Citizens receive identical envelopes stamped with a seal: "Recall Notice: Report your clone for decommissioning." Panic spreads. Few admit to having clones, though everyone knows the program existed quietly for years. Mara's clone, Lia, has lived with her as a sister, sharing chores and dreams. The notice says clones malfunction after a decade, becoming unpredictable. Mara refuses to comply. Lia insists she go—she has been glitching, forgetting recipes, misplacing days. They argue until inspectors arrive. Mara hides Lia in the attic, but sensors smell genetic matches. Lia chooses to leave, stepping out with hands raised.
At the facility clones stand in lines. Some cry; others stare calmly. A technician named Omar whispers to Lia that decommissioning might mean memory wipes, not death. Lia is strapped to a chair. Mara bursts in, having followed the transport truck. She confronts the director, demanding transparency. He reveals implants degrade, causing shared memories to cross. Clones dream of lives they never lived. The recall is to replace hardware. Mara asks why they were not told sooner. The director shrugs—policy. Lia lies on the table, eyes wide. Mara holds her hand. The procedure begins. Lights flicker. Lia wakes, mind clear. She remembers everything, plus fragments from other clones—songs, jokes, a fear of dogs. The director calls this a flaw. Mara calls it inheritance. She leads a protest, insisting clones have rights to their tangled minds. The recall becomes voluntary. Clones choose which memories to keep. Society adjusts to citizens who remember more than one life. Policy finally learns to ask permission before rewriting anyone.
Years later, recall notices become invitations to checkup clinics staffed by clones themselves. Lia volunteers, translating fear into information. Omar quits the facility, joining an advocacy group. Mara writes op-eds titled "Shared Memories Are Not Malfunctions." The program that once hid now holds public seminars. Children grow up knowing their classmates might carry two childhoods in one skull. The city learns to honor multiplicity instead of fearing it.