Who am I?
When clone #137 swirled into existence, that was his first thought. It echoed through his hollow head, as the chakra matrix attempted to simulate natural brain activity. It was not perfect by any means, but for the purposes of a simple attack unit, it functioned well enough.
The Shadow Clone was not designed like it's elemental counterparts. Those were little more than machines, utilizing the muscle memory of their creator. Where others were feats of creative engineering, the Shadow Clone was alive, but only in a intellectual sense.
A shadow.
An imitation.
A copy.
That was who he was.
The answer hurt him. It buzzed in his ears, and puzzled him like a knot he couldn't unravel. He was Naruto, wasn't he? He was going to be the Hokage someday, or something like that. Damnit, why couldn't he remember?
What does this mean. He wondered. What am I, and what is my purpose?
That was something the Chakra matrix had no trouble answering. He was a clone, and his purpose was to serve his creator until his death.
Is that it. He thought dejectedly.
Somehow I was hoping for something more.
He was startled from his revery by sound of war cries, as the dozens of clones standing around him made their assault on Mizuki. One after another, either catching a kick, punch, or stab, they puffed up in smoke, only to be swept away by the wind.
And then they were gone, as simple as that.
Being caught in his own thoughts, Clone #137 did not join the assault with the others, and now seeing how fragile his form truly was, he felt terror rushing through his simulated body.
Am I truly so weak? Clone thought to himself. The matrix had no answer.
From the trees above, Clone watched with apathy as Naruto received his headband from Iruka, marking him as a Ninja of Konoha. He had avoided the fight entirely, knowing that one stray hit, either from a fellow clone, or Mizuki himself, would end his short existence.
Nevertheless, he was troubled.
If my purpose truly is to serve, then I shall. He thought minimally. Surely my master will have some use for me. Then I will find my answer.
So, when Naruto left the Hokage's office later that night, Clone was following him. He stalked quietly to their apartment, staying hidden against the walls, and on the rooftops.
After all, his creator had quite a bit of practice when it came to avoiding attention. Most of it was negative after all.
The simple Chakra Matrix that was the core of the Shadow Clone, was designed not to stimulate creative thinking, but to limit it. It was designed to keep the shadows from thinking complex thoughts, such as the meaning of one's existence, or developing a fear of death.
They were expendable. That was their entire purpose. A clone unwilling to sacrifice himself was a complication best avoided.
But clone #137 was faulty in this regard. His matrix was incomplete, leaving him open to observe his own programming.
And to alter it, to stray from it. He was not like the others.
When Naruto finally opened the door to his apartment, Clone was waiting. He knelt at the sight of his creator, and did his best to look respectful.
"Huh? What're you still doing here?" Naruto asked. Frowning a little, he brought both his hands up in a familiar gesture.
Panic surged through Clone, and he immediately leapt up, waving his hands frantically.
"No no, please! Don't dispel me!" He yelled.
I can't die yet. Not so soon, without having done anything at all.
Naruto startled at this, and brought his hands down. "Why not? I don't need any clones right now."
The sentence hit like a sledge hammer through Clone's fragile psyche. His very being, so easily disregarded, just like that. His expression was mournful, as Naruto once again brought his hands up to end the jutsu.
Is this how I die, without any meaning or purpose, abandoned even by my master?
Is this the end?
...
..
.
NO.
With that thought, Clone tackled his master to the ground, desperately holding Naruto's hands apart.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing!" Naruto cried indignantly. "Get off you stupid clone!"
But Clone persisted, and wrestling together, they tumbled across the messy floor, rolling together as one. They rolled over toys and dirty clothes. They rolled across the scratched wooden floors. As he moved, Clone felt the fragile web of chakra holding his form together weaken.
No, not yet.
He looked around, desperate for options. Then he spotted it, a large flat board that had once been a part of the floor. crooked nails stuck out from the side, with the red curls of rust wrapping around them.
Clone let go of his creator, rushing to grab his new weapon. Before Naruto could stand, the board came down on his head, with a crack like branch being broken in half.
On the day of his graduation, Naruto lay slumped against the wall of his apartment, his blond hair matted down with blood.
Standing over the prone form his his creator, Clone #137 clutched his head and screamed.
He screamed with all his might. He pounded his fists against the wall. His already fragile form weakened further, but he ignored it.
He kicked, and smashed, and hammered. He raged and flailed at the tragedy of it all.
And that night, with no one to hear him, Clone did something no Shadow Clone had ever done before.
He cried.
A/N:
Just something I felt like writing at some point here. I've always wondered about the ethics of creating a shadow, simply so he can die as a casualty.
You can argue that they are not sentient, or that they are less than human beings.
You can argue that their experiences live on, in their creators.
You can even argue that they served a higher purpose, by protecting someone less fragile than they are.
But they can still think, and feel.
And perhaps, a being like that deserves more.