Meet Sibert and Red Cloud, baby black-footed ferrets that mark the first successful live births from a cloned endangered species.
"Once thought to be extinct, black-footed ferrets are the only ferret native to North America, and are making a comeback, thanks to the tireless efforts of conservationists.
Captive breeding, habitat restoration, and wildlife reintegration have all played a major role in bringing populations into the hundreds after near total extinction.
But one other key development has been genetic cloning.
In April [2024], the United States Fish and Wildlife Service announced the cloning of two black-footed ferrets from preserved tissue samples, the second and third ferret clones in history, following the birth of the first clone in December 2020.Â
Cloning is a tactic to preserve the health of species, as all living black-footed ferrets come from just seven wild-caught descendants. This means their genetic diversity is extremely limited and opens them up to greater risks of disease and genetic abnormalities.Â
Now, a new breakthrough has been made.
Antonia, a black-footed ferret cloned from the DNA of a ferret that lived in the 1980s has successfully birthed two healthy kits of her own: Sibert and Red Cloud.
These babies mark the first successful live births from a cloned endangered species — and is a milestone for the country’s ferret recovery program.
The kits are now three months old, and mother Antonia is helping to raise them — and expand their gene pool.
In fact, Antonia’s offspring have three times the genetic diversity of any other living ferrets that have come from the original seven ancestors.
Researchers believe that expanded genetic diversity could help grow the ferrets’ population and help prime them to recover from ongoing diseases that have been massively detrimental to the species, including sylvatic plague and canine distemper.Â
“The successful breeding and subsequent birth of Antonia's kits marks a major milestone in endangered species conservation,” said Paul Marinari, senior curator at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute.Â
“The many partners in the Black-footed Ferret Recovery Program continue their innovative and inspirational efforts to save this species and be a model for other conservation programs across the globe.”
Antonia actually gave birth to three kits, after mating with Urchin, a 3-year-old male ferret. One of the three kits passed away shortly after birth, but one male and one female are in good health and meeting developmental milestones, according to the Smithsonian.
Mom and babies will remain at the facility for further research, with no plans to release them into the wild.
According to the Colorado Sun, another cloned ferret, Noreen, is also a potential mom in the cloning-breeding program. The original cloned ferret, Elizabeth Ann, is doing well at the recovery program in Colorado, but does not have the capabilities to breed.Â
Antonia, who was cloned using the DNA of a black-footed ferret named Willa, has now solidified Willa’s place as the eighth founding ancestor of all current living ferrets.
“By doing this, we’ve actually added an eighth founder,” said Tina Jackson, black-footed ferret recovery coordinator for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, in an interview with the Colorado Sun.Â
“And in some ways that may not sound like a lot, but in this genetic world, that is huge.”
Along with the USFWS and Smithsonian, conservation organization Revive & Restore has also enabled the use of biotechnologies in conservation practice. Co-founder and executive director Ryan Phelan is thrilled to welcome these two new kits to the black-footed ferret family.
“For the first time, we can definitively say that cloning contributed meaningful genetic variation back into a breeding population,” he said in a statement.
“As these kits move forward in the breeding program, the impact of this work will multiply, building a more robust and resilient population over time.”"
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Another Clone Danny au, but the twist is he's basically reincarnated. CW shoved his core into a soulless LoA Damian clone to keep the halfa from completely dying after his original human body was destroyed in his og dimension. Danny is currently mute, too. Be warned, this is long. [Pt 2 here]
Danny had become completely aware in his new body after about a month of barely processing what is happening. The trauma of everything that's gone wrong in his life putting him in a disassociative state while his body's creators train and test him for something. It takes a while for him to realize he's not their first clone, but is the first to not be a soulless husk. These people talk too freely around him, but rarely each other, confident in his inability to understand anything outside of orders. So he decides to play along, learning about this hell hole and what little of the outside world he can. He takes the latter with a grain of salt, he can smell how delusional his creators are.
"Hmm, something is defective with this clone." A tall, beautiful woman says while glaring at Danny's eyes, "Damian's eyes are Juniper. This thing's eyes have been fading to a bluer colour every time I see it. Someone has made a mistake.... no matter. Beloved and my son shouldn't notice it's eyes are pine if we send it now. It is ready?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Give it its instructions and get it out of my sight."
And this is how Danny learns he's been made to attempt to kill his template or die trying. He gets the full feeling that they expect him to die, like the, apparently, dozen before him. (He hides his amusement when realizing he can truly relate to Dani now.) Too bad for his creators, he's not like the rest and fully intends to not do any murder once he's out of this godforsaken lab.
Keeping himself from reacting gets a whole lot harder when he realizes they intend to put him in a crate to ship him to some place called Gotham, but he stays as blank and relaxed as possible. It's only once they unload him, inform him of his Template's whereabouts, and ditch him in the middle of what he assumes is Gotham, does he finally grimace and shake off the shitty shell persona he had going on. As he stretches out his limbs and thinks on how he wants to play this, he takes in how absolutely drenched in the smell of death the city is. It reminds him enough of Amity that he knows his ghost half would never go hungry here, but what to do with his human half? He wonders if his Template and his father would care for another sibling. He caught the tall lady and her father saying insulting things about how many strays, he assumes kids, his Template's father adopts, it's usually over how pissed they are that his Template isn't treated like God's gift for simply being blood related.
