling candle about to go out, two greenish flames suddenly flared up in the darkness, revealing ancient, cobwebbed furniture.

Like the fuse of a firecracker setting off a chain explosion, hundreds of additional pairs of burning flames lit up the darkness, like a night sky filling with stars. The dim but constant light produced by these flames combined until it was more than bright enough to clearly discern every detail of the room.

Hundreds of identical figures were revealed one by one, standing in motionless, mute rows behind the one in front, who owned the first two flames. Each figure was hooded and their faces were inexpressive, pale white and as stiff and smooth as plastic.

When the first figure to awaken rose, the two emerald flames rose with it. Those creepy flames were obviously its eyes.

"My C-52 clone is dead." It murmured with a hint of bewilderment. "Data recovery."