Disclaimer: Well, let's see. This happens to be on and also a story about Tales of the Abyss. Fan. Okay, point is, I don't own the game, the characters, anything—as much as I wish I did. So, if anyone honestly thinks I own the game, I give the rest of the world permission to throw large, blunt objects at said offender. Because that's seriously offensive to the REAL creators of the game—comparing them to me, that is ;) You get the point.

Thanks to all who gave me ideas for this fic. And, of course, to all who review. Much appreciated! I'll shut up now.

"No," Ion pushed his heavily ornamented chair into his desk as he stood. The young Fon Master was losing his boundless patience—not a common event. Normally, the boy was cool, level-headed, and kind to a fault. Ion could never refuse anyone in need of help, and he was quick to offer his assistance where needed. But now, Van was here, telling him of elaborate plans to which he could not agree. Though Ion was never stubborn, there was just no two ways about this.

"But Fon Master," Van stroked his beard, giving the replica his most cunning grin. Only those who knew him well could see its true malice. "Do not forget it was your original—the first Fon Master Ion—that was killed by the Score! His life was branded meaningless ever since he read that he would die at the age of twelve!" The sly commandant leaned closer to his superior, bowing his head submissively, even if his tone did not reflect his action. "And Ion had to read the Score every day for the masses! They felt nothing for him. No regret. No sadness. No pity. They were so obsessed with the Score that they didn't even realize they were causing him to suffer!"

"I--"

"That child's life was poisoned by the drug that is the Score! Do you yourself feel no pity for him?"

Ion's eyes widened, and Van only laughed aloud at his shock.

"It will kill you, too. All of mankind will be destroyed if things continue as they are. The Score will blind, deafen, and dumb the public into degeneration—you do know what I mean, correct? Everything will be destroyed—everything we know, all the people, all the lives, all the hope we know—all because of the Score! In the Score lies no answer to the human race's problems. It is the problem. With the Score gone, forgotten, mankind would thrive! Don't you see? Our existence is being throttled by our very way of life!" Van turned his back and sighed dramatically. "I know it's hard to suddenly throw away all you've lived by to my ranting, Fon Master. I do hope you will forgive me for wasting your time--"

"Wait!" Ion pleaded just as Van had his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave. "You... you're abandoning the Score? You're just... throwing away two thousand years of prosperity?"

"Ah, but Fon Master," Van rose, smiling affably at the replica before him. Just as planned, the poor boy couldn't help himself in the face of the commandant's eloquence. "Not throwing away. Have the last two thousand years been prosperous? Think about it. The Hod War. Two innocent islands destroyed, just like that. Yulia's Score promises prosperity for a time in the future—the near future, perhaps, but we have to wait for it. Would you not rather have that now? Besides, the Score only means prosperity for Kimlasca. If we were to overturn the Score, then the whole world—Kimlasca, Daath, and Malkuth—would all prosper together."

"That may be true, but..."

"Think of it this way," Van straightened resolutely, as though his next comment would cinch the deal for sure. "If only one country prospers, others will be envious. Envy leads to war, and war will claim far more lives than I care to imagine. If everyone is happy and satisfied at once, then they will have no reason to fight."

"Van... you may be right," Ion sat back down again, holding his head and still undecided. "The world is stuck on the Score. It's only a prophecy, but it's never been wrong. Not once."

"Has it?" Van grinned like a seductive reptile. Ion eyed him warily, unbelievingly, until he spoke again. "Come... shall we see if the Score is absolute, Fon Master?"

Ion frowned. What could he possibly have to disprove the Score's authenticity? Nothing in existence disobeyed the law that was the Score. The Score was the only thing anyone had ever known to be as definite as the sun's rise and fall each day. Surely nothing could be wrong—that would send the public into an outright panic...

Reluctantly, Ion trotted behind the tall man, still keeping his distance. Van tried to walk a bit closer to the boy, but Ion didn't seem to notice him. The poor thing must be very worried indeed to ignore and remain fixated on him at the same time as he was. The Fon Master was distraught, yes, and perhaps fearful of what he may find. There was nothing so terrifying as hearing one with the persuasiveness of Van tell of a disturbance in the Score.

"There," the older man whispered, even though they were fer enough away from the commons area to be seen or heard. "See him, right over there? Kind of off own his own?"

The boy in question was seated in a far corner, well off from the other packs of soldiers in training. He forced his gaze from the brick wall at which he was staring long enough to glare at the rest before turning back to the wall, which was, apparently, more entertaining. He absently swept his flowing crimson hair to the side and considered tying it back so it didn't get in his face so much. That or maybe he would cut it off, but he felt it not even worth the effort.

"Oh, the new boy. It's odd for you to recruit anyone else at this time—registrations for the Oracle Knights have long since closed for the year, haven't they?"

"Yes, but that one—he is special, Fon Master. See his hair, his eyes? Only those of the Royal Family of Kimlasca have features of such a hue."

Ion gasped. "You can't be serious! How did you get him here with no one noticing?"

Van spelled out a single word, a single breath, that sent shivers down the young Fon Master's spine.

"Fomicry."

"You-you can't mean... That child is a replica?!"

"No, Fon Master, you misunderstand," Van's satin tone never faltered. "He is not the replica. He is the original. He was kidnapped from his home in Baticul not long ago, and when the poor thing was returned, he had no memory of the past whatsoever."

Ion felt his eyes moisten at the thought of another victim of fomicry. Even if he had suffered no ill effects from the replication, he still opposed the use of fomicry on living things—to him, it just wasn't natural. Creating copies was wrong—not for the fact that they were replicas, but because they were so abused by their creators. He examined his own hand, clenching his tiny fist in fury and brought it down to his side slowly. He was spawn of machinery—a child of fontech and the baby of nothing more than wires, metal, and Seventh Fonons. He had no parents, no family, nothing. All that was there was his own life and the others' ability to control him. Besides, he was not here because he was wanted—he just so happened to have powers reminiscent of the original Ion's. Van was right. The Score had done this to him. To everyone. He raised his head to the commandant's, his pure green eyes that once reflected innocence finally seeing the jagged truth of reality. He made no effort to stop his tears, and his voice was steady as he replied to Van.

"I'll join you."

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Thanks to my beta, Lanane, for much valuable help with editing and making this fic a little easier on the eyes ;