So with a bit of hesitant hope, Danny heads towards where he was told his Template was. He's hit with a wave of weariness when he finds a kid of the same colouring as him decked out in a hero costume and arguing with a giant man dressed as a.. bat? Danny has no idea what he's looking at and is a little scared of how aggressive his Template is. Aggression means he's probably going to have to at least dodge a lot.
Danny's awful luck strikes again when before he can even decide on how exactly he's going to approach this, he hears a light crunch that has him bolting several feet in the opposite direction before he whips around and into a defensive fighting stance.
"Shit, sorry, BB." A blonde woman dressed in a purple hero costume says to a small figure that looks like a creepier verson of the bat dude. Purple is standing where the crunching sound came from, and scarily, "BB" is almost exactly where Danny had been. "Shit. He looks like Demon Brat.."
"Calm.." "BB"'s voice is soft and feminine, and she(?) seems to be trying to project "we're not going to hurt you" and "let me near" with body language alone. Which Danny finds impressive but doesn't trust, Purple is too tense and is too ready to attack. So when his Template and his father climb onto the roof, apparently seeing a commotion, and they too look ready to fight, Danny just bolts. He's not dumb enough to test if he can fight 4 unknown trained fighters. He can see why all his predecessors instantly died if they just automatically started fighting and trying to kill people.
The fact he ran seems to surprise them and gives him a few seconds headstart. He ducks and weaves, avoiding everything they throw at him to the best of his ability without tapping into his ghost half. He REALLY doesn't want to out himself as a freak just yet.
"Kid! Get back here! I'm sorry for scaring you!" Purple yells, slightly out of breath and somewhere behind him to the left.
"I demand you stop running!" His Template sounds pissed and directly behind him, so Danny quickly rolls to his right, dodging a tackle. Which apparently BB was ready for, because she's right there and grabs ahold of him, taking them both to the ground. He's scared, trying not to hurt her, and absolutely stuck in her hold without his powers. He lets out an inhuman whine as he struggles. He hasn't spoken a single word in this body yet, he doesn't know if it has the ability yet, and something he hadn't realized would complicate this situation in the way it has.
"Safe" BB tries to soothe, but Danny can't be soothed, not when he can see and sense the rest of his pursuers closing in on them. BB seems to realize this and snaps at her people in annoyance. "Back!"
Danny flinches and trembles in her hold, not knowing if they'll ignore her and ... he's not sure what, but do something to him. But to his endless surprise, they listen and back up several feet. Close enough to help her if she needs it, but far enough Danny relaxes a fraction. It's not a lot, but it's enough to get his anxiety down to a more manageable level. And even though he thought she'd start questioning him now, she simply waits. He's still confused and scared, but slowly relaxes in her hold, an odd sort of trust forming against his will at her calm and "Please trust I won't hurt you" vibe she's yeeting at him.
"Safe." She says and releases her hold just enough to free one of her arms. She gently runs the hand through his hair and rubs his forehead and cheeks, just softly petting him. It's a gentle affection that reminds him of Jazz. He can't remember the last time he was touched kindly, and it's enough to make him tear up. She wipes away any tears that escape. "Safe."
Once he finally stops trembling and he's emotionally spent, she finally fully releases her hold and moves to sit by him so he can sit up. He feels so awkward when he realizes his Template's father and Purple are staring him down while his Template looks like he's trying to pretend to not be interested, but is glancing over too frequently to be believable.
Danny takes a shakey breath and gives a little wave, unconsciously trying to lean towards BB when he sees their body language all sharpen and focus harder on him.
"Who are you?" Bat dude demands, and Danny can see the resemblance between him and his Template, even while he's panicking to figure out how to communicate without his voice. He ends up pointing at his Template with a nervous energy. "Are you a clone?"
Danny is so relieved at the yes or no question, he almost forgets to be nervous about frantically nodding yes. Almost.
"Can you talk?" Purple asks next and he's trembling again as he gives a hesitant no. "Yes or no questions it is!"
He nearly jumps out of his skin when BB starts rubbing his shoulder in a soothing manage. He tries to subtly self-sooth by rubbing his thumb along the middle phalanx of the pointer finger on the hand hidden between him and BB. It's the first time he's done it while not completely alone. He's not sure what the LoA would have done if they'd seen, but he can't imagine it going well for him. He stops self-soothing at the thought. BB's vibes turn very sad next.
"Based on your outfit, the League of Assassins sent you, yes?" His Template growls menacingly at him and Danny winces for the guy's poor teeth the way he grides them at Danny's nod. "To kill me?"
Danny wants to bolt again, but BB is already pulling him into a hug, trapping him. The spike in anger at his nod sends him into a panic, but BB's hold is inescapable, so he ends up "hiding" in her arms. He curls up as small as he can while pressing his face into the front of her shoulder. He feels like a scared little kid.
