Chapter Text
Joan was born a precious child. Dark brown hair, black eyes full of soul, and a smile that told a thousand words. She was among one of the clones born inside of a test tube---surrounded by liquid, eyes straight shut. It was 1987----the year of ridiculous fashion, meatloaf sandwiches, the launch of Nintendo, a major stock market crash and of course redundant music. Joan wasn't born into that world, however. A much, much different world than that. There would be no ridiculous fashion, or sandwiches, or Nintendo and other game systems or any of that.
No, no. Instead, she was born into a world of darkness---rooms with uncomfortable beds, food that would taste awful no matter how many times she choked it down, and outfits that the average teen wouldn't actually wear. As far as Joan was aware, he didn't actually have parents. When he was little, he would be fed only a few nutrition bars by older men or women that weren't even related to him. Y'know, people who he didn't even know the names of. But that was normal. Right? To not have any sort of birthday parties and would only be told either "Happy Birthday," or "Get back to work."
Was it normal to have grown up being isolated in a small dorm room? To be trained at such a young age to be a weapon of war? To be given a stern talking-to, or be yelled at for getting too energetic, too loud, or getting a bad grade on a test he took? The answer was no, but Joan didn't have any room to argue. One of the only greatest memories Joan could recount was when he, Abe, and Gandhi were once a trio of best friends. Friendship wasn't a new thing in the facility, but you would only see it few and far between. After all, the clones are given such rigid schedules that they barely have time to themselves.
The world had been unfair to them all. A cycle of abuse, whether physical or verbal. A day-to-day controlled life that got old pretty fast. Only told to do orders. Only told to be trained, even if they were, in the slightest, sick. The three---Abe, Joan, and Gandhi---the three of them hated the world and everything in it. At least, their world, the one they were forced to live in. The world was trash, so it was only fair that they have at least one good thing in it: each other. They'd pull pranks, they would talk to each other in the time they would have, and when the teacher wasn't looking, they would pass notes to each other. Even if the facility and their lives were all meaningless and it wouldn't be changing anytime soon, Joan found comfort in talking to Abe and Gandhi everyday of his life.
But of course, one day, it did change, but not in the way Joan was expecting at all. Where that day, Gandhi found a way "out." As in, he found a way to escape this nightmare of a facility. But he couldn't go alone, no. He wanted Abe and Joan to come with him, because he wasn't doing this by himself. If he were to escape, he would want his best friends to experience the same amount of freedom. The two were rightfully concerned---they both knew what happened when anyone tried to escape. They would be taken somewhere, but no one would ever know. Yet, even without seeing it, Joan knew. She knew the risks. Why do you think she's never done it in the first place?
Gandhi was determined, though. His enthusiasm though, failed him. Abe and Joan hid somewhere, where the guards couldn't see them, but Gandhi was out in the open. He was taken back to the inside of the facility and was promptly "punished." A day after, Joan was working on her blueprints when Abe knocked on her door. And after she opened it, she was met with the news----
"...He's dead," Abe spoke, tears welling up in his eyes.
It made sense, as much as she cried. Escaping, hell, even the thought of it, was a huge violation to the facility rules. It was considered betrayal----they'd bite the hands of anyone who tried to get themselves out of this miserable society, because it meant they would lose something important. So, it was simple: you come, you (try to) leave, you die. No one was allowed to interfere. No one truly knew how you would die or how it would feel. Did Gandhi feel pain in his last moments? Was he put to sleep? Was it slow? And why did those thoughts plague Joan's mind all night?
Memories that he swore were buried deep into his mind would come back only a few times, mostly in extra-curriculars. He was top of the student in the class, and you had every reason to like him----strong, athletic, handsome. But cold and hard. As much as he doesn't want it to be seen, people always see it, so there wasn't much he could do. What's the point of seeing the good when there was always something bad? JFK is all bad. People only saw him as an ignorant jerk. And he would give away an example unintentionally.
But he wasn't always like that----he was a ray of sunshine, hardened and covered by dark, looming clouds of the sky. He was naive about everything---not knowing that this would be his permanent life. Being taught by someone he never knew of, or being taken care of a person he doesn't even remember the face of. He never cried----unless it was from pure rage. Rage...the only emotion that's stuck with him after all this time. It was like a friend of his---his other emotions would up and leave him, and Rage was all he had left.
The second time he remembered crying was when he was being taught to correct his speech when he was younger than ten. You see, he had this---speech interruption, more of a stutter than anything. Everything he had to say was disrupted by an "Er, uh," or, "Uh," Right in the middle of it. That was an imperfection----something that the facility highly disapproves of, so Jack was to be taken to speech classes regularly. The system insisted that it was all professional, and children with speech problems would come out of the classes, in their words, "fixed." So it wouldn't be that bad. Right?
It was bad. It was all bad. Just like JFK himself. The classes were like torture to him---having been sat into a sole chair, staring at a sheet full of sentences, and being repeatedly yelled at or scolded for even including a single stutter.
"The dog...the dog ran, uh, across the---"
"Again," The instructor said, growing more stern.
"The dog ran...across the, er---"
"Again."
"I-I c---" Already seeing the instructors face, the overstimulating white lights on the ceiling shining on him, was just enough to make him cry. "I can't do it, it's too h-hard..."
"That's not my problem. Now keep reading, and you better keep reading until you get it right."
"But I c---"
"Nobody gives a damn, Kennedy. You're one of our best clones---destined for greatness. This is nothing like pre-k. So you're gonna sit here, and do it right."
He always thought it was normal. The instructor was just using tough love on him. Sure, he came out of the room looking like he had just been told a close pet of his died, but that was normal. It would just have to be fine. He would just have to be fine. Next thing he knew, he was no longer stuttering.