"Geeze, kid..." Purple sounds sad.
"All of the LoA clones have been nothing but mindless shells. Why are you so different?" His Template doesn't actually sound like he's talking to Danny, but even if he was, Danny literally can't answer that with some sort of aid. Though, Danny doesn't trust these people enough to explain even if he could. "Father. I believe we should take him to the batcave."
Danny tucks himself deeper into BB. She's petting his hair and back the way you would a cat. "Safe."
"One more question." Bat dude says. "Are you planning on going through with your orders?"
Danny can feel BB get defensive on his behalf, even as Danny pulls away to look Bat dude in the face as he frantically shakes his head no.
"Honest. New brother?" Something seems to change in them when BB says this. Amusement and resignation are as easy to read as their weariness. He can't blame them. He's far from their first LoA clone, just the first to not be a mindless murder machine.
"Hn."
"Tt. Really, father?"
"Hn."
"Tt!" Danny blinks in fascination at the weird monosyllable conversation between his Template and his father. BB gets up before pulling Danny to his feet. She keeps a loose hand on his wrist, probably in case he tries to bolt again, but it's still nice. It does get awkward when she keeps her hold as they climb off the roof, and Danny needs a little help getting down with only one hand.
He tucks himself half behind BB when Purple decides to ask him a random assortment of questions while they wait for something called "the batmoble". He's a bit intimidated by her energy, it's so much like his parents'.
'Do you have a favourite food?' No. He hasn't actually eaten food yet in this body, just iv-ed nutrients. 'Favourite animal?' No. He doesn't know this dimension's animals. 'Flowers? Or plant?"No. Same problem. 'Are you hurt in any way?' Shrug. He's a little scratched and bruised, but it's not even in the top hundred of hurt he's been through. He's actually pretty happy this body doesn't have all his scars, his ghost half will have them, but his new human half is basically a blank canvas, and it's a glorious reprieve. 'Have you been anywhere besides the LoA and Gotham?" No. 'Did you at least stay somewhere nice in the LoA?' No? Does the lab count? It was a pretty nice lab all things considered.
Danny nearly jumps out of his skin when a black, sleek car shows up without a driver. He clings to BB when they climb in. He's nearly in her lap.
He can't help but wonder about how out of character he feels. He wonders if it's because this body is, at most, 2 months old, or if his time as only a ghost core kick started childish instincts, his ghost half IS only about a year old, or if the trauma of everything that happened caused a mental regression. He vaguely remembers Jazz talking about age regression as a coping mechanism, not enough to understand if that's what's happening right now, but it sort of feels like it. At least BB doesn't seem to mind having an overgrown toddler using her like a security blanket.
The drive is pretty smooth considering the speed bat dude is driving. Danny looks around "the batcave" in wonder when they pile out.
"Who's that?" A cheerful man in black and blue bounces over. Danny hides behind BB again and wishes he knew literally anybody's name. Currently, he just knows his Template's non-hero identity as Damian Al Gul. BB's hero identity of BB definitely means something, but all he has is what Purple called her.
"New brother!" BB chirps. Blue guy thankfully stops a few feet away while a tired guy about Purple's age wonders up.
"Why does he look like Demon Brat?" Tired guy sounds grumpy and on edge.
"The LoA apparently made a new clone of me. This one seems defective. Simply trying to run away and escape when Black Bat and Spoiler spotted him watching father and I." The new people tense, and Danny fully ducks behind BB, while Damian continues, "He did not throw a single punch and showed true panic at being caught. As you can see, he's been glued to Cassandra's side since she calmed him down."
"Likelihood of this one trying to kill me?" Tired guy asks. "I'm tired of new siblings trying to kill me."
"Unlikely. Kid ran like a scared deer the whole time we were chasing him." Purple, no, Spoiler? reasures tired guy.
"Well, if you weren't so stabbable." There's a teasing tilt to his Template's voice. Danny kind of wants to know what THAT means, so he peeks curiously at them. Tired guy just looks more tired when their eyes meet.
"Damian and Jason both tried to kill me, multiple times." Tired guy explains with a tone that'd be more fitting for a conversation about a sibling stealing a favoured toy in the past, not admitted homicide attempts on one's life. Danny's eyes dart at blue guy and Damian, wondering if they'll try to kill him too. Tired guy frowns before asking, "Do you actually know who any of us are?"
There's a whole lot of squawking when Danny shakes his head no and just points to Damian. Damian is complaining about how little sense it makes to only tell Danny a kill order. Spoiler is embarrassed and complaining about not realizing. Bat dude is giving off embarrassed vibes, even if literally nothing changed in his stance or face. Blue guy, tired guy, and Cassandra all seem very amused, but blue guy is also stressed and tired guy is just resigned.
"Okay, so introductions. I'm Timothy Drake-Wayne, just call me Tim or Drake. My vigilante name is Red Robin." Tired guy says before pointing to each of the other people. "Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, call her Steph. Dick Grayson is Nightwing. Cassandra Caine is Black Bat, call her Cass. Bruce Wayne is Batman. Dam-"
"I am Damian Al Gul Wayne. I am the current Robin and the only blood son of Batman." Danny's Template cuts off Tim.
"Can't say you're the only blood son if we keep the clone," Tim teases and gets a knife thrown at him for it. He easily dodges it and continues talking to Danny. "There's also Jason Todd, who's not here right now. He's Red Hood. Barbara Gordon is our eye in the sky, better known as Oracle. Duke Thomas is Signal, he's our Day shift so he's asleep upstairs currently. And Alfred Pennyworth is the real head of the house and pseudo grandfather, even if he says he's just the family butler. There's more, but they're who you'll most like to interact with anytime soon."
Danny must look as overwhelmed as he feels because Dick(? Why is he named that?) steps closer, hands where Danny can see them. "You okay, little buddy? Do you have a name or something you want us to call you?"
Danny gives Damian, Steph, and Mr. Wayne a panicked look. Steph comes to his rescue.
"He can't speak. We're unsure why he can't, but he hasn't even tried to say anything. Only made a whining noise when Cass pinned him. We'd think it was another Cass situation, but he can understand everything we say."
"Oh.. Maybe he just never learned?" Dick wonders aloud before asking Danny, "About how old are you?"
Danny points to Damian. He's pretty sure his body is the same age as his Template's, who is about as old as Danny's whole existence. Unlike Dani, who was made slightly younger than Danny in body, but is currently only a year old in spirit.
"No, I mean, how long have you been alive?" Dick corrects gently. Danny blinks and figures the correct answer is how long his clone body has been alive. He can explain later when he can communicate better, if he feels safe enough to do so. He holds up 2 fingers. "2 years?"
There's grimaces when he shakes his head.
"2 months?" Danny cautious nods and startles when Steph gasps loudly.
"A Baby!" Danny pouts at that, but can't exactly refute it. He does move so Cass is more between them.
Cass unexpectedly decides to remove her creepy mask, making Danny stare in wide-eyed surprise at her short dark hair.
"Oh! The baby hasn't seen our faces yet!" Steph is delighted and pulls her own mask down. The rest of the group unmask, minus Tim, who's already in civilian clothes. Danny looks at them before circling Cass so he can see her. She's very pretty, some sort of Asian, and giving off happy and calm vibes. It reminds him a little of Jazz when they could just exist, no parents, school, or ghosts to worry about. It's nice. He likes that his new big sister has that peacefulness.
"You see?" Cass smiles and clarifies, "Language of body?"
Danny brightly nods. He had to learn to read body language or die the rest of the way. It wasn't a failure to read it that nearly got him killed.
"I'll teach you to read it even better and to hide your own." Danny is startled by Cass speaking a full sentence before he excitedly indicates he wants to show her something. He can see how absolutely horrified they all get when he slams his body language into the soulless husk both labs of horror he got stuck in wanted. He turns lifelessly to each person, taking in their reacts to it, only breaking character only when he turns back to Cass. He beams excitedly at her, wanting her opinion. "That was very good. Almost no one would be able to tell."
"I can see how the LoA wouldn't know you weren't like the others if you just behaved like that the whole time." Tim hums, seemingly more fascinated than horrified, unlike the rest. They look ready to jump him, so he goes back to hiding behind Cass, deciding right now that he's staying with Tim and/or Cass, until he either runs away or they're all more comfortable with each other.
"Be nice." He can hear the scowl she's giving everyone, but Tim. Tim edges closer with a fancy piece of technically that Danny's never seen before. It almost looks like a clipboard at first glance, but is clearly a sci-fi computer thingy. Danny noticed technology is far more advanced in this dimension, but hasn't had a chance to figure it out.
"Do you know how to work an ipad?" Tim doesn't give him a judgmental look when he shakes his head, just steps closer with clear intent to teach. "Okay, I'll show you. You can read, correct?"
Danny nods and cautiously steps towards Tim so he can see the device better. The others start to wonder off and change into civilian clothes while Tim gives him a crash course on everything Danny can do on this iPad. He does explain there's basically a child lock on it to keep Danny from accidentally going on an unsafe website. It's more for his safety as he learns. Danny accepts that reason, despite knowing that's definitely not the only one, because the other reasons don't matter. He's probably only going to be using it to look up everything he doesn't understand in this dimension and communicating with whoever is in front of him, at least for now. He feels a lot like a toddler with how out of his depth he is, which is honestly a good thing right now. Really sells the "I'm a harmless baby, protect me!" thing he has going on.
"Now that you can answer." Tim smiles a little, "Is there any you want to be called? It's okay if there isn't just yet. Finding your name can be difficult."
[Danny] Danny excitedly shows Tim.
"Danny? Not what I was expecting, but it suits you." Tim's easy acceptance is wonderful, too bad his Template ruins the moment.
"Absolutely not. You need a proper name. How about Daniel? Or maybe the arabic version? Danyal?" Danny throws his most disgusted face he can pull.
"That's a no." Tim sounds like he's barely concealing laughter.
"He needs a proper name. How about Dante?"
[It's better than Daniel, but I still don't like it.]
"How about we come back to this later? We can look up names that Danny can be a nickname for and he can pick from those once he's settled in." Tim basically orders when Damian opens his mouth. "Danny should shower. I'll grab him som-"
Danny grabs his sleeve. Cass isn't here, so Tim is his current security person. He doesn't feel safe with his Template yet.
"Nevermind, I'll get him showered. Could you grab him some clothes?" Tim adjusts to the quiet demand easily, glancing to Danny to ask. "Any idea of preference?"
Danny glances at the stiff outfit he's currently in before writing [Comfy?]
Tim nods and tells Damian, "You should snag one of Dick's hoodies and one of my fluffy pj pants. Alfred probably has some unused underwear somewhere with how many times a guest needed some."
Damian doesn't look pleased, but seems to follow Tim's lead. He does quizzically eye Danny one last time before he leaves. Tim gently leads Danny to what looks like a locker room. No one else is currently in there.
"I know he seems abrasive, but that was his version of trying to bond." Tim explains, "He's trying his best. Just say something if it's too much."
Danny nods and strips. Uncaring of Tim looking at him as he hops in the shower, he only seems to be checking for injuries, then he only glances over every once in a while to make sure "the baby" is cleaning himself properly and doesn't need help. He doesn't get any creepy vibes from the man. He's awfully familiar with the vibes to look out for since some of the scientists would bad touch him, claiming it's for science. It wasn't. Needless to say, being a labrat kind of murders shyness over being naked in cold blood.
Damian shows up with the clothes Tim requested when Danny is drying off. Danny makes sure to scribble a [Thank you!] and show it to him before taking the clothes.
"You are welcome."
"Alfred will be happy his newest grandchild comes with manners pre-installed." Tim jokes, and adds at Danny's curious glance. "The rest of us were feral. You'd think that I'd be an exception since I'm from high society, but I literally blackmailed my way into being Robin and then made a fake uncle to keep myself from being adopted."
Danny gives Tim an alarmed look, and Damian looks curious.
"Okay, so I used to stalk Batman and Robin every night because I lacked adult supervision. I was just taking pictures because I was a huge fan and had figured out who they were when I was 9. Then when I was 12, Jason died for a little bit." This makes Danny more alarmed, so Tim quickly adds. "He's alive and as well as he can be now, but he was Robin at the time, and Bruce, Bruce was devastated. He was taking it out on everyone. Purse snatchers were ending up in the ICU. So I first tried to get Dick to come back to Gotham, when they didn't work, I showed up on the doorstep with photographic evidence I knew everything and demanded I be Robin to keep him safe. I.. It was a rough time. He hated me with every fiber of his being for a while, but I couldn't let Batman die. We were partners, but not family by any stretch of the word. Then.. my parents died and I couldn't let him adopt me. I wasn't his son. I hadn't had an adult keeping track of me in years, hell, B barely tracked me as Robin, thinking it would make me stop. Jokes on him, I'm too stubborn."
"I hired an actor to pretend to be my fake uncle to keep Bruce from questioning my living situation. Clearly, that didn't last." Tim chuckles, "Steph compared me to a feral cat a lot during that time."
Danny has to pull up his (Dick's?) sleeves to use the iPad. [Are all of your lives so weird?]
"Unfortunately." Damian sighs, "Every single one of us has a different tale of how we came to be with Father."
"Kid, you're a defective clone that just escaped from a cult of assassins and are actively being adopted by the family of your target." Tim teases. "You fit in perfectly."
Danny flusters at that, but has nothing to say against it.
"I apologize if this is a sensitive issue, but I have to ask." Damian does look sorry. "Why don't you talk? I know a few of the Clones were instructed in the past to say things, so I was wondering why you can't."
[Never talked before. Don't know how to. Wasn't taught before mission. Tall lady didn't like my eyes and wanted me gone.]
"Tall lady? Probably Talia. But she didn't like your eyes? Why?" Tim tilts his head.
[Wrong color. Fading slowly to bluer color. Wasn't perfect copy anymore and getting less perfect by the day. Needed to die faster.]
"She wanted you to die because your eye colour?" Tim and Damian look shocked as Danny nods.
[Imperfections die. Barely good enough to be sent out instead of killed in lab.] Danny lays it on thick, but it wasn't untrue. He ended up seeing other "Imperfect" clones be terminated near the end of his stay.
"Well... actually, what colour do you think they'll end up? Now that I'm paying attention, I can see the difference. You think it's a result of whatever made you different?" Tim seems excited by the idea. Damian just looks thoughtful.
[Unsure. Changed from Damian's color to current in a month. Tall lady was very unhappy by it. Don't know why change happened.]
Danny suddenly yawns. He didn't get much sleep in the crate. Too scared to.
"Alright. We can talk more after you get some sleep."
"Alfred told me to tell you you're cut off from caffeine until you sleep a minimum of 6 hours, Drake." Damian looks a little too amused by Tim's despair over that news, before turning to Danny. "Your new room is next to Cassandra's. She apparently requested it while we were otherwise engaged."
Danny is delighted by the news, hugging his iPad to his chest. Tim and Damian lead him to his new room, pointing out things and whose room is who's while they walk. Danny's dazed look and slowly making a list of things to look up really sells his new role. He's also scared to even breathe on anything. Everything is so fancy.
"Getting you your own clothes and room decor will have to wait until tomorrow." Damian informs him apologetically before the brothers bid him goodnight. And Danny doesn't know what to do with that. He doesn't feel safe in this too nice room. So he grabs one of the pillows and the thin extra blanket at the foot of the bed before cramming himself under the bed. He curls up in a ball under the head, the end tables blocking the sides, making him feel safer.
He wakes the first day to Cass laying on the floor nearby, but not under the bed. It's a very weird day for him, but Tim, Cass, and his Template are very helpful and mostly non judgemental to the mess he is. He does find a moment to naturally "discover" his obsession with space. Thankfully, it turns out this dimensions space is so different that he doesn't have to pretend to be clueless. Everything is so different and Danny kind of loves it. He's gifted so much space themed shit and books on space and alien culture throughout the week, he has to fight to keep from glowing in his excitement. He knows they noticed, but let him pretend to be normal for a bit. It's harder to hide his inhumanity in this body, but he does his best.
is the actual pattern of white spotting genetic? theres these two cats on youtube (mother and daughter) who have a spot on their muzzle in about the same place so i was wondering
We have a fairly good hint for that, i think: cloned cats.
The differences between the donor and the clone shows how much of it is random:
These are the very first pair: Rainbow, the tortie is the donor and CC, the tabby is her clone. You can see how the amount of the white is roughly the same but the exact shape is different. (Rainbow's color goes down onto both of her forelegs, CC has a higher and wider triangle on her face, they have colored splatches on different legs. However both of them have mostly white ears.)
Two other examples: Garlic
and Bear.
This latter one is especially interesting, because both clone kittens have the characteristic face pattern in a very similar fashion.
Ethan was spending yet another day of his dreary life rooting through a Thrift Store, trying to find anything that could help him feel even slightly different, meaningful. He wasn't after anything specific, more just trying to find anything interesting to break up the monotony of his everyday life. He was sifting his hand through a bargain bin full of sweaters and yarn clothing when his hands suddenly brushed against a new, different texture.
It was a tank top, black. It was faded in specific patterns from wear and tear, clearly used. It was heavy, a dense cotton that felt substantial, almost damp, even in the dry, dust-moted air of the shop. As his fingers traced the seams, a scent, faint but undeniable, reached him. Not the thrift-store smell of cheap detergent, but something else, something primal: a musky, salty aroma, like dried sweat.
A jolt, not unpleasant but intense, shot up his arm. He didn’t so much decide to pick it up as his hand simply refused to let go. He brought it closer and the scent grew stronger, filling his nostrils with visions of weight rooms, of clanging metal, of humid, bodily air. The world around him, filled with the chattering of other shoppers and the tinny folk music over the speakers, it all just receded into a muffled hum. His own thoughts quieted. There was only the clothing and that strange scent. A deep, resonant need settled in his chest. He had to have it.
In a trance, he paid the two dollars at the counter, the elderly clerk’s smile not registering. The tank top, now folded in a simple plastic bag, felt like a live thing against his side, pulsing with a low, thermal heat. He drove to the gym, a membership he barely used, motivated by a force he didn’t question.
The fluorescent lights of the gym locker room were unforgiving, and on any other day, they would have given Ethan a horrendous headache. But this time, Ethan stood before his locker, the black tank top in his hands. His own reflection in the mirrored door showed a man with a slouch, a softness in every inch of his body, and a kind, anxious face framed by untidy brown hair. He looked from his reflection to the shirt. The urge to put it on was a physical compulsion, a thirst. He stripped off his soft, gray cotton tee and pulled the black tank over his head. The scent surrounded him as the tank top brushed past his face, engulfing him.
The effect was immediate and electric.
The fabric, which had seemed heavy in his hands, settled onto his skin like a second, more definitive, better skin. It was warm, as if fresh from a dryer, and the musky scent enveloped him completely, no longer just a memory but his present, personal atmosphere. A tingling sensation began where the fabric touched his shoulders, his chest, his back. It wasn’t painful; it was a deep itch, accompanied by a definitive feeling of expansion.
He watched, mesmerized, as his reflection began to warp. The slight shoulders under the tight straps began to broaden, the deltoids swelling, rounding, stretching the aged seams. A hum of raw power vibrated through his bones. His pectorals, formerly undefined, pushed forward, firming into thick, distinct slabs. The fabric, once loose, grew taut, straining as his torso expanded into a solid, V-shaped wedge. He could feel his spine straightening, his posture shifting from a defensive curl to an arrogant, chest-out stance. A low groan escaped his lips, but it wasn’t his voice. It was deeper, rougher, vibrating from a newly fortified chest cavity.
The transformation crawled up his neck, thickening it, etching the lines of trapezius muscles like stone cables. His jawline, once soft, squared and hardened, a faint, perpetual stubble darkening his chin. His hair seemed to coarsen, his features shifting from nuanced and thoughtful to bluntly, conventionally handsome. But the most profound change was within.
Ethan’s thoughts, once a intricate labyrinth of considerations and worries, began to simplify. Every individual though was replaced, obliterated by a vague, pleasant static. Concerns, desires, impulses... they all just melted away like ice under a scorching hot sun. New concepts solidified and froze in his mind, bright and glaring: Strong. Lift. Sweat. Look. Take.
A new name echoed in the hollows of his skull: Brock. Yeah. Brock. That felt right. Solid. Like a hammer.
He flexed, and the sight of his new bicep, a hard cannonball of muscle pushing against the sleeve, caused his cock to twitch appreciatively. He was incredibly, achingly hard. The scent rising from his own body - his sweat now mingling with the tank’s own ancient replica of his musk - was the most potent aphrodisiac he’d ever known. He inhaled deeply as he sniffed his armpit, the aroma flooding his primitive brain. Memories, false but vivid, unspooled: slamming weights in a high school gym, pounding beers with the guys, roughhousing, cruising the gym not for fitness but for prey. He’d always been this way. Brock. The alpha. The stud. The jock.
With a cocksure grin that felt permanently etched on his new face, he slammed his locker shut, not bothering with the combination lock. Who would dare touch Brock’s stuff? He swaggered out into the main gym area, his gaze a predatory sweep.
The world was different. The whir of treadmills was a trivial hum, no longer an overwhelming whir. The clank of weights was a symphony written solely for him. He saw people not as individuals, but as outlines: threats to be out-lifted, chicks to be checked out, or... well, or prospects. His hungry eyes scanned, dismissing the meatheads (competition), the women (a possibility for later, maybe), until they landed on a figure in the far corner, near the lightweight dumbbells.
A scrawny young guy, maybe in his early twenties, all sharp angles and nervous energy. He was wearing baggy basketball shorts and a loose tank top, attempting bicep curls with 15-pound weights. His form was terrible. A fly to Brock’s spider. A hot, possessive thrill surged through him. That one. He needed that one.
Brock prowled over, his movements liquid with power. He could feel the scrawny guy’s eyes on him, wide with a mixture of awe, fear, and apprehension. Clearly he wasn't used to being approached by people like Brock, unless he was about to get beaten for being some weak-ass punk. Brock leaned against the rack next to him, letting his massive arm brush against the nerd’s.
“Hey there, brah,” Brock’s voice was a low rumble, unfamiliar and thrilling in his own ears. “You gonna make those puny things grow with form like that?”
The kid, whose name might have been Leo, flinched. “I... I’m just starting out.”
“I can see that,” Brock said, his smile widening. He placed a huge, calloused hand on Leo’s shoulder, feeling the delicate bone beneath. A jolt of electricity passed between them. “You need a spot. And a better regimen.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, thick with his musky scent. “I got the secret right here. Been usin’ it for years.”
Leo was hypnotized, trapped in the gravitational pull of Brock’s presence. He stammered something about not wanting to be a bother.
“No bother,” Brock purred, his hand sliding down to the small of Leo’s back, guiding him. “C’mon. Locker room. I’ll show you the first exercise. Fundamentals, ya know? And maybe,” he grinned wickedly, looking at the tent forming in the nerd's pants. "We can exercise something else too."
Helpless, Leo was steered away from the gym floor, through the heavy door, and into the tiled silence of the locker room. It was empty, the only sound the drip of a distant shower. Brock guided him to a bench, pushing him down gently but firmly. Leo looked up, a rabbit in the headlights of Brock’s intense, hungry gaze.
“The first thing,” Brock said, his voice thick, “is the right gear. Can’t work out in that baggy shit.” His own arousal was a demanding pressure against his shorts. He didn’t wait. In one fluid, powerful motion, he grabbed the hem of his own sacred tank top and peeled it up and over his head. He revelled in Leo's small gasp, knowing how turned on he was by the shirtless gym god in front of him.
The scent that poured off him was overwhelming in the enclosed space: pure, concentrated Brock-sweat, musk, power, male. He saw Leo’s nostrils flare, his eyes glaze slightly. Good. He held the damp, warm black fabric in his hands. It was heavier now, soaked with his transformative sweat.
“Put it on,” Brock commanded, his tone leaving no room for refusal.
“But it’s... it’s sweaty,” Leo whispered, slightly disgusted, even as his hands trembled.
“That’s the point,” Brock growled. “Now.”
Compelled, Leo stripped off his own shirt, revealing a pale, narrow torso. Brock didn’t give him the shirt. He stepped forward and, with a dominant, almost ritualistic air, pulled the black tank top down over Leo’s head himself, working it over his slender frame. It hung loose at first, a damp, dark shroud.
Then, it began.
Leo gasped. The tingling, the deep heat, the invasive, exhilarating power - it hit him just as it had hit Ethan. But faster, more violently, as if the catalyst was now supercharged. Brock watched, a feral grin on his face, as his masterpiece unfolded. Then decided he wanted a better part to play, and grabbed Leo's head roughly, forcing it into his pit, as he started to grope Leo's cock with his other hand.
Leo’s body began to jerk and swell. His shoulders cracked audibly as they widened, filling the armholes. His chest and back muscles writhed beneath the skin, inflating, defining, stretching the black cotton until it was once again a second skin, painted onto a newly magnificent physique. His neck thickened, his jaw squared. A low, guttural moan tore from his throat, deepening in timbre as his vocal cords transformed. His eyes, wide with terror, then confusion, then a dawning, empty pleasure, took on the same arrogant, lustful glint as Brock’s.
His thoughts were erased, overwritten with each huff of Brock's pit, with each possessive grope of his cock from the dumb brute before him. The shy, anxious Leo was gone, destroyed in the bath of transformative musk. New memories implanted themselves as his mind shifted. His name wasn’t Leo. It was... Brock, wasn't it? Wait... no, Brock was the guy groping him, surely? Or... maybe. Just maybe. They both were Brock? Yeah. Brock and Brock. Bros. Twins. Gods.
The transformation complete, the new Brock looked up at his clone, a mirror image in physique and expression. He flexed his new arm, an identical smirk on his face. “Whoa, bro,” he said, his voice now a perfect match for Brock’s rumble. “I feel fuckin’ amazing.”
Brock reached down, cupping Brock's newly hardened jaw. “You look fuckin’ amazing,” he growled. The attraction was narcissistic, magnetic, irresistible. They were the same. They were perfect.
No more words were needed. Brock pulled his clone to his feet and then shoved him back against the bank of lockers with a metallic crash. Their mouths collided, a fierce, hungry battle of tongues and teeth. It was less a kiss and more a consumption, each trying to inhale the other’s identical, musky essence. Their hands roamed over the familiar landscape of hard pecs, ridged abs, the thick, powerful shoulders - a map they both knew by heart.
Clothes were torn away, not in romance but in urgent necessity. They stumbled, a four-legged beast of muscle and need, into an open shower stall. Brock spun him around, pushing his chest against the cool tiles. Under the spray of water, their sweat merged, streaming down identical hulking backs in rivers. Brock entered him in one powerful, claiming thrust. His head fell back, a roar of pure, mindless pleasure echoing off the tiles. It was an affirmation of existence, of this new, perfect form.
There was no tenderness, only a frantic, rhythmic pounding, a celebration of their mirrored power. The sound of skin on skin, of guttural grunts, of the shower’s spray, filled the room. They didn’t hear the locker room door open. A middle-aged man walking in for his towel stopped dead, his eyes bulging. He saw two colossal, identical jocks, lost in a fierce, sweaty coupling, utterly oblivious to his presence. There was no shame in their act, only a total, animalistic absorption. The man turned and fled, but they didn’t notice.
They finished with simultaneous, shuddering roars, a profound release that seemed to seal their transformation. They slumped together under the water, panting, the black tank top now on the clone, clinging to him like a trophy.
Eventually, they turned off the water and strode, naked and unselfconscious, back to the benches. As they dressed in their mundane gym clothes - now laughably small and tight on their new frames - Brock caught his twin’s eye. He was sniffing at the sleeve of the black tank top, a predatory light in his eyes.
“That thing’s fuckin’ magic, bro,” Brock said, his voice full of awe and lust.
“Yeah,” Brock said, pulling on his jeans with a grunt. “We gotta share the gift.”
They left the locker room together, moving with the same swagger, two mountains of muscle and intent. On their way out, they passed the cardio section. A lean, earnest-looking man in his late twenties was on an elliptical, his face etched with the quiet stress of a long day. His gaze flickered to them, a flash of something - envy? curiosity? - before darting away.
The Brocks shared a look, a silent communication passing between them. He was next.
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Hypothetical scenario: a mysterious cloning event happens to your partner. (If you do not have a partner, imagine that you do.) For example, your partner fell into a portal and two of your partner fell back out. There's absolutely no way to tell which is the "original"; they're completely identical physically, share the same memories prior to the cloning event, etc. Both of them love you and want to stay with you.
If your partner got cloned and there was no way to tell which was the original, how would you proceed with the relationship?
Date both of them, this would be an improvement!
Date both of them, I'd be neutral about this
Date both of them, but I'd be uneasy about this
Ask THEM to decide which one of them stays as my partner
Pick between them by having some kind of discussion
Pick between them by giving them some kind of challenge
Pick between them by some other means
Pick between them at random
Date both for a while, then eventually pick one
Break up with both of them
Other
I can't imagine this/have no interest in having a partner/show results
Voting ended onSep 19, 2025
Obviously both of them would have agency to do what they want– stay with you, leave you, etc– but vote based on how YOU would respond.
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We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.
No male marbled crayfish has ever been observed. A female can become ready to reproduce within five to seven months and may carry roughly 300 eggs in one clutch, helping the species multiply and spread quickly